Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

DEEDS OF DARING

DONE BY GIRLS

“SEE, CLEMENCE, A GOOD OMEN. LOOK AT THE NEW MOON.”—Page [153].

DEEDS of DARING DONE BY GIRLS

By N. HUDSON MOORE

AUTHOR OF “CHILDREN OF OTHER DAYS,” “THE OLD CHINA BOOK,” “THE OLD FURNITURE BOOK,” “THE LACE BOOK,” “OLD PEWTER, BRASS, COPPER, AND SHEFFIELD PLATE,” “THE COLLECTOR’S MANUAL,” ETC.

With Illustrations in Colour

BY ARCHIE GUNN

NEW YORK · FREDERICK A.

STOKES COMPANY · PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1906

By Frederick A. Stokes Company

All rights reserved

This edition published in October, 1906

THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.

AN OPEN LETTER

Do not think, dear girls, that because you are girls you may not have as much courage as your brothers. I believe that quite as stout hearts beat beneath muslin frocks as under stuff jackets. When you have finished reading this book about your sisters, perhaps—if you do not already—you will agree with me, and think that it needs only occasion to call out the necessary courage. I have been asked which one of these heroines I think the most daring, but—oh dear—it would never do to have a favourite, would it? So I leave them to you, and that you will enjoy learning of their trials and triumphs is the wish of your friend,

THE AUTHOR.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

DEEDS OF DARING

DONE BY GIRLS

The Robe of the Duchess
As told by Jehan, her Page in the Year of Grace 1392

I

“’Tis not so,” quoth she, “and you know it”; and with that she fetched me a buffet on the ear.

Now, when the other pages saw me bested like that by a damsel, even though she were my Lady, they roared and girded at me so loud that I liked to have choked with rage.

I ran forward a step; but she cried out,—

“An you touch me I’ll have you whipped, sir”; and, truth, she would, which well I knew, for I’d felt ere this old Raoul’s whip curling about my shoulders, all on her charges too. But that was some years since. ’Twas this wise that the present pother came about.

Of a joyous afternoon in May, my Lady Eleonore took it into her head to go into the court to see her hawk. For these many months I’d been training of it for her, and in all the mews there was not another flew so true, aimed so swift, and brought back her quarry so little torn.

My Lady knew right well that the hawk was for her, but she knew not that I thought to give it her on her fête day, which fell on the morrow. The bird was in fine feather, not a pinion ruffed, her russet colour showing redly in the sun,—it was a Barberry bird,—and a new hood of fine leather on her head. On her feet, fastened by bewits of deer’s hide, hung two Milan bells of gold,—the one, as is ever the way with choicest bells, a semi-tone below the other. These bells I had begged from Comte Gaston, who gave willingly enough when he knew that they were to pleasure my Lady.

Now ’twas not my purpose that she should see the bird till next day, but womenfolk ever contrive to mix matters up. I thought but to stay her, to keep her jesting for a while; but her anger rose and was greater than I knew.

She was down in the broad hall on her way to the mews, and I following behind, before my wits, which work ever a thought slow, had conjured up something to say.

“Pray, mistress,” saith I, “how old be you to-morrow? Let me think, will it be all of eleven years?”

To tell truth, I knew her years as well as she. It was nine years since my Lady’s mother, Dame Eleonore of Comminges, had brought and left her daughter with my Lord, Gaston Phoebus, Comte de Foix.

Comte Gaston was my Lady’s cousin, and poor Dame Eleonore, her mother, fleeing from a cruel husband, knew not where to place the child, so sought advice from Comte Gaston, a powerful and great lord.

“Leave her with me,” saith my Lord, who had taken a fancy to my little Lady, then but a child of three. She was the first bright thing that had come to the old castle of Orthez, which was but a gloomy tower since in a rage my Lord Gaston had slain his only son, and driven forth to her own people his wife, the Princess Agnes.

Canst thou wonder that we all loved the child?

None knew nor loved her better than I, being that my Lord Gaston gave me to be her page and playfellow, since there were but scullery maids and some rude wenches in the castle since the Princess Agnes went forth. So who should doubt but that I should know my Lady’s age? Besides this I was but four years older come Hallowe’en.

Being well grown and tall, she was ever tender on the subject of her years. By my Lord’s command, she had been taught to play on the lute, she could walk a measure, hunt and hawk, and since the new tirewoman had come, there had been much bravery of apparel. So ’twas but to tease her and keep her from the mews that I put forth,—

“All of eleven years?”

“’Tis not so, and you know it,” quoth she, and then came the buffet.

I choked down my rage, and turning to those that mocked me, thought to bring the laugh on her.

“Varlets,” cried I, “my Lady Eleonore is no longer a child, she chooses you to know. Twelve years old will she be to-morrow, but two years younger than our new Queen Isabeau. And who knows what brave suitor comes to woo?”

At this they all laughed again, as in truth I hoped they would. With a black look at me and a stamp of her foot, my Lady turns and goes up the stair. This pleased me well, since the hawk was forgotten.

“Wit ye well, ye shall suffer for this,” sneered one of the pages, between whom and me there was ever discord. “Your mistress wilt have you soundly swinged, and well I pray my Lord will do it himself.”

My skin was pricking somewhat at the thought, but it behoved me to show no signs of it; so I looked him in the eye and flung back,—

“If my Lord so much as cuffs me, thou mayst do it also”; and with that I strolled to the mews.

I stroked the hawk, and thought how pleased my Lady would be on the morrow to have her and fly her too, since, to pleasure my Lady, my Lord had passed his word that we all should fly a cast with him on the broad marches that lay to the west a league or more.

Long ere cockcrow the next day was I astir. ’Twas a bright day for me, since my Lord had given me a new livery. For the first time I cast away my leathern doublet and put on one of soft cloth, and drew on a brave pair of chausses, a red one on the right leg and a green one on the left, and tied the points to my doublet.

It needed but only a sword to make me a man!

As I stole down the stair, I crept into the great hall to take one look into the great mirror of purest crystal which had but lately come to my Lord from a land far over seas, called Venice.

What I saw therein causeth me to turn hot, since never thought I to look so fine. Clapping my cap on my head, I ran to the mews, to bathe the feet of the hawk in fair water, to settle her bells and jesses, and to see that the hood could be quickly cast aside. Soon I heard the bustle in the courtyard, and hurried thither with the hawk on hand.

My faith, but it was a joyous sight!

