"Well when they arrived in France and the day being come the seconds and umpires saw that each one had equal arms. They were to fight on horseback and each one had a sword, and both rapiers and daggers, and their corselets were open at the back with great holes big enough for two fists to go in on both pieces. This scheme was invented by the French because Mora had one of the best and quickest horses in France, and as they were not to fight with the lance, Mora thought, with the fleetness of his horse, he would be able to wound Julian in the back with his rapier, and so vanquish him.
"When the umpires had seen the arms were equal they gave the signal for the trumpets to sound, and the opponents at once closed with one another, and, at the first blows with the swords, Julian's sword fell from his hands and he seized his rapier. Mora was not backward and threw away his sword for his rapier; and, as he had such an active horse, he went circling round Julian so as to wound him in the back. But Julian was no sluggard, and when Mora saw he could not do this, he decided to kill Julian's horse, which he did with a thrust in the chest; and a few moments afterwards it fell to the ground. At that moment Julian, thinking to do the same for Mora, attacked him with that object; but Mora was too quick with his horse for Julian to wound it, and the rapier fell from Julian's hand, almost at the moment that his horse dropped under him; and as he felt his horse was going to fall he leapt quickly off his back and Mora had not time to ride him down, thanks to the horse which was on the ground. Julian to escape being ridden down, and finding himself armed only with his dagger, was forced to shield himself behind his fallen horse, whilst Mora went round and round and Julian dodged behind the horse. This went on for more than three hours, and at last Mora cried out, 'Surrender, Julian! I do not want to kill thee!' but Julian did not answer a word. There was hardly an hour of daylight left, and Julian would be vanquished at sunset. And, as he saw that Mora was strutting about waiting for the sun to go down, Julian kept wide awake and, watching his opportunity, dropped on one knee behind his prostrate horse and with his dagger cut the straps of his spurs, which he threw away. Seeing his rapier not far from him he made a dash to regain it, and succeeded before Mora could ride him down.
"The gentleman who was acting as Julian's second, seeing how things were going, was very downcast and wished he never had come and said to the Spanish captains: 'Gentlemen, our man is losing.' Then said Captain Cristobal Diaz, 'What, sir! the day is not yet done and I still hope to God that Julian will come off the victor.' 'Do you not see, sir,' said the other, 'that Mora is only flourishing about waiting for sundown?' As they were chatting thus, they saw how Julian had snatched up his rapier again, and how Mora was attacking him. Julian had just time to deal a thrust at Mora's horse, which, feeling itself wounded began to prance, and its rider, fearing that it would fall with him underneath it, determined to get a short distance away and dismount. Julian, however, being on foot and light, without his spurs, went running after him, and when he was trying to dismount, embraced him in such a manner as to bring him to the ground, and with his dagger cut the ties of his helmet. Mora then surrendered at once, and Julian took his arm, and with the sword of his enemy in his hand, led him three times round the field that all might see how he had surrendered."
For this not very chivalrous victory Julian was overwhelmed with honours, the French king, we are told, casting a gold chain round his neck worth more than 700 crowns, whilst the Dauphin gave him a surcoat stamped with gold, worth more than the King's chain; and King Henry of England, when the Spanish officers returned to England, extended special favour to Julian Romero, upon whom he settled a life pension of 600 ducats, which was a larger sum than any of his fellows, except Colonel Gamboa, who got a thousand. In any case it was only paid for a few years.
If the behaviour of the combatants in the duel lacked the chivalry we are apt to expect, still less magnanimous was the treatment of the Spanish officers towards their companies. When the peace was concluded and Julian's duel fought, orders came from England that the troops were to be dismissed, and the mercenary captains were to repair to London. The latter portion of this order was concealed from the soldiers, who were told by Colonel Gamboa that, as they were all dismissed from the English service, they would march together and offer their services elsewhere. He thereupon led them across the frontier into the Emperor's Flemish dominions, and then with the captains gave the men the slip, and left them to shift for themselves. The captains hung about the Court in London all the summer and autumn (1546), quarrelling, gaming, and swaggering, and Julian Romero, less refined and more hot-headed than the rest, well nigh got into serious trouble. His friend who tells the story, evidently at first hand, says that he had been "showing off" very much more than his means or his pay would warrant, and he had borrowed money to such an extent that he hardly dared to walk out publicly. One of his pressing creditors was a Milanese called Baptist Baron, who after much trouble managed to get him arrested for a debt of 200 ducats. Julian was furious with rage at the idea of being haled off to jail, and persuaded the catchpole who had him in custody to take him to Colonel Gamboa's house, in hope that he would pay the money.
"No sooner had he arrived there, than he launched into loud complaints and began to say unreasonable things, amongst others, that anybody who would serve heretics must be a great big knave; and he swore that he would have no more of it, but would go with only a pike on his shoulder and four ducats (a month) pay to serve elsewhere; and he said a good many other things that had much better have been omitted, for certainly no good came of them."
Gamboa made himself responsible for the money, but Julian's loose talk about heretics was dangerous, and the colonel, whose subsequent behaviour to the other captains shows him to have been a bad-hearted man, seems to have done nothing to shield his subordinate from the consequences of his indiscretion. Gamboa was himself accused at first of treason by the Privy Council, for allowing such talk in his house without punishment. He declared that he was deaf, and did not hear what Julian had said, "which," says the narrator (almost certainly the "merchant" Guaras), "was the truth, as he was in his chamber at the time." "The Council presently sent for Julian and rated him soundly, to which Julian replied: 'Gentlemen, I have said nothing for which I should be so maltreated.' 'Well,' they answered, 'you said this, that, and the other, and there are witnesses who heard you.' But Julian denied it, and they called a merchant who was present in the house of the colonel and had heard everything that had passed. Before this merchant went before the Council, Gamboa spoke to him and begged him to accuse Julian as much as he could, so that they should take away his pay from him; but the merchant, seeing the malice of Gamboa, said, 'Señor Gamboa, I am no mischief-maker to do harm where I can do good,' and he would not speak to Gamboa any more. The lords then sent for the merchant; all the captains as well as Julian being present, and, as the merchant was going in, Gamboa said to him aloud, so that all should hear, 'Señor, I beseech you to favour Julian as much as you can; for good or evil to him depends upon what you say.' Good God! how artfully Gamboa said that, when not three hours before he had begged him earnestly to accuse him and get his income taken away. But Julian and the other captains thought that Gamboa was favourable to him." The "merchant's" evidence does not seem to have palliated the case against Julian, but that perhaps was because "they made him place his hands upon the Gospels, and he swore to tell the truth." He said that Julian was in a rage at being arrested, and shouted out some coarse expressions about the King and Council not caring much for him, and that he would rather serve elsewhere for four ducats than here for a mint of money. "Then," said the lords, "didst thou not hear him say that he would come with a pike on his shoulder to fight against such heretics?" To which the merchant replied that the soldiers were making so much noise that he did not hear well what was said. The end of the matter was that, just as the Council were going to sentence Julian to punishment and dismissal, Paget put in a good word for him, and got him off with a severe wigging and a threat to punish him severely if he let his tongue run too loosely again; "whereupon Julian made no answer but made a very low bow, and then they told him to go, and if any one was sorry he was not dismissed it was Gamboa."
