Part + 

I + 

I + 

How He Came to Fulk of Montlice + 

He came walking from Bedford into Cambridge one May morning when the sun was still young and the dew scarce gone from the grass. His worldly possessions he carried on his back in an old knapsack; his short jerkin was stained and torn, and there were holes in his long hose. On his square head and drawn over his brow he wore a frayed cap set jauntily, with a heron’s feather pointing skywards. He carried a quarterstaff, and stepped out right manfully, scanning the flat fenland from beneath his thick brows, his young mouth dogged, his sombre eyes coldly calculating. Of years he numbered fourteen, but his shoulders had a breadth beyond his age, and his thighs a thickness of muscle that gave him the appearance of a grown man dwarfed. Nor was the face below the clubbed fair hair that of a child, for in the low brow lay strength, and about the straight mouth purpose. There was little boyishness in the eyes, but a frowning look, and at the back, lurking in the green-blue depths, a watchful gleam that was never absent. + 

One spoke to him on the road, a pedlar tramping south, and gave him good day. He answered in a crisp, deep voice, and smiled, showing a row of strong white teeth. + 

“Whither goest thou, younker?” the pedlar asked him idly. + 

“To my goal, fellow,” Simon retorted, and passed on. The pedlar called after him for his haughtiness, but he paid no heed. He was never one to waste words. + 

So at length he came to Montlice, which was his goal, and stood for a moment before the drawbridge, surveying the rugged castle. A man-at-arms, lounging on the bridge, hailed him good-naturedly. + 

“What want ye, boy? This is the lion’s den.” + 

The glimmer of a smile came to light the darkness of Simon’s eyes. + 

“I seek the lion,” he said, and walked forward across the bridge. + 

The man laughed at him, barring his passage. + 

“Ho-ho! Ye seek the lion, eh? He would make but one mouthful of you, my fine sprig.” + 

Simon looked up into his face, jutting brows lowering, eyes agleam. + 

“I seek my Lord the Earl,” he said. “Out of the way, sirrah!” + 

At that the man clapped his hands to his sides, shaken with herculean laughter. Having recovered somewhat he achieved a clumsy bow. + 

“My lord is from home,” he said, mocking Simon. + 

“You lie!” Simon answered quickly. “My lord will know how to punish a lying servant. Let me pass!” He awaited no permission, but slipped by, eel-like, and was gone across the bridge in a flash. Out of sight he paused, not hesitating, but seeming to debate within himself. He looked thoughtfully at the great gateway, standing wide with soldiers lounging there, and his lips tightened. He went swiftly through, light-footed and sure, and attracted but little notice. One of the men stopped his task to shout a surprised question after him, and Simon answered briefly over his shoulder: “On my lord’s business!” The man laughed, thinking him some scullion’s child, and turned back to his companion. Simon went on up the winding slope to the castle door and was there met by a group of men-at-arms who denied him ingress. + 

“To the scullions’ entrance, babe!” one told him, and the muscles about his mouth stood out in anger. He kept his ground, not a whit afraid. + 

“I must see my lord,” he answered, and only that. + 

“Wherefore, pup?” the man asked him, and when he would not answer, sought to hustle him roughly away. + 

But Simon wriggled from under his hands, and springing to one side, brought his heavy quarterstaff down athwart the man’s shoulders with so much force that, great man though he was, the soldier staggered. + 

Matters then would have gone ill with Simon but for the appearance of a boy, a little younger than himself, who came strolling towards them, followed by two liver-coloured hounds. He was dark, and magnificently clad, and he carried himself with an air of languid arrogance. + 

“Holà there!” he called, and the soldiers fell away from Simon, leaving him to stand alone, arms folded and head turned to survey the newcomer. + 

The boy came up gracefully, looking at Simon with a questioning lift to his brows. + 

“What is this?” he asked. “Who are you who strike our men?” + 

Simon stepped forward. + 

“So please you, sir, I seek my Lord the Earl.” + 

One of the men, he whom Simon had dealt that lusty blow, started to speak, but was hushed by an imperious gesture from the boy. He smiled at Simon with a mixture of friendliness and hauteur. + 

“I am Alan of Montlice,” he said. “What want you of my father?” + 

Simon doffed his cap, showing his thick, straight hair clubbed across his brow and at the nape of his brown neck. He bowed awkwardly. + 

“I want employment, sir,” he replied. “These men deny me entrance.” + 

Alan of Montlice hesitated. + 

“My father stands in no need⁠—” he began, then paused, fingering his dark curls. “There is that in you that I like,” he said frankly. “Come within.” + 

Simon bowed again, but he gave no thanks, only standing aside for the young Montlice to pass through the doorway. And as Alan went by, he shot him an awkward look, keen as steel, appraising him as it were. That was a trick which in after years had the effect of disconcerting his foes most mightily. Alan did not see the glance, but swept into the castle whistling through his teeth. Across the great stone hall he led Simon to an archway over which hung a leathern curtain, nail-studded. Before he pulled it back he spoke again to Simon, in a whisper. + 

“Ye will speak my lord fair,” he cautioned. “He is not so douce.” + 

A flickering smile touched Simon’s lips. + 

“Fulk the Lion,” he said. “I know.” + 

“He is to be feared,” Alan said, breathless. + 

Simon looked scorn. + 

“I fear no man.” + 

At that Alan opened wide his brown eyes and giggled a little. + 

“Ye do not know my lord,” he said, and pulled the curtain aside. + 

They entered a fair room carpeted with rushes and hung with all manner of paintings, biblical and historical. A table stood in the middle, and although it was now past eight o’clock in the forenoon, the remains of my lord’s breakfast still stood upon it: a chine of salt-beef, a broken manchett, and a tankard of ale. In a great chair beside the table, leaning back at his ease, sat Fulk of Montlice, a giant of a man, deep-chested and magnificently proportioned, as fair as his son was dark, with a crisp, golden beard, whose point came forward belligerently. One of his hands was tucked in the belt of his long gown, the other lay on the table, massive and hairy. Alan ran forward and fell to his knees. + 

“Sir, here is a boy who would speak with thee.” + 

My lord’s heavy, light-lashed eyelids lifted and his small blue eyes travelled slowly from his son to Simon. + 

“Shouldst know that I do not speak with every vagrant whelp who is presumptuous,” he said, a rumbling note of annoyance in his voice. “Away with you, sirrah!” + 

Simon stepped to the table, cap in hand. + 

“I am no vagrant, good my lord. Nor will I be so miscalled.” + 

Alan stayed on his knees, affrighted at such temerity, but my Lord of Montlice laughed. + 

“Good lack, what then are you, springald?” + 

“I hope one day to be a man, my lord, even as you,” Simon answered. “That is my ambition, sir, and so I come to seek employment with you.” + 

Montlice flung back his head and laughed again. + 

“For that you beard the lion in his den, eh? I will eat you for my dinner, cockerel.” + 

“So said they at the gate, my lord, but you will find me of more use alive than eaten.” + 

“Shall I so? And what canst do? Wind silks for womenfolk?” + 

“That and other things, my lord,” Simon answered coolly. + 

“Soso! What then? Tend my hounds, or are they too strong for your management?” + 

At that Simon curled his lip in disdain. + 

“There does not live the beast I will not tame, my lord.” + 

My lord’s eyes were now a-twinkle. He clapped the table jovially. + 

“By the Rood, I like thy spirit, my young spring-chicken! Canst take a buffet?” + 

“Ay, and give one.” + 

My lord cast him a quizzical look. + 

“As thou didst to my man without?” + 

If he expected Simon to show discomfiture he was disappointed, for Simon only nodded. My lord laughed. + 

“Impudence! Why camest thou to the great door? Know ye not the scullions’ entrance at the back?” + 

“I have never approached my goal through the back door, my lord, nor ever will. I march straight.” + 

“It seems so indeed,” said my lord. “Well, what dost thou want of me?” + 

“I would carry your lance and squire you, sir.” + 

Montlice snapped his fingers, jeering. + 

“Thou sit a horse! A flea on a camel!” + 

The thick brows drew closer together and a little colour stole into Simon’s cheeks. + 

“I shall grow, my lord.” + 

“Nay, nay. Art too small. What are thy years?” + 

“Fourteen, sir.” + 

“A babe, forsooth! Get thee gone, babe; I’ve no need of squires.” + 

Simon stood still. + 

“Your page, then, till I am grown to your liking.” + 

“God’s my life, methinks thou art overbold, babe, I do not take peasants for my pages.” + 

“I am no peasant.” + 

“Ho-ho! What then?” + 

“As gentle as yourself, my lord.” + 

“By Our Lady! What art called?” + 

“Simon, my lord.” + 

“Well, it’s a name. What else?” + 

Simon lifted his shoulders, half-impatiently. + 

“I call myself Beauvallet, sir.” + 

My lord pursed his full lips. + 

“It hath a ring,” he nodded. “What is thy real name, sirrah?” + 

“I have none.” + 

“Tush! Your father’s name!” + 

Simon did not answer for a moment, but at last he shrugged again, and looked up. + 

“Geoffrey of Malvallet,” he answered. + 

“Holy Virgin! I should have known that face! Art Malvallet’s bastard then?” + 

“So my mother told me, my lord.” + 

“Who is she? Does she live?” + 

“She is dead these four years, sir. She was one Jehanne, of Malvallet’s household. That is nothing.” + 

Montlice sank back again. + 

“Ay, ay. But what proof have you?” + 

“A ring, my lord. Little enough.” + 

“Show me.” + 

Simon put his hands up to his neck and drew a ribbon from his breast from which hung a golden ring. Montlice looked at it long and curiously. + 

“How came she by this?” + 

“I never asked, my lord. It matters not to me whether I am Malvallet’s son or another’s. I am what I choose to be.” + 

“Here’s a philosophy!” Montlice became aware of his son, still kneeling, and waved him to his feet. “What thinkest thou, Alan? Here is one of the Malvallet brood.” + 

Alan leaned carelessly against the table. + 

“Malvallet is no friend of ours, sir, but I like this boy.” + 

“He hath courage. Tell me, babe, where hast been since thy mother died?” + 

“I had a home with her brother, sir, a woodcutter.” + 

“Well, and then?” + 

“I wearied of it, my lord, and I came here.” + 

“Why not to thy father, bantam?” + 

Simon jerked his shoulder again. + 

“Him I have seen, my lord.” + 

Montlice rumbled forth a laugh. + 

“And liked not his looks?” + 

“Well enough, sir, but you also had I seen, and of both have I heard.” + 

“God’s Body, do I so take thy fancy?” + 

“Men call you the Lion, my lord, and think it harder to enter your service than that of Malvallet.” + 

My lord puffed out his cheeks. + 

“Ay, so is it. Ye like the harder task, babe?” + 

Simon considered. + 

“It is more worth the doing, my lord,” he replied. + 

My lord looked him over. + 

“Art a strange lad. Having forced thy way into my stronghold, thou’lt not leave it?” + 

“I will not.” + 

“I am no easy master,” Montlice warned him. + 

“I would not serve any such.” + 

“Ye think to earn knighthood with me?” + 

Simon glanced up. + 

“What I become will be of mine own making, sir. I ask no favours.” + 

“Then I like thee the better for it. Shalt be page to my son till I find thee fitter occupation. And that to spite Malvallet, look you. Art satisfied?” + 

Simon knelt. + 

“Ay, my lord. And I will serve you faithfully and well, that there shall be no gratitude to weigh me down.” + 

Montlice smote him on the shoulder, delighted. + 

“Spoken like a sage, my little fish! Well, get thee gone. Alan, take him, and see to it that he is clothed and fed.” + 

