ve, and the fruit
of his victory wither. King Philip's petty jealousy opposed his wishes,
poisoned his hopes, and barred the realization of his dreams.

Don Juan was satiated with fame. "Power" was the food for which he
longed. The busy spider in the Escurial could not deprive him of the
laurel, but his own "word," his highest ambition in life, his power, he
would consent to share with no mortal man, not even his brother.

"Laurels are withering leaves, power is arable land," said Don Juan to
Escovedo.

It befits an emperor's son, thought Ulrich, to cherish such lofty
wishes; to men of lower rank fame can remain the guiding star on life's
pathway.

The elite of the army was in the Netherlands; there he could find what
he desired.

Don Juan let him go, and when fame was the word, Ulrich had no cause to
complain of its ill-will.

He bore the standard of the proud "Castilian" regiment, and when strange
troops met him as he entered a city, one man whispered to another: "That
is Navarrete, who was in the van at every assault on Haarlem, who, when
all fell back before Alkmaar, assailed the walls again, it was not his
fault that they were forced to retreat... he turned the scale with his
men on Mook-Heath... have you heard the story? How, when struck by two
bullets, he wrapped the banner around him, and fell with, and on it,
upon the grass."

And now, when with the rebellious army he had left the island of
Schouwen behind him and was marching through Brabant, it was said:

"Navarrete! It was he, who led the way for the Spaniards with the
standard on his head, when they waded through the sea that stormy night,
to surprise Zierikzee."

Whoever bore arms in the Netherlands knew his name; but the citizens
also knew who he was, and clenched their fists when they spoke of him.

On the battle-field, in the water, on the ice, in the breaches of
their firm walls, in burning cities, in streets and alleys, in
council-chambers and plundered homes, he had confronted them as
a murderer and destroyer. Yet, though the word fame had long been
embittered to him, the inhumanity which clung to his deeds had the least
share in it.

He was the servant of his monarch, nothing more. All who bore the name
of Netherlander were to him rebels and heretics, condemned by God,
sentenced by his king; not worthy peasants, skilful, industrious
citizens, noble men, who were risking property and life for religion and
liberty.

This impish crew d