It was only on rare occasions that Jeronimo could be persuaded to hold forth.

"What is there to say?" the captain began. "In the night of 4 to 5 September 1585 I reined in my breathless nag in front of the castle of the king in Madrid—I am a native of that town and I can tell you, gentlemen, that my heart beat faster when I heard once again the rushing waters of the Manzanares. I had often enough dreamt not long beforehand in the field hospital where I lay in a fever of the roaring of this river. And, having reached my final destination, both the good tidings I had brought with me and the expectation of a fabulous reward that appeared to me in dreams drove my blood more strongly through my veins. Darkness and a deathlike silence lay over the castle and the town itself. I subsequently learned that there had been a great auto da fe the day before and that the inhabitants of Madrid were sleeping it off: everyone was asleep, including King Philip himself. The watch held their pikes to my chest just as my exhausted steed collapsed under me in the courtyard. I was as out of breath from that last wild ride as my horse, but I still had sufficient strength left to pant: "Letters from Flanders! Letters to the King! Letters from Prince Alexander of Parma! Victory!"

The weapons of the sentries were lowered and courtiers came up to ask me questions and then I was led through the halls of the castle to the bedchamber of my Lord and Master. My heart trembled like my weary limbs. My head was in a whirl when I came to kneel beside the king's bed and handed him the great prince's letter. Propped up on his elbows, King Philip left to one side his writing and skimmed through the letter with his sharp ascetic eyes—his chamberlain held the golden lamp so he could see properly. I will never forget the king's face, nor the trembling that overcame his sallow livid features. He sat up in bed, gaunt and feeble, and uttered a shout that was almost a cry:

"Antwerp has surrendered! Antwerp has surrendered!"

And the lamp in the courtier's hand began to tremble too. The king got out of bed; against all the rules of court etiquette he leaned on my shoulder, the shoulder of a simple soldier, covered with the dust and sweat accumulated along the way. His noble retinue threw a cloak over his shoulders. The fact was that such glad tidings had not reached the ears of the king since the news of the victory at Lepanto. He hotfooted it down the castle corridors to the door of his favourite daughter, Donya Clara Isabella Eugenia, knocked at the door (for what did His Catholic Majesty care about etiquette at that moment in time?), at the door of a princess, opened it slightly, shoved his head into the room and whispered to his still sleepy daughter, alarmed at the intrusion:

"Antwerp has surrendered! Antwerp has surrendered, Donya Clara!"

The castle became a hive of activity as the great news spread…

"And what about you, Jeronimo?" asked the commander of Fort Liefkenhoek.
"What was your reward for such joyful and glorious tidings?"

"Yes, what was your reward, Jeronimo? Were you dubbed a knight of the order of Calatrava?" asked the other officers.

"No, I'm not a knight of the order of Calatrava," answered the old war horse. "And as far as material rewards go, His Catholic Majesty hung a golden chain around my neck and gave me a commission in his army as a colonel."

"Ah!" the commander said, and the other officers pushed nearer.

"I know," said the old warrior, "I know full well what that look means, mi coronel; it means: So why are you here now as my subordinate, as a poor half invalid mercenary? Isn't that what you're thinking?" As he asked this question he looked round the circle of men around him. "Well, I'll tell you, being as I'm getting to that part of my story. Prick up your ears youngsters. There might be a lesson in this for you. On 13 July 1591 Prince Alexander Farnese set up camp before Fort Knodsenburg, opposite Nijmegen, in order to lay siege to it, but Gerhard de Jonge, the Dutch commander, was a brave man and we had our bloody work cut out with him. To give Alexander a scare Maurice of Orange moved up from Arnhem to the Betau and proceeded to set up an ambush after reconnoitring the area around our camp. Seven of our ensigns, Spanish and Italian lancers, rode out against the enemy. Doughty knights were among them, I can tell you: Francesco Nicelli, Alfonso Davalos, Padilla, Jeronimo Caraffa and Decio Manfredi to name but a few. I was bearer of the prince's standard that day—a plague on it! Up and at the enemy we were and the enemy withdrew in haste until such time as we fell into the ambush and were wiped out to a man. God in heaven, I had already sustained thirty war wounds which scars all over my body bore witness to and I had bled at every close encounter, but this time, this time, as all my companions lay dead and bleeding on the field of battle, I alone escaped uninjured. The Duke of Parma's victorious standard, however, which I had been carrying, was captured by the enemy! It bore an embroidered figure of Christ with the motto: Hic fortium dividet spolia or He will apportion the spoils to the bravest. My honour as a soldier was lost. The following day the golden chain Don Felipe had given me in token of my sterling service was torn from off my neck, another more fortunate inherited my post and I was allowed to lose myself in the ranks as an ordinary mercenary. I changed my name and re-enlisted in a German regiment. Overnight I became grey and bent and assumed the rank of captain again under my new name and so I am your subordinate, commander, and your comrade, gentlemen. Don't turn away from me!"

The commander of Fort Liefkenhoek reached out his hand to the storyteller and shook it warmly in silence; the other soldiers present pressed forward to reach out their hands to him too.

"Enough!" said the veteran. "What difference does it make, for it all comes down to the same in the end. I have witnessed the eclipse of many reputations and much honour and fame. King Philip the Second sleeps in the Escorial, the great prince Alexander Farnese lies in Parma. Where is Fernando Alvarez de Toledo now? Where is our redoubtable enemy, William the Silent?"

"Quo pius Aeneas, quo divus Tullus et Ancus? Where is god-fearing Aeneas? Where are the divine Tullus and Ancus?" laughed a young ensign, who was fresh out of upper school in Salamanca; but no-one paid attention to him, and Captain Jeronimo continued. "Enough, comrades. Let each man do his duty and think himself an honest man. Let the company stand easy, mi coronel, or we'll all be down with red dysentery tomorrow. That nasty business down there on the estuary has been put an end to now—and His Catholic Majesty Philip the Third and his Genoese Excellency, Signor Federigo Spinola, have one good ship less. Let us go to bed, colonel, and tomorrow you can find out more details."

"Is that what you think, prophet of doom? Your terrible misfortune has sapped your courage. Pull yourself together, Jeronimo."

The captain just shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, so be it then," said the colonel. "Give the signal to leave the walls. Afterwards I'll expect you all to come to my quarters, gentlemen, for a glass of wine. None of you will be getting any sleep tonight. Have courage, gentlemen, and long live Spain!"

The officers repeated their commander's last words, but somewhat mutedly.
Then the drums beat the retreat and the troops withdrew from the walls of
Fort Liefkenhoek.

The commander himself held back for a while and, sighing, leant his elbows on the parapet, cupping his chin in his hands. He stared out in this wise over the waters and gazed at the