every one he undertook, on the battlefield or in the bedchamber.
“As His Highness is in no mood for waiting, let us be gone,” suggested Sedley.
Buckingham rose and put his fingers to his lips. The others did the same. Then William stood up and he too put his fingers to his lips.
The room reminded him of the ship on which he had crossed to England, so unsteady was the floor. He laughed aloud. He was so happy to be in England because the English understood him as no one in Holland ever had.
Buckingham took one of his arms, Rochester the other, and with exaggerated caution they left the apartment.
“They will be in bed now,” whispered Sedley.
“All the better,” retorted Rochester.
“All locked up securely for the night, chastity belts securely fastened, but His Highness the Prince of Orange will know the password. He will have the key.”
Such laughter—all the more hilarious because it must be suppressed. Buckingham put his fingers to his lips and they all did the same.
William felt the cool air on his face and this was the only intimation he had that he was out of doors. The fresh air revived him a little, made him feel as strong and brave as a lion.
He stood with the group looking at the row of lighted windows.
“How do we get in?” asked Rochester. “My Prince, pray tell us.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said Buckingham. “Could it be through the windows?”
“Yes,” said William and his voice sounded muffled. “Through the windows.”
Sedley pressed a stone into his hands. “You will lead your men, Sire,” he said.
William had never felt so happy. He forgot that he was smaller than most men, that he suffered from that humiliating asthmatical wheeze, that his clothes had to be cut in a special way to hide his deformities.
He was a leader of men—and not in battles. These rakes of his uncle’s Court, who were noted for their brilliant wit and fascination were looking to him to lead them.
He threw the stone. Laughing triumphantly he scrambled up the wall to the broken window.
There were cries of alarm from within and faces appeared at the windows.
Buckingham’s voice came from a long way off: “His Highness of Orange … a little merry. Looking for the ladies.”
William had seen the girls’ faces and they seemed very fair and inviting. He was irresistible. Buckingham and his friends had said so.
“I’ll not disappoint them,” he cried. “I’m going in.”
The girls began to scream. There were the sounds of shouting and a lantern appeared among the revelers below. Then Buckingham seized the Prince’s legs and pulled him to the ground.
“Your Highness, you are waking the Palace.”
“I will not disappoint them. The maids are waiting for me. I will not disappoint them.”
“Your Highness, we know of your reputation, but you are waking the Palace.”
“I will share the bed of the fairest this night …”
Sedley and Rochester took his legs, Buckingham and Savile his arms, and he was lifted off the ground.
Now he was angry. He no longer cared for these men. They had promised him good sport and now they were standing in his way of getting it. He wanted to seduce a maid of honor. He knew now that he did not find women as uninteresting as he had believed; tonight had been an education and he wanted to complete it.
The governess of the maids of honor had put her head out of the window.
“Disgraceful!” she cried. “Her Majesty the Queen shall hear of this!”
“Madam,” answered Buckingham, “we have done all we can to restrain His Highness. We fear he is a desperate fellow where the ladies are concerned.”
“Then take him away from here,” was the answer. “Rest assured he will have to answer to Her Majesty.”
The laughing courtiers, the shouting governess, and the struggling Prince of Orange made, declared all those who saw it, as goodly a sight as they had seen outside the playhouse. But what was most amusing was that the solemn prudish young Dutchman should be at the center of it.
The King smiled sardonically at his nephew. A chastened William this, who understood that the previous night he had, for the first time in his life, become intoxicated and shown himself to be what no one—including himself—had suspected he might be: a budding libertine.
“Sire,” said William, “I cannot express my sorrow …”
“Then do not attempt to achieve the impossible, nephew. It is a waste of good time. But let me assure you, this is not a matter which causes me great sorrow—so nor