Better that the five thousand fighters under Charles Mansfeld had been around Gertruydenberg.  His aged father did what he could.  As many men as could be spared from the garrison of Antwerp and its neighbourhood were collected; but the Spaniards were reluctant to march, except under old Mondragon.  That hero, who had done much of the hardest work, and had fought in most of the battles of the century, was nearly as old as the century.  Being now turned of ninety, he thought best to keep house in Antwerp Castle:  Accordingly twelve thousand foot and three thousand horse took the field under the more youthful Peter Ernest?  But Peter Ernest, when his son was not there to superintend his operations, was nothing but a testy octogenarian, while the two together were not equal to the little finger of Farnese, whom Philip would have displaced, had he not fortunately died.

“Nothing is to be expected out of this place but toads and poison,” wrote Ybarra in infinite disgust to the two secretaries of state at Madrid.  “I have done my best to induce Fuentes to accept that which the patent secured him, and Count Peter is complaining that Fuentes showed him the patent so late only to play him a trick.  There is a rascally pack of meddlers here, and the worst of them all are the women, whom I particularly give to the devil.  There is no end to the squabbles as to who shall take the lead in relieving Gertruydenberg.”

Mansfeld at last came ponderously up in the neighbourhood of Turnhout.  There was a brilliant little skirmish, in the, neighbourhood of this place, in which a hundred and fifty Dutch cavalry under the famous brothers Bax defeated four hundred picked lancers of Spain and Italy.  But Mansfeld could get nothing but skirmishes.  In vain he plunged about among the caltrops and man-traps.  In vain he knocked at the fortifications of Hohenlo on the east and of Maurice on the west.  He found them impracticable, impregnable, obdurate.  It was Maurice’s intention to take his town at as small sacrifice of life as possible.  A trumpet was sent on some trifling business to Mansfeld, in reply to a communication made by the general to Maurice.

“Why does your master,” said the choleric veteran to the trumpeter, “why does Prince Maurice, being a lusty young commander as he is, not come out of his trenches into the open field and fight me like a man, where honour and fame await him?”

“Because my master,” answered the trumpeter, “means to live to be a lusty old commander like your excellency, and sees no reason to-day to give you an advantage.”

At this the bystanders laughed, rather at the expense of the veteran.

Meantime there were not many incidents within the lines or within the city to vary the monotony of the scientific siege.

On the land side, as has been seen, the city was enclosed and built out of human sight by another Gertruydenberg.  On the wide estuary of the Meuse, a chain of war ships encircled the sea-front, in shape of a half moon, lying so close to each other that it was scarcely possible even for a messenger to swim out of a dark night.