THE INQUISITOR’S SECRETARY

Editor’s Note:

Due to an oversight this portion of The Inquisitor’s Secretary was omitted in the August issue. We regret this error but hope our readers will connect this portion with the final installment in September.

With an urgency of conviction as he had never felt before when preaching to an assembled crowd, Harm spoke to his son. And when he had come to the end of his story, and got the Bible from underneath the straw, the Bible Harm had bought for Hidde’s mother, and took from it the lock of Adrian’s hair; when Harm handed this lock to his son and quoted the words: “Tell me brother Hidde that I count on it to meet him on high in the City with the golden streets” — then the clerk burst out in bitter lamentations.

“I cannot, I cannot go along with you!”

“With my God all things are possible!” Harm Hiddesz exclaimed.

With a burdened heart Hidde took leave from his father and promised that he would soon come again.

That day and all night Harm Hiddesz spent in prayer. No food passed his lips. His prayer was one continuous wrestling with God, one continuous pleading on His promise. “I will not let Thee go, O Lord God, until Thou hast blessed me, until Thou hast given me my child back again also spiritually. O mighty God of Jacob, break the chains and fetters that bind my Hidde to error and superstition. Descend with Thy Holy Spirit into his heart. Set him free, Lord God Almighty, as Thou hast set me free!” Locked behind bars and with the prospect of death at the stake, Harm Hiddesz boasted of his freedom!

While the imprisoned servant of the gospel wrestled on his knees in prayer that night, the Inquisitor’s secretary paced the floor of his bedroom, greatly disturbed. How could he lie down on soft down while his father had to sleep on straw in a damp, cold cell?

In the stillness of the night, broken only now and then by the monotonous cry of the night-watchman, he again and again heard the prayer of his father and saw in his mind the little lad, whom he had known only as an innocent infant in a cradle, on his deathbed.

Indeed, it was not an evil dream that vexed him, for the lock of hair, which the dying brother had assigned to him, lay there in front of him before the crucifix on the table.

According to the teaching of his church, this brother, as well as his mother, had died in heresy, and both were a prey of Satan and his demons. And soon he would have to behold that his father would again be taken before the court of religious inquiry, and he would have to witness the most cruel tortures which they undoubtedly would inflict upon him. It seemed as if he again heard how the suspected heretic unfolded before him the doctrine of justification. A terrible conflict raged in Hidde’s soul. Had not Del Castro only recently reminded him of the words of Holy Scripture; “He who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me”? What were all the sorrows of the past years compared with the fears that now gripped his heart?

He realized that he had to make a definite choice; either he must choose in favor of the church, and consequently follow her orders and be a persecutor of simple souls, but at the same time become guilty of the blood of his own father; or he had to choose in favor of his father, but that meant that he would be forever outside the church, along with all heretics, and facing eternal damnation.

These were moments of great anxiety for the clerk. He fell on his knees before the statue of Mary that stood in the corner of the room on a sort of pedestal. In vain he besought Our Lady and all the saints to show him the light in this grievous hour, if necessary even by way of a miracle, a supernatural apparition, or something of that kind, to deliver him from his doubts and to show him the way he had to go.

At the same time a prayer as sent up in the prison cell, but not before a statue of Mary bathing in the light of candles, but before the throne of grace, with a pleading on God’s promise: “My spirit that is upon thee, and my words which I have put in thy mouth, shall not depart out of thy mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of the mouth of thy seed’s seed, saith the Lord, from henceforth and for ever.” And the eternally faithful One to whom Harm Hiddesz prayed did not turn a deaf ear to his pleas. He was not a man that He should lie, nor a son of man that He should regret a thing. The Lord would gloriously fulfill His covenant promise on which His servant pleaded.

Although Hidde was not added to the flock of Christ that very night yet, nevertheless his name had been written, already from eternity, in the book of life, and the Lord had reserved for him a new name which he, engraved upon a white stone, would receive out of the hand of God.

When morning dawned, Hidde had made his decision. He would do everything possible to get his father out of the country and across the border to safety; and even though he by so doing denied his calling and became unfaithful to the vows which he had vowed in the Roman church, that could not be helped. He would afterwards, when they were once in a foreign country where he was unknown, enter a monastery and do penance the rest of his life. This was Hidde’s decision.

The entire morning the clerk was working in the presence of Del Castro on the papers that would be used against his father, all the while contemplating on ways and means to free his father from prison.

When the Inquisitor left in the afternoon to pay separate visits to the Bailiff and the Magistrates, Hidde hurried over to Holy Cross Tower. The soldiers of the guard arose respectfully when the young priest, the secretary of the Inquisitor, approached the gate. The jailer opened every door with the readiness and humility which he showed to any member of the “Holy Court.”

Bouke, whom the clerk had beckoned, again led him to the cell of his father, who had been waiting for him a long time already. After a fervent embrace Hidde told about the battle he had fought that night and about his intention to run away, if possible, with his father.

“How can I run away and endanger your life and that of others?” Harm Hiddesz asked. “I am ready to give my life, if the Lord so demands!”

“I believe that you allow yourself to be carried away by your enthusiasm, Father,” Hidde replied. “If a way of escape can be found, I believe that you must accept it. You have, according to your convictions, a holy calling; well then, why should you abandon that calling? Or would you rather see that I stayed in the service of the Inquisition? As far as I am concerned, I shudder from all those tortures and I do not wish to pollute my hands with others’ blood, not even that of heretics. I shall travel with you; I shall take care of papers that will open a way to the border, and after that, well, then we can talk again and maybe each can go his town way.”

Harm Hiddesz sighed. He might not reject Hidde’s proposition. He already anticipated that he could bring his son in a different environment, under the influence of the gospel; so he accepted Hidde’s plan.