And thus it was that Simon came to Fulk of Montlice. + 

II + 

How He Grew to Manhood + 

From page to Alan, he became page to my lord himself, and was decked out in Montlice red and gold. Very brave he looked in the short red tunic worked with gold and caught in at the waist by a leathern belt. His hose were gold, his shoon red, and red was the cap that sat a thought rakishly on his fair head. His duties were many and arduous, nor did my lord spare him any fatigue or exertion. He slept on a hard pallet across Fulk’s threshold, rose early and went late to bed. It was part of his duty to wait upon my lord and his lady at dinner, and every morning at ten Simon took his stand on the dais beside my lord’s chair, attending to his wants or standing immobile the while my lord and his guests ate and drank their fill. He was at three people’s beck and call: my lord, his lady, and young Alan, and he spent his time running from one to the other. + 

He grew apace in height and breadth and strength until there were few who could throw him in a wrestling match; few who could shoot an arrow farther or more precisely, be it at butt, prick or rover; and few who could stand beneath his mighty buffet. Yet for the most part he was gentle enough, if stern, and it was only when his cold anger was aroused that the caged lion within him sprang to life and swept all before it. And when that happened there came that light to his eyes which could make the hardiest evildoer cringe and the most arrogant squire cry mercy, even before Simon’s iron hands had touched him. + 

Blows he received a-many, whenever my lord chanced to be in an ill-humour, which was often, but they never disturbed his cold composure, nor awakened any feeling of resentment in his breast. From Fulk he bore blows in an acquiescent mood that yet held no meekness nor humility, but woebetide the squire or serf who crossed his path belligerently inclined! When he still was page, my lord’s squire, Lancelot of the Black Isle, commanded him loftily, and when Simon paid no heed to his orders, dealt him a buffet that should have felled him to the ground. Simon staggered under it, but recovered, and gave back blow for blow with so much force behind his steel wrist that Lancelot, full five years his senior, went tumbling head over heels and was sore and bruised for days after. When Fulk heard the tale he made Simon squire in Lancelot’s place, and swore that there was more of himself in Simon than in his own son. + 

But it was seldom that Simon fell foul of his peers. His very calmness of temper compelled respect, and for that he was every inch a man, men liked him and were eager to call him friend. Friendship he never courted, caring nothing for man’s opinion of himself, nor seemed he to have an ounce of affection in him, save it were for Fulk of Montlice, or Alan, whom he regarded with a mixture of contempt and liking. His father he saw a-many times, but it is doubtful whether Geoffrey of Malvallet noticed him. Once indeed at Bedford in the court of law, whither Simon had gone in Fulk’s wake to settle a dispute over some land between Montlice and Malvallet, Geoffrey, glancing idly around, surprised an intent stare from his enemy’s page, who sat with his chin in his hand, calmly and keenly scrutinising him. Geoffrey looked him over haughtily, but when his eyes met Simon’s and encountered that strangely disconcerting gleam he turned his head away quickly, a tinge of colour in his cheeks. Simon continued to survey him, not from any wish to annoy, but simply because he was interested, and wished to see what manner of man was his sire. He was not ill-pleased with what he saw, but neither was he enthusiastic. Geoffrey was a tall man, and slim, fastidious in his dress and appointments, soft-spoken, and proud⁠—so said Montlice⁠—as Lucifer himself. His close-cropped hair was grizzled now, but his eyes were like Simon’s in colour, and as deep set. His eyebrows were too thick and straight, but his mouth was gentle and full-lipped, which Simon’s was not, and his brow was not so rugged. He had one son, Geoffrey, who was just two years older than Simon, and whom Simon had never seen. + 

Between Alan and Simon positions were very soon reversed. It was Alan who gave devoted love and obedience; Simon received, and could return naught but a tolerant protection. They played together often, but in every sport Simon was an easy victor save when the game was of a gentle kind. At bowls and closh Alan could beat him, but when they played at balloon ball, Alan ruefully declared that he was no match for Simon, who played with his naked hand and struck the great leather ball with such deadly accuracy and strength that Alan was fain to dodge it instead of returning it. At archery he was even less skilled, and Simon watched his efforts to bend the bow with a contemptuous, rather amused air, which incensed young Alan so that he shot his arrow still more wide of the mark than ever. Simon tried to teach him the sport of the quarterstaff, and wielded his own staff moderately enough, in deference to Alan’s tender years. But Alan, although he was not lacking in courage, disliked such rude and rough play, and would not engage with Simon. He liked to go out chasing or hawking, and he showed an aptitude for pretty and quick swordplay. Tourneys were not so much to his taste, and rather than enter into any of these pastimes would he sit at home, strumming upon his harp and weaving fanciful songs to his many ladyloves. He would paint, too, and make poesies, for all the world like some troubadour of a century ago. With the ladies he was ever a favourite, and by the time he was fifteen he was forever paying court to some dame or another, greatly to Simon’s disgust. + 

“Hast thou never loved?” he asked Simon once, plaintively. + 

They were sitting together in a room high up in one of the turrets, Alan playing his harp, and Simon fashioning a new string to his great bow. + 

Simon did not raise his eyes from his task, but his lips curled disdainfully. + 

“Oh, love, love! Art forever prating of this love. What is it?” + 

Alan played a soft chord or two, bending his handsome head a little to one side. His dark eyes glowed, and he smiled. + 

“Dost thou not know? Is there no maid who stirs thy heart?” + 

“I know of none,” Simon answered shortly. + 

Alan put his harp away and crossed his shapely legs. He was wearing a tunic of peacock-blue velvet with long sleeves, lined with gold, that touched the ground. There was a jewel in his left ear, and a ring on his finger, while the belt that drew in his tunic at the waist was of wrought gold, studded with gems. He formed a striking contrast to Simon, who was clad in a long robe of crimson, with high boots on his feet and no ornament on all his dress. He still wore his hair clubbed at neck and brow, although it was now customary to display a close-cropped head. He was sixteen at the time, and already stood six foot in height, with mighty thews and sinews, a broad back down which the muscles rolled and rippled, and a pair of arms that were bear-like in their strength. Beside Alan’s slim figure he seemed a very giant. + 

Alan watched him for a moment, still smiling. + 

“My sisters are not so ill-looking,” he remarked, a laugh in his eyes. “Elaine is perhaps more comely than Joan.” + 

“Is she?” Simon said, still intent on his task. + 

“Which dost thou like the best, Simon?” Alan asked softly. + 

“I know not. I have never thought.” He glanced up, a sudden smile flashing across his face. “Dost suggest that one of them should stir my heart?” + 

“They do not? Ye feel not the smallest pulse-leap in their presence?” + 

Simon stretched his new string experimentally. + 

“A pulse-leap,” he said slowly. “What folly! My pulse leaps when I have sent an arrow home, or when I have thrown my man, or when a hawk has swooped upon its prey.” + 

Alan sighed. + 

“Simon, Simon, is there no softness in thee at all? Dost love no one?” + 

“I tell thee I know not what it is, this Love. It stirs me not! I think it is nothing save the sick-fancy of a maudlin youth.” + 

Alan laughed at that. + 

“Thy tongue stings, Simon.” + 

“If it might sting thee to more manly pastimes than this moaning of love, ’twere to some purpose.” + 

“But it will not. Love is all. One day thou’lt find that I speak sooth.” + 

“I wonder!” Simon retorted. + 

Again Alan sighed. + 

“Simon, what hast thou in place of a heart? Is it a block of granite that ye carry in your breast? Is no one anything to you? Am I nothing? Is my lord nothing? There is no love in you for either of us?” + 

Simon laid his bow down, and began to polish an arrow. + 

“Art like a whining babe, Alan,” he rebuked his friend. “What shouldst thou be but my lords, thou and Montlice?” + 

Alan stretched out his hands. + 

“That is not what I would be to thee!” he cried. “I give you Love, and what doest thou give me in return? Hast a single spark of affection for me, Simon?” + 

Simon selected another arrow, and passed his hand over its broad feather almost lovingly. He looked thoughtfully at Alan, so that the boy sprang up, flushing. + 

“Thou carest more for that arrow than for me!” + 

“That is folly,” Simon answered coolly. “How can I tell thee what my feelings are when I do not know myself?” + 

“Couldst thou leave Montlice today without one pang of regret?” demanded Alan. + 

“Nay,” Simon said. “But one day I shall. For the present I bide, for I want some years to full manhood. And I am happy here, if that is what thou wouldst know. Between thee and me is friendship, and between my Lord Fulk and me is understanding. A truce to this silly woman’s talk.” + 

Alan sat down again, twanging his harp discordantly. + 

“Thou art so strange, Simon, and so cold. I wonder why I do so love thee?” + 

“Because thou art weak,” Simon replied curtly, “and because thou takest delight in such fondlings.” + 

“Maybe,” Alan shrugged. “Thou at least art not weak.” + 

“Nay,” Simon said placidly. “I am not weak, neither am I strange. See if thou canst bend that bow, Alan.” + 

Alan glanced at it casually. + 

“I know I cannot.” + 

“Shouldst practise then. Thou wouldst please my lord.” + 

“Certes, I do not want to please him. I was not fashioned for these irksome sports. ’Tis thou who shouldst try to please him, for ’tis thou whom he loves.” + 

Simon balanced a broad feathered arrow on his forefinger. + 

“Good lack, what has my lord to do with love? There is little enough of that in his heart.” + 

“So ye think!” retorted Alan. “I know that he watches thee fondly. Perchance he will knight thee soon.” + 

“I have done naught to deserve it,” replied Simon shortly. + 

“Natheless, he will do it, I think. He might even give thee one of my sisters in marriage if thou didst wish it, Simon.” + 

“I am not like to. There is no place for women in my life, and no liking for women in my breast.” + 

“Why, what will be thy life?” asked Alan. + 

Then at last a gleam shone in Simon’s eyes, cold yet eager. + 

“My life will be”⁠—he paused⁠—“what I choose to make it.” + 

“And what is that?” + 

“I will tell thee one day,” Simon said, with a rare touch of humour. Then he gathered up his arrows and went away, treading heavily yet noiselessly, like some great animal. + 

True it was that Fulk cared for him more than for his own son. The lion-spirit was not in Alan, and between him and his father was less and less understanding as the years passed by. Fulk’s jovial roughness, his energetic ways, his frequent lawsuits, wearied and disgusted Alan, and in the same way Alan’s fastidious temper and more cultured tastes became the subject for Fulk’s jeers and sighs. In place of his son Fulk turned to Simon and took him wherever he went, sparing him no exertion nor hardship, but watching his squire’s iron equanimity with an appreciative, almost admiring eye. Thus, bit by bit, grew up between the two an odd understanding and affection, never spoken of, but there at the root of their attitude towards each other. Fulk wanted not servility nor maudlin love, and from Simon he got neither. Strength was the straight road to his heart, and fearlessness: Simon had both. They were not always at one, and sometimes a quarrel would crop up when neither would give way an inch, when Fulk stormed and raged like a wounded buffalo, and when Simon stood rocklike, unshaken by anything Fulk might do to him, icy anger in his strange eyes, inflexible obstinacy about his mouth, and his brows forming a straight line across his hawk-nose. + 

“What I have I hold!” Fulk roared at him once, pointing to the device on his shield. + 

“I have not, but still I hold,” Simon retorted. + 

Fulk’s eyes showed red a moment, and a fleck of foam was on his pointing beard. + 

“God’s Wounds!” he barked. “Am I to be braved by you, mongrel-whelp? It will be the whip for you, or a dungeon-cell!” + 

“And still I shall hold,” Simon answered him, folding his arms across his great chest. + 