There on the highest step stood my Lord and beside him my mistress Eleonore. My Lord was smiling at her, and well he might, she stood beside him so straight and tall. She was in a gown of green, made of Florence cloth, and on her head was a cap bound with many chains of gold, which, she telleth me later, came from the same far-away country as the mirror,—Venice. In their midst was set a stone big as a throstle’s egg and blue as the sky. On her hips hung a girdle of gold set close with little stones of this same sky-blue.

All this I saw as I walked from the court’s end. Coming up the steps, said I in my bravest fashion,—

“Mistress Eleonore, here is the hawk I trained for thee; and I set the Barberry bird upon her wrist.

“Now, Jehan, I forgive thee,” saith she, “and trust thou’lt bear in mind that I be twelve years, not eleven. My Lord and cousin hath a gift for thee also, and telleth me to give it thee now.”

With that she hands me out a sword,—a brave, bright sword!

And my Lord says kindly,—

“Have it ever ready in her service, Jehan; she is a lonely maid.”

I bent and kissed my Lady’s hand, and saith with my heart in my mouth,

“My Lord, I’ll e’en follow her to the world’s end.”

“Thou art a good lad, and I trust thee”; and as he spoke, my Lord smiled.

True, as I swore fealty to my Lady, I little recked how soon ’t would be before I rode away behind her!

Just then the huntsman wound his horn, and we all rode out over the drawbridge and away into the bright sun and green fields a-hawking. We made a merry day of it. The hounds sped before, starting up many a creature that fled affrighted from us.

My Lady rode, not her own palfrey, which was a gentle animal but of little speed, but a chestnut mare, one specially cherished by Comte Gaston, even though she was a thought too light for his bulk.

For many a day the mare had been but exercised about the court, and being a high-mettled creature, soon grew fretted by the flapping of my Lady’s habit,—a thing to which she was ill-used.

We were pricking along at a good pace, my Lady having her hands full with holding down the mare, when suddenly from the grass at her very feet darted out a fallow deer, a little thing scarcely more than a month old. The mare started, threw up her head, and ere I knew what had befallen, had wheeled about and started off like the wind.

“Jehan,” I heard my Lady call; and turning my own horse about, I spurred him after the flying mare. On we sped; the others, passing through a copse, had missed seeing our plight.

“Hold fast, mistress,” shouted I, while I strove with whip and spur to get beside her.

Little by little we crept forward, my horse and I, and after that day I ever forbore to call him a poor thing. First his nose pressed the mare’s thigh, and then he came up with the saddle-cloth, and then a bit ahead of that, till I called,—

“Loose your foot from the stirrup, mistress.”

Even as I spoke I could see that she did it.

“Lean towards me and drop the reins, mistress”; and as I spoke I switched my poor nag and leaned from the saddle, took my mistress about the waist, and pulled her clear of the mare. It took but a moment more to set her gently on the ground and start after the mare, since I knew, if aught befell her, our day of pleasuring would have but an ill ending. Freed from the flapping of the skirt, she gradually slackened her pace, and erelong I was leading her back to where my Lady stood with the tall marsh grasses waving about her feet.

“Help me to mount, Jehan,” saith she, whilst I was turning about in my mind how to urge her to let me ride the mare while she took the steadier horse.

“Pray, mistress,” I began; but she cut me short with,—

“Have a care that my cousin knows not of this mishap, since it fairly shames me to think how the mare bested me. But I was not affrighted.”

At this she gave a side look at me, but I knew her too well to show that I had noted her white face. I did not answer, but pondered if it was not seemlier to guard my mistress even against herself. When she noted me standing and switching of the grass, she crieth out,—

“Sure, Jehan, it would be an unkind part to tell that I was like to be run with on my fête day, since all has come out well. Promise now that thou wilt hold thy peace.”

So promise I did, and none guessed how near we had come to grief, though my Lord, when we drew up with them, wondered why the mare looked so hard ridden!

’Twas now well on to noon, and we rested by the side of a clear stream, and ate of squirrels fresh roasted, and of little fishes drawn from the brook but half an hour before, and of the honey of the wild bee spread on cakes of white flour, and of spices and of wine.

“Hast had a happy day, little one?” saith my Lord, as we sat ’neath the trees; and my mistress, turning, laid her cheek on his hand and said,—

“Dear Cousin, never can I thank thee enough for all that thou hast done for me”; and the tears like to have fallen.

“To see thee happy gives me all the thanks I crave”; and my Lord fetched a deep sigh, thinking belike of that son whom his own hand had slain.

Then, when the sun grew low, homeward we turned, the pages singing as we rode along,—

“White as a lily, more ruddy than the rose,

Brilliant as a ruby that with spark of fire glows,

Your beauty and your loveliness to me all peerless shows,

White as a lily, more ruddy than the rose.

My heart for your heart watches; it pleaseth me to know

That to all other lovers the law of love I show.

White as a lily, more ruddy than the rose,

Brilliant as a ruby that with spark of fire glows.”

II

When we came in sight of the castle of Orthez, there rose from the great chimneys a dark cloud of smoke. The drawbridge fell, and the steward rode forth to meet us.

“Lo, my Lord,” he cried, “hasten home. Whilst thou wert absent here hath come a great lord, the Due de Berry, with messages from the King.”

“Hath he a great following?” questioned my Lord.

“Seventy lances and thirty sumpter mules. They are cared for, my Lord, and all have supped.”

We hurried forward. As my Lord rode into the court, the Due de Berry cometh through the door to meet him. He was elder than my Lord, and was uncle to King Charles, and a powerful and noble lord. Never had I looked on one so great as he. All France hath heard how he taxed his people and gathered from them great stores of money that he might have gold to buy palaces, that he might get from strange and foreign countries noble pictures with which to deck his walls, and tapestries wrought in coloured threads and gold. Not only these things did he buy, but books enriched with jewels and filled with images of saints and others, coloured with blue, red, and gold. After him rode hundreds of followers when he went to war or travelled abroad in strange countries.

As one looked upon him, his face seemeth harsh at first, yet a smile became it well, and he smiled when he looked on my mistress, as doth everyone who seeth her.

One, two, three days he tarried. ’Twas said that his matters were despatched in one, and true it is that when my mistress was before him, his eyes ne’er left her face.

