“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 the challenge of the herald of Arkell, as his trumpet-blast sounded before the gate of the citadel, “the free Lord of Arkell here giveth you word and warning that he will fight against you on the morrow!” And from the citadel came back this ringing reply, as the knight of Leyenburg made answer for his sovereign lady: “Hear ye, sir Herald, and answer thus to the rebel Lord of Arkell: ‘For the purpose of fighting him came we here, and fight him we will, until he and his rebels are beaten and dead.’ Long live our Sovereign Lady of Holland!” On the morrow, a murky December day, in the year 1417, the battle was joined, as announced. On the low plain beyond the city, knights and men-at-arms, archers and spearmen, closed in the shock of battle, and a stubborn and bloody fight it was. Seven times did the knights of Jacqueline, glittering in their steel armor, clash into the rebel ranks; seven times were they driven back, until, at last, the Lord of Arkell, with a fiery charge, forced them against the very gates of the citadel. The brave von Brederode fell pierced with wounds, and the day seemed lost, indeed, to the Lady of Holland.