A few weeks after this the trouble with Scotland broke out again, and the captains were ordered to raise a fresh force of Spanish men-at-arms. This was not easily done at short notice, and Julian and his fellow Spanish officers frankly said that they could not get together men who would do them credit in the time specified, and they had no confidence in Burgundians and others who could be quickly recruited. Gamboa, however, made no difficulty about it; but to the great disgust of the Spaniards raised a regiment of Burgundians, whom he led to Scotland to take part in the siege of Haddington. On Gamboa's coming south for the winter this regiment, under its ensign, Perez, deserted en masse to the enemy, for which desertion Perez was hanged when the place was captured; but in the meanwhile the circumstance still further widened the breach between Gamboa and the other Spanish officers. The King died, at the beginning of the year 1547, and by the time Somerset was leaving London for his short and triumphant campaign in Scotland, plenty of Spanish and Italian mercenaries had joined the standards of our captains. They confessedly turned the tide of victory to the English side at the battle of Pinkie by a dashing flank charge under Gamboa, and a few days afterwards, at the burning of Leith, they again greatly distinguished themselves. Julian, of course, was in the thick of it, and his friend asserts that he was made an English knight after Pinkie. I can find no confirmation of this, although the English authorities show that after the burning of Leith the Protector knighted, amongst others, on the 28th of September, 1547. Sir Peter Gamboa, Pero Negro, Alonso de Villa Sirga, and Cristobal Diaz.
Julian remained in Scotland during the campaigns of 1548-9, and took part in the relief of Haddington; but Gamboa in the latter year was dismissed in consequence of his unpopularity with the other Spaniards and an accusation of peculation made against him. Of Julian Romero we hear in all parts. He and Pero Negro were in charge at Droughty Ferry, near Dundee, and a few of their men made a dash one day at a French general who was strolling a short distance from his lines, and captured him in the face of his own troops before he could be rescued. The French complained especially of Julian's and Pero Negro's celerity of movement, by which they were able to give them the slip, encumbered as the French were by the unscientific methods of their Scotch allies.[2] Warwick had the help of a considerable body of Spaniards, and almost certainly of Julian Romero, in his defeat of Kett's rebellion in the autumn of 1549; certainly in the winter of that year when Warwick, with the prestige of his victories upon him, thought he was strong enough to strike a final blow at the Protector, Julian was one of the foreign captains he took with him to overawe Somerset at his levee, and to demand of him in their name rich rewards for their services in Scotland and elsewhere. As soon as Warwick had got rid of Somerset he changed his tone. England was no longer a fit place for Catholics. The King, Edward VI., was known to be dying, and the next heiress was a papist and half a Spaniard, against whom the Spanish officers could not be trusted to fight in favour of Northumberland's Protestant protegée. So they were dismissed, those that were left of them, and are thenceforward swallowed up in the unfathomable abyss of the dead past; all except Julian Romero, who was reserved for greater things.
There was no lack of demand for the services of such men, for the Emperor, his natural sovereign, was at war with the French once more, and less than two years after he left England we hear of Romero again. Sir John Mason, writing to the English Council on the 7th of July, 1554,[3] reports that Julian with five standards of Spaniards and others was holding out against the French in the castle of Dinant. He is, Sir John says, unlikely to be taken; but if he be, all the Liege country must soon follow. A week afterwards Dr. Wotton writes to Queen Mary[4] an account of the fall of Dinant, and says: "The town and castle of Dinant have been taken, the former surrendered by composition without loss of goods, the latter, wherein were some Spaniards with Captain Julian, who formerly served in England, made a gallant resistance, but at last held parliament and yielded, the soldiers departing with their swords by their side."
The Spanish historian Sandoval blames Romero for his capture and the loss of Dinant, which he attributes to his want of prudence in going out to parley, "but rarely indeed do both valour and prudence reside in one person, although this captain afterwards proved that he possessed both qualities; for he became one of the most famous soldiers of our time." Romero seems first to have attracted general public notice by his bravery and dash at the great battle of St. Quintin in 1557, and in the contemporary poem called "La Araucana" he is mentioned as one of the most conspicuous heroes of the storming of the town, in command of a regiment of Spaniards, Germans, and Walloons. For the ten years that followed the peace of 1558 the centre of war was changed, and the almost constant struggles between Philip II. and the Turks kept Italy and Sicily full of Spanish soldiers. Romero during most of the time was quartered in the Milanese, whilst not before the enemy; and in the meanwhile had been promoted to the rank of Maestre de Campo (colonel), but in 1567 Philip took the fatal decision of grappling in a duel to the death with a closer and more dangerous power than the Turk—namely, that of Protestantism and national freedom in his own Netherlands dominions. The humble remonstrance of the Flemish nobles and Egmont's visit to Madrid had convinced the stealthy bigot that, if he insisted upon ruling his Flemish dominions according to Spanish methods, he could only do it by the ruthless power of the sword. His kindly and popular sister, Margaret of Parma, Flemish to the heart as she was, had already shown signs of sympathy with the demands of her countrymen, and was an unfit instrument for Philip's new plans. There was no one but hard-hearted old Alba who could be trusted to carry them out to the bitter end with the needful cat-like cruelty. So early in 1567 the Spanish troops from Milan and Naples, the Italians from Savoy and Parma, the veterans who for years had been fighting the infidel in the Mediterranean, were set in motion to join the Duke of Alba. Julian Romero was at the time in command of the regiment of Sicily stationed in Milan under the fourth Duke of Alburquerque, the son of Henry VIII's military dry-nurse at Boulogne; and he, like the rest of them, led his men to Brussels. The Flemish nobles were lulled into a feeling of false security. Kindly messages came from Philip in Madrid. He himself would come and set all things right. Alba and his son flattered the shallow Egmont, and courted the distrustful Horn, whose brother Montigny was kept at Madrid by specious excuses, and the smiling mask was kept over Alba's grim face till all was ready.