“By Death, I will tame you, wildcat!” Fulk cried, and drew back his fist to strike. But even as he would have done so, he checked himself, and the red went out of his eyes. A grin came, and a rumbling laugh. + 

“ ‘I have not, but still I hold,’ ” he repeated. “Ho-ho! ‘I have not, but⁠—’ Ho-ho!” Chuckling, he smote Simon on the shoulder, a friendly blow which would have crumpled an ordinary stripling to the ground. He became indulgent, even coaxing. “Come lad! Thou’lt do as I bid thee!” + 

Coaxing left Simon as unmoved as the late storm. He shook his fair head stubbornly. + 

“Nay, I go mine own road in this.” + 

The red light showed again. + 

“Dare ye defy me?” roared Fulk, and closed his huge hand on Simon’s shoulder. “I can snap thy puny body as a reed!” + 

Simon shot him that upward, rapier-glance. + 

“I dare all,” he said. + 

The grip on his shoulder tightened until little rivulets of pain ran down from it across his chest. He did not so much as wince, but held Fulk’s look steadily. Slowly the grip relaxed. + 

“Ay, ye dare,” Fulk said. “I am of a mind to break thee over my knee.” + 

“That is as may be,” Simon answered. “But still I shall hold.” + 

At that Fulk broke into a great laugh, and released him. + 

“Oh, go thine own road, cub, so ye do not take it into thy hot head to hold me!” + 

Simon looked him over, frowning. + 

“That I think I cannot do,” he said. “I am not sure.” + 

Whereat Fulk laughed the more and liked him the better. + 

When his seventeenth birthday came Simon was already a man in build and cool sagacity. In face he had changed hardly at all, save that his forehead was more rugged, the thick brows jutting further over the deep-set eyes of green-blue, and that his mouth had lost its youthful curve together with any softness that it might once have had. He smiled but rarely, nor ever laughed out as did my Lord of Montlice. If he laughed it was a short, dry sound, somewhat sardonic in tone, and quickly gone, but when he smiled there were two ways he had of doing it; one when he was crossed, that one more terrible than his frown, the other when he was in smiling humour, a singularly sweet smile, this, with a hint of boyishness at the back of it. + 

Fulk knew him for a soldier born, and a leader of men. If a disturbance arose in the Earl’s vast household it was Simon who quenched it when the fussy, incompetent Marshal had failed, and the Steward threatened in vain. The guards, inactive and fractious, would quarrel among themselves, and, heated by too much sack, come to blows and noisy, perilous fights. It needed but for Simon to come upon them with his soft tread and his cold composure to cause the brawlers to fall apart, great men though they were, and stand sheepishly before him, answering his crisp, stern questions with a meekness they did not show to John the Marshal. Boy as he was, Simon could reduce the most drunken roysterer to a state of penitent humility. He had but to use that upward glance of his and all insubordination was at an end. This he very soon discovered, and came to use the disconcerting look more than ever. There was something compelling in his appearance, an elusive air of rulership and haughtiness, and a suggestion of a hidden force that was invincible. Montlice recognised this as the Malvallet in him, and chuckled to himself, watching. He set Simon to rule his guards, and observed his ruthless methods with amusement. He would not throw the garment of his protection about his squire, wondering how he would maintain his position alone. Simon wanted no protection and found no difficulty in maintaining his position. At first, when he interfered in some quarrel, he met with insolence and threatened blows. That lasted for a very little time. Men found that insolence moved him to an icy anger that was to be dreaded, and if it came to blows there would be broken ribs, or dislocated jaws for those whom Simon’s fist struck. Therefore it swiftly ceased to come to blows. If it was a question of judgment or arbitration men found Simon relentlessly, mercilessly just, and because of this justice, no complaints of him were carried to my Lord Fulk. + 

With all his harshness and cold demeanour Simon was liked and trusted. The grumblers dwindled in number, for Simon had short shrift for any such. His code was a queer one, and men found his advice puzzling. But when they had slowly unravelled his line of thought they found it good, and this because it was his own code. + 

A guard met him once on the battlements and unfolded a tale of woe. One of his companions had a spite against him and plagued away his life. On this day the man had slyly tripped him up with his spear, so that he was burning to be avenged. What would Simon do for him? + 

“Naught,” Simon answered curtly. “Fight thine own battle.” + 

“Yet, sir, if I strike this man as he deserves, you will come upon us and have us shut up for brawling, or maybe whipped.” + 

“But ye will have struck him,” Simon said, and walked on, leaving his man to think it over. + 

Presently the man came to him again. + 

“Sir, if I punish mine enemy and there be something of a brawl, we shall both be punished by you.” + 

Simon nodded indifferently. + 

“But if I strike him hard enough, methinks he will not again plague me.” + 

“That is so,” Simon said. + 

“I think I will strike him,” decided the man, and straightway went to do so. + 

There was indeed something of a brawl, and as a consequence Simon had them both under lock and key for twenty-four hours. But neither bore him any ill-will, nor was there another complaint lodged on the matter. Simon knew his men, and his method of ruling was his own, rude as were those men, and as rough. He was master, and not one of them thought to dispute the fact. + 

Fulk, watching from afar, smote his thigh and laughed triumphantly. + 

“The boy is a man,” he said, hugely delighted. “And was there ever such another?” + 

III + 

How He Went with Fulk to Shrewsbury + 

At the time of Simon’s seventeenth birthday, affairs in Wales and the North of England had reached something approaching a crisis. It was in the year 1403, when Bolingbroke had sat upon the throne for four years, and his son, Henry of Monmouth, had held the reins of government in Wales, unassisted, for some months only. Although he was but sixteen years of age, the Prince had already led a punitive expedition into North Wales, and considerably harried the rebel, Owen Glyndourdy. But now Percy, the redoubtable Hotspur, had, with his father, the Earl of Northumberland, and his uncle, the Earl of Worcester, raised his standard in the North against the King, and was on the point of marching to join Glyndourdy in Wales. + 

It was in July that these state affairs first affected Montlice, although for some time past Fulk, ever-ready for war, had chafed and fretted in his fair land, debating whether he should take his men to join the Prince on the Marches or no. His uncertainty rendered him irritable to all who crossed his path; only Simon understood the reason of this irritability, and he gave no sign that he understood. But although he said little, he too was watching affairs, and under his habitual placidity was a glowing desire to be gone from quiet Montlice to Shrewsbury where lay the Prince of Wales with his insufficient army and his insufficient supplies. + 

One rode hot-haste through Cambridge, early in the month, and came to Montlice, covered with dust, dropping with fatigue, upon a jaded horse whose sides were flecked with foam, and whose slender legs trembled when at last he was checked before the bridge of the castle of Montlice. + 

“In the King’s Name!” he cried to those who would have questioned him, and passed over the bridge and up the winding path to the castle at a stumbling trot. At the great door he was met by Simon, coming forth to target practice. “In the King’s Name!” he said again, and slipped wearily to the ground. “My lord the Earl is within, young sir?” + 

“Ay.” Simon beckoned to one of the guards who came to the tired horse’s head. “Take yon beast to the stables, William, and see to it that he is well cared for. Come within, sir.” He led the King’s Messenger through the great, central hall where the scullions were clearing away the remains of dinner, to the room where he himself had first come to Fulk. The same leathern curtain hung across the doorway, and Simon pulled it back, stepping aside for the Messenger to enter. + 

“My lord,” he said calmly, “one comes from the King.” Then, seeing the man safely within, he let fall the curtain and went out again to his target practice. + 

When at length he returned he found the Messenger departed and Fulk roaring for his squire. Even before he had set foot across the threshold of the castle he could hear his lord bellowing his name from the hall. He went in unhurriedly, and found that Fulk was standing at the foot of the winding stairway, vainly calling him. Alan sat in a great chair by the empty fireplace, and Simon saw at once that he was perturbed and a little nervous. + 

“You called, my lord?” Simon said, walking forward across the stone floor. + 

Fulk wheeled about. + 

“So thou art here! And where hast been, cub? I have shouted myself hoarse, thou hapless fool!” + 

Simon propped his bow up against the wall. + 

“I have been shooting without, sir. What is your pleasure?” + 

“Shooting without, forsooth!” roared Fulk. Then of a sudden his wrath died down. “Well, well, we shall have need of it belike. Come thou hither, Simon lad.” + 

Simon came to the table, and Fulk handed him a sheet of parchment. Simon read it through slowly, the while my lord puffed and blew, and stamped his feet, for all the world like some curbed-in battle-horse. + 

“Well,” Simon said at last. “So we go to war.” He gave the King’s writ back to Fulk and frowned. “We can make ready in the space of three days,” he added tranquilly. + 

Fulk laughed, stuffing the parchment into his belt. + 

“Thou cold little fish! Is it nothing that the King has sent for me to join him at Shrewsbury?” + 

“Nay, it is a great thing,” answered Simon, “but I shall not be in a heat because of it. That is foolish.” + 

“Holy Virgin, why?” demanded Fulk. + 

“There will be more done, and that expeditiously, if a head is kept firm upon one’s shoulders.” + 

“Wise boy!” Fulk shook with laughter. “Eh, but one would think thou hadst been in a dozen campaigns! Sit thee down, my Simon, that I may confer with thee. See our Alan there. The lad’s in a ferment! Never fret, Alan, I’ll not take thee along with me.” + 

Alan flushed at the taunt. + 

“Indeed, sir, and that is my place! Dost say I shall not ride forth with thee?” he cried. + 

“A pretty captain wouldst thou make!” jeered Fulk. “Paling at every sound, weary ere ever the day is begun! Thou’lt stay with the womenfolk. ’Twill be more to thy taste, methinks.” + 

Up sprang Alan in a rage. + 

“It is not to be borne!” he cried. “I have as much courage as thou, and I say it is my right to go with thee!” + 

“And I say thou art a very babe,” Fulk replied. “It is Simon I will take.” Then as Alan looked as though he would fly at him, he spoke more gently, pleased at his son’s fury. “Nay, nay, Alan, calm thyself. I did not mean to taunt thee. Art too young for a hard campaign, but shalt rule here in my stead.” + 

“I tell thee⁠—” + 

Fulk brought his fist down on the table so that the boards almost cracked beneath it. + 

“Hold thy tongue! What I have said I have said. Sit thee down again!” + 

Alan went sulkily to his chair and sank into it. Satisfied that he was silenced for the time, Fulk turned to Simon. + 

“Look you, Simon, there are six score men-at-arms I can muster, and eight score archers, under Francis of Dalley. There is John the Marshal, and Vincent, my captain. No puny force that, lad! And thou shalt ride with me and taste the joys of war. Does the prospect please thee?” + 

“Very well,” Simon said, with the glimmer of a smile. “Which way do we go?” + 

For over an hour they discussed the various routes, until Alan began to yawn and fidget. + 

“It is through Northampton and Warwick I will go!” declared Fulk obstinately. + 

“And thereby waste time,” said Simon. “It is through Lutterworth and Tamworth, or Lichfield, we must go.” + 

“I say I will not! Who can tell in what state are the roads that way, foolish boy?” + 

“The Messenger came through Lichfield, sir,” remarked Alan languidly. “He made no complaint.” + 

“Well, I will think on it,” growled Fulk. “Hotspur is marching towards Chester, so we must e’en take the speediest road.” He heaved himself out of his chair. “And now to tell my lady,” he said, and tugged ruefully at his beard. For my lady, gentle though she was, was the only being before whom Fulk bent the knee of his headstrong obstinacy. He went heavily up the stairs now to her bower, leaving Alan and Simon alone. + 

