Like the innumerable poor of Lisbon, she was doomed. But Philippa of Lancaster, knowing that she was dying, sent to the jewelers and demanded that the swords be completed quickly and delivered to her. Before she died, she was determined to make her sons the promised gift. The long blades of tempered steel, with their hilts of gold set with seed pearls, were brought to her chamber. She sent for her sons.

Prince Edward, who had looked after his mother with great tenderness during her illness, was the most moved. In him there was more of the Latin temperament, and he was unable to hide his emotions. It was to him, as her eldest son, that the Queen turned first.

“God has chosen you to be the heir to this kingdom,” she said. “I know your virtue and your kindness, so I give you this sword of justice. With it you will govern both great and small, when at your father’s death this land shall be yours. I commend the people of Portugal to you. I pray you to defend them with steadfastness of soul. Do not suffer any to do wrong, and see always that right and justice are served. And when I say justice, my son, I mean justice with mercy—for justice without mercy is no more than cruelty. Take this sword, then, with my blessing—”

Prince Edward kissed the Queen’s hand reverently.

“—and with the blessing of those from whom I am descended.”

Prince Peter then knelt to receive his sword and his mother’s injunction that whereas she had commended the people of Portugal to his brother, on him should rest the duty of protecting the women of the land. With solemn faces the two princes stood back, while she summoned the youngest. Courageous and proud in her last hours, the Queen smiled at Prince Henry.

“I give you this third sword,” she said. “It is strong as you are. To you I commend all the lords, knights, squires, and those of noble blood. It is true that all of them are servants of the King, nevertheless they will require that special protection which is now your charge. You will do this, I know, not only through the inclination of your heart, but because it is now your duty. I give you this sword with my blessing. I desire that with it you shall be knighted.”

Henry took the sword upon his knees and was silent for a moment. Then he raised his eyes to his mother.

“Lady, you may be sure that so long as my life endures I will cherish the memory of your commands.”

He kissed the sword and thanked her, saying that he would guard it always, for its value to him was beyond any price.

The Queen now summoned her husband. His grief was so great that, unable to bear the sight of her suffering, he had been roaming the woods around the palace. To King John the Queen gave her most sacred relic, a fragment of the True Cross. She asked him to divide it into four pieces, keeping one for himself and giving the others to her three eldest sons.

The King, whose bravery on the battlefield was famous throughout Europe, could not bear to face the advance of the one unconquerable enemy. He rushed from her chamber, mounted his horse, and rode blindly into the sheltering woods of Alhos Vedros. The three princes remained with her.

Queen Philippa’s courage did not desert her. Rallying herself against the exhaustion which came as a final symptom of the disease, she gave them her last commands.

“Remain always as you have been, my sons—loving and united.”

Some memory of her childhood, of the distant land of the gray goose feathers, came back to her. Perhaps she had heard many years ago from old men in her father’s house of the driving hail that had destroyed the flower of France on the battlefield of Crecy.

“In my country,” she said, “they tell a story about the arrow.