The conquest of Portugal had effected a diversion in the affairs of the Netherlands.  It was but a transitory one.  The provinces found the hopes which they had built upon the necessity of Spain for large supplies in the peninsula—­to their own consequent relief—­soon changed into fears, for the rapid success of Alva in Portugal gave his master additional power to oppress the heretics of the north.  Henry, the Cardinal King, had died in 1580, after succeeding to the youthful adventurer, Don Sebastian, slain during his chivalrous African campaign (4th of August, 1578).  The contest for the succession which opened upon the death of the aged monarch was brief, and in fifty-eight days, the bastard Antonio, Philip’s only formidable competitor, had been utterly defeated and driven forth to lurk, like ’a hunted wild beast, among rugged mountain caverns, with a price of a hundred thousand crowns upon his head.  In the course of the succeeding year, Philip received homage at Lisbon as King of Portugal.  From the moment of this conquest, he was more disposed, and more at leisure than ever, to vent his wrath against the Netherlands, and against the man whom he considered the incarnation of their revolt.

Cardinal Granvelle had ever whispered in the King’s ear the expediency of taking off the Prince by assassination.  It has been seen how subtly distilled, and how patiently hoarded, was this priest’s venom against individuals, until the time arrived when he could administer the poison with effect.  His hatred of Orange was intense and of ancient date.  He was of opinion, too, that the Prince might be scared from the post of duty, even if the assassin’s hand were not able to reach his heart.  He was in favor of publicly setting a price upon his head-thinking that if the attention of all the murderers in the world were thus directed towards the illustrious victim, the Prince would tremble at the dangers which surrounded him.  “A sum of money would be well employed in this way,” said the Cardinal, “and, as the Prince of Orange is a vile coward, fear alone will throw him into confusion.”  Again, a few months later, renewing the subject, he observed, “’twould be well to offer a reward of thirty or forty thousand crowns to any one who will deliver the Prince, dead or alive; since from very fear of it—­as he is pusillanimous—­it would not be unlikely that he should die of his own accord.”

It was insulting even to Philip’s intelligence to insinuate that the Prince would shrink before danger, or die of fear.  Had Orange ever been inclined to bombast, he might have answered the churchman’s calumny, as Caesar the soothsayer’s warning:—­

“-----------------Danger knows full well
That Caesar is more dangerous than he—­”

and in truth, Philip had long trembled on his throne before the genius of the man who had foiled Spain’s boldest generals and wiliest statesmen.  The King, accepting the priest’s advice, resolved to fulminate a ban against the Prince, and to set a price upon his head.  “It will be well,” wrote Philip to Parma, “to offer thirty thousand crowns or so to any one who will deliver him dead or alive.  Thus the country may be rid of a man so pernicious; or at any rate he will be held in perpetual fear, and therefore prevented from executing leisurely his designs.”