Alan bent down, fondling one of the hounds. + 

“Thou hast the luck, Simon,” he said. + 

“Thou dost not want to go,” Simon answered. “What are wars to thee?” + 

“How can I tell when I have never taken part in one?” + 

“Ye quibble,” Simon said harshly. “Wilt be happier here with thy ladyloves.” + 

Alan said nothing for a while, still stroking his hound. At length he sat back in his chair. + 

“Needs must I win my spurs one day,” he said. “Why not now?” + 

“Time enough,” Simon replied. “This will mean forced marches over rough ground. Thou wouldst be weary ere thou hadst come to Shrewsbury.” + 

Alan looked wistfully up at him. + 

“And⁠—and thou who art but one year my senior⁠—art made of iron.” + 

“Hadst thou led the life I have led since my birth thou also wouldst be of sterner stuff.” + 

“Or dead,” Alan said, smiling. + 

“Ay, perhaps. Where went the Messenger from here?” + 

“To Grayman, and from thence to the Baron of Shirley. He was at Malvallet two days ago. The King calls for all his loyal servants. I wonder, shall we vanquish Percy?” + 

“God willing,” Simon answered. + 

“God willing indeed. Right must triumph.” + 

“In that case,” said Simon drily, “Hotspur is like to win.” + 

Alan opened his eyes wide. + 

“Simon! The King⁠—the King⁠—is the King!” + 

“So too was Richard,” Simon reminded him. + 

Alan digested this. + 

“And⁠—and so thou dost not believe that⁠—that right must win?” + 

“Not I!” Simon laughed shortly. “Might and generalship will win. What else?” + 

Alan hesitated. + 

“Simon, I fear me ’tis as Father Peter says,” he remarked gravely. + 

Simon cast him an inquiring glance. + 

“What says our worthy priest?” + 

“That thou art a thought godless in thy spirit.” + 

Simon laughed again, and this time the sardonic note sounded strongly. + 

“When said he this, Alan? Do I not attend Mass, and go I not to Confession?” + 

“Ay⁠—but⁠—sometimes thou dost say things.⁠ ⁠… Father Peter spoke to my lord of you.” + 

Simon was smiling now, so that his eyes were almost slits. + 

“And what answered my lord?” + 

“Oh, my father said: ‘Let be, Simon is very well.’ ” + 

“Ay, so I think. Set thy mind at rest, Alan, I am no heretic.” + 

Alan started up, shocked. + 

“Simon, I meant not that! Nor did Father Peter.” + 

“What a heat over naught!” Simon jeered. “What if thou hadst meant it? Yet I do not think I look a Lollard.” + 

“Oh, no, no!” Alan cried, and wondered to hear Simon laugh again. + 

Three days later Fulk left Montlice with his following, and started on the arduous march to Shrewsbury. And rough ground as much of it was they arrived at that town at the end of the week, one day before the King himself, who was hastening there to throw his army between the oncoming Hotspur and the Prince. + 

Some sprinkling of men Fulk lost on the march, but his casualties were few, so that he remarked with unwonted philosophy that if the weaklings would all fall out before they came to Shrewsbury, so much the better. Now that he was in action his irritability left him, and he surprised Simon by his good humour, and his patience in cheering on his men. His joviality was infectious, and it was a light-spirited little army that halted before the gates of Shrewsbury at the end of that weary week. They were welcomed royally, and quartered well, and within an hour of their coming the Prince of Wales sent to bid my lord wait on him at once. So Fulk sallied forth, accompanied only by his squire, and made all haste to Henry’s court. It was there, while waiting for Fulk to emerge from his audience, that Simon first met his half-brother, Geoffrey of Malvallet. + 

Geoffrey had arrived not twenty-four hours before Montlice, leading his men in place of his father who was sick at home. Simon recognised him at once from his likeness to Malvallet. + 

Geoffrey was sauntering through the great hall. He lounged past Simon, and glancing casually over his shoulder to see who it was, was startled to find that he was the object of a directly piercing stare, cast upward at him from under heavy brows. He paused on his way, and returned that stare from his superior two inches in height. + 

He was a handsome young man, some nineteen years of age, dark as Simon was fair, but with the same projecting forehead and green-blue eyes. But where Simon’s eyes were cold, Geoffrey’s sparkled; and where Simon’s mouth was hard, Geoffrey’s had a softer curve of laughter. It curved now in unveiled amusement, and his eyes twinkled merrily. + 

“What’s to do, young cockalorum?” he asked. “Whence that haughty frown? My complexion likes you not, perchance?” + 

Simon came forward, and as he came Geoffrey saw the red and gold device on his surcoat. His smile faded, and he half shrugged his shoulders. + 

“Ha, one of the Montlice brood!” he said, and would have turned on his heel. + 

“Nay,” Simon said. “Though I would as lief be that as aught else.” + 

Malvallet paused, and looked him over. + 

“And what are you, Master Deep-Voice!” + 

“I think I am Nobody, Sir Geoffrey.” + 

“Why so do I!” Malvallet mocked him. “And being Nobody, see ye cast me not another such glance as I surprised today, for it may be that I am hot of temper.” + 

Simon smiled then, not a whit angered. + 

“It may also be that I am strong of arm,” he said. + 

“Well, see ye cross not my path again,” Malvallet answered. “I am not so puny, I give you warning.” He strode on, leaving Simon to look after him with a curious glint in his eyes, not unfriendly. + 

Then Fulk came out in rare good spirits, and bore his squire back to their quarters, making him ride beside him instead of a few paces behind. + 

“By my troth, Simon,” he said energetically, “that boy is a man, with all a man’s brain and courage!” + 

Simon turned his head. + 

“The Prince, my lord?” + 

“Ay, young Henry of Monmouth. He is one year thy junior, but by God, he is three years thy senior as well! And thou art no babe.” + 

Simon bent to pass his hand thoughtfully down his horse’s neck. + 

“What thinks he, sir? Can we hold against Hotspur?” + 

Fulk shot him a sidelong glance, and pursed his small mouth. + 

“Who shall say, Simon? It is said that Hotspur is fourteen hundred strong. And he hath Douglas with him, and Worcester, with Glyndourdy like to join him ere we can engage. Word is brought that he is little over a day’s march from here. We are a handful, and if help comes not we can but hold the town.” + 

“The while Glyndourdy joins him. H’m! Where lies the King this night?” + 

“I know not. If he comes before Hotspur all may be well. But⁠ ⁠…” + 

“What manner of man is this Henry of Bolingbroke?” asked Simon. “Is he one to allow another to forestall him?” + 

“Nay, by the Rood! Henry is a man, even as his son.” + 

“Then I doubt not he will be with us before Percy,” said Simon placidly. “Whate’er befall, it will be an interesting combat.” + 

“It is like to be bloody enough to satisfy even thy savage heart,” Fulk grunted. He shifted a little in his saddle. “Malvallet is here.” + 

“I know.” + 

“Hast seen him then? ’Tis not thy father, but his firstborn. Thy father lies sick of a fever.” + 

“Doth he so? I have spoken with Geoffrey of Malvallet. While ye were with his Highness.” + 

“Spoken with him?” Fulk turned to look at him. “What said he? Why didst thou accost him, pray?” + 

“I did not. I but looked, and my look misliked him. Wherefore he gave me warning that I should not again cross his path.” + 

Fulk laughed. + 

“That swift glance of thine, eh, Simon? So Malvallet called thee to book? And what dost thou think of him?” + 

“He seems a man,” Simon answered, and then relapsed into a silence which was not broken until they came back to their lodging. + 

A little after noon on the following day Simon sallied forth from his quarters and went afoot through the packed town towards the battlements. The streets were thronged with soldiers, both of high estate and low, so that Simon’s progress was necessarily slow. But at length he came to the battlements, on the east side of Shrewsbury, and entered into conversation with some of the men-at-arms stationed there. He was permitted, presently, to mount the battlements, and stood behind the parapet, looking out across the country. The breeze stirred his fair hair, and whipped his surcoat about his legs. He leaned his hands on the low wall; closely scanning the surrounding country. Thus he stood, motionless, until an officer came up to him. + 

“Well, young sir, and what seest thou?” he asked, rather amused. + 

“I do not know,” Simon answered. “Presently I will tell you.” + 

The officer shaded his eyes from the sun, looking out from under his hand to where Simon gazed. + 

“There is naught, Sir Sharp-Eyes. No sign of life of Hotspur or of our King. For the one God be praised, and for the other God pity us. Ye came with Montlice?” + 

“Ay.” Still Simon stared at the distant horizon, his eyes narrowed and keen. + 

The officer laughed at him. + 

“Do ye think to take my place in spying out the approach of men?” he inquired. + 

“Mine eyes are sharper than most,” Simon replied. “See yonder!” He stretched out his arm, pointing to the southeast. + 

The officer screwed up his face against the sun’s rays, blinking rapidly. + 

“What is it? I see naught.” + 

“Look more to the right. There, coming over the brow of the hill. Something moves. Do ye see it not?” + 

The man leaned forward, again shading his eyes. + 

“Naught,” he said uneasily. “Art sure, Sir Squire?” + 

Simon’s gaze did not waver. + 

“Ay, I am sure. Something is coming over yonder hill, for I can see movement, and ever and anon there is a glistening like a tiny star. That is the sun on armour.” + 

The officer turned to hail one of his men. + 

“Godfrey! Come hither! Ye have sharp eyes. What can ye see yonder?” + 

The archer stared at the faraway hills for a long time in silence. + 

“A clump of trees, my captain,” he ventured at last. + 

“Nay, not that. Coming over the brow, more to the right.” + 

“I see naught, sir. Ah!” + 

“Well, what?” + 

“Little enough, sir, or perhaps mine eyes deceived me. Methought I saw a twinkling. There again!” + 

Captain Lenoir turned again to Simon. + 

“Mayhap ye are right, sir. But I’ll sound no alarm till we see more plainly. If what ye see is indeed an army it is twenty miles distant, or more. If it is Hotspur, we⁠—” + 

At last Simon turned. + 

“Hotspur? What folly is this? Hotspur will come from the north, from Chester. What I see is the King’s army.” + 

“It may be.” Paul Lenoir looked out again, and in a moment gave a start. “I saw a flash! Yet another!” + 

“Ye will see them more and more as the army comes over the hill,” Simon remarked. + 

Lenoir sat down upon the parapet. + 

“I would give something for thine eyes, sir. May I not know thy name? I am called Paul of Lenoir.” + 

“I am Simon of Beauvallet.” He too sat down on the parapet, and for a long time they stayed thus, saying little, but ever watching the twinkling line that was slowly growing. And at last Paul of Lenoir rose and gave orders for the trumpeters to blare forth the great news that the King’s army was approaching. Then Simon left him, and went back to his lord’s side. + 

The town was of a sudden in ferment, the streets more crowded than ever, some men cheering, others asking excited questions, others gloomily prophesying that it was Percy and not the King who had made a cunning detour in order to bewilder them. One and all rushed to the walls to verify the joyous tidings, and Simon’s progress was even slower than it had been before. + 

He came upon Fulk, who was conferring with his marshal, and would have passed him silently had not Fulk called after him. + 

“Ha, Simon! Where hast been? Is the King indeed approaching?” + 

Simon paused. + 

“Ay, my lord. He is over twenty miles from here, but he brings a fair army as I should judge.” + 

“Saw ye the approach then?” + 

“I have been with one Lenoir upon the battlements and espied the army by the glittering of armour in the sun.” + 

“I dare swear thou wert the first to do so, my lynx-eyed Simon!” + 

“Ay, but one saw them not long after me. They will be at the gates soon after dusk, for they are marching swiftly.” + 

