loved. That armament had sailed from
Southampton on Saint George's day.

These two women, then, shared the Brabanter's execrable news. Already
Northumberland, Westmoreland, and Durham were the broken meats of King
David.

The Countess presently exclaimed: "Let me pass, sir! My place is not
here."

Philippa said, half hopefully, "Do you forsake Sire Edward, Catherine?"

[Illustration: "DO YOU FORSAKE SIRE EDWARD, CATHERINE?" _Painting by
William Hurd Lawrence_]

"Madame and Queen," the Countess answered, "in this world every man
must scratch his own back. My lord has entrusted to me his castle of
Wark, his fiefs in Northumberland. These, I hear, are being laid
waste. Were there a thousand men-at-arms left in England I would say
fight. As it is, our men are yonder in France and the island is
defenceless. Accordingly I ride for the north to make what terms I may
with the King of Scots."

Now you might have seen the Queen's eyes flame. "Undoubtedly," said
she, "in her lord's absence it is the wife's part to defend his
belongings. And my lord's fief is England. I bid you God-speed,
Catherine." And when the Countess was gone, Philippa turned, her round
face all flushed. "She betrays him! she compounds with the Scot!
Mother of Christ, let me not fail!"

"A ship must be despatched to bid Sire Edward return," said the
secretary. "Otherwise all England is lost."

"Not so, John Copeland! Let Sire Edward conquer in France, if such be
the Trinity's will. Always he has dreamed of that, and if I bade him
return now he would be vexed."

"The disappointment of the King," John Copeland considered, "is a
lesser evil than allowing all of us to be butchered."

"Not to me, John Copeland," the Queen said.

Now came many lords into the chamber, seeking Madame Philippa. "We
must make peace with the Scottish rascal!--England is lost!--A ship
must be sent entreating succor of Sire Edward!" So they shouted.

"Messieurs," said Queen Philippa, "who commands here? Am I, then, some
woman of the town?"

Ensued a sudden silence. John Copeland, standing by the seaward
window, had picked up a lute and was fingering the instrument
half-idly. Now the Marquess of Hastings stepped from the throng.
"Pardon, Highness. But the occasion is urgent."

"The occasion is very urgent, my lord," the Queen assented, deep in
meditation.

John Copeland flung back his head and without prelude began to carol
lustily.

Sang John C