Egmont had readily accepted that fateful invitation to dinner for the 9th of September, and even Horn had been persuaded to leave the security of his own country for the same purpose, when late on the night of the 8th a Spanish officer of apparently high rank came secretly to his (Egmont's) house in disguise and significantly warned him to escape at once, whilst there was yet time. To the last day of her life the Countess of Egmont was confident that this officer was Julian Romero;[5] but, whoever he was, Egmont neglected the warning and went to the feast next day. Sancho de Avila posted troops in all the streets leading to the house, to the wonder of the townsfolk, and on the stairs of the Hotel itself were stationed 200 stalwart harquebussiers under Colonel Julian Romero, who himself stood at the door of the room in which the treacherous arrest was to be effected.[6] At the given moment Sancho de Avila laid hands on Egmont, whilst Romero stood by and overawed any attempt of the Flemings at resistance.
At 11 o'clock in the morning of the 6th of June of the following year, the day that the Counts were to die, Julian it was who went to Egmont's chamber to conduct him to the scaffold on the great square in Brussels. He wished to tie the Count's hands, but the noble refused to be thus degraded. During Egmont's last few moments he turned in bitter anguish to Julian Romero and asked him earnestly whether the sentence was irrevocable, and whether a pardon might not, even now, be granted to him. Romero appeared to think that the Count's courage was failing him, and only answered by a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders and a negative sign; whereupon Egmont gnashed his teeth in silent rage and went to his death.[7]
Alba's severity for the moment paralysed all resistance on land, and only those "sea beggars," who afterwards secured the independence of the Netherlands, kept alive the tradition of Flemish patriotism. Some of the Spanish troops could therefore be dispensed with, particularly as Philip's treasury was empty of money to pay them, and many found their way back to Spain again. Amongst these was Julian Romero, who had married a wife of his own province a few years before (1565), and yearned for a spell of family joys far from war's alarms. His time of rest was but a short one. He was marked out now conspicuously as one of the most unscrupulous of Alba's officers, who could be depended upon in any emergency, and who was fanatically loyal to his sovereign and the faith for which he was fighting. An instance of this is given by Don Bernardino de Mendoza.[8] Certain soldiers under that officer were in treaty to enter into the service of the King of France—not a very great offence, one would think, in the eyes of Julian, who had himself served the King of England—and Alba, desirous of appearing impartial, had decided that the three ringleaders should be tried by their own comrades, appointing Julian as president of the tribunal. He sentenced them all to be shot, and on the decision being submitted to Alba, the latter made a long speech in praise of such severity, and highly commended Romero for his inflexibility. Philip was contemplating a job that called for such a man as this. He had been driven to desperation by Elizabeth's protection of the rebel Flemish privateers, and her seizure of his treasure, and had effusively welcomed Thomas Stukeley when he arrived in Madrid in 1570 with proposals for the invasion of Ireland and the raising of the country in favour of Philip. This would, at all events, keep Elizabeth's hands full, and Philip, being misled as to Stukeley's standing and influence, treated him with great honour. He had a large pension granted to him and a palace to reside in; he was made a Spanish knight, and Julian Romero, amongst others, was invited to confer with him as to the plans for the subjugation of Ireland. It was decided that Romero should take command of the expedition, if it were sent, and English spies soon got hold of the news and communicated it to the Queen. Philip was not long in finding out that Stukeley was a mere windbag, and very coolly got rid of him as soon as possible; but for many months after the Spanish king had abandoned the idea, when indeed he was in such straits us hardly to be able to hold his own, the dreaded name of Julian Romero was in everybody's mouth as the coming avenger of Philip's grievances against the English queen and her ministers.
One zealous spy named Reynolds Digby writes to Cecil from St. Jean de Luz on December 28, 1570, telling him of "the subtle and devilish practices against his country," and saying that the Duke of Medina Celi and Julian Romero had already embarked "a great store of ordnance for battery and field, great numbers of copper ovens, baskets, mattocks, and other stores, with 100 mule loads of money, the object being to go to Flanders, ship Alba and his army, and sail to Scotland for the purpose of attacking it and seizing the King."[9] There was no truth in it, but on the 25th of January, 1571, another spy named Hogan, living in Madrid, wrote saying that Romero was going to Ireland with 6,000 soldiers.[10] Walsingham, in Paris, reports the same news as being brought by French agents from Madrid, and the Spanish ambassador in England, evidently believed it, although he pretended not to do so, in his interviews with the English ministers.[11] Elizabeth herself was much alarmed, and wrote to Walsingham,[12] telling him to see the Spanish ambassador in Paris (Francés de Alava), and say "that she cannot believe the news sent her that there is an intention of sending Julian Romero or such like with a number of soldiers to Ireland to follow some vain device of these rebels, and she much wonders that the King should give credit to such a man as Stukeley, about whom no good can be said." The haughty Don Frances ("the proudest man I ever met," says Walsingham) told him that he had never heard of Stukeley, "and as for any attempts by Julian Romero to be done in Ireland, they were no Spaniards who had that enterprise in hand"—which was quite true, for Philip never intended to send a Spanish force, and indeed when, years after, he did aid an expedition, he ordered that all the commanders should be Italians.[13]
Philip wanted Romero for more important work than aiding Stukeley's hairbrained schemes. Alba was now face to face with a people in arms in Holland and Zeeland, under one of the greatest men of his age, the Prince of Orange. Cruel severity had only goaded the Netherlanders to desperation, and Alba, old and ill, felt that his method had failed. He was begging to be relieved from the conduct of the war, and the Duke of Medina Celi was sent to replace him, with Julian Romero in command of the reinforcements which accompanied him. Medina Celi himself never took possession of his vice-royalty, for Alba was too jealous to give it up, now that his health was somewhat better, and the fresh troops sent enabled him to act more vigorously; but Julian Romero got to work as soon as he set foot on shore. He had been partially disabled by a severe wound in the leg, but landed his men at the Sluys and at once joined Don Fadrique, Alba's son, before Mons; and on the 17th of July, 1572, only a few weeks after he landed, he led the first charge of the battle in which Fadrique beat the French Huguenot force who were trying to relieve Mons. Fadrique wrote to his father from the battlefield in enthusiastic praise of Julian, whom he coupled with the famous Italian General Chapin Vitelli, who, although severely wounded, behaved with great bravery. Unfortunately most of Genlis' troops that were captured were murdered in cold blood afterwards, it is to be feared with Julian Romero's full acquiescence, if nothing worse. He was now an important personage since his sojourn at Philip's Court, and in a letter to the King's secretary, Zayas, dated before Mons, August 23, 1572,[14] writes a full account of the state of affairs, in the wording of which there are now and again signs that he was still a bluff soldier.