He proved to be right, for not long after sundown an advance guard from the army galloped up to the gates to tell, officially, of the King’s coming in full force. The gates were opened, and the young Prince of Wales rode out to stand there in readiness to receive his father. Henry came at last, and publicly embraced his son. Then he rode into the town beside him, while the excited inhabitants who lined the streets cheered till they were hoarse, flinging flowers before him, and scuffling among themselves to obtain a better view. + 

Within an hour a council was summoned from which Fulk did not return until well into the night, when Simon lay sleeping peacefully and dreamlessly upon his hard pallet. + 

They had hardly risen next morning when my lord’s page came flying in with the news that Percy had appeared before the walls, and at sight of the royal banner, withdrawn his men, some thought to one place, some to another. + 

Fulk summoned his squire to him, and made all haste to the court, which they found packed with the various captains and generals. The King held another council, and when Fulk at last rejoined Simon his eyes were kindling with the lust for battle, and his mouth smiled grimly. + 

“We are to march forth, God be thanked!” he told Simon. “Glyndourdy is not come, so the King will pit his strength against Percy. Stafford is to lead the van, the King takes the right wing, and the Prince the left. We are to go with the Prince. Malvallet also. Malvallet is the Prince’s friend,” he added. “I did not know. He is very like thee in face, Simon.” + 

“Save that he is dark. Do we enrol ourselves under the Prince’s standard?” + 

“Ay, at once. Summon me John the Marshal and Vincent, lad, and see to it that thou bearest thyself in readiness within the hour. I will carry my great cross-hilted sword, and the old lance.” + 

Simon nodded and went quickly away to carry out his orders. In an hour he was fully equipped, riding behind his lord, and after what seemed to be a marvellously short time, the army was marched out of the town, fourteen to fifteen hundred strong, north to Hayteley-hill, whereon Hotspur had drawn up his army. + 

“God’s my life!” muttered Fulk. “This is a pretty place for fighting!” + 

Simon surveyed the ground coolly, and frowned a little. Along the foot of the hill were a number of ponds, and in front of them grew thick rows of peas. Behind these obstructions were the rebels ensconced. + 

There was a long, long wait, during which the horses stamped and fidgeted restlessly, and the men murmured among themselves. Then from the royal lines went forth a herald to treat with Percy. Another wait followed, and the herald returned, accompanied by a man clad all in armour and mounted on a fine horse, with his squire behind him. + 

“Worcester,” said Fulk. “Are we to treat, then?” + 

No one had an answer for him, and he sat silent, waiting. To Simon it seemed hours before the Earl returned to the rebel lines, and after that was still another long pause. Evidently Hotspur refused to accept the terms laid before him, for there was a stir in the enemy’s lines, and word came down the King’s army that the King was about to give the order to “advance banner.” It was now long past noon, and from the impatient, chafing men came something of a cheer, and cries of “St. George for England! St. George, St. George!” + 

Fulk settled himself more firmly in his saddle, curbing his horse’s sidling movements. + 

“Is thy blood fired, Simon?” he asked, smiling from beneath his helmet. + 

Simon’s eyes looked out, cool and watchful as ever. + 

“Ay,” he said shortly. “Does Stafford charge?” + 

Fulk nodded. + 

“God help him, yes! I mislike the look of yon army, Simon. Hotspur is no novice in battle, but there is some talk of a prophecy concerning him that says he will fall today. Keep at my back as far as thou art able, and do not lose thy head. Hey, we are moving⁠—and so are they!” + 

After that there was no time for conversation. Through the hampering growth of peas charged the van, led by Stafford, and to meet him came Hotspur, thundering down the hill with spears levelled, and from either wing the archers shooting. Suddenly the air seemed thick with flying arrows, and alive with cries and the clash of arms. Among the ponds and beyond them the vans of the two armies engaged, and for a while nothing could be seen save a medley of soldiers fighting together in growing disorder. + 

A shout went up from Hotspur’s lines, and one cried from beside Simon: “Stafford is down, and they are through!” + 

An order ran down the Prince’s flank, and in a moment they were in action, galloping forward to charge the enemy’s right wing. + 

In a minute they seemed to be in the midst of a storm of flying arrows. One whistled past Simon’s head, but he only laughed, and spurred on, trampling peas underfoot, and hacking through. A cry came to his ears, taken up by many voices: “The Prince is wounded! The Prince is wounded!” The ranks wavered and fell back irresolute, appalled by the flood of arrows. One rode up to the Prince who had plucked the arrow from out his cheek and was staunching the blood. He seemed to remonstrate, to try to force Henry away. But the Prince shook him off, and rose in his stirrups, waving his sword. His clear, young voice was wafted back to the serried lines. + 

“Onward, onward!” he shouted. “Follow me!” He set spur to his horse and charged forward. “St. George, St. George for us!” he cried. + 

Others followed his example. Montlice and Malvallet galloped forward side by side with Simon a little to the fore. + 

“Follow the Prince!” roared Fulk. “The Prince and Victory!” + 

A rumble went through the lines: “The Prince, the Prince!” There was a sudden surge forward, as the King’s men charged up the hill after that heroic, flying figure. Some fell into the disastrous ponds, some stumbled in the entangling pea-rows, but the bulk kept on till they had overtaken their leader. Then onward still to meet the enemy’s right flank. Like some heavy thunderbolt they fell upon it, and carried on, as it were, by their own impetus, they rolled it back and back, hacking and hewing before and beside them, until they had enclosed it between themselves and the King’s division. + 

Far away to the right Simon could see Fulk, swept from him by the tide of men, wielding his sword like one possessed; and nearer to him was Malvallet, cut off from the main body of the fight and hard-pressed by Percy’s men, yet holding his own nobly. From his own tight-packed corner Simon saw Malvallet’s horse go down, and Malvallet spring clear. A man on foot caught at his own horse’s rein, but before he could strike Simon had bent forward and slashed him across his unvisored face. Then he broke free, and cut himself a way to where Malvallet fought. Down he came upon the group at a full gallop, and ere the rebels could turn to see what it was that fell upon them so suddenly like a bolt from the blue, he had struck. His huge sword with all his iron strength behind it descended on one hapless shoulder where it joined his victim’s neck, and cleaved through the sheltering armour as though it had been so much cardboard. As the man fell, soundless, Simon came to Malvallet’s side, and sprang to earth. His sword swept a circle before them, and with his free hand he thrust the horse’s bridle into Malvallet’s hand. + 

“Up, up!” he cried, and sprang forward, lithe as a panther, to bring one man to earth by a single stroke so nicely measured, with so much skill and brute force behind it, that his two-edged sword split the helm on which it fell, and also its wearer’s crown. He leaped back again as Malvallet shook the reins clear of his arm. + 

“At my back!” Geoffrey gasped, and swept his sword up suddenly to intercept a deadly blow at his neck. + 

“Fool!” Simon answered in a fury. He caught his horse as it would have bolted past him, and setting his feet squarely, forced it back upon its haunches. From the saddle-holster he snatched his treasured bow which not all Fulk’s remonstrances had induced him to leave behind. Down he went on his knee, seeing that Malvallet could still stand alone, and calmly fitted an arrow to the bow. Calmly, too, he took aim, and bent that mighty weapon. The arrow sang forth, but so sure was Simon of his skill, equal, Fulk said, to that of the best bowman in all Cheshire, that he paused not to see it hit its mark. One after another he fitted arrows to his bow, and shot them among the dwindling group about Malvallet, until a sound behind him warned of danger. Up he sprang, catlike, and in a flash exchanged bow for sword. And with this he did so much good work that when Malvallet came to guard his back, he had killed a man outright, and dealt three others some shattering blows. + 

“I am with thee!” Malvallet called from behind, but Simon needed no encouragement. Not for nothing had he trained his muscles throughout the years he had been at Montlice. His arm seemed tireless, his eye unwavering. + 

Then the body of the fight swept down upon them, and they were all but lost in its writhing masses. Free of his assailants, Simon caught at a horse’s bridle. He had lost his shield and his bow, but with his sword he did battle against the mounted man. Then, once more, Malvallet was with him, himself mounted on a stray horse, and helmed again. He charged down upon Simon’s foe, lance poised in readiness, and as the unknown rider would have cut Simon to earth, caught him fairly in the ribs with such force that the man, taken unawares, was toppled backwards out of his saddle, and the wind knocked out of him. + 

“Up, lad!” Malvallet cried. “Art hurt?” + 

Simon swung himself on to the frightened animal’s back, and there in the heat of battle, smiled his tranquil smile, still calm and unruffled. + 

“A scratch or two. Take no heed of me, Geoffrey of Malvallet.” + 

“That will I!” Geoffrey retorted. “Stay by me⁠—Nobody!” + 

Again they were enveloped in a swirling mass, and with it swept onward, their horses flank to flank, themselves hacking a path before them. Once Fulk drew near, puffing and blowing, his eyes gleaming red through his visor, then he too was swept onward and away. + 

To Simon the battle seemed interminable, but although his arm was weary and he had to change his sword to his left hand, he lost not one jot of his grim enjoyment. He fought on beside Malvallet, silent for the most part, his lips set in a hard, tight line, and his strange eyes glowing. + 

“Canst see Hotspur?” panted Geoffrey once. “Methought I heard a shout.” + 

Even as he spoke it came again, caught up by many voices: “Hotspur has fallen! Hotspur is dead! Hurrah for St. George of England!” + 

“He is down,” said Simon, “and they waver.” + 

Waver they did, and from that moment the zest seemed to go from the rebel army. The fighting became less arduous, but it was not until dusk fell that the battle ceased. And when at last the end came and his tired arm could be still, Simon sat quiet for a moment on his jaded horse, surveying the terrible field inscrutably, with little pity in his glance, but an expression of detached interest. + 

Geoffrey of Malvallet watched him for a moment in the half-light, and presently spoke to him. + 

“Art a very hardy youngster,” he remarked. “What think you of it all?” With a wave of his gauntleted hand he embraced the battlefield. + 

Simon made answer without turning his head. + 

“It is disorderly,” he said reflectively. “Methinks I will aid them to tidy it.” + 

Malvallet realised that he was of a mind to assist in carrying away the wounded. + 

“Not so fast, not so fast! Is that all ye think?” + 

Simon threw him a fleeting glance. + 

“It has been a fair day,” he said. “I would we might have another.” + 

Malvallet laughed at him. + 

“Thou cold-blooded tiger-cub! Thou hast no compassion for these wounded and these dead?” + 

“One must die,” Simon answered. “And I would deem this a good death. Why should I pity them?” + 

“Yet thou wouldst go tend the wounded,” Malvallet reminded him. + 

“So they may fight again,” Simon said. “I would help them, but I would not pity them, for that is foolish.” + 

Malvallet laughed again, wonderingly. + 

“Good lack, art made of ice! I’ll not have thee aid the wounded now. Art hurt thyself.” + 

Simon cast a casual glance at his arm, round which, through the shattered plates, he had twisted a scarf. + 

“Hurt? I? That is but a scratch, Sir Geoffrey. And thyself?” + 

“Well enough,” Malvallet replied. “This is not my first fight. I have been with the Prince here until a few months ago.” + 

“I pray God ’twill not be my last fight,” Simon said. + 

“Or mine. I had thought from thy bearing that an hundred campaigns had seen thee.” + 

“Nay. But mine is fighting blood.” + 

Malvallet eyed him curiously. + 

“Is it? From what stock dost thou spring, I wonder? Methinks I have seen thy like before.” + 

Simon gave his short laugh. + 

“Look in thy mirror, Geoffrey of Malvallet.” + 

Malvallet nodded, not surprised. + 

“It struck me that that was so a while back when thou didst come to my rescue. For which I thank thee, brother.” He held out his mailed hand, and Simon gripped it, flushing slightly. They rode slowly on, down the hill. + 