The great difficulty was, however, how to get unnoticed through all those guards. For some minutes the two men pondered silently on this problem, when suddenly Bouke appeared, who had heard the conversation between father and son from beginning to end.

Hidde was startled, but his father put him at ease and then informed him who Bouke was.

“With the Lord’s help I will get you out of the tower,” the servant said, and he told them a plan of escape which he had carefully considered and for which he had already made preparations several days before.

Bouke showed them two brand-new keys. Since he carried the key to Harm’s cell, he had made an impression of it in wax and had the blacksmith make a copy of it. Even though he had to turn in the regular key to the jailer after Harm’s visitor had left, he could now unlock the cell of the prisoner any time he wished.

“And what about the other key?” Hidde asked.

“That one is to take us outside,” Bouke answered. “At the end of the corridor, where the torture chamber is, there is a small door. That door leads, after descending a few stone steps, to the water, that flows underneath a big cement arch to the River Ij. Underneath that arch is, unseen by pedestrians above, the boat in which many a heretical woman, bound in a sack, has been taken to the middle of the Ij at night, there to be thrown into the water.”

Hidde shuddered at the thought of such cruelty.

“Of the key to that door I have also made an impression, and the key patterned from it fits perfectly. So when your son Hidde takes care of the necessary papers, there is only one difficulty left.”

“What is that?” Hidde asked.

“How do we get the money for the journey?”

“That is no objection!” Harm exclaimed. “My mantle does not serve only as a protection from the cold; it is also a safe hiding place for my money. In the collar of my mantle I sewed several gold pieces to use in time of need, and it was mainly for this reason that I sent for this piece of clothing to Hannes’s.”

The three men now decided that they should not wait long to carry out their plan, and it was agreed that they should try to venture the undertaking that same evening.

After discussing some further details, Harm Hiddesz and Bouke knelt down, and even Hidde, gripped by the seriousness of the moment, knelt with them. After a fervent prayer, in which Harm besought God for His help and assistance, Hidde left the cell in order to start immediately with his work at home.

Del Castro had not returned yet. Filled with apprehension, Hidde hurriedly prepared a number of seals with the imprint of the Provincial Inquisitor, and attached them to an equal number of parchments. After that he went to his bedroom and wrote the documents exactly in the form of the safe-conducts of that time.

At about eleven o’clock, at which time the streets in Amsterdam were completely empty, he carefully went outside. Instead of his long priestly robe, he now wore a short jerkin which he had been able to secure.

When he reached the River Ij, he kept his eye on the dark passage from which, according to the plan, the boat was to appear, carrying his father and Bouke.

Unbrokenly he stared at that one point. The bells had announced the hour, at which the boat was to appear, a long time ago already, and he worriedly wondered whether the plan had possibly failed.

But then he saw some movement. The boat approached. With one jump Hidde was beside his father. “Where’s Bouke?” he asked, seeing that his father was alone.

“Caught!” Harm Hiddesz answered, agitatedly. “Here, take an oar, and quick, quick, if your life is dear to you!”

What had happened?

Everything had gone well and according to plan until Harm Hiddesz and Bouke had reached the door that led to the water.

But Bouke, not quite familiar with all the precautions that were taken in the prison to prevent escaping, had not counted on the night rounds. He had just turned the key in the lock when two armed watchmen had appeared in the corridor.

Bouke had immediately seen the danger they were in. “Run! Run!” he had screamed at Harm Hiddesz.

“Not alone!” Harm had said in reply. “Run!” Bouke had repeated, pushing Harm down the stairway. “Think of your son!”

At the same time he had slammed the iron door shut behind Harm, clutched the key in his iron fist, and awaited determinedly the watchmen who had leaped at him. “Betrayer!” one had shouted “give me that key!”

“Never, as long as I live!” Bouke had answered.

A fearful struggle had ensued in the corridor, which now had been completely dark, as Bouke had knocked the lantern out of the hand of one of the guards.

“Saved! I thank Thee, O my God, they are saved!” had been his last words, and the faithful servant had fallen as a sacrifice for his brethren’s sake.

“The key, the key!” they had screamed. “The heretic is escaping.”

But Bouke had held on to it.

Suddenly a scream had resounded that had re-echoed to the furthest vaults.

One of the guards had thrust his short dagger to the hilt between the ribs of the unfortunate Bouke. Mortally wounded Bouke had crashed to the floor.

ADDRESSES FOR TIMOTHY CORRESPONDENCE

Timothy section —

Thomas Moerdyk

1222 Vassar Drive

Kalamazoo, Michigan

Timothy Mission Fund —

933 S. Burdick Street

Kalamazoo, Michigan

Bible Quiz —

Garret J. Moerdyk

1104 Roseland Avenue

Kalamazoo, Michigan

QUOTATIONS FROM THOMAS BROOKS

Bees: I have read of little bees, that when they go out in stormy weather, they will carry a little of their comb or gravel with them, that they may be balanced and not carried away with the wind.

Young men, you have need to have your thoughts and hearts balanced with the precious Word, that you may not be carried away with “every wind of doctrine” as many have been to their destruction and confusion.

A Pilgrim: A devout pilgrim travelling to Jerusalem, and by the way visiting many cities with their rare monuments, and meeting with many friendly entertainments, would often say: “I must not stay here, this is not Jerusalem”; so saith a Christian in the midst of all his worldly delights, comforts and contents, oh these are not the delights and comforts that my soul looks for, that my soul expects and hopes to enjoy. I hope for better things than any the world can give to me, or than any that Satan can take from me.

The Eagle: The eagle is a kingly and princely bird; it is a bird of sharp piercing sight, and of a swift and lofty flight; it flies high, except it be when necessity compels her, and so it is with those that have God for their portion, therefore they cannot but set light by the toys and trifles of the world.

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