On the morning of the 5th of June, three thousand Spanish troops were drawn up in battle array around a scaffold which had been erected in the centre of the square.  Upon this scaffold, which was covered with black cloth, were placed two velvet cushions, two iron spikes, and a small table.  Upon the table was a silver crucifix.  The provost-marshal, Spelle, sat on horseback below, with his red wand in his hand, little dreaming that for him a darker doom was reserved than that of which he was now the minister.  The executioner was concealed beneath the draperies of the scaffold.

At eleven o’clock, a company of Spanish soldiers, led by Julian Romero and Captain Salinas, arrived at Egmont’s chamber.  The Count was ready for them.  They were about to bind his hands, but he warmly protested against the indignity, and, opening the folds of his robe, showed them that he had himself shorn off his collars, and made preparations for his death.  His request was granted.  Egmont, with the Bishop at his side, then walked with a steady step the short distance which separated him from the place of execution.  Julian Romero and the guard followed him.  On his way, he read aloud the fifty-first Psalm:  “Hear my cry, O God, and give ear unto my prayer!” He seemed to have selected these scriptural passages as a proof that, notwithstanding the machinations of his enemies, and the cruel punishment to which they had led him, loyalty to his sovereign was as deeply rooted and as religious a sentiment in his bosom as devotion to his God.  “Thou wilt prolong the King’s life; and his years as many generations.  He shall abide before God for ever!  O prepare mercy and truth which may preserve him.”  Such was the remarkable prayer of the condemned traitor on his way to the block.

Having ascended the scaffold, he walked across it twice or thrice.  He was dressed in a tabard or robe of red damask, over which was thrown a short black mantle, embroidered in gold.  He had a black silk hat, with black and white plumes, on his head, and held a handkerchief in his hand.  As he strode to and fro, he expressed a bitter regret that he had not been permitted to die, sword in hand, fighting for his country and his king.  Sanguine to the last, he passionately asked Romero, whether the sentence was really irrevocable, whether a pardon was not even then to be granted.  The marshal shrugged his shoulders, murmuring a negative reply.  Upon this, Egmont gnashed his teeth together, rather in rage than despair.  Shortly afterward commanding himself again, he threw aside his robe and mantle, and took the badge of the Golden Fleece from his neck.  Kneeling, then, upon one of the cushions, he said the Lord’s Prayer aloud, and requested the Bishop, who knelt at his side, to repeat it thrice.  After this, the prelate gave him the silver crucifix to kiss, and then pronounced his blessing upon him.  This done, the Count rose again to his feet, laid aside his hat and handkerchief, knelt again upon the cushion, drew a little cap over his eyes, and, folding his hands together, cried with a loud voice, “Lord, into Thy hands I commit my spirit.”  The executioner then suddenly appeared, and severed his head from his shoulders at a single blow.