Jan and Myga.

The following evening Myga van Bergen was sitting in one of the high gable houses behind the city wall on the quayside in Antwerp in the immediate vicinity of her small night light. As the daughter of the erstwhile rich and respected merchant, Michael van Bergen, of whom it could now be said: Supremum diem obiit, senex et pauper (Old age and poverty killed him), she was dressed in mourning.

   As when a sack of newly minted gold coins is shaken, fifteen or twenty years before the name of the firm of Norris and Van Bergen reverberated in the ears of everyone, for the firm represented one of the richest merchant banking houses in the whole of affluent Antwerp. Its ships sailed on every ocean, its warehouses were full of the most precious treasures from the Indies and America, its underwriting rooms were full of diligent underwriters. Twenty years before you could have asked at the Stock Exchange or at the Oosterling Bank, the great repository of the Hanseatic League, about the firm of Norris and Van Bergen and you would have heard good reports of them.

Now it was a different story. Johann Geerdes Norris had died long ago in Amsterdam and a fortnight since his former business partner had followed him to the grave in Antwerp as an undischarged bankrupt.

If you had asked now on the Stock Exchange or at the offices of the Hanseatic League about the firm of Norris and Van Bergen, you would probably have been asked to repeat your question more than once and received for your answer a shake of the head. Who could still remember now the firm of Norris and Van Bergen? Only the oldest merchants and brokers would still know of it.

But how had such a thing come about?

The answer to that question is easy to give. When the firm of Norris and Van Bergen was in its heyday, two hundred thousand inhabitants were gainfully employed in Antwerp. Now they had dwindled to eighty thousand. is that explanation enough for you?

Let us cast a glance back at days gone by to the twentieth day of August in that annus horribilis of 1585. On this day those of the reformed faith held their last service in the cathedral. After the surrender, which the town had arranged with its mighty conqueror, Prince Alexander of Parma, the Catholics were to have restored to them the following day the sacred property of the Blessed Virgin Mary that they had had to leave so long in the hands of heretics.

It was a solemn and extraordinary moment when, on 20 August, after the last Protestant sermon, the rolling chords of the cathedral organ were heard. A deep silence ensued, people sat with heads bowed praying softly and fervently. Then there was an unexpected commotion—a noise, half a sigh, half a repressed cry of anger rang out in a painful sort of way. A murmuring arose, the congregation got up from their seats and ran in an undisciplined confusion towards the church doors, towards those great portals, to which the Catholic portion of the population were already laying siege.

Triumph and defeat!

Monks of every conceivable order pushed contemptuously or threateningly past the humiliated, still crying or complaining heretics, lifting their wreathes of roses gaily.

How long ago it now was since they had had to succumb to these very same heretics who had then cried out to them: "Papen uyt! Papen uyt!" ("Away with the priests! Away with the priests!").

Such a changeable thing is man's fate and triumph and defeat alternate in spiritual struggles.

On 20 August the merchant banking house of Norris and Van Bergen was still strong and well respected. On 27 August the firm was officially wound up. Alexander Farnese entered the conquered town in triumph; Jan Geerdes Norris left it with his ten-year-old son and several companions who did not want to endure a Spanish yoke. Michael van Bergen stayed behind with his little daughter who was then six years old. Each of the two partners acted true to character: Norris impulsively and angrily; Van Bergen fearfully and with timidity. The former flew in the face of bitter destiny and abandoned his position to resume it elsewhere, the battle having been lost. The latter bowed to his fate and suffered in silence what he could not hope to alter for the better.

But all this was a long time ago and our two protagonists are no longer Geerdes Norris and Michael Van Bergen, but their children Jan and Myga respectively.

Into what a frightful, devastated, horrid world had the two poor mites been thrust. How often had maternal lullabies been silenced by the noise of gunfire both near and distant! How often had their fathers had to take son and daughter off their knees because they had been summoned by the warning bell to the walls or to the town hall!