Right seemly she looketh, thought I, as I stood behind her chair when they supped. Never before had she borne herself so bravely, and rich were the gauds that tirewoman furnished forth. One evening my Lady came into the great hall in a gown of cherry red, made from the thread of the silkworm and wonderous soft and fine. Above this was a long coat with wide pointed sleeves, and it was bound about her with a sash of cloth that shone like silver. Her hair was woven with strings of pearls, large and white, and over her hung a veil like unto a spider’s web, set full with shining threads. Well do I remember all this, for it was the first time that ever I had seen such richness of apparel.

Till now we had been friends together, playmates. The priest whom my Lord Gaston had brought to dwell in the castle taught us to read, and when we irked him overmuch sent us packing. Then would we spend the time running over the great old castle, shooting with the bow and arrow, and teaching the shagged greyhounds to fetch and carry.

But from to-day all was different. She was a great lady, and I her page Jehan, to hand her cup, to do her bidding within doors, and to ride at her litter’s side or by her saddle when she went abroad, with my sword loosened and hand steady and prompt at her need.

On the fourth day my Lord Gaston rode out with the Due de Berry to see him fare forth. My mistress stood upon the steps as they set out, with her sky-blue jewel in her hair and her cheeks like maybuds. The Due had bent and kissed her hand, and of a truth I heard him say,—

“Farewell, mistress. Thou wilt hear from me again, and that shortly.”

She saith never a word, but looked into his face and smiled.

Now once again it was “Jehan here” and “Jehan there,” and we fell back into our old ways. I digged and tilled for her the garden patch without the walls of the castle, for this was a year of richness, and my Lady’s gillyflowers and lavender, lilies and coriander, showed bright beside the dull potherbs, anise, mustard, and storax, and the beds of leeks, dittany, lettuces, and garden-cress. We had words over the poppies.

“Jehan,” saith she, “didst ever see the poppies brighter than they be this spring?”

“Fair they be, mistress, and of a size too, so that the seeds will be choice, and none need suffer for lack of a sleeping draught if they be ill!”

“Mean you to save all the flowers for seeds?”

“Of a truth, yes, mistress, since they be so fine.”

“But, Jehan, thou knowest that I love the poppies, and sure they were planted for me.”

Now this was true, but the flowers were so exceeding fine, and gave promise of such a crop of seeds, that I fairly loathed to give one up. So I tried to coax Mistress Eleonore with other buds.

“Jehan,” suddenly quoth she, “run you to the court and fetch me out a garden tool. I would help thee myself to-day.”

I hurried away, as she bade me, and when I got back there she stood in the midst of the poppy-bed, with a wreath of them in her black hair, and both hands full! I stopped short, and she began to laugh at me, looking so like the fairies we hear of dancing in a ring, that though I felt the loss of the poppy-seeds sore, all I could find to say was,—

“Oh, mistress, the seeds!”

“But the flowers are so beautiful, and the seeds but ill-favoured black things, as thou knowest well, Jehan, wherefore I chose the flowers.”

There was naught to do but to hope that the buds that were left would bloom freely; and shortly we went back to the castle, for the day was growing warm, the birds had ceased their morning songs, and the wind was no longer sweet and cool. As we reached the gate, there came to us, faint and far away, the sound of a winded horn. We turned, and out over the marches we could see coming many knights, their armour glistening in the sun, and their lances shining like so many points of fire.

“Who be these, think you, Jehan?” said my mistress, as with her wreath of poppies she stood and watched them come. But I knew no more than she, and soon the stranger knights rode by us into the court, each man as he passed doffing his cap to my mistress, who stood tall and smiling, and bowing in her turn.

“Jehan,” quoth she, “run as fast as ever thou canst and find the tirewoman and send her to me. Perchance my cousin will wish me to come to the great hall.”

I was glad to be off, since I was eager to know who the great lord was that rode so bravely at the head of his vassals. In the court all was bustle, but I heard it said that he was a friend to the King, and that he bore the name of Seigneur Bureau de la Rivière.

What was his mission to my Lord none could guess. But as one day followed another and yet he tarried, my Lady’s tirewoman could hold her tongue no longer, and out the secret came. Never could I bide that woman! ’Twas always touch and go between us.

“Knave,” quoth she, and “Jade,” say I, till the ill-favoured wench would to my Lady Eleonore in tears.

Now the secret that she blabbed was this,—that the Seigneur de la Rivière had come to ask for the hand of my little mistress at the suit of the Duc de Berry!

It seems that the King laughed when he heard that his uncle the Duc, who had seen a round fifty years and had sons who were men grown, wished to take to wife “une fillette,” as he calleth her, of twelve years. But the Duc held fast to his cause, and the King was but a lad of sixteen himself with a wife two years younger, and many of the court were of scarce greater age. So the Duc had persevered in his wishes, and the Seigneur de la Rivière had come to treat with my master, the Comte de Foix, who did not wish to give up his young cousin to one so much her elder. So he put off the Seigneur, saying,—

“The child is too young. Let the marriage wait till she grows up.”

These days I saw little of my mistress. The flowers and the dogs were all forgot, and she was housed with that tirewoman all the bright days. One morning there was an exceeding bustle and rushing hither and yon. Then was I bidden to put on my bravest suit and attend my mistress to the great hall. It took me far less time than it took my Lady to put on all her fine gear, and when we came into the hall, there sat my Lord, and beside him sat the stranger lord, while all around them were many score of knights and lances.

My Lord cometh forward, and taking my mistress by the hand, he leadeth her to a seat in the great oak chair beside him, whilst I stood but a step behind her. My Lord looked at her kindly, and then quoth he,—

“Knowest why I sent for thee, child?”

My mistress drew up her head quite proud, and answered bravely, though her cheeks were like poppy buds,—

“In truth I do, Cousin.”

“I think that thou art over-young to make a marriage yet,” began my Lord; but my mistress saith quickly, before he could go further,—

“Dear Cousin, our new Queen Isabeau had but fourteen years when she wedded King Charles, and it is said that she hath meaner height than I.”

Her cousin smiled.

“Thou knowest that the Duc de Berry is far more in years than thyself?”

“Yet methinks I could like him well,” saith the Lady Eleonore, “and indeed this marriage suits me much.”

She looked so full of spirit, and withal so fair, that the Seigneur de la Rivière thought it well to take now a part himself.

“The lady knows her mind,” saith he, “and for a truth the Duc loves her right well. King Charles, who is a youthful liege himself, will welcome her, and at Paris she will find all things that a young maid loves.”

“I had forgot that in my lonely castle the young maid lacked much that other maids have. Still, child, thou knowest that I have loved thee well.”