"Holland," he says, "looks as ugly as ever, Friesland no better, and Zeeland much worse, but I look upon it all as nothing by the side of this Mons business, upon which I have set my heart. If we can only stop up this hole in the frontier the rest is only so much air; although we shall sweat if we are to camp before Mons all the winter, for we shall have to fight on skates." Julian's fears were groundless. The grim news of St. Bartholomew convinced the citizens of Mons that no help could reach them from the French Protestants, and only a month afterwards—the 22nd of September, 1572—Romero wrote a long account to Zayas of the surrender of the devoted town, which "he says we were very fortunate to get by surrender, for no troops but Spaniards could have taken it, so strong is it, and of Spaniards we have very few."
Then, swift and relentless as a thunderbolt, came Alba's vengeance on the southern provinces of Flanders, hopeless of succour now either from Orange or the French. Every town was to support a Spanish garrison or be put to the sword, and of all the cruel instruments for the work none were so much in tune with the mastermind as was Julian Romero. The rebel garrisons of most of the little towns had fled, there was but slight resistance, and Fadrique, on his march from Zutphen to Amsterdam in November, summoned the town of Naarden to admit the Spanish troops into the place. Some demur was made to this, but a few days afterwards the principal men of the town were sent after Fadrique, afraid of their own boldness, to discuss terms for submission. They were refused an interview, and told that a force had already been ordered to Naarden to compel compliance. The citizens, panic-stricken at the news, sent a deputation to offer complete unconditional submission, but before they could reach Fadrique's headquarters at Bussem they met Julian Romero on his way to Naarden, who told them that he had full authority to treat. Arrived at the town, he demanded the keys, which were surrendered to him on his solemn promise that the lives and properties of the townsfolk should be respected. He gave (says Hoofd, the historian) his hand thrice as a pledge of this, and no written pledge was exacted of him. From what we know of Julian Romero's temper we can well imagine this. Romero and his 600 harquebussiers entered the town and were hospitably received. A great feast was spread to do them honour at Burgomaster Gerrit's house. When the banquet was finished Romero collected his men in the great square and summoned the citizens to a conference in the town hall. The bell rang, and the citizens came, all unsuspecting, to hear the conditions imposed upon them; but when they were met, to the number of about six hundred, in the hall, Romero gave a signal at the door and his Spaniards fired a volley upon the closely packed crowd of unarmed men. Thenceforward the little town was a shambles; men, women, and children were all murdered amidst scenes of the most heartrending atrocity, and even infants were made sport of, being cast by the pikemen from spear to spear. The Burgomaster was roasted until he gave up all his fortune as ransom, and was then hanged at his own door-post in the presence of Romero and Don Fadrique, who had arrived the day after the massacre. Motley, who takes his account from Hoofd, has not added anything to the horror of the story, and it is confirmed by Alba himself in a letter to the King, saying, "They cut the throats of them all, soldiers and townspeople alike, without leaving a single soul alive." Strada says that this massacre had an entirely opposite effect to that expected. It aroused such fury and hate all over Flanders and Holland as to double the difficulty of Alba's task. Strada makes as light of it as possible, but even he says, "It really seems as if the vengeance wrought exceeded the fault. All the inhabitants alike, innocent and guilty, were killed, the houses burnt, the walls razed, and it looked more like a crime than a punishment."[15]
But Holland and Zeeland were made of different stuff to South Flanders, and the massacre of Naarden only caused Haarlem to be more obstinate in its determination to hold out at any cost. Fadrique and his army were before it in the bitter winter of 1572, and it became necessary for him to ensure an open passage between him and Utrecht, whence he drew his supplies. This was interfered with by a rebel fort on the outskirts of Haarlem, near the opposite bank of the Sparen to that upon which the road lay. This fort was flanked on two sides by water—on the one side, where the river was narrow, the defences were impregnable; whilst on the other flank, where the stream opened out and was considered impassable, the fort was otherwise undefended. Early in December spies reported to Fadrique that at certain states of the tide the broad water might be forded and the fort attacked by surprise on its undefended side. His letter to his father detailing how this was done is still at Simancas.[16] He says that at daybreak he sent Julian Romero with 400 picked harquebussiers to attempt the task. Count Bossu and other experienced soldiers had said that it was impossible, but Romero insisted upon attempting it. The water reached above the knees of the men, and the ice had to be broken at every step; the ford was very narrow, and a false step precipitated the armed men into deep water. The men in the fort discovered them and opened fire, and for a full hour they thus skirmished in the frozen river, when they found that a rebel force from the town, equal to their own, had crossed the river on the ice higher up, and were attacking them from their own bank, so that they were between two fires. Romero drew his men out of the river, charged the new force and drove them back over the ice again. But in their flight they showed him the way across the ice as well, and how by that road the undefended side of the fort might be reached. With incredible dash he crossed after them and stormed the fort on that side, carried it with pike and musket only, and, as Fadrique tells the Duke, cut the throat of every man who did not escape by flight. Fadrique is quite enthusiastic about Romero's share in the affair. The "heretics," he says, showed surprising bravery, and the fort was of enormous strength—"the best I ever saw." "I thought we were fighting beasts, but I find we have to do with men." "Colonel Julian has carried himself in this action as splendidly as he always does and is as eager as ever to serve his Majesty. He marched for a good league and half with the water over his knees, skirmishing with the fort, before the Haarlem force came. Just think of it, your Excellency; marching like this with such a leg as Julian's! I can assure you that a better soldier than he for dash and enterprise never came from our country. Pray thank him warmly for he richly deserves it." Only a few days later Julian was once more to the fore. Lumay, Count de la Mark, made an attempt to relieve Haarlem with a large force, but was beaten by the Spaniards, "Julian with his regiment," we are told by an anonymous eyewitness,[17] "leading the attack in front of every one." Encouraged by this victory, the Spaniards a week afterwards—the 20th of December, 1572—attempted to take the place by storm, but were unsuccessful. Julian was standing on a trench directing operations when a musket-shot destroyed one of his eyes, but even that did not put him hors de combat for long, for he writes to the Duke's secretary, Albernoz, on the 13th of the next month (January, 1573) from Amsterdam: "I have been impatiently expecting Illan's arrival, in order that I might go to the front, but if he comes not I am determined I will wait no longer, but will set out to-morrow; for I see that things are now going to begin in real earnest. I am pretty well, but not so well as I want to be to serve Don Fadrique; but I will do so with all my poor strength, standing or falling. He has sent me word that I must go and lodge in his quarters or he will burn mine down over my head. I will obey him in this as in all things, and although I know full well I shall not lack for dainties there, I will not spare you from sending me the other box of marmalade you promised me, as the one you sent is half gone already."