Poor little mites! They had never been able like other children born in happier times to tumble out of danger in shady woods and on the green grass of meadows. They had never been able to make crowns from the blue cornflowers and the red poppies which grew at the edge of tilled fields.

The woods were full of the roaming bands of His Catholic Majesty, the wild gangs of the forest beggars and lawless and ruthless ragamuffins that had dispersed there from all over Europe.

The armies of Spain, mercenaries from Germany, England, France and Italy, the soldiers of the United Provinces under the leadership of the Prince of Orange fought on the green grass of the meadows and pitched their makeshift huts and tents there.

Fields of corn, even before the corn in them ripened, even before poppies and cornflowers bloomed in them, fell victim to the feet and hooves of invading armies.

Where was there a peaceful hamlet to be found on this downtrodden piece of earth that the King of Spain saw as his own?

In the dark and narrow sidestreets of the town of Antwerp, behind the high walls, redoubts and towers of Paciotti, poor children had their playgrounds and these were often unsafe and perilous. Often the houses of honest burghers were changed into dungeons in which those who lived there shut themselves up, in which they themselves had to be their own jailers to protect themselves against clear and present danger.

These two children's perception of the world must have been very different to that of other more fortunate children and many a fair blossom was stifled and annihilated in the bud by the dark and cold cloud that hung over these troubled times.

How often Jan and Myga during the Prince of Parma's long siege had seen from their windows where they laid their gaily-coloured dolls and cuddly animals war with its attendant horrors rampaging through the streets!

It had been decided by their fathers and mothers that Jan and Myga would one day be a couple while the great firm of Norris and Van Bergen was still in existence. When the surrender negotiated by Prince Alexander with the town of Antwerp had once been signed, however, Jan Geerdes Norris ripped up the contract of forthcoming marriage between his son and Michael van Bergen's daughter. By this time the wives of both partners were already dead.

On 27 August 1585 the two children were separated from each other and the ten-year-old boy and the six-year-old girl sobbed as if their hearts would break at it, but it was wartime and war splits up people who are close to one another in ways far crueller. It was felt as a matter of course that the two children would have forgotten the earliest memories of their childhood soon enough. We shall see if that was indeed the case.

The years went by and Jan Geerdes Norris passed away as did Michael van
Bergen after his fortune had melted like snow in the sun.

Myga sat in her little room behind the city walls along the quayside in Antwerp. She was in her black mourning clothes, a beautiful young woman still pale from her long vigils at the bed of her dying father. She was spinning. Her eyes were full of tears and her heart was full of pent-up grief and care. The poor child had been quite alone in the great town since the death of her father and the times were so unruly that the weak in society were virtually at the mercy of all random oppression and insolence.

But was Myga van Bergen completely alone in the world?

Poor child! One of Myga's principal worries was that she was not entirely alone.

There was still someone to watch over Michael van Bergen's daughter. The orphan knew full well that at least one heart had remained faithful to her, that Jan Norris of Amsterdam would have shed his blood to the last drop for her. Jan Norris, however, was an outcast, under threat of the gallows if he fell into the hands of the Spaniards in the streets of Antwerp. And Jan Norris the sea beggar often appeared in various disguises in the streets of Antwerp.

Jan Norris had not forgotten the memories of his youth as quickly as Jan
Geerdes Norris, his father, thought he would have done.

Jan and Myga were still effectively betrothed to each other. No power on earth could have separated them—they had sworn to each other an oath that was mutually binding. What was to become of them, neither of them, as long as Michael lived, could possibly have said.

Michael van Bergen had now been dead and buried for a fortnight, but Jan had disappeared months ago. Was he still alive? Had he drowned at sea? Had the Spaniards boarded his ship, caught him and hanged him?

Who could say?

What would poor abandoned Myga have done with herself, all alone in the world, if Jan really had been dead?

The night gradually drew on, but Myga was afraid to lie down. She was unable to sleep for grief and anxiety, so why should she have gone to bed? It gradually became quite cold in her little room, but she scarcely seemed to feel the cold and did not put more coal on the tiny fire that was burning in the grate. She put away her hand loom and covered her face with her hands, leaning her head on her breast. She sat like this for quite some time till eventually she got up shivering to seek the shelter of her bed.