At this my mistress went to her cousin and knelt by his knee, holding his hand and kissing of it.

“Dearest Cousin,” she cried, “there has been naught lacking in all thy kindness for me, and if it is thy wish that I stay with thee, send the Seigneur hence.”

My Lord smiled sadly and shook his head, saying with a sigh,—

“The child has chosen for herself, my Lord.”

Then my mistress withdrew, and I followed her. How my head spun! My mistress to wed a lord almost as great as the King himself, to go to Paris to dwell, and I, Jehan, to go with her!

Of a truth I scarce drew breath for the next ten days, since we were to go forth straightway, and there was hurly-burly to get us furnished forth. At the end of that time we set out towards Paris, my Lord Comte sending five hundred lances to safeguard my Lady, and the Duc de Berry sending as many more, with litters, chariots, jewels, and fine robes to meet us on our way. I have not speech to tell how fine we fared on that journey. At every halt great silken tents were spread, my Lord Duc had sent minstrels for to sing at my Lady’s pleasure, and there were litters hung with scarlet and gold to carry her when she was a-weary. There were women to wait on her, pages to run her bidding, and Jehan, chief of them all, always at hand, with a chain of bright gold about his neck, to show his new rank.

III

When we came nigh Paris, word came from my Lord Duc that we were to halt at the Abbey of St. Denis, whither the King and Queen and the Ducs de Berry and Burgundy, with my Lady’s father, were to come to welcome us.

When my Lady heard that her father was to come also, she turneth to me, who knew that she had not seen him since she was a small babe of three. “By my faith, Jehan,” quoth she, “I fear my own father more than the lord I am to marry, since he is the greater stranger of the two. Why think you he cometh?”

“Truth, I know not, my Lady,” say I; and it was not till later that it was known that this strange father, hearing of his daughter’s beauty and that she was to wed his friend the Duc de Berry, came forth from Paris with the King and Queen to look on her.

We lay that night at the Abbey, and before we went to rest heard mass in the cathedral itself. Never had I dreamed that so noble a building had been made by men’s hands. And this was but the beginning. Gold and silver statues stood on the great altar; great coloured stones the names of which I knew not, sparkled on the cups and dishes of gold that were used for the holy offices, while the books that the holy fathers held in their hands, as well as their robes and mitres, gave forth sparkles like unto a rainbow. After the mass they took my Lady to show her the treasures, and I, following behind, saw with these eyes, that had never thought to see such things, the great golden sword of King Charlemagne, and so many other wonders of gold and jewels that my mind could hold them not.

What made my blood to stir most amid all that world of rich and holy things, was a banner that hung high over the great altar. Torn it was, yet in its folds glowed the colour of flame; and one of the good fathers turning to me, who stood with mouth agape, I doubt not, asked,—

“Good lad, knowest thou what banner hangest there?”

“Nay, father,” answered I, “and how should I, since I am but newly come from the far-away castle of Orthez, which, as thou knowest, lies in the lonely marches to the west.”

“Look, son,” then spoke he, “at the greatest treasure of France. ’Tis the Oriflamme, that sacred banner which hath led her hosts so oft to victory.”

And as I looked on it, and knew how many brave knights had found death under its folds, my heart was fuller than ever before. For what is more noble than to give one’s life for one’s country? Even a poor page may do that, though he may never hope to fall under a banner which may be borne only by princes and nobles. That night I slept on a monk’s pallet, spread on the floor of the passage without my Lady’s door, yet were my dreams always of war and clashings of arms, and there floated ever through my visions that wonderous banner of flame-colour.

Next morn we were all astir with the dawn. ’Twas my task to see that my Lady’s litter had been made fresh and seemly, that the pages were all point device in their looks, so that we should not bear our part ill before the nobles coming from Paris to greet us.

About sunset they arrived. The King rode at the head of them all, with his two uncles on either hand, the Duc de Berry on the right and the Duc de Burgoyne on the left. Behind came the Queen and her ladies in an open car, and on either side rode the great lords, two by two, carrying their swords and shining in their armour of gold.

The Duc de Berry cometh forward and, taking my Lady by the hand, led her to the King, who kissed her on the brow, and then took her to the Queen. They were so handsome, these two, the Queen and my Lady, that all marvelled thereat. Queen Isabeau was of a fairness like unto milk and roses, while my Lady, who stood a full hand taller, was of a dark brownness, which looked but the darker beside the golden-haired Queen. Shortly the Queen turneth to a tall and dark noble who stood behind her, and saith she with a smile,—

“Well, Comte, hast thou naught to say?”

Then he came forward, and taking the hand of my Lady in his, looketh her long in the face. At last he looks less stern, and then he saith,

“If thou hadst looked like thy mother, child, thou and I hadst not met to-day. But I see well thou art my own child, and carry in thy brow and eyes the colour of a true daughter of Auvergne.”

One needed only to look at them as they stood side by side, to see that they were of one race. He, like the King, kisseth my Lady on the brow, and then he turneth to the Duc de Berry, and placing in his hand the little one of my Lady, he saith,—

“One may not wonder longer at your choice, my Lord Duc.”

This night, like the last one, we lay in the Abbey, but there was feasting and gaiety, at least as much as seemed good in a holy house. Then next day we took our way to Paris, my Lady riding in the car with the Queen and her ladies, and I looked on her with marvel to see how one who had scarce seen aught but a squire’s lady and the wenches about the castle, and those who had taught us, could bear herself so bravely, as if all her life she had known aught but courts.

Then after a brief space cometh the marriage at Paris, where King Charles himself giveth the bride away. For five days there were masques and feastings, balls and jousts, in which even the King takes a part. Many of these balls were at the Palace of St. Pol, where lived the King and Queen; some there were at the Hôtel de la Reine Blanche, where dwelt the Queen of Navarre, and there were others yet at the Hôtel de Nesle which the Duc de Berry gave to my mistress, the Duchess Eleonore, for her wedding gift.

Methought we had been merry at Orthez, but at Paris it was like a minstrel’s tale!

Who can wonder that my mistress was happy? She sang and danced, my Lord Duc adored her, everybody loved her for her sweet and gentle ways, and there were none about the palace but that she knew and cared for.

“Jehan,” she saith to me one day, “art thou happy here?”

“Yea, mistress, since this great city is to be my home.”

“Dost thou never think of those days when we trained the dogs at Orthez?”