For the next six months each step in the terrible siege of Haarlem is related in the letters from Don Fadrique, Caspar de Robles, and Romero himself. Wherever fighting was going on Colonel Julian was always in the front rank, and we hear of him creeping forward from month to month nearer to the devoted city as death and famine make it weaker. Romero's own letter to Alba of the 25th of May, 1573,[18] gives the best account I have read of the incidents of the siege from the Spanish point of view, although neither that nor any other of the series I have mentioned appears ever to have been utilised by historians. When at last, in July, 1575, the famished heroes in the city surrendered, Julian Romero was deputed to accompany Count Bossu to the wood where the submission was to be arranged, and himself to hold the town gate that no soul should issue therefrom without due warrant. Of the cruel massacre of the starving people which followed Julian Romero does not boast, but it may be not uncharitably assumed that he played his usual sympathetic part in it. Certain it is that no sooner was it over than Colonel Julian, with an army of 4,000 men, commenced his fell march over Holland. Mendoza[19] says: "Julian entered by the Dunes as far as the Hague, taking Catwyk, Walkemburg, Wassenaer, Naeldwyk, St. Geradique, Squelpewyk Noortwyk, Vlaerdingen, the fort of Mansendus, where he cut the throats of St. Aldegonde and 600 men, Minister, Gravesande, &c." And then he went towards Leyden, which was being besieged by Valdes. Morgan, writing to Lord Burleigh from Delft[20] on the 12th of November, 1575, represents the Dutch burghers as completely cowed for the moment by Romero's ferocity. He says: "Julian with his 4,000 men is entrenched half-way between the Hague and Delft, cutting off all communication between the latter place and Leyden."
But by this time Alba felt that cruelty had failed to crush Orange and the Zeelanders, supported as they were by England and helped by the German princes; and sated as even he was of blood, he determined to give up the struggle and allow another policy to be tried. Romero was tired of it too, and wished to retire with his chief. Alba himself wrote to the King from Brussels on the 15th of December, 1573.[21] "Colonel Julian Romero has served here in the way your Majesty has been informed. He had returned here from Holland, determined to go to Spain and beseech your Majesty to allow him to rest at home, seeing that he has served for 40 years. When your Majesty's letter for him had been handed to him and I had myself impressed upon him how much he would be missed here at the present juncture, he consented to send Captain Illan to Spain on his private affairs, whilst he still remains in the service here. I pray your Majesty to take such measures for rewarding Julian's many services as they deserve. I can assure you that what he has done in this campaign alone places your Majesty under a deep obligation to him. He is one of the most useful men of his quality that I have ever known, and I shall warmly welcome any mark of favour your Majesty may confer upon him."
Romero's own letter to the King to accompany this plainly tells how much the hard old soldier yearned for rest. "I have been," he says, "in your Majesty's service now in this guise for well-nigh forty years, without leaving it for a single hour; my work in this campaign has been, as your Majesty knows, extremely hard, and as I have lost the full use of my legs, arms, and eyes, I besought the Duke to give me leave to go home, which he did. When I went to Brussels to take leave of him a letter was handed to me from your Majesty ordering me not to leave these States. I obey your Majesty's orders, but the Duke and the Grand Commander (Requesens) have given me leave to send Captain Illan to beg your Majesty personally to let me go and see my home again. I need greatly to go, as is proved by my asking to do so now, for otherwise I would not even go if I had leave."
Philip was the most ungenerous and ungrateful of employers, and for reasons which presently will be stated it is doubtful whether Julian's devotion was rewarded as Alba recommended that it should be, notwithstanding a letter in the Record Office[22] from one of the many false Englishmen then in Spanish Flanders, written to a Captain Windebanke in Elizabeth's service. The writer was trying to get Windebanke to play the traitor, and deplores that so good a captain should be so scurvily rewarded by the Queen, whose penuriousness he compares with Philip's (entirely imaginary) liberality. "Captain Julian Romero," he says, "whom I knew a poor captain in Ireland, is now worth £2,000, and has a pension of a thousand ducats." The writer was probably false in his facts as he was in his patriotism, for I can find no record of Julian's ever having been in Ireland, and only a few months after the date of the letter we have his own word that he was almost in indigence.
The new Viceroy, Requesens, was to try to do by conciliation what Alba had failed to effect by severity. It was time to adopt a new policy, for Southern Flanders was now nearly as disaffected as Holland, and Zeeland was entirely in the hands of the Gueux. Its capital, Middleburg, was held by Mondragon and his Spaniards, but he was closely beleaguered by the rebels and in the direst straits. Mondragon was one of the best and bravest of the commanders on the Spanish side, whose heroic relief of Tergoes still remains one of the brightest feats of war ever performed, he had informed Requesens that, unless he were relieved with food and stores, he should be forced to lay down his sword and give up Middleburg to the despised "beggars of the sea"; so the new Viceroy's first duty was to send aid to Middleburg and Ramua. Two fleets were fitted out for the purpose in January, 1574, one consisting of large ships under the famous Sancho de Avila was to go by the main Scheldt and the Hundt, rather for the purpose of diverting the rebel force than for any other action, whilst nine standards of soldiers under Romero, and a great quantity of stores, were to go in a fleet of seventy-two canal boats, barges, galliots, and crookstems, through the narrow channels by way of Bergen-op-Zoom to the besieged town. The naval commander was to have been De Beauvoir, with Glimes as second in command. The former fell ill, and the Viceroy gave the chief control to Romero, who protested that he was a soldier and not a sailor, but at last consented to take the command.
