“My lord,” the Queen presently began, “without is an army prepared—­yes, and quite able—­to defend our England.  The one requirement of this army is a leader.  Afford them that, my lord—­ah, I know that our peers are sold to the Bruce, yet our yeomen at least are honest.  Give them, then, a leader, and they cannot but conquer, since God also is honest and incorruptible.  Pardieu! a woman might lead these men, and lead them to victory!”

Hastings answered:  “I am ill.  I cannot rise from this couch.”

“There is no man left in England,” said the Queen, “since Sire Edward went into France.  Praise God, I am his wife!” She went away without flurry.

Through the tent-flap Hastings beheld all that which followed.  The English force was marshalled in four divisions, each commanded by a bishop and a baron.  You could see the men fidgeting, puzzled by the delay; as a wind goes about a corn-field, vague rumors were going about those wavering spears.  Toward them rode Philippa, upon a white palfrey, alone and perfectly tranquil.  Her eight lieutenants were now gathered about her in voluble protestation, and she heard them out.  Afterward she spoke, without any particular violence, as one might order a strange cur from his room.  Then the Queen rode on, as though these eight declaiming persons had ceased to be of interest.  She reined up before her standard-bearer, and took the standard in her hand.  She began again to speak, and immediately the army was in an uproar; the barons were clustering behind her, in stealthy groups of two or three whisperers each; all were in the greatest amazement and knew not what to do; but the army was shouting the Queen’s name.

“Now is England shamed,” said Hastings, “since a woman alone dares to encounter the Scot.  She will lead them into battle—­and by God! there is no braver person under heaven than yonder Dutch Frau!  Friend David, I perceive that your venture is lost, for those men would follow her to storm hell if she desired it.”

He meditated, and shrugged.  “And so would I,” said Hastings.

A little afterward a gaunt and haggard old man, bareheaded and very hastily dressed, reined his horse by the Queen’s side.  “Madame and Queen,” said Hastings, “I rejoice that my recent illness is departed.  I shall, by God’s grace, on this day drive the Bruce from England.”

Philippa was not given to verbiage.  Doubtless she had her emotions, but none was visible upon the honest face.  She rested one plump hand upon the big-veined hand of Hastings.  That was all.  “I welcome back the gallant gentleman of yesterday.  I was about to lead your army, my friend, since there was no one else to do it, but I was hideously afraid.  At bottom every woman is a coward.”

“You were afraid to do it,” said the Marquess, “but you were going to do it, because there was no one else to do it!  Ho, madame! had I an army of such cowards I would drive the Scot not past the Border but beyond the Orkneys.”