tents of the rebels. And yet they were all her countrymen--rebels and
retainers alike. Hollanders all, they were ever ready to combine for
the defence of their homeland when threatened by foreign foes or by the
destroying ocean floods.
Jacqueline's eye caught the flutter of the broad banner of the house of
Arkell that waved over the rebel camp.
Again she saw the brave lad who alone of all her father's court, save
she, had dared to face Count William's lions; again the remembrance of
how his daring had made him one of her heroes, filled her heart, and
a dream of what might be possessed her. Her boy husband, the French
Dauphin, was dead, and she was pledged by her dying father's command to
marry her cousin, whom she detested, Duke John of Brabant. But how much
better, so she reasoned, that the name and might of her house as rulers
of Holland should be upheld by a brave and fearless knight. On the
impulse of this thought she summoned a loyal and trusted vassal to her
aid.
"Von Leyenburg," she said, "go you in haste and in secret to the Lord of
Arkell, and bear from me this message for his ear alone. Thus says the
Lady of Holland: 'Were it not better, Otto of Arkell, that we join hands
in marriage before the altar, than that we spill the blood of faithful
followers and vassals in a cruel fight?'"
It was a singular, and perhaps, to our modern ears, a most unladylike
proposal; but it shows how, even in the heart of a sovereign countess
and a girl general, warlike desires may give place to gentler thoughts.
To the Lord Arkell, however, this unexpected proposition came as an
indication of weakness.
"My lady countess fears to face my determined followers," he thought.
"Let me but force this fight and the victory is mine. In that is greater
glory and more of power than being husband to the Lady of Holland."
And so he returned a most ungracious answer:
"Tell the Countess Jacqueline," he said to the knight of Leyenburg,
"that the honor of her hand I cannot accept. I am her foe, and would
rather die than marry her."
All the hot blood of her ancestors flamed in wrath as young Jacqueline
heard this reply of the rebel lord.
"Crush we these rebel curs, von Brederode," she cried, pointing to the
banner of Arkell; "for by my father's memory, they shall have neither
mercy nor life from me."
Fast upon the curt refusal of the Lord of Arkell came his message of
defiance.
"Hear ye, Countess of Holland," rang out th
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