“Thy name?” Geoffrey asked presently. + 

“Simon⁠—of Beauvallet.” + 

Geoffrey laughed. + 

“Oh, well done, Simon! I would thou wert not with Montlice. My father would take thee to himself were I to ask it.” + 

“Nay.” + 

“There is hatred in thy heart for him? Desire for vengeance, maybe?” + 

Simon turned his head. + 

“Why should I hate him?” + 

“Because of thy namelessness! Thy⁠—thy mother?” + 

“A name will I make for myself. My mother chose her own road, and if she was not happy at least I never heard of it. She is dead. All that is nothing.” + 

“Thou art the strangest lad I ever saw!” Malvallet exclaimed. “Art squire, then, to Montlice?” + 

“Ay. One day I shall call no man save the King my master, but for the present I owe allegiance to Montlice. I wonder, is he here, or did he fall?” He looked round keenly, but in the fading light could not see his lord, nor distinguish one man from Montlice. + 

“If he is killed, what comes to thee?” asked Malvallet. “Wilt join my train?” + 

“Nay, I must lead our men back to Montlice. If Fulk is dead, then do I owe allegiance to Alan, his son. But I do not think he is dead.” + 

A rider came up with them, sitting very upright in his saddle. From under the shade of his protecting helm Simon saw a pair of shrewd, youthful eyes shining above the bandage that crossed the young man’s face. Malvallet lifted his lance in salute, and the stripling reined in his horse to walk beside them. + 

“Oh, bravely done, Malvallet, and you, sir! Bravely done indeed! I saw thee yonder, Geoffrey, when thou wert hard-pressed, and I saw thy companion go valiantly to aid thee. Is all well with thee?” + 

“I took no hurt, Highness, thanks be to Simon of Beauvallet here. I grieve to see you wounded, sir.” + 

“Why, it is naught!” Henry said merrily. “They made a deal of pother over it, but it irks me not.” He stretched his arms. “Ah, but this has been a glorious day!” + 

“Why, so Simon thinks, Highness, and wishes we might enjoy yet another like it.” + 

Henry bent forward to smile at Simon across Malvallet. + 

“That’s the spirit I love,” he said. “Whose man are you, Simon of Beauvallet?” + 

“I serve Montlice, Highness,” Simon answered. + 

“Montlice? I saw him fall a while since. They bore him away, but I do not think he is dead.” + 

“He would be hard to kill, sir,” Simon said. “I must go seek him, with your permission.” + 

Henry nodded pleasantly. + 

“Ay, do not wait on my coming. I would speak with Geoffrey. But I shall not forget you or your valour this day.” + 

Simon bowed. + 

“Your Highness is very kind, sir.” + 

Malvallet held out his hand yet again. + 

“We shall meet again, Simon.” + 

Simon gripped his outstretched hand. + 

“As foes, Malvallet, once I am at Montlice again.” + 

“Nay, nay,” Geoffrey answered. “I shall see thee in Shrewsbury. Remember I am in thy debt!” + 

Simon smiled, and released his hand. + 

“As I will bear no man gratitude so let no man be grateful upon me, Malvallet. Mayhap we shall fight again one day, side by side. Who knows?” + 

“Then it is farewell for the present, Simon?” + 

“Ay, Geoffrey. But one day we shall meet again as equals.” + 

“See thou forgettest me not!” Malvallet called after him, and watched him ride away towards the rearguard where they were tending the wounded. + 

“That is a passing strange man, Geoffrey,” the young Prince remarked. “Who is he? He is very like thee, save that he is fair where thou art dark.” + 

“He calls himself Beauvallet, sir, and is my half-brother. I met him for the first time on this campaign. He saved my life a while back, as your Highness saw.” + 

Henry nodded. + 

“Ay, ’twas bravely done. Shall I have my father knight him?” + 

“Ah, if your Highness would! Indeed, he deserves it on this day’s work alone.” + 

Henry looked after the now distant figure thoughtfully. + 

“There is that in him that pleases,” he said. “But he is very cold. Perhaps he will be a great man one day. I would fain call him friend, methinks.” + 

IV + 

How He Was Knighted, and How He Had Speech with His Father + 

He did not find his lord anywhere on the battlefield, but he was in no way perturbed. Back he rode to Shrewsbury, to Fulk’s lodging, and there he found Montlice, stretched upon a bed, and swearing mightily, whiles a leech dressed the wound in his shoulder. Simon clanked in, a grim figure in dusty, bloodstained armour that in one or two places had been shattered by some lusty blows. The face that looked out from under the peak of his helm was tired and drawn, but his green-blue eyes were as calm as ever, as if he had not seen more horrors today than in all his young life. + 

At sight of him a look of relief swept over Fulk’s countenance. + 

“Ah, God be thanked!” he rumbled. “I might have known thou’dst be hard to kill.” + 

“As I knew of thee,” Simon said. He beckoned to my lord’s page. “Unlace me, Francis.” + 

Montlice nodded. + 

“Ay, ay, unlace him, boy. Art whole, Simon?” + 

“Save for a scratch,” Simon answered. “Gently, Francis, with mine arm. How deep goes your wound, my lord?” + 

Fulk growled. + 

“A nothing, a nothing⁠—Hey, thou clumsy wretch, have a care!” he roared as the leech handled him. “I saw thee by Malvallet, Simon. What madness seized thee?” + 

“None,” said Simon briefly. With his ungauntleted hand he unstrapped his helm and cast it on to the table. “When left you the field, sir?” + 

“I fell,” Fulk replied angrily, “and they bore me away, a million curses be upon them! I left it not of mine own will! They were wavering. What came of it?” + 

“They are in full flight,” Simon said. Free of his armour he stretched himself, and heaved a sigh of relief. “God’s my life, I am weary! Give me leave, sir, I would sleep.” + 

“Wait!” Fulk ordered. “Thine arm?” + 

Simon untwisted the bloody scarf, revealing a great gash that at once began to bleed again. Fulk pushed the leech away from him. + 

“Go tend my squire, good surgeon. I shall do very well.” He waited in silence while the leech washed and bandaged Simon’s wound. Then he nodded. + 

“Go thou, Simon, and rest. I will see thee anon.” + 

Simon went out and to his own tiny room. There he flung himself down upon his hard bed, and slept almost at once. He did not wake until past eight on the following day, and then he made all haste to dress himself and wait upon his lord. He found Fulk breakfasting, despite the late hour, his shoulder neatly bandaged and himself seemingly not very much the worse for wear. He grunted when he saw Simon, and waved him to a seat at his own table. Simon, unimpressed by the honour, sat down and disposed of a tankard of ale. He then drew a platter towards him and proceeded to make a hearty meal. Neither he nor Fulk spoke until they had satisfied their hunger. At length my lord pushed back his chair, and wiping his fingers on the coarse cloth, looked across at his squire. + 

“Thomas of Worcester and the Scottish Earl were taken,” he remarked. + 

Simon nodded, and there the conversation ended. Fulk went out presently, accompanied by his page, and Simon spent the morning polishing his sword and armour. Fulk did not return for dinner, which he took at Court, but soon after three in the afternoon he rolled in. + 

“Hark ye, Simon,” he puffed, “the King goes to make some dozen knights.” He looked narrowly at Simon as he spoke, but Simon displayed no interest. He was cleaning my lord’s shield, and his whole attention seemed centred upon it. + 

“With my good will he will make thee knight,” Fulk said. + 

Simon’s busy hands grew still. He shot an upward glance at Montlice. + 

“Ye jest, my lord.” + 

“Nay. The Prince remarked thy courage on the field and hath recommended thee for knighthood.” + 

For a minute Simon sat silent, staring before him. He drew a deep breath of wonderment, and looked again at Montlice. + 

“And thy⁠—good will, sir?” + 

“Well, well,” Fulk said. “I should have recommended thee myself. Shalt have thy knighthood, lad, an thou’lt stay yet a while with me.” + 

“As your squire, my lord?” he asked. + 

Fulk laid a clumsy hand on his shoulder. + 

“As my son if thou wilt, Simon. Art too young to fare forth alone. When Alan is older shalt go forth with him. Till then stay thou with me, and grow yet taller.” + 

Simon pondered it for a time. + 

“But what will you have me do, lord? It seems that I am no longer necessary to you, and I’ll not stay idle at Montlice.” + 

“Shalt command my men in Vincent’s room, who fell yesterday, God rest his soul! I will pay thee a good wage so thou mayst have money against thy later needs.” + 

Simon pondered again, his eyes on the distant hills. He brought them back presently to rest on his lord, and smiled. + 

“It is a fair offer,” he said. + 

“Thy hand on it!” Fulk answered promptly, and held out his great paw. Simon gripped it until the veins along the back of his hand stood out blue and thick. So he accepted Fulk as his liege lord. + 

The ceremony of knighting took place on the following day. Besides Simon were twelve other men, so that he made the thirteenth, a happening that Fulk regarded as inauspicious until Simon told him that thirteen was a number that brought him good luck. Fulk attended him to Court, and kept an anxious yet proud eye upon him during the rite. + 

Simon was the last to kneel before the King, and as he bent the knee he saw Malvallet standing amongst a group behind the Prince. Geoffrey smiled at him and made a little saluting movement with his hand. + 

At the King’s last words to him: “Rise, Sir Simon of Beauvallet,” Simon came to his feet. The rest of the ceremony passed in a kind of haze. When it was over he found that Geoffrey was at his side with the Prince. Simon bowed. + 

“I have heard yet more of your doings, Sir Simon,” Henry said, twinkling. “Paul of Lenoir tells a tale of your lynx-eyes.” + 

“That was nothing, lord,” Simon answered. “Mine eyes are sharp, and I can see in darkness.” He looked at Geoffrey for a moment. “So thou hast paid thy debt to me, Malvallet.” + 

“No, no!” Malvallet cried. “This is none of my making, though glad I am to see you knighted. Tell him, sir, that ’tis your Highness’s own contriving!” + 

“Ay, that is so,” nodded Henry. “Geoffrey had naught to say in the matter.” + 

“And so the debt remains unpaid,” Malvallet said. “Now at least, Simon, thou’lt quit Montlice.” + 

“Nay,” Simon answered. “I remain with him yet another year or two.” + 

At this point the Prince stepped aside to speak with one who passed. Geoffrey spoke lower, jerking his head towards the young Henry. + 

“Why dost thou not take service under him? He is a good master.” + 

“One day I will,” Simon answered. “For the nonce there are reasons why I should stay at Montlice. And Fulk has my word.” + 

“Then it is useless for me to say more,” Geoffrey shrugged. “It irks me to see thee with our lifelong foe.” Then, as Fulk came towards them, he clasped Simon’s hand for a moment. “I could love thee, Simon. Forget it not.” + 

“What did the fellow want with thee?” grumbled Fulk, when Malvallet was out of earshot. “Why must thou make a friend of mine enemy?” + 

“I make friends where I will,” Simon said curtly. + 

“Nay, that thou shalt not! Mine enemy is thine, I’ll have thee know!” + 

Simon looked at him thoughtfully. + 

“Not so. Yet this do I owe you, that I will not call Malvallet friend while I remain under your roof.” + 

They left Shrewsbury with the King, two days later, and went south with him until they had to branch off to reach Cambridge. Fulk’s losses had been few, and in place of Vincent was Simon, who proved himself to be so thoroughly equal to his task that Fulk remarked that Vincent’s death was more of a blessing than a curse. + 

And so they arrived at Montlice, early in August, after an absence of nearly a month. They rode up the castle-slope to find Alan awaiting them, with my lady at his side, and her two daughters behind her. + 

Fulk dropped heavily from the saddle and enfolded his frail wife in an elephantine embrace. The two girls hung back shyly, but he kissed them both heartily, and his son. + 