“Faith an’ I do, mistress, though it is but seldom, and I love the brave doings here. Besides, where thou goest, there must Jehan follow.”

The days slipped away and were none too long. I fed the pet squirrel with its collar of fair pearls which the King had given to my mistress, and the monkey too, and the flying birds, for my mistress loved ever to have antic creatures about her. At the hunts I ride close at hand, and as at Orthez, where my mistress the Duchess goeth, there goeth Jehan. Once when we chased the deer at Val-la-Reine, the stag, a-weary and dazed, took refuge in a barn. Our King, the Well-beloved, crieth out,—

“Spare him, spare him,” for the huntsmen ran into the barn to cut the poor beast’s throat. Then saith the King from his kind heart,—

“Never shall this deer be hunted more. His life shall be his own from this day forth.”

Saying which, he pulled from his saddle-cloth a splendid fleur-de-lys, and turned to some of his men for a chain with which to hang it on the creature’s neck. None had one; so my Duchess took from her own neck a chain of gold, and it was hanged about the deer’s neck to show that it was the King’s, and none might do it ill.

Each day there was some new sport, and I had scant time to do aught but follow my mistress. As one morn she stood playing with the monkey, a beast that had no regard for my fingers, but was ever pleased to be petted by my Duchess, my Lady’s eyes roved to the beds of gay posies that bloomed without on the terrace. They put to shame the ones we tended in the old days by the castle wall, but my Duchess cried,—

“There is not a posy here as bright as the poppies that grew at Orthez, nor one so white as the gillyflowers. ’Twas a pretty garden, and I loved it well. Yet I cannot say but what I love these too.”

She stepped out on the terrace, and called back over her shoulder,—

“See that the cup of gold that the monkey broke be mended.” I loved not this task, since it seemed a shame to me that so grievous a beast should have his food from so fair a cup, while many of his betters had none.

Soon after my mistress was wedded to my Lord Duc, the great fair of St. Denis was set out in the meadow, “Pré aux Clercs.” Thither went we with the King, Queen, and all the court. Such marvels as were spread out there for sale! Jewels and stuffs wrought with gold and gems; pictures and holy books painted in colours and with gold; carvings made from wood, and from the great white teeth of strange beasts which they saith live in the sea; cups of gold shaped like unto lilies and roses; swords and spears, battle-axes and shields, armour and horse-trappings, till one knew not which way to turn.

If it was a fine show in daytime, my certes, what a sight it was at night! Every stall was ablaze with torches, and there were crowds of strange peoples of divers colours and from far-away lands, with soldiers and singers on every hand.

My mistress had never seen before such a sight, no more than I; and she chose many a rich and curious toy, and my Lord Duc smiled, and gave her all her heart’s desire.

Yet think not that my Lady had ever gauds and merry doings in her mind. Being but young, she loved these well, as what young maid does not? But her heart was ever loyal to her friends, as presently I shall set forth.

IV

It befell, after we had dwelt three years in Paris, and my Duchess was just turned of fifteen, that there was tumult at the court. King Charles the Well-beloved, whose fits of madness caused so much havoc (owing to the mischief wrought by his uncles when he was too ill of mind and body to rule himself) was again out of his mind.

The Seigneur de la Rivière, whom my Duchess had ever loved since he had arranged her marriage and fetched her to Paris to my Lord the Duc de Berry, was, by the order of the Duc de Burgundy, seized and held to die. His friends, lest they too should suffer for’t, feared to help him. The King, as hath been said, was ill; the Queen cared not what happened so long as she was not irked. But my Duchess clenched her little hand and saith,—

“He shall not die!”

Just how to serve him she knew not; so she cometh to her Lord, the Duc de Berry, and cast herself on her knees before him.

“Oh, dear my lord,” cried she, sobbing, “this man who hath done no wrong, and whom we know and love, must die, since none but I durst speak for him.”

The Duc, who loved her well, raised her and saith,—

“Take comfort, dear one.”

“But, my Lord, what comfort is there for me, when one who gave me happiness and thee, is in danger of his life, and for no wrongdoing, neither?”

“Dear heart,” answered my Lord the Due, “I too love him, since he brought thee to me, and what man can do, that will I for thy sake and his.”

“If he be not saved, then will I sorrow always,” wept my Duchess.

My Lord Duc went forth, and though the King was only at times come to his wits again, my Lord got from him a command that the Seigneur de la Rivière should be sent overseas, and not slain.

This did but half content my mistress. When the King grew well again, my Duchess plead with him so prettily, that as he loved right well to pleasure her, he allowed the Seigneur de la Rivière to come home, and to him restored all his castles and his wealth. Greatly my mistress rejoiceth, and giveth thanks to both her Lord and the King.

Now the Seigneur, when once more in honour and in wealth he came to his home, in token for his thanks for all she had wrought in his behalf, brought to my mistress a coffer filled with rich gifts. The coffer was in itself a marvel, since it was painted all over with little flying boys, who bore in their hands flowers and wreaths. All the rest of it was like unto gold, and it stood upon four feet cut in the shape of great paws.

When the coffer was opened, there seemeth no end to the splendid things my mistress brought forth,—tissues glistening like moonbeans, wrought stuffs of many colours, and chains and jewels. Chiefest amongst the rich treasures was a length of velvet from the great city called Genoa, the mate to which was not in all the court. It was blue in colour, the which my mistress ever loveth,—just the shade of the sky of a sunny day at noon. Wrought all over it in threads of purest silver were flying doves. My faith, it seemeth as if their long wings fairly moved!

“Oh,” cried my Duchess Eleonore, “never was such a lovely robe seen before, and it cometh just in time, too, since the ball that Queen Blanche giveth to the Queen’s maid on her marriage will be shortly.”

My Duchess had the velvet fashioned into a robe so splendid that all marvelled. It fell from her shoulders and flowed three metres’ length upon the floor, and the doves of silver fluttered and shone with every step she taketh. Above her brow rose the tall hennin that Queen Isabeau so loved to wear and to have the ladies of her court wear also, and from this fell a veil of silver like unto the doves.

The night of the ball was at hand, and none looking on my stately Duchess would deem that she had but fifteen years. So heavy was the robe, and of such length, that as I walked behind I bore it for her.

The palace shone bravely with torches and flambeaux set in the wall, and borne in the hands of many lackeys all about the rooms. Our King, the Well-beloved, no longer ill, was full of pleasure at the masques which had been planned for this ball. He was scarce older than was I, since he was but nineteen years, and when he was not ill, ever loved to mingle in all the sports going forward.