The expedition began badly. Requesens came to the quay of Antwerp to see it depart; Romero's flagship led the way, and as a salvo of honour was fired, a gun on one of the boats burst, and the craft sank with all hands. Then the leader looked behind and found several of his vessels lagging. Antwerp itself was riddled with disaffection, and the Flemish sailors had given him the slip, so the boats had to be left behind. Then Romero and his fleet dropped down the river and anchored near Bergen, opposite Romerswald, to await another tide, Requesens, the Viceroy, proceeding to the same place by road to witness the final departure of the expedition from Bergen. At daybreak on the 21st the rebel fleet, under Boisot, Admiral of Flanders, was seen to be approaching them from the open water opposite. Romero's fleet was surrounded by shallows and sand-banks, and largely manned by Flemish sailors whose loyalty, to say the least of it, was doubtful, and de Glimes, seeing the danger, begged his chief not to fight. Cardinal Bentivoglio[23] says: "The Vice-Admiral would not have fought, knowing the great disadvantage on his side. The enemy's ships were many more in number, but Romero, either because his valour blinded his judgment, or from his want of knowledge of maritime affairs, or perhaps because the risk was forced upon him by Mondragon's urgent need, insisted upon fighting." The disaster that followed is ascribed by Bentivoglio to treachery of Romero's Flemish sailors, but, be that as it may, de Glimes' ship first stranded, and others immediately followed, and, thus helpless, were exposed to a galling musketry fire. Captain Osorio with other ships went to the aid of de Glimes and immediately met with the same fate. Greek fire was thrown into the Spanish vessels, and many of them were burnt to the water's edge, the Viceroy the while standing on the dyke helplessly witnessing the destruction of his force. When de Glimes, the Vice-Admiral, had been killed, and his part of the fleet destroyed, the rebels, acquainted as they were with the intricate passages, came alongside of Romero's flagship, grappling with it and with its consorts. Boisot's decks towered high over the canal boats, and the crews shot down from their superior position until nearly all the Spaniards were killed, when at last a round shot crashed through the timbers of the flagship, and Romero, fearing she was foundering, jumped overboard on the land side with his few surviving comrades. He came up spluttering and floundering within a few feet of the Viceroy, who stood upon the bank. As he dragged himself up the dyke he blurted out with a voice as vigorous as when he was giving the command to charge, "I told your Excellency how it would be! You knew I was no sailor but a foot soldier and nothing else. No more fleets for me; if you gave me a hundred I should probably lose them all." Requesens gave a graceful and generous answer, but the blow was a heavy one for the Spanish power, for Middleburg and Ramua surrendered to the rebels, and henceforward for ever Zeeland was lost to King Philip.[24] Seven hundred of the Spanish force were killed, as was Boisot, the Flemish admiral, and Romero's ship, with all his papers and instructions, fell into the hands of the enemy.
Romero was sick at heart. Requesens' mild temporising looked to Alba's iron lieutenant like lamentable weakness. There was only one way for Julian to meet heresy and the assertion of independence, and that was by extermination. Philip apparently had sent him no rewards, or even thanks, for his staying after Alba left, and had simply ignored his prayer for leave to return home. This was nothing new, for the King always treated his most faithful servants thus, but bluff Julian probably did not know this at the time, and was bitterly disappointed. After his defeat at Bergen he busied himself for some months in planning fortifications and re-organising the forces, which Requesens had found in a state of almost open mutiny for want of pay. By the end of June his task was done, and affairs in South Flanders were looking much more tranquil. No answer came from Madrid to Julian, who, sick and mortified, counted the hours for the time when he might see his home again. In June he wrote an interesting letter to the Viceroy, which deserves to be repeated nearly in full. After recommending the names of five officers for the future command of the forces he says:[25] "I must now address you with my customary frankness and clearness, and disabuse your mind, for once and for all, of the idea that any offers or promises from his Majesty, or any one else, will make me waver in my determination to return home next September. Nothing but my own death shall stand in the way of this, so urgent is my need to go; since my soul's health and the welfare of my wife and children depend upon it, and the least of these reasons would be sufficient to make me firm in my resolve. I have long wished to go but have deferred it because my services here were so much required. I very unwillingly consented to stay when the Duke of Alba left; with the sole object of being by your Excellency's side whilst you were new to your position. I have been well repaid by the pleasure of knowing you and would still serve you with all love and zeal, but the moment now has arrived beyond which I cannot, and will not, stay. You may judge whether I need go when I say that I have served his Majesty 40 years next Christmas without once resting from the wars and my duty. I have lost in the service an arm, a leg, an eye, and an ear; and the rest of my person is so seared with wounds that I suffer incessantly. I have now just lost a dear son upon whom I built all my hopes—and with good reason as the whole army will bear witness. You will judge whether such troubles as these are not enough to break down my health and spirits. Moreover I married nine years ago, thinking that I might have some rest, but since then I have never been an entire year at home. I have spent during my service nearly all the money I had with my wife, and although I have a daughter at home, and one here of marriageable age, I can do nothing to help them; except with the trifle still left of my wife's money. I can, moreover, see plainly that this is being exhausted by me at such a rate, that unless I can get home at once, both my wife and myself will have to end our days in the poor-house. You are so Christian a prince that I feel sure you will not try to hinder my resolution, for, believe me, it is not for the purpose of exalting or selling myself at a higher price that I urge it. If when I have been home the King still thinks I may be useful, I will try with all my heart, but it must be in some place where I may set up my home and have my wife by my side, for without her, all the world shall not make me stir. I think I have already well deserved by my sufferings and long service any favours his Majesty has conferred upon me."