“Well, well, well!” he puffed. “So here ye see me, safe and sound, sweetling, with naught to show for my fighting save a scratch upon the shoulder.” + 

“For which I thank God with all my heart!” said my lady devoutly. “I have been in an agony of dread, my dear lord, for thy sake.” + 

“A pack of rebels cannot slay Montlice,” he answered. “Simon is safe, as thou seest, but Vincent is gone.” + 

“Ah, poor Vincent!” she cried, but held out her hand to Simon. “I rejoice to see thee again, Simon of Beauvallet. Ye took no harm?” + 

Simon knelt to kiss her hand. + 

“None, lady, that is worth the telling. I trust I do see you well?” + 

She smiled. + 

“Well enough, now that I have my lord again.” + 

Fulk put his hand on her shoulder. + 

“There is news for thee, Eleanor. Our Simon is my squire no longer.” + 

She was puzzled, and looked inquiringly at Simon, who had risen to his feet. It was Alan whose quick instinct divined the truth. He ran forward and caught Simon’s hand. + 

“Hast been knighted! Simon, Simon, is’t true indeed?” + 

“Ay, knighted he is,” said Fulk, “and by the King’s own hand, for his exceeding great valour on the field. I present thee Sir Simon of Beauvallet, my lady.” + 

Then the Countess out of the sweetness of her nature, made Simon mightily uncomfortable. Overcoming her slight timidity of him, she stepped forward and laid her hands in his. Simon, flushing, bent, and received a kiss upon his rugged brow. + 

Fulk laughed, clapping his hands to his sides. + 

“Now art thou honoured indeed, lad! My lady, is there refreshment within? I could drain a well, and Simon too, I’ll swear.” + 

“ ’Tis laid out against your coming, my lord,” she answered. “Come within, and Simon also.” + 

Simon stepped back. + 

“I give ye thanks, lady, but I must first see to my men.” + 

“Ay, ay, there speaks the general,” chuckled Fulk, and watched him walk away towards the waiting column of men. + 

From that day onwards Simon ranked with Alan in my lord’s household. He sat at table with the family, far above the salt, and he was given a squire of his own and a page. A fair chamber was allotted to him, and in addition to all this he received a round sum each month as wage for his services. Still he felt no pang of gratitude, for if in these things his life was made easier and more luxurious, he repaid it amply by the work he did. In a surprisingly short space of time the management of the estate devolved itself on to his broad shoulders. My lord was no longer young, and the late campaign had taxed his strength, even though he would not admit it. He lost some of his untiring energy, and he was content to put the reins of government into Simon’s hands, since his son would have none of them. + 

So life drifted onwards for a time, placidly enough, with but one incident to disturb its even tenor. And this was the coming of Malvallet to Montlice. + 

He rode up to the castle, late one afternoon in September, attended by his page. One of Montlice’s varlets, astonished at his advent, was sent to advise my lord of this visit. + 

Fulk was with his lady, and when he heard the news, he screwed up his eyes and frowned. + 

“Simon,” he said succinctly. “Plague be on him!” + 

“But Malvallet in our domain!” cried my lady. + 

“Curse his impudence,” growled Fulk, and went out with his rolling gait to receive this unwelcome guest. + 

Malvallet was standing before the fireplace, his hands behind him, and one spurred foot tapping the ground. He did not move a step to meet Fulk, but merely inclined his head haughtily. Midway across the hall Fulk paused, and returned the faint bow every mite as stiffly. + 

“My lord?” he rumbled. + 

“I regret the necessity which compels me to intrude on your land, my Lord of Montlice,” said Malvallet icily. “I desire to see my son, Sir Simon of Beauvallet.” + 

“To what purpose?” A red gleam appeared at the back of Fulk’s eyes, sure sign of danger. + 

“Your pardon⁠—” Malvallet gazed back at him unflinchingly⁠—“That is mine affair.” + 

“Nay it is mine, my lord. Simon of Beauvallet is in my service.” + 

A little pulse started to throb on Malvallet’s temple. Fulk regarded it, pleased. + 

“That is an error which I will rectify,” Malvallet said. Under the calm of his voice anger sounded. + 

“Will you so, my lord? And what if Simon wills otherwise?” + 

“Sir Simon is my son, sir.” + 

“Good lack, have ye but just discovered it?” Fulk jeered. + 

Malvallet bit his lip. + 

“Just, Lord Fulk.” + 

“Hey, hey! And he has squired me these three years!” Fulk said, and watched the barb go home. + 

“That would not have been had I known, my lord.” + 

Fulk gave a great laugh. + 

“Well, I suppose ye knew of the existence of a child, Lord Geoffrey. Methinks your efforts at paternal authority are a thought belated.” + 

Malvallet was silent for a moment, curbing his anger. Presently he looked up again. + 

“My lord, will ye have the goodness to summon my son?” + 

“To what avail?” Fulk asked politely. “Three years since he came to me of his own free will, in preference to you. I do not think he is like to change.” + 

Again Malvallet battled with himself. But his voice trembled a little with passion when he spoke. + 

“Nevertheless, my lord, I demand to have speech with him.” + 

“Demand, demand! And by what right do ye ‘demand’ in my domain, my lord?” + 

“I have told you. Simon is my son.” + 

“Simon is my servant,” Fulk retorted quickly. He saw Malvallet’s jaws clench. + 

“This bandying of words is useless!” Malvallet said. “We but waste time.” + 

“Why, so I think,” bowed Montlice. “I will e’en summon your horse.” + 

Malvallet tapped the table between them with his riding whip. He leaned forward, glaring at Fulk. + 

“Lord Fulk, I do not stir from this spot until I have seen Sir Simon!” + 

Then, ere Fulk could reply in kind, a deep, cold voice spoke from the doorway. + 

“Who is it desires speech with Simon of Beauvallet?” it said. “I am here.” + 

Malvallet swung round. Just within the hall stood Simon, a very giant of a man, regarding him fixedly from under lowering brows. + 

For a moment no one spoke. Then Malvallet strode forward. + 

“So thou art my son,” he said slowly. + 

“Am I?” Simon answered. “I have forgotten.” + 

With their eyes they measured one another. Malvallet spoke quietly. + 

“I come to offer thee the shelter of my roof, Simon.” + 

“I need it not, my lord.” + 

“A place at my table,” Malvallet insisted, “next thy brother, a place at my side as my acknowledged son.” + 

Simon’s lip curled, sneering. + 

“Oh, brave, my lord! Thy bastard son, forsooth!” + 

Malvallet flushed. + 

“I will make thee great in the land; ay, and I will give thee fair estates.” + 

“I need them not, my lord.” + 

Again there was a silence. + 

“Ye defy me, Simon? Ye have hate of me in your heart?” + 

“Nay.” + 

“Then return with me to Malvallet, and bear thine own name.” + 

“No name is mine save the one I have chosen.” + 

“An insult to me, that name!” + 

“Is it so, my lord?” He looked upward at Malvallet, without any feeling in his glance. + 

Malvallet stretched out his hands. + 

“Simon, to what avail, this coldness of thine? Am I not thy father?” + 

“So I am told,” Simon replied. + 

“Have I no right to thee? Has Montlice my right?” + 

“No man has a right to me, save it be the King. The law gives thee none. I am what I am.” + 

“Thou shalt be something more than what thou art.” + 

“I doubt it not.” + 

“Through my contriving.” + 

“Nay.” + 

“Simon,” Malvallet cried, “is there no blood-tie betwixt us?” + 

“It has never been thy pleasure to acknowledge it,” Simon answered coldly. + 

“I knew not of thine existence!” + 

Simon looked him over. + 

“Thou didst know that a child would be born to thee by Jehanne, my mother. Thou didst make no effort to provide for it, nor to discover even whether it were a boy or girl.” + 

Malvallet’s hands dropped to his sides. + 

“It is resentment then, that makes thee churlish now?” + 

“I feel none.” + 

“Then what moves thee to this coldness, Simon?” + 

Simon waited for a moment before replying. + 

“If I do seem cold to thee, my lord, it is not from hatred or soreness of spirit. Thou art a stranger to me. How should I bear thee affection who have never shown me any?” + 

Malvallet winced. + 

“All this will I make right betwixt us, my son. Let the past be buried, for indeed there is love in me now. Canst not forget the harm I have done thee by mine indifference?” + 

“Thou hast worked no harm on me. The past is naught, as shall be the present.” + 

“Simon, Simon, thou art unjust and cruel! Hadst thou come to me, three years ago, I would have taken thee to my bosom!” + 

The green-blue eyes narrowed. + 

“In me, my lord, is Malvallet blood. A Malvallet asks no favours. Hadst thou come to me three years ago, then indeed might things have been different. It was not then convenient to thee, or mayhap thou hadst forgotten that a baseborn child of thine was living. In those days I did fend for myself because it was not thy pleasure to seek me out. Now, when my need of help is dead, it has become thy pleasure. It is not mine.” + 

Malvallet heard him out in silence. He answered very low. + 

“Mayhap I do deserve thy scorn and thy hatred. But is thy hatred so great that it denies me the means to make amends?” + 

“I have told thee, my lord, that I feel no hatred for thee.” + 

“I had rather that than thine indifference!” + 

“If I cause thee pain, I do crave thy pardon. What else but indifference can I feel for one with whom I have never exchanged a word until today?” + 

Malvallet went nearer to him. + 

“Come with me now, Simon, and I will teach thee to care for me! Come away from the land of Montlice! Thou⁠—my son!⁠—canst not remain here!” + 

“Ay, that is what irks thee,” Simon answered. “I serve thine enemy, Montlice. Were I an hundred leagues from here thou hadst not come to me today, or ever. Thy pride is hurt.” + 

“I swear it is not so!” + 

Simon jerked his shoulder. + 

“No matter. Whate’er thy motive, mine answer remains the same. I owe my Lord Fulk allegiance, and I will break my word for no man.” + 

Then there fell another long silence. Malvallet made a hopeless gesture with his hands. He spoke dully. + 

“No argument will prevail with thee?” + 

“None.” + 

“Then we must part⁠—foes?” + 

“I bear no malice to thee or thine, my lord, and between thy son and me is friendship. But whiles I serve Montlice his enemies are mine. Tell Geoffrey he was ill-advised to send thee to me, but tell him also that one day he and I will meet again when there shall be naught of enmity betwixt us.” + 

“And betwixt thee and me?” Malvallet cried eagerly. + 

“Again naught. Neither love nor hatred. The past is dead and with it our kinship, but if ever we two shall meet again it will not be as foes.” + 

“Thou art⁠—generous,” Malvallet said slowly. “Think well before ye say me nay! Much can I do for thee, and very powerful can I make thee. Do these things count for naught?” + 

“My lord, it is my set purpose that I will take no honour, no power, no wealth, no title, that I have not earned by mine own endeavour. I like not thine easy road, but all these things will I acquire, either by toil, by skill, or by valour. I do thank thee for thine offer, but mine answer is nay.” + 

“Ay, thou art a man,” Malvallet sighed, “and my blood runs hot in thee. This is farewell, but before I go, wilt thou not lay thy hand in mine and tell me that my past neglect of thee is indeed forgiven?” He held out his hand, looking almost wistfully at his son. + 

Simon put his into it deliberately, and for a moment their fingers gripped. + 

“If wrong has been done to me I do readily forgive it, for thy neglect has made me what I am, and no cosseted stripling of the court.” + 

Malvallet still held his hand firmly. + 

“Promise me one thing, Simon! If ever thou shouldst have need of me, if ever thou shouldst wish to undo this day’s work, thou wilt put thy pride aside and come to me, for that will be thy condescension, not mine.” + 