She was bending down once more to check if the bolts on her door had been correctly adjusted when she heard something and held her breath.

"Myga?" Someone was whispering through the door from outside.

Myga's whole body trembled.

"Oh my God!"

"Myga?" The whispering came again through the keyhole.

With a sudden cry the young woman drew aside the bolts and turned the key in the lock. The door flew open and the very next moment a young man in the officer's uniform of a regiment of mercenaries with Spanish markings on the shoulder was holding Myga in his arms.

"Myga, oh Myga!"

"Oh Jan, Jan, dearest Jan!"

Tender kisses for the next few minutes took the place of words for both of them. Then Jan Norris sank, completely exhausted apparently, onto the nearest chair and Myga now noticed for the first time the disarray of her sweetheart's apparel, noticed that he had lost his hat, that one of his cheeks was bleeding from a slight graze.

"My God, what's happened, Jan? I'm trembling! Oh, you've been reckless again—oh Jan, Jan, bad Jan!"

"This time I came within a hair's breadth of being caught, Myga! But don't worry, sweetheart, they only nearly got me—I'd have been swinging from the hangman's noose by now if things hadn't passed off so well!"

"Oh Jan, and you actually say that you love me! Do you really want to save me from this town? Merciful God, you'll perish and so will I, and my father's dead too. Good God! What's to become of me? Who'll protect me? Who'll help me?"

"You're right, you're right, poor dear. And your father has died and now I'm there to comfort you in your distress. But I had to cruise off the coast of Dunkirk to send those pirates to the bottom—oh, it's hard, Myga, and yet I could do no other and I can do no other tonight either. Each of us has to be prepared to give his life to uphold the sacred honour of the fatherland. Ah, Myga, Myga, love me just a little even though I am a bad provider. Your poor father, Michael…"

"Leave my poor dead father out of this, Jan! He's alright where he is. He's at rest now and need no longer fear anyone. The dead are to be envied in these bloody, fearsome times!"

"Myga, don't talk that way. Your father's death was a great loss, but now you're my problem. Now you can go with me to Amsterdam, now nothing holds you back in this sad town of Antwerp. Myga, follow your heart, for happy days are just around the corner for us, my betrothed. Soon I'll be coming to fetch you—watch out—with an elegant wedding procession fit for a queen. Perhaps they'll ring the bells and beat the drums, perhaps they'll mark the blissful hour with cannon-fire in which I take you away from Antwerp. You will see if it's not true, what I am telling you now in the strictest confidence."

"What fantasies, Jan Norris! Tell me how all this is going to come about. No, don't tell me, as it's all sheer tomfoolery. Tell me about this danger you have just escaped from by the skin of your teeth. I won't be able to get it out of my head tonight and that's your fault, reckless madcap Jan."