To this affecting and dignified letter the Viceroy replied saying that he would no longer stand in the way. He had written four or five times already to the King, urging him to fitly reward Julian's great services, and had reason to believe that something would shortly be done, but he had again written in the most pressing terms begging the King not to neglect so good and true a servant. A day or two afterwards Romero again wrote to the Viceroy another manly letter, which shows how bitterly he felt the King's indifference to him. He says: "With reference to your Excellency's kindness in begging his Majesty to reward me, I am constrained to beseech that no further great effort should be made. I will endeavour to pass the few years left to me as decently as I can, and if I cannot have everything I desire I am already as reconciled to leave it all as one who has the candle in his hand. God is my witness that I have never served the King for lucre; no, that has never been my target! True it is that I am cut to the heart to see his Majesty extend his favours to others, who were suckling at the breast when I was already a veteran, whilst he forgets me, but this I lay to my ill luck and to God's will that I should remain a poor man. But naked I was born; I have lived honourably and I care for naught else. Pray therefore, trouble yourself no further on my account. I trust before my departure hence God will settle the affairs of these States. At this season of the year there is little stirring, and if when I have been home and set my house in order, your Excellency should remain in your present straits; I pledge my word as a Christian to come and serve again with all my strength. If I were a batchelor and as hale as I used to be, you should see what I would do. Worcum, June 27, 1574."
If Romero's desire of seeing his home again was fulfilled, as it probably was, his visit must have been of short duration, for in October of the next year he was commanding thirty standards of troops before Zerusee, and endeavoured to capture an island near Dortrecht, but was beaten by the Prince of Orange himself with the loss of 800 men.[26]
Early in the following year things had reached an acute stage. Requesens was dead, and Don Juan of Austria, his successor, had not arrived. The mercenaries in the Spanish service, unpaid and chafing at inaction, were in open mutiny, and were plundering and maltreating friends and foes indifferently to indemnify themselves. The Council of State, mostly Flemish and Walloon nobles, were profoundly divided, and already were doing their best to hold their own against the savage Spanish soldiery. Brussels was held by Walloon troops in the interests of the Council of State, the Spanish troops in the neighbourhood being under the command of Romero. By the middle of March the Council were obliged to meet and devise some means of pacifying the mutineers by raising money to pay them, "without which many strange seditions must happen." They agreed with Romero to pay certain soldiers forty crowns each, to satisfy them until the arrival of the new Governor, and then sent him to parley with the mutineers. Strada says they would not listen to him, but in any case most of his men fraternised with and joined them. On his return to Brussels he was again sent by the Council against the rebel Spaniards who had gone towards Maestricht. English agents in Flanders[27] report that he had arranged a plot to be carried out in his absence. He had left 200 of his men in Brussels, and the plan was for Count Barlemont, one of the Council, to deliver the keys of the city to them, in order that the mutineers, and probably Romero with them, should enter the city and sack it. The plot was discovered, and Barlemont deprived of the keys, and after Romero had fruitlessly been to Maestricht, he found on his return to Brussels the citizens in a frenzy of rage against the Spaniards in consequence of the massacres at Alost and elsewhere by the mutineers. The infuriated Flemings tore to pieces a servant of Jerome Rodas, the leading Spanish councillor, and the latter, with Romero and Vargas, had to fly for their lives to the stronghold in the palace. Henceforward the Flemish Council and the Spaniards were completely estranged. The Council proclaimed the mutineers rebels against the King, whilst Rodas assumed to be Philip's sole representative.
Philip was in deep distress at the news.[28] Romero was to be warmly thanked, the Council must disband their forces, money would be sent, Don Juan would soon arrive, and all would be settled. In the meantime, however, the forces of the Council were attacking the mutineers at Ghent, Maestricht, Alost, and elsewhere, and the Spanish commanders, Sancho de Avila, Romero, Vargas, &c., whilst ostensibly condemning them, were constrained daily to side more with their fellow-countrymen. Romero at last escaped from Brussels and fortified himself at Lierre, where a considerable force gradually joined him. The Council sent word that they would attack him if he did not submit to their authority, but when they attempted to do so his force, with that of Vargas, routed the States troops. The massacre which followed is explained by Mendoza by the fact that the Spaniards were hot-headed youngsters, which they were not, but he is evidently ashamed of it. A large number of spectators, students from Louvain and others, had come out to see the fight. They were all slaughtered, as were soldiers and civilians, armed and unarmed, men and women, without quarter and without mercy, up to the very gates of Louvain. Thenceforward all hope of restraint was lost. The Spanish soldiery were so many bloodthirsty wild beasts, making no distinction between Flemish friends or foes, and it was war to the knife on both sides. Romero's headquarters were still at Lierre, although he kept up a close connection with the mutineers at Alost, and his men seem to have outdistanced others in their savagery, no attempt to moderate which appears to have been made by their chief. Savage Rodas himself got frightened in October, and wrote to the King that the Spanish soldiers were pillaging on all sides, and if some remedy were not sent soon from Spain, all would go to perdition.[29]
Wherever Romero had a chance of fighting the States forces he did so, and Mendoza gives particulars of many brilliant skirmishes in which the Spaniards were successful, but which usually ended in an indiscriminate massacre of Flemings. Sancho de Avila in the Antwerp citadel the while was keeping up a close communication with the mutineers at Alost, Ghent, and other places, whilst the citizens were collecting such forces of Walloons and German mercenaries as they could. Sancho at last was informed that unless he ceased to send aid to Alost he himself would be held as a rebel to the King. This was a signal that he must either submit to the dictation of the despised Flemish Council or fight, and he chose the latter alternative. He sent out messengers on all sides for the Spaniards to concentrate in Antwerp, and soon Romero started out from Lierre with all his men. On his way he met the main body of malcontents from Alost and greeted them with effusion. Vargas with his men joined them also, and on the 4th of November they all entered the citadel of Antwerp together. The townsmen and their troops had already begun to run up earthworks to defend themselves against the bloodthirsty marauders who had made a shambles of Alost, Maestricht, and wherever else they had gained the upper hand. The rich booty of Antwerp, and the thirst for blood, they knew would launch the greedy hawks from the citadel upon the panting quarry below, and they determined to sell their lives and property dearly. Hungry and tired as the Alost men were on their arrival at daybreak, no meal would they consume until, as they said, they could break their fast in Antwerp. Slaking their thirst and firing their brains only with wine, by eleven o'clock before noon they were ready for the struggle. Then with solemn prayer and blessing of banners as a preparation for their fell work, they swept down in three bodies to the town to the aggregate number of about 6,000 men. The scene that followed has often been described, and need not be repeated here. In a few hours the richest city in Christendom was a ravished corpse of its former self. Romero, with his stalwarts of Spaniards and Almains, entered the city by the St. George's gate and swept along the street of St. Michael, driving weak young Egmont before him into a church at the end, where the Count was taken.
