Before dawn the next day all the camp was astir. The sound of the armourers at work, the stamping and neighing of horses, the shouts of the soldiers as they hurried about their labour, made a din quite at variance with the quiet of the night, when the only sounds which disturbed the solitude were the cries of the sentries that all was well, and the occasional whinny of some restive horse.
Yet still Jacqueline slept on, and by her side her mother watched, hoping that the sounds from without would penetrate the deep sleep of the weary girl. At last, at the door of the tent itself, sounded the notes of the bugle, and Jacqueline started up, her eyes clear and flashing, as she turned to the patient watcher at her side.
“Once more Countess of Hainault, dearest lady,” she cried, “Jacqueline the little girl has fled back to her childhood.”
Her mother drew a long breath and smiled in return.
“Let us praise St. James for that,” she answered, and pushed aside the hanging folds that covered the opening to the tent, so that the fresh morning air would sweep within.
“Hail, Lady, a bright awakening and a joyous day”; and forward pressed two pages, special attendants to Jacqueline herself, and like her dressed in suits of bright armour. But while theirs glittered as bravely as hers, on her helmet, on her shield, and on any smallest spot which offered a space for the tool of the goldsmith, there were wrought the various heraldic devices which belonged to the Countess by right of her great and royal descent.
The younger of the two pages—so young in fact that his cheek was scarce less rosy and fair than that of his young mistress—bore her sword and spear, which gleamed in the cold beams of the wintry sun. The elder of the two carried her shield and pennon, the last of fine blue silk, showing the arms of Bavaria quartered with those of Hainault-Holland, and watching over these was deftly embroidered the image of the Virgin and Child.
Jacqueline came to the door of her tent, and as her eyes watched the busy scene, she looked both rested and well pleased.
“A fair omen for the Daughter of Holland this day,” she said, and pointed towards where the lad stood with her pennon. The bright clouds in the sky had but touched the faces of the Holy Virgin and the Child, and reflected in the silver threads with which they were wrought, caused them to glow with almost the colours of true flesh and blood.
“The Countess speaks well,” said Eberhard, Lord of Hoogtwoude, than whom Jacqueline had no more faithful follower, and who had just come up from the camp to see how the young Countess had rested.