The First Sir Percy

Baroness Emma Orczy

Adventure/Historical Fiction

Published 1921

Synopsis

The First Sir Percy follows the swashbuckling adventures of Diogenes, the original Sir Percy Blakeney and ancestor of the famed Scarlet Pimpernel, set in the tumultuous political landscape of Holland in March of 1624. After revealing his true identity as the English nobleman Sir Percy Blake and preparing to marry his beloved Gilda Beresteyn, Diogenes and his loyal friends Socrates and Pythagoras become embroiled in a conflict involving Lord Stoutenburg’s plot to assassinate the Stadtholder, thereby empowering Archduchess Isabella’s invading forces. Duty calls Diogenes away from his wedding to carry vital military orders, putting him in great danger, threatened by betrayal and even suffering serious injury. His loyalty is subsequently tested when traitorous schemes threaten both the Stadtholder and his own marriage.

Novel Excerpt

It was one of those days when earth and heaven alike appear to smile. A day almost warm, certainly genial; for the wind had dropped, the sky was of a vivid blue, and the sun had a genuine feeling of warmth in its kiss. From the overhanging eaves the snow dropped down in soft, moist lumps, stained by the thaw, and the quay, where a goodly crowd had collected, was quickly transformed under foot into a sea of mud.

It almost seemed as if the little town was out on a holiday. People came and went, dressed in gay attire, stood about all along the bank of the river, staring up at the stately gabled house which looked so wonderfully gay with its decorations of flags and valuable tapestries and stuffs hanging from the numerous windows.

That house on the quay—and it was the finest house in the town—was indeed the centre of attraction. It was from there that the air of holiday-making emanated, and certainly from there that the gay sounds of music and revelry came wafted on the crisp, wintry air.

Mynheer Beresteyn had come to his house in Amersfoort, of which city he was chief civic magistrate, in order to celebrate the double wedding. No wonder such an event was made an excuse for a holiday. Burgomaster Beresteyn never did things by halves, and his hospitality was certain to be lavish. Already doles and largesse had been poured out at the porch of St. Maria Kerk; a crowd of beggars more or less indigent, crippled, sick, or merely greedy, had assembled there very early in the morning. Whoever was there was sure to get something. And there was plenty to see besides: the brides and bridegrooms and the wedding party; and of course His Highness the Stadtholder was a sight in himself.

He did not often go abroad these days, for his health was no longer as good as it was. He had aged considerably, looked moody and ailing for the most part. There had been sinister rumours, too. The widowed Archduchess Isabella, Mistress of Flanders and Brabant, hated him because he held the United Provinces of the Netherlands free from the bondage of Spain. And in Spain the arts of poison and of secret assassination were carried on with as much perfection as they had ever been in Italy in the days of the Borgias.

However, all such dark thoughts must be put away for the day. This is a festive occasion for Amersfoort, when every anxiety for the fate of the poor fatherland—ever threatened and ever sore-pressed—must be laid to rest. Let the brides and bridegrooms see naught but merry faces—happy auguries of the auspicious days to come.