geese," he asked, "that it can fly over rivers like the Meuse?"
Nevertheless it was true. The outlawed, exiled Prince stood once more on
the borders of Brabant, with an army of disciplined troops at his back.
His banners bore patriotic inscriptions. "Pro Lege, Rege, Grege," was
emblazoned upon some. A pelican tearing her breast to nourish her young
with her life-blood was the pathetic emblem of others. It was his
determination to force or entice the Duke of Alva into a general
engagement. He was desirous to wipe out the disgrace of Jemmingen.
Could he plant his victorious standard thus in the very heart of the
country, he felt that thousands would rally around it. The country would
rise almost to a man, could he achieve a victory over the tyrant, flushed
as he was with victory, and sated with blood.

With banners flying, drums beating, trumpets sounding, with all the pomp
and defiance which an already victorious general could assume, Orange
marched into Brabant, and took up a position within six thousand paces of
Alva's encampment. His plan was at every hazard to dare or to decoy his
adversary into the chances of a stricken field. The Governor was
entrenched at a place called Keiserslager, which Julius Caesar had once
occupied. The city of Maestricht was in his immediate neighbourhood,
which was thus completely under his protection, while it furnished him
with supplies. The Prince sent to the Duke a herald, who was to propose
that all prisoners who might be taken in the coming campaign should be
exchanged instead of being executed. The herald, booted and spurred,
even as he had dismounted from his horse, was instantly hanged. This was
the significant answer to the mission of mercy. Alva held no parley with
rebels before a battle, nor gave quarter afterwards.

In the meantime, the Duke had carefully studied the whole position of
affairs, and had arrived at his conclusion. He was determined not to