"Not as reckless as you think, dearest!" said the young man with a smile. "Otherwise the captain of the black galley would not be using Jan Norris's head, heart, arms and legs as he is doing. There's something big afoot in the town. We are about to perform a deed that the children of Antwerp will still be singing about in a hundred years' time. I'm here to gather secret information, hence the disguise: the wide breeches of a German mercenary rather than the trousers of a Zeeland boatman. Listen, Myga. I carried out my orders on the quayside and learned that four of Spinola's galleys have set out this morning to hunt down the black galley. Apart from that, I also found out that your father Michael has died and had a close look at the last of the Genoese ships still at anchor here, the Andrea Doria, due to the way in which it's been built and, in the meantime, it got dark. During the day I often stole glances up at your window, dearest, but did not find the time to slip in to see you as all sorts of people were hard on my heels. So I thought I would wait till it went properly dark (I still have the key to the house) and then turned nimbly into the alleys until the idea came to me, in front of a brightly-lit tavern door, that I could spend the night in a tavern and take an opportunity to keep an eye on the doings of both locals and visitors (because of my orders, you know!) Well, I went into this tavern, ordered a bottle of wine and sat down at a table, spreading my elbows as if the whole world belonged to me and only seeming to feel no compunction or anxiety over poor Myga, whose father had died without me being there to comfort her. All around me was a din such as there must have been at the building of the Tower of Babel. Germans, Burgundians, Spaniards, Italians and Dutchmen chattered, swore and shouted, each in their own tongue, and all of them were drinking like fish. Every table and corner were taken up and there remained only two empty places, next to me as it happened. Then two ill-mannered ruffians turned up—I recognized both of them: one was the captain of the Andrea Doria, the other his lieutenant. They climbed over tables and benches and sat down next to me. I gladly made room for them for their presence was worth silver and gold to me and every word they uttered I assayed. I pretended, however, never to have laid eyes on them and drowsily laid my head on both arms as if to shut out the world, but I had my ears pricked up for listening. The two foreigners called out for wine and the younger of the two, the lieutenant, put his arm round the serving wench's waist. The other, however, looked mournful at this, as though it had actually made him feel worse. I could have laughed at him, but, by the brotherhood of the sea beggars, it was no laughing matter! Then their banter started and, to begin with, all the talk was of our intrepid deed, of the dance we had led them the previous night, of the journey to kingdom come of the Immaculate Conception. I rejoiced much to hear this, but I suddenly froze for they mentioned a familiar name. They started to talk about you, Myga!"

"About me?" cried the young woman. "God in heaven, the Italian captain spoke about me! Jan! Jan! Protect me from him! He frightens me!"

"So the dog has set his snares to catch you!" shouted Jan in a hollow voice and Myga hid her face upon her breast and nodded trembling.

The young sea beggar gnashed his teeth and laughed grimly.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold as that foreign rogue will shortly learn. Be of good cheer, Myga. Am I not at your side and are there not many of my boon companions to fall back on if need be? Poor dear, how you're trembling!"

"Merciful heaven, Jan, I can't help myself. Do not these violent and arrogant foreigners rule over us? Who can stop them from having their evil way with us? Take me with you, Jan, out into the night, here and now!"

Jan Norris held the livid and trembling girl in his arms and tried everything he knew to reassure her. Once he had been moderately successful in this, he went on to relate his adventure in the Golden Lion.

"My hair stood up on my head and all the blood rushed to my brain. But I had to control myself so that I wouldn't give myself away, and that was hard work, but Jan Norris managed it and acted as if he didn't understand a word of Italian. By Count Lumey, they were discussing with each other a piece of knavery blacker than night, but I succeeded in understanding everything they were saying. In the early hours of morning, the day after tomorrow, the Andrea Doria sets sail—her orders to do so come straight from the admiral himself—and, because the opportunity is such a favourable one, their clever plan will come into operation the night before. The untamed dove, Myga van Bergen, will be captured by Antonio Valani with the help of Satan and lieutenant Leone della Rota. This house will be pounced on, but so discreetly that no neighbour will be disturbed thereby, that no cock in the whole of Antwerp will crow to reveal the dark deed. On to the galleon with Myga! What larks! Hoist up the anchor, boys, and off we go to hunt down the rebellious heretics, out into the open sea, for who can hear at sea the cries for help and the weeping of little Myga? Hell's teeth, and Jan Norris sits there in the Golden Lion unable to budge, holding in his hand his knife, unable to strike down these two whispering rogues!"

"Oh Jan, Jan, for the sake of our two mothers and our love, rescue me! Don't let me fall into their hands! Death would be a less terrible fate than that!"

"Calm down, Myga, calm down! There's plenty of time from now till midnight. Sitting round the fire in Amsterdam we'll remember this story. Trust me, love of my life, nothing untoward will happen to you as long as Jan Norris can still stand on his own two feet. But keep listening; my story isn't over yet. I still have to tell you how it came about that they sniffed me out as helmsman of the black galley. That's a much better story than the one I've just been telling you."