Everywhere the Walloons turned and fled before the Spaniards. The brave Champigny, Granvelle's brother, did his best heroically; the townsmen, unused to arms, made what resistance they could, but the States troops were worse than useless, and butchery was the only order of the day. In the great square every house was occupied by Sancho de Avila's men, who kept up a fusilade upon the frightened crowds of unarmed people huddled together in the doorways. Soon the curling smoke showed that the rich stores of merchandise, the noble palaces of the merchant princes, and the lowly cottages of the artisans were alike doomed to wanton destruction. The Spaniards, drunk with blood, blind with rage, spared neither age, sex, nor faith; and with one great gust of fury swept like a blight over the doomed city. When the blood-lust was partly sated, it was found that 6,000 unarmed people at least had been slaughtered, and 6,000,000 ducats worth of property stolen, with as much again burnt. The States infantry had all fled or been killed. The Catholic Flemish nobles were scattered and lost, and the Spaniards had Antwerp beneath their talons. Strada says that the massacre and plunder were as much the work of the Walloons and Germans as of the Spaniards, and bears testimony to the efforts of the Spanish leaders to restrain the fury of their men, mentioning Sancho de Avila, Mondragon, and others as having exerted their influence to that end, but markedly omits the name of Romero. Rodas, writing to the King a day after the fight, says the town was sacked against orders, and that Avila, Romero, and Vargas, used great diligence to stop plunder. "They deserve," he says, "well of his Majesty for the services they have rendered in this great victory." Dr. Wilson, who certainly was not prejudiced in favour of the Spaniards, says, on the other hand, in a letter to Walsingham of the 13th of November,[30] that he fears the Spaniards much less than the English refugees, "who are said to have done the greatest murders and most horrible above all others, and all Englishmen are hated for their sake."
Flemings of every faith were welded together now against the wreckers of their homes, and even those nobles who, through all the evil past had stood by Spain, the Perennots, the Croys, the Montmorencis, the Zweveghems, were at one with the Protestants of the North. Don Juan found himself, when he arrived, in face of a united people glowing with indignation, and determined to prevent the destruction of its liberties, strong enough now to force terms upon him. The first demand of the Flemings was that all Spaniards should withdraw from Flanders, and the second that Rodas, Avila, and Romero should lose their heads for their share in the massacres. To the first demand the Prince was forced to accede, with the second he fenced diplomatically; and soon Romero was on the march at the head of his men going from Flanders to Italy with the curses of all Flemings following him.
Don Juan could not brook for long the dictation and exactions of the Council, he took the bit between his teeth, seized the citadel of Namur, defied them all to do their worst, and made up his mind to fight it out in spite of the King's orders. Then the veteran forces, by which Alba had crushed the Low Countries, the bloodthirsty savages who had ravished them before, were once more recalled from Italy, late in 1577. Romero was designated for the chief command of an army of 6,000 men who were to act subsequently under Alexander Farnese in Flanders. He was starting on his march from Cremona at the head of his force, when the war-worn old soldier, without a moment's warning, fell from his horse, dead. He breathed his last as he had lived, full-armed and harnessed for the fray, surrounded by the fierce soldiery he had led so often. Strada says his death caused the deepest grief, as he was looked upon as the mainstay of the new attempt to dominate the Flemings. Another contemporary historian, Cabrera de Cordova, wrote of him, "his loss caused profound sorrow by reason of the urgent need for his valour and experience, which had enabled him to rise from a common soldier to be a general, whilst his prowess and knowledge of war well deserved, the last promotion to the rank in which he died, namely, that of commander-in-chief of great enterprises."
For some years even after his death his name was used to threaten England with, and the presence of another younger Captain Julian with the Spanish auxiliaries to the Irish rebellion of 1579-80 gave rise to many trembling rumours that the terrible Romero himself was there.
But he is forgotten now, even in his own country; the cause he fought for, the supremacy of Catholicism, has been beaten everywhere but in Spain, where stern intolerance, and indifference to personal suffering still linger as things to be proud of. It has seemed to me, however, that the devotion, the valour, and the self-sacrifice of the rough soldier who rose to be "commander-in-chief of great enterprises," dimmed though they be by cruel ferocity, might well be rescued in this gentler age from the oblivion in which they lay so long.
[1] "Chronicle of Henry VIII.," edited by Martin A. S. Hume. London, 1889.
[2] Jean de Beaugé, "Histoire de la guerre d'Ecosse," 1548-9. Maitland Club.
[3] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).
[4] Ibid.
[5] Motley.
[6] "Documentos ineditos para la historia de España," vol. lxxv.
[7] Motley.
[8] "Comentarios de las Guerras de los paises bajos." Mendoza.
[9] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).
[10] Ibid.
[11] Calendar of State Papers (Elizabeth), Spanish, vol. ii.
[12] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).
[13] Calendar of State Papers (Elizabeth), Spanish, vol. ii.
[14] "Simancas Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.
[15] Strada, "De Bello Belgico."
[16] "Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.
[17] "Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.
[18] "Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.
[19] "Comentario de las Guerras de los paises bajos."
[20] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).
[21] "Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.
[22] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).
[23] "Guerra di Fiandra."
[24] The account of this disaster is taken from three contemporary accounts—Mendoza's "Comentarios de la Guerra de los paises bajos"; Strada's "De Bello Belgico," and Bentivoglio's "Guerra di Fiandra."
[25] "Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.
[26] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).
[27] Herll to Burleigh, Rogers to Walsingham, and Harise to Burleigh. Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).
[28] Philip to Rodas. Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).
[29] Rodas to Philip (intercepted). Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).
[30] State Papers (Domestic).
THE COMING OF PHILIP THE PRUDENT.
PHILIP AND MARY (After the painting by Antonio Mor.)
PHILIP AND MARY
(After the painting by Antonio Mor.)