At this moment the English giant standing at her side raised his bonnet, adorned with a great plume, on the point of his sword, and cried out in a voice that drowned everything: “These be words, these be words! ’Tis queenly speaking! Give it tongue, friends and rascals! Let the little queen’s majesty know that ye heed.” In his own great voice this mad fellow led their shouts. “I thank you, Sirrah Red Dragon,” said his mistress, “and, my honest lieges, I say to you marry and amen. That ye will make true service I see by your shining glances, but I would have you swear your fealty in the olden manner upon this good sword. For I would have you to know that my father, his lordship’s grace, fell into a strange senility a twelvemonth since; there is such a distemper in his wits that he can no longer ride over his dominion. His old eye, which should be an eagle’s to look proud at the sun, now watereth readily on a small occasion. There is no virtue in his mind; his heart hath not the constancy to make him bold before an adversary. This rude Castilian prince, this wicked king, would override him as easily as he would a plain of mustard. Do you mark me, my lieges, his lordship’s grace is now a figure for your tears. He is a pitiful old man, a babbler of nothings, his mind is vanity. Therefore, my lieges, he and his trusty fat man, whose ribs are larded like butter, and who is so slow in his mind as a snail, will speak ye no more. From this day I am your duke and captain, your liege lord and liege lady. I will lead ye against the Castilian host, and if we do not prevail we will fall together with our swords in our hands.” “Again, again, brothers, give it tongue!” cried the English giant, waving his plumed hat on the point of his sword, and leading the soldiers in their lusty cheers. “Sirrah Red Dragon,” said his mistress, when their cries had subsided, “I would have you cause all these good honest men defile before us, that they may be sworn upon our sword.” “Would it not be properer, your majesty,” said the English giant, with a dangerous light of admiration in his eye, “if you first made them acquainted with their new captain-generalissimo, the captain of the guard and master of the horse, whose emoluments amount to the not inconsiderable sum of four thousand maravedis a month?” “You speak sooth, Sirrah Red Dragon,” said the Countess Sylvia; “I will do so.” Again their respectfulness attended her while she recommended Sir Richard Pendragon to their notice in another clear and ringing speech. “A worshipful knight, a true warrior--” “--And the blood of kings under his doublet, an it please your majesty. I pray you, out of regard for virtue, to let them know that.”