“NONE LOOKING ON MY STATELY DUCHESS WOULD DEEM THAT SHE HAD BUT FIFTEEN YEARS.”—Page [48].

The dancing had come to an end. Quickly a space was cleared, and as I stood behind my Lady, a loud voice crieth out,—

“The wild men, the wild men! Give the wild men room!”

Of a truth they were frightful to see,—five chained together, led by a sixth who leaped along in front shouting, all of them being covered with long shaggy hair after the manner of some strange beasts.

As the mummers passed, for they were but dressed to look like wild men, I tweaked betwixt finger and thumb a bit of the fur, and lo, it was but ravelled tow. Now I knew right well why the word had been passed that none with lights should move about the room. With what wild shouts did the mummers leap here and there amongst the guests! Some were affrighted and ran screaming away. The leader of them all runneth up to my mistress.

“Dost thou know me?” cried he.

Right firmly she held him by the hand.

“Not yet,” saith she, “but shall ere I let thee go.”

Then my blood froze with the horror of a scream I heard, then another and another. In an instant mummers, guests, room, and all were in a blaze. One of the company, to see the mummers better, had seized a torch and held it near them. The tow sprang into flame, and the five men who were tied together were instantly on fire and shrieking out. One only loosed himself and ran and plunged into a tank for washing of the silver, and which happened to be full of water.

All through the tumult and cries there stood my Duchess mid the flying brands, which I fought as best I might with cap and hands.

“Come away,” I cried, “oh, mistress, come.”

“Nay, help me to save him, Jehan,” was what she whispered back.

Her fair veil shrivelled with the heat, the flying slivers blistered her arms and neck. Cries of “The King, the King, save the King,” grew loud and louder. Queen Isabeau fainted, yet my brave Duchess stood there till every flying spark had been stamped out, holding gathered about her the heavy velvet robe. When at last the fire was all subdued, she threw aside the blue robe that had been so fair, and there under its scorched folds, in his monstrous suit of tow, knelt the King, safe and unharmed.

“Hasten, Sire,” cried she, “the Queen waiteth you. Throw over you Jehan’s cloak lest some wanton spark fly near you.”

The King hurried away, and then think not but that I hastened to get my mistress home. And oh, my Lord’s pride in my Lady!

And oh, the King’s words when he came next morn to thank her, kneeling on one knee to kiss her hand!

The sky-blue robe, say you? What became of that?

My mistress packed it away in the coffer that had brought it from Genoa, with her own hands, and from that time my Lord taketh for his pennon one of sky-blue ground with a silver dove set in its midst.

The Princess Wins
1417

I

In my own youthful days, when turning over the leaves of storybooks, I used to pause at those tales which began “Once upon a time.” I always had a feeling that there was something of the fairy-tale about stories which began in this fashion, and I should like so to begin this day.

For truly the story I am about to tell you is but one incident in the life of a girl whose whole career was so full of ups and downs—alas, most often downs,—that it reads, even in the solemn old Dutch documents, like the most fanciful tale of the imagination.

When she died at thirty-seven, it seems as if our Jacqueline had dared everything and lost,—lost kingdom, home, and friends. Yet even in a life so full of disaster there were some bright spots, and in this story you will hear how once at least our Princess wins.

She was born, our heroine, at her father’s palace at The Hague on St. James’ Day, 1401. The little girl was baptised Jacoba, in honour of the holy day of her birth, Jacobus being the Latin form of the name James. Gradually Jacoba was changed into the French form of Jacqueline, though in the strange old documents of the times her name is written as Jacob, or Jacque, or sometimes Madam Jake, and often as Jaque de Bavière.

Jacqueline was born a princess, and when she was three years old, had the title given her of “Daughter of Holland,” as she was the sole heir and successor of her father, William the Sixth, Count of Holland, who on the death of his father had succeeded him as Count of Zealand and Hainault.

In the Middle Ages, when might made right, possessions were held in many cases by him who had the strongest arm, who could muster the greatest number of followers and had the most powerful connections. Marriage with princes who had great possessions of land or would inherit them was one of the ways by which sovereigns of small states strengthened their positions, and this was one reason why mere babies were given in marriage by their parents. You see, the parents could not go to war against each other when it was arranged that their children were to be married when they grew up!

Little Jacqueline was no exception to the rule, and before she was quite five years old was formally betrothed to John, Duke of Tourraine, second son of Charles the Sixth of France, called the “Well-beloved.”

The betrothal of Jacqueline to her bridegroom of nine years old took place in the old French town of Compiègne, where both the French and Dutch courts were present. The fine old palace with its great number of rooms was elegantly furnished for the occasion, and the little Jacqueline had in her company Staes, Jan, and Hans, her drummer, piper, and trumpeter! Now these were very important personages in those times,—they amused the company when there was nothing else to be done, they had their duties among the soldiers; and in some of the old papers which are still preserved, and which show the expenses of this betrothal down to the last groot, it is duly set down that Staes, Jan, and Hans are each to have six French crowns to cover their travelling expenses. This would be equal to about nine dollars of our money.

Neither of the fathers of the two children was present at the betrothal, for King Charles had one of his attacks of insanity, and Count William had been bitten by a dog, and was not able to be there, either.

But the mothers had seen to it that nothing was lacking to make the ceremony a handsome one. The Dutch expense account tells of new clothes for everybody connected with Jacqueline, even those who had to stay at home having wedding garments and fine new hat-bands.

When the betrothal ceremonies were over, the young bridegroom was handed over to Jacqueline’s mother, and the two children were taken home to Holland to be brought up together.

From time to time they had presents sent to them from their subjects, which seem more like taxes than free gifts, and which were duly set down in the archives. For instance, there were fish and wine for John, and there were many ells of “very fine cloth of silk” for Madam Jake. They had a special dispensation sent them, too, so that they could eat meat on fast-days; and this dispensation was extended also to the napkin-bearer, the cook, and ten other servants who had to taste the dishes beforehand.

You see, our Jacqueline lived in the days when people were sometimes poisoned by their enemies, so that royalty had “tasters,” who ate of every dish before it was placed on the table for their Majesties to eat, and if the tasters did not suffer, why then it was deemed safe for their masters to eat.