"Oh Jan, Jan, feel how my heart is beating—merciful God, who will protect poor Myga? Oh Jan, let's go, here and now, immediately. I can't breathe here any more. The air in this room is choking me!"

"Calm down, Myga, calm down. I'd gladly take you with me right away, and there'd be a boat ready to take us on board, but listen down there in the streets—the whole town knows now that men from the black galley are concealed in disguise within its walls. Just listen to the rumpus. Making a run for it would be no good as there's no chance of us getting through unscathed. Sit down and stop trembling like that. We're still safe and time is the best counsellor. Think about those times when we'll be sitting round the fire in wintry Amsterdam. Ha ha, let them look for me down there. Jan Norris has always been too quick and too cunning for them. It would also be a pity for the fellow if they hanged him, wouldn't it, Myga?"

"Oh Jan, Jan!"

"Never mind. Give me a kiss and then another one and then I'll tell my story. So there I sat biting my lips till they bled, but not missing a word of the conversation going on near me and the rogues kept chattering on and complimenting themselves on their stroke of genius. Then they drained their glasses, got up and would have gone out only they were detained at the door by great to-do. A lad was being brought in on the shoulders of two strapping youths and a loud hurrah went up when the topers in the tavern spotted him. The lad in question was the cabin boy from the Immaculate Conception, who alone had survived out of the whole crew and had made his way to land through mad perambulations via sea and air. Everyone wanted to see this lad. Everyone wanted to talk to him and they all pressed up against him, reaching out to him their tankards and jugs. I thought it best to make use of this diversion to slip away unnoticed. I crept out keeping as close as possible to the walls and had almost got to the door when it was my misfortune to catch the eye of the cabin boy, who was still crouching on the shoulders of his carriers. The lad stared at me as if he had seen a ghost, went white as chalk and shouted at the top of his voice: "Help! Help! Ecco! Ecco! He's one of them! Help! Arrest him!" "Who is? What's all this?" the customers bellow and each of them looks at the lad and their neighbours. "There, there, where the table is. Arrest him. He's one of those sea beggars, the one who struck down Captain Perazzo, one of the crew of the black galley." What came next was pandemonium. All eyes were focused on me. All swords flew out of their sheaths. I too had got my knife out to sell my life if needs be as dearly as possible. Now they threw themselves at me, but I was faster on my feet than they were, grabbed the nearest bench and flung it at the feet of the first wave of attackers so that a pile of them stumbled over it and fell against one another onto the floor. I made use of this brief opportunity to jump into the thick of it, hitting out to right and left with my knife into upturned faces. I reached the door. I was outside in the street. Behind me I could hear the noise of my pursuers. Thanks be to God that I know Antwerp like the back of my hand. I get chased all over the place, but I manage to lose them with adroit twists and turns. I take them down blind alleys and double back on myself. On the quayside all is still. My trusty key opens up a well-known door and I've taken refuge here, Myga, in order to rescue you. But still they didn't give up hope of hanging a sea beggar. The whole of the garrison came after me if truth be known. A great honour, men! Thank you most kindly!"

Jan Norris listened with a laugh on his lips. Myga van Bergen trembled at the noise in the streets below.

"Dearest, dearest Jan, are you quite sure that no-one has seen you come into this house? Listen. They're coming this way. Oh God, look out of the window—torches and spears—heaven above, they're knocking on the door. They're looking for you, Jan. Lord have mercy on us. We're lost. We're lost."

The front door flew open, people appeared to be forcing their way into the house. Jan Norris gritted his teeth and seized his knife by the hilt.

"Calm down, calm down. It's not possible. Calm down, Myga."

"They're coming. They're coming," screamed Myga. "They're coming upstairs. They're going to find you. Jan, Jan, let me die at your side!"

The young man was as pale as death.

"How could I have been so careless as to endanger you, Myga?
That was an awful thing to do. By my oath as a sea beggar,
they really are coming upstairs. What's to become of you,
Myga?"

"Let me die at your side, Jan!" breathed Myga, clinging to the chest of her betrothed.