Notwithstanding all these things, the children passed many happy years studying French, English, and Latin, and in hunting, hawking, riding on horseback, playing tennis and ball, and, best of all, in skating on the long winding canals. Perhaps they skated the “Dutch Roll,” and Hans, Staes, and Jan went along too, to make things merry with the fife, trumpet, and drum. These were their pleasures. It was a more solemn matter when they had to learn how to rule their kingdoms and subjects, for the little bridegroom stood next but one to the great throne of France, and Jacqueline was heir to her father’s kingdom.

They were married in 1415, when Jacqueline was fourteen years old.

Two years later, her young husband, who, by the death of his elder brother, had become Dauphin and heir to the throne of France, died. The poor lad breathed his last at Compiègne, in the very palace where he had been betrothed, whether by poison or from getting overheated at tennis, none can say, but at any rate while he was away from his wife and from his family.

As if this was not enough, just two months later, Count William, the kind and loving father of Jacqueline, died also. The poor girl, without father or husband to protect her or her possessions, turned to her Fatherland to pronounce her sovereign of Zealand and Hainault.

But there were others who had their eyes and minds fixed on the sturdy little kingdom, and, truth to tell, they were the last persons one would suspect of such ideas, since they were Jacqueline’s own kinsfolk. But so it was; and in order to strengthen her position, and to allow her subjects to know and love her and to pay her their vows of fealty, Jacqueline, as was the custom in those times, started on a “progress,” or tour through her various cities.

These royal progresses were very splendid affairs, we can hardly imagine them now, and on this occasion Jacqueline’s mother bore her company, and there were many of her most powerful nobles as well.

On June 12, 1417, when the cavalcade rode into Mons, the whole city was gay to welcome the young girl who came thither to take her vows of sovereignty. How prettily the city, old even then, must have looked! From the windows fluttered banners of bright-coloured cloth, many of them worked with patterns of gold and silver! So large were some of these banners that they stretched from window to window across the street. Many were the arches wreathed with flowers and branches under which Jacqueline passed, and streamers waved everywhere.

Leaning from the casements were ladies richly dressed and holding chains of flowers; and children were here, there, and everywhere, come to see their little Princess, who was scarce more than a child herself.

Many great lords there were as well, having come forth from their castles on the wooded hills of Hainault, followed by their retainers and serfs, the former clad in suits of bright armour and riding on horseback, while the latter ran on foot beside the men-at-arms, and bore on their collars the names of their masters, and their doublets were of leather, and many times their feet were bare.

Jacqueline on a milk-white palfrey, with her mother at her left hand, rode at the head of them all. There are a few quaint old pictures which show her to have been slender and tall, brown-haired, and without the high cheek bones which are so usual in her countrywomen. On this occasion her appearance was royal indeed. She wore a gown of cloth of gold, which glittered in the warm June sunshine. Her coif, or headdress, was bound by many a chain of gold and jewels, suitable to her rank as Dauphine of France and Daughter of Holland.

She had not advanced far within the city before a deputation of young girls, all dressed in white, stood forth to meet her.

“Hail, Daughter of Holland, welcome to Mons,” the leader of them said, and stepping forward, hung her chaplet of flowers on Jacqueline’s arm. One by one each young girl followed in turn, and Jacqueline, turning with smiling face to her mother, said,—

“Our good city of Mons shows its loyalty in pleasing fashion, Madame. If all our other cities bear themselves like this, we care not for our uncle of Burgundy, who seeks to take our inheritance from us, nor for the Egmonts nor Arkels, nor any who are enemies of our house.”

“In truth all seemeth fair, my daughter. Our good burghers always respond to our need, though our nobles sometimes think too highly of their power.”

“Our loyal burghers! In truth they are our best friends. Yet remember how many nobles ride with us this day, and have sworn to urge our cause as though it were their own.”

They rode slowly forward, the little Princess pleased and happy at the homage of her subjects, bowing and smiling. At last the church of St. Waltrude was reached. Here Jacqueline dismounted, and entering the dim old building, walked slowly up the central aisle till she reached the high altar. Here she knelt, kissed the holy relics, and swore to preserve “all usages and privileges of the city, to protect the church, to uphold the right, to dispel the wrong.”

Then, seated on a lofty throne that had been set up beside the altar, she received the homage of her subjects, and their vows of loyalty to her and to her cause.

After the solemn ceremonies at the church were over, the royal party had a banquet given in their honour by the burghers of the city, who had arranged many festivities to give them pleasure.

Can you not see our Princess with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes standing at the table’s head? Her soft brown hair is tightly bound to her head and covered with a cap wrought of threads of gold strung with pearls. Embroidery of threads of gold and coloured silks in which the Dutch excelled, enrich her gown, which is of the heaviest silk that even Flanders can produce. Long chains of pearls, which were sold by weight, hang about her neck, and fur of minever binds and edges the cuts and slashes in her great sleeves and on the body of her gown.

Besides the banquet, there was planned a tournament, a favourite occasion for showing knightly deeds, and it was to be held on a grassy mead just without the walls of the city, on the day following the paying of homage, and entry into the city.

Thither early in the morning trooped the inhabitants of the town. Among the first to go were groups of apprentices, dressed in the uniforms of their guilds or trade societies. These trudged on foot, glad enough of a holiday. Mingling among them were serfs or bondsmen, easily to be told by their metal collars. Some carried burdens for their masters who should arrive later in the day, while some merely swung a cudgel, and hurried on as if conscious of their lowly position.

As the day wore on, the road was dusty with the men-at-arms, knights, nobles, and their attendants, with substantial burghers with their apprentices, and with groups of maidens from the town, eager to see the gay company, and looking pretty enough themselves in their close-fitting white caps and scarlet kirtles.

Only occasionally, walking sedately by her father’s side, shrouded in a long cloak to keep her clothes fresh from the dust, came some tradesman’s daughter, her neck encircled with strings of coral beads, and her gold earrings, handed down through many generations, a trifle longer than those of the serving maidens, and the inevitable cap edged with lace, or of finest plaited muslin, while theirs, though snowy white, were of coarse material.

Now and again amid the crowd swung covered litters, bearing either the wife of some dignitary, or some high official who preferred this manner of travelling to going on horse or mule back.

At an hour past noon, out from the palace yard rode a troop of men on horseback, bright in a livery of orange and black. Their business it was to clear the road of any such as cumbered it, so that the passage to the field should be kept free, since the Princess Jacqueline would ride thither on her palfrey, to show herself to her subjects, who had prepared the tournament in her behalf.

As the cavalcade issued from the palace yard, there came first twoscore knights riding two abreast, each in a full suit of armour which sparkled like silver in the sun, each carrying his shield and a pennon of bright silk. Then came the members of the council of Mons, in rich robes of velvet, furred and wrought, and showing on their breasts the heavy gold chains of their office. They were men who showed on their faces intelligence and a sense of the importance of their office, slow to smile and grave, but true as steel to what they deemed the right, and loyal subjects when once won to their sovereign.

Next came Jacqueline with her mother beside her, both riding on splendid horses, whose caparison was as rich as cloth and gold could make it. Right royally shone our Princess, robed in a gown of damask which showed in the pattern tulips of many shades, the flower of all others most dear to the Dutch heart, the which were made richer yet by stitchery of brilliant silks. Around the neck and long sleeves, which reached almost to her feet, were bands of ermine fur, and beneath the flowing cap, made truly in the very shape of those worn by the peasant maidens, her hair was bound with many a string of pearl.

Behind her came those who were to take part in the tournament; and never had Mons, staid old city, seen a sight of such splendour. Forty knights came ahead at a stately pace, each mounted on a noble steed in trappings of velvet, for the steeds of the fallen knights became the prizes of the victors, and it was a matter of pride to have both horse and harness worthy to be a prize. After the knights rode forty ladies, chosen for their beauty, all richly dressed in colours of the gayest hues, mounted on palfreys, each one riding alone, and leading by a silver chain a knight completely armed for tilting, astride a splendid horse, which also wore armour, and a plume of feathers.

Minstrels and trumpeters followed along, blowing on their instruments; and then came the people, shouting and cheering, and hurrying along so as not to miss any of the sport at the field.

It was a lovely sight that met their eyes when the mead was reached. The grassy sward was dotted with gay and constantly changing groups, bright awnings and banners were stretched to keep off the sun from spectators and combatants, and almost encircling the tilting ground were fine trees, beneath whose shade many horses were tethered, while their attendants lounged on the grass. So busy were all with the scene before them, that none noted the cloud rising dark above the horizon, and he who called attention to it would have been but deemed a churl for his pains.

In the little enclosure set apart for the Princess and her immediate attendants, the hangings were of equal splendour with the rest of the arrangements. It was hung with gay strips of cloth, and with chains of flowers, and it was placed midway between the lists, so that the tilting could be seen to the best advantage.

All was ready; the heralds rode forth, each with his silver trumpet at his lips prepared to announce the opening of the fray, when a long rolling peal of thunder startled alike the spectators in the stands as well as those who stood upon the greensward pressing eagerly forward to see the first shock of the encounter.

The first peal was followed by another and another. The wind whirled across the wide meadow and tore into shreds the awnings which had been stretched against the sun. Rain descended in floods, and before Jacqueline and her party could take shelter in the rude stalls that had been built below the galleries, and in which the horses were stabled, they were pelted with hailstones so large, and which came with such force, that one of them left on Jacqueline’s cheek a cruel bruise.

Even centuries later, and in our own country, women and girls were burned as witches, and when our Daughter of Holland lived, many things which would seem quite natural to us were called “omens,” and were supposed to foretell either good or ill.

This hail-storm was judged a bad omen for poor Jacqueline. So strong a hold did it take on the superstitious people that while many important transactions and details of history are lost, a full account of this storm has been left in various Dutch documents, with fabulous tales as to the size of the hailstones, and that they killed cattle and ruined crops. Thus sadly ended for Princess Jacqueline the day that had opened so fair. Right bravely did she bear the hurried ride back into the city. With her mother she withdrew into their apartments as soon as they reached Mons, and was seen no more that night.

Indeed so wrought upon was Jacqueline by the great storm and the misfortune attending it, that, as soon as they were alone, she exclaimed to her mother,—

“Let us away as soon as our train can be made ready.”

“Nay, dear child, that would but incense our good people of Mons, who did their best to pleasure and to honour you.”

“But, mother, that is all past, and see the grievous bruise upon my cheek. It ill becomes the face of a princess.”

“That it does, my dearest, but it is but just to remember that, cruel though it be, unguents and laving it with soft water will heal it, and by the morrow thy cheek will show no stain. Neither must thou forget that for this bruise none of thy subjects should be blamed.”

To this the little Princess made no reply, yet could not her mother induce her to remain longer in the city; and shortly after sunrise the next morning, the cavalcade took their way from the city of Mons, Jacqueline travelling in a litter, since she chose not to show herself again in that ill-omened place.

II

After the mishap at Mons, the young Princess journeyed to other of her loyal towns,—to Delft, to Leyden, to Amsterdam and Haarlem. Though all these cities paid homage to Jacqueline as their sovereign, and supported her claims to Zealand and Hainault, there was a strong party growing up against her, chiefly on account of her youth, and because she was a girl.

The headquarters of this party was at Dordrecht, the one city which refused to pay homage to Jacqueline. Here in Dordrecht the leaders of the opposing party were joined by one of the uncles of Jacqueline, known as “John the Pitiless,” who was eager to rob his niece of her inheritance. He proposed to be appointed governor, and in this way gradually get into his own hands the whole power.

Now indeed Jacqueline showed that she was strong at heart, for though but sixteen, she immediately took steps in person to suppress all such designs on the part of her uncle, and levied troops, gathered supplies, and started towards rebellious Dordrecht.

Right bravely she looked, our little Princess, as she rode at the head of her troops, and ever from time to time she turned to her mother with a bright smile, and some such word as—

“Courage, dear Madame, ever saw you troops with braver front than ours?”

Or, after a pause,—

“Think you that mine uncle of Burgundy will expect to see us in person, come to defend our rights?”

“Thou art my brave girl. Wouldst that thy father wert here to guard and guide thee!”

But her mother looked anxious, and as she rode in her litter near her daughter, it was she who from time to time called to her side those brave nobles who had espoused her daughter’s cause, and to whose advice she looked to bring the assault to a successful conclusion.

After the first day’s march Jacqueline’s bright confidence was shaken. Wearied with being all day in the saddle and bearing the weight of her suit of armour, even though the shirt was of the finest Milan steel and flexible and light, Jacqueline dismissed all her attendants, and begged her mother to bide with her for a space before going to rest.

When all were gone and they were alone together and the curtains to the tent secured, poor Jacqueline, but a tired girl after all, cast herself down beside her mother, and hid her face in her lap.