Simon frowned. + 

“ ‘If ever I have need of thee’⁠—I can stand alone. ‘If ever I should wish to unsay my nay’⁠—that will be never. I will promise, my lord.” + 

Malvallet almost crushed his hand. Then quickly he released it, and looked at Simon with a queer, twisted smile. + 

“Thou son after mine own heart!” he said softly, and strode forth with never a word to Fulk, and never a backward glance. + 

There was silence for a long minute when he had gone. Fulk was looking at Simon with wonderment in his eyes. + 

“Is it to please thyself or me that thou hast said Malvallet nay?” he asked. + 

“Both, maybe,” Simon answered briefly, and swung out of the door. + 

V + 

How He Rescued a Fair Damsel, and Discovered a Plot + 

The rest of the year passed quietly for those at Montlice, and once Simon’s grip was tight upon his men so that they durst not annoy him, be he at home or abroad, he began to ride out around the neighbouring country. Sometimes he took young Alan with him, but more often he was accompanied by his squire, a sturdy youth, who worshipped, in awe and fear, the ground on which his master walked. Occasionally Simon would go still farther afield so that he was absent from Montlice for days together. Fulk grumbled a little, and was curious to know the reason for these escapades. Simon would not tell him, nor did anyone know why he rode about the country, lynx-eyed, surveying every estate to which he came with a speculative glance that was sure sign of some scheme afoot within him. + 

At first Fulk’s grumblings were loud and insistent, but when he found that they had no effect upon his obstinate captain, and that in consequence of his absence no harm nor laxity in discipline came upon his men, they abated somewhat, and he bore with Simon’s vagaries with as good a will as possible. + 

Simon rode out one morning in the year 1404, bearing to the southeast. With him went Roger, his squire, in a gloomy mood, for he had fallen foul of Simon that very day and had received a severe reprimand, accompanied by a searching, flaming glance which he had learned to dread. Therefore there was no conversation on the journey, and Roger, feeling both sore in spirit and nervous, trotted as far behind his master as he dared. Simon paid no heed to him and felt no desire to talk. Now as ever he was frugal of words, and spoke rarely, but to the point. A little after ten he paused at a wayside tavern and dismounted. Roger rode up to receive his horse, and was bidden tend it and get his own dinner. Simon strode into the tavern and made a right hearty meal. Out he went again and pushed on towards the county of Suffolk. On the road they passed a large area of cultivated land, with a small castle raised on a slope, overlooking the domain. The place seemed well populated, but about the castle itself and the surrounding fields was an air almost of desolation. + 

Simon reined in his horse, and rose in his stirrups, the better to survey the land. There was pasture land in plenty, good grazing-ground, as Simon knew; away in the distance lay orchards and woodland, while through the estate ran a sluggish stream that wound about the castle, and kept moist the land. It appeared to be a prosperous domain, but little movement was afoot, and little care seemed to have been spent upon it for some months at least. In the distance men were working on the fields in a desultory fashion, but for the most part the peasants were lounging by their doors, exchanging idle talk. Simon beckoned to one of these, and the man came running, and knelt beside Simon’s horse. + 

“Whose land is this?” Simon asked. + 

The man shook his head. + 

“Lord, we have no master now, save the King. It is crown land, I do think, but there is no one to rule here.” + 

“How so?” + 

“My lord went with Lord Hotspur ’gainst the King, sir. He died.” The man crossed himself. + 

“By steel or by rope?” + 

He answered in a hushed voice. + 

“By rope, my lord.” The peasant glanced up at him. “So perish all traitors!” he said quickly. + 

Simon paid no heed. + 

“His name?” + 

“John of Barminster, good my lord.” + 

“There is no heir?” + 

“Nay, my lord, and the land is confiscate.” + 

“What call you it?” + 

“It is known as Fair Pastures, my lord.” + 

Simon turned in his saddle to look about him. + 

“How many leagues girdle it?” + 

“Four, my lord. It is a fair barony.” + 

“What cattle have ye?” + 

“Six herds, my lord, and all good beasts, save one which died yesternight of a colic. It is as my lord left it, with some two score swine in all, and many of the sows in litter. The stable is full, but the horses grow fat and lazy with little usage. Three falcons hath my lord’s steward, in ward, fine birds, sir, and fleet of wing. The hounds run wild, and the sheep stray, for there is none over us to command we do this or that, so that little land is ploughed, and much sack is drunk.” + 

“What force do ye number? Of archers, men-at-arms?” + 

The man shook his head sadly. + 

“But few, my lord. My lord took eight score with him in all. Some returned to royster here and abuse us. The rest are gone I know not where. Some slain, mayhap, others with the rebel Owen. All is waste here, till the King sends one to rule over us and subdue these accursed soldiers.” He waved his hands excitedly. “Naught is safe from them, sir, naught sacred to them! There is no priest on the estate, and no master at the castle. The men-at-arms carouse there, and the steward waxes fat on my lord’s larder. Little enough is left now in the cellars, and everywhere there is drunkenness and rioting!” + 

Simon made no comment, but the peasant saw his eyes grow hard. Still he stared about him, while his squire watched curiously. Then Simon gathered up his slack rein and tossed a groat to the kneeling man. + 

“Peace be with ye!” he said curtly, and set his horse at a brisk trot. Roger fell in behind, and for a long time they proceeded in silence. + 

When they stopped again it was close on four in the evening, and Roger’s resentment had grown considerably. He was hungry, he was thirsty, he was stiff and tired from the long hours in the saddle, he was very bored, and he wished to heaven his master would find some other amusement than this wandering about the country. + 

As he dismounted, Simon cast the squire a quick, shrewd glance. He had worked him hard this week, and Roger’s eyes were black-ringed from fatigue, his movements slow. + 

“We rest here tonight,” Simon said. “Take the horses to the stable and wait to see them tended.” + 

“Yes, sir,” Roger answered, devoutly thankful for this respite. + 

Simon strode into the tavern and calling for the host, demanded a room for himself and another for his squire. + 

The landlord inspected him covertly. Evidently this was not one to be denied. He bowed, spreading out his hands. + 

“Alack, fair sir, woe is me, I have but one room to offer, save that in which sleep the common people! If your good lordship would take that one room, and let me find space somewhere for your squire⁠—? But an hour since one came riding from Essex and I have given him my great front room. Alack, that I did not know of my lord’s coming, for this man is not gentle, I think, yet I durst not say him nay now, for he is a brawny fellow and hot of temper!” He looked up at Simon with a comical expression of despair. + 

“Let be,” Simon answered. “I will take the other room and my squire shall sleep with me. See to it that supper be prepared for us.” + 

The little man bowed till his forehead seemed in danger of touching his knees. + 

“My lord is generous! The chamber is not so ill, sir, and I will see to it that you are made comfortable. As to supper, I have a haunch of venison roasting, as you see. In one little half-hour, sir, I will have all ready, if your lordship will deign to wait.” + 

Simon nodded. + 

“Ay, it will do. Fetch me a tankard of ale, mine host, and let one be brought for my squire.” + 

“Ah, my lord, at once, at once!” the landlord cried, and scuttled away to his cellar. He reappeared in an amazingly short time with two brimming tankards. One he set upon the table, the other he presented to Simon, watching him drain it, with an anxious eye. + 

“Is it to my lord’s taste? Will my lord have me fetch him more?” + 

“Nay, not now.” Simon set down the pewter vessel. “I will drink it at supper, good host. See to it that my squire gets his tankard when he comes from the stables.” He strolled out of the hot kitchen by the door at the back, and went to stretch his legs in the wood that lay beyond the small garden. + 

He went slowly, his hands behind his back and his brows drawn close together. Some project he seemed to be turning round in his brain, for his keen eyes had a faraway look in them, somewhat ruminating. He walked on through the wood, treading heavily and noiselessly crushing the tiny spring flowers ’neath his feet. Somewhere near at hand was a brook which burbled and sang, and towards that sound Simon bent his steps, intending to lave his face in the fresh water. Then, of a sudden, the air was rent by a shriek, followed by yet another, and a cry for help. + 

Simon paused, listening. The voice belonged to a woman and to one in distress. Simon was no knight-errant, but he went forward quickly, catlike, so that not a twig squeaked. + 

He went softly round a corner of the beaten track, and found himself in sight of the brook he had heard. An overturned bucket lay across his path, and not six paces before him a serving wench was struggling wildly to be free of a great muscular fellow who had her in his arms and leered down into her frightened face. + 

Simon came upon him like a tornado. No sound had betrayed his approach, so that when he sprang it was like an unsuspected cannon-shot. He caught the man by the neck, and putting forward all his great strength, wrenched him staggering back. The girl gave a little glad cry and fell upon her knees with intent to kiss Simon’s hand. + 

“Oh, sir! Oh, my lord! Oh, sir!” she sobbed incoherently. “I came to draw water, and⁠—and⁠—” + 

Simon paid no heed to her wailing. Setting his feet squarely he awaited the other man’s rush. The fellow had fallen, but he picked himself up, purple with rage, and with a roar came upon Simon, head down, and fists doubled. Simon stepped lightly aside and delivered a crushing blow as the man passed him. The tousled head was shaken, like that of some wounded bull, and the man wheeled about and rushed on Simon yet again. This time Simon stood firm and closed with him. + 

To and fro they swayed on the moss carpet, arms locked tight about each other, straining and panting, and trampling the moss underfoot. Beads of sweat stood out on either forehead, teeth were clenched, and lips parted. His opponent was older and bulkier than Simon, but his muscles were not in such splendid fettle. Time after time he made a supreme effort to throw Simon, and time after time he failed. Simon’s arms seemed to grow tighter and tighter about him till the breath was almost crushed out of his body. He realised that he could not throw this fair young giant and he twisted suddenly and cunningly so that he broke away. But in so doing his jerkin was rent open across his chest, and a leathern wallet fell to the ground and bounced to Simon’s feet. + 

The bully lost his head, seeing it, and his eyes started in wide apprehension. A strangled cry he gave, and sprang forward to retrieve the wallet. Before he could come upon it Simon’s sixth sense, ever acute, had warned him that here was something more than a lewd fellow waylaying a serving-wench. He stepped swiftly forward, over the wallet, and braced himself for the shock of meeting. The ruffian crashed into him so that he had to fall back a step. Yet he contrived to close with the man again, and held him in a bear-like embrace. + 

Then began a struggle in comparison with which the former one was as nothing. Plainly Simon’s opponent was desperate, filled with a great fear lest Simon should gain possession of that wallet. He fought like one possessed, and Simon’s muscles cracked under his crushing hold. Once the man tripped over a projecting root, and fell, dragging Simon with him. For a time they rolled and struggled on the ground, breathing in great gasps, sweat pouring down their faces, each one striving to get uppermost. At last Simon had his man under, and wrenching free, sprang up and back. In a flash the fellow was on his feet, and as he rushed on Simon yet again, Simon caught the glint of steel. And seeing it, his eyes narrowed to brilliant points of anger, and his stern mouth shut tightly. He did not wait for his attacker to fall upon him, but sprang to meet him, catching him about the waist with one arm, and with his free hand gripping that treacherous dagger-arm above the wrist. So swiftly had he acted that the man had no time to stab, but was well-nigh carried backward by the weight of Simon’s leopard-spring. + 

Simon had pinned the fellow’s left arm to his side, nor did his hold slacken for one moment, while with his iron right hand he gripped the other arm until the bully’s mouth was awry with agony as he struggled to get away. Then Simon gave a quick turn of his wrist and the dagger fell to earth with a thud. A groan burst from the man’s lips, and as Simon released him his right arm fell useless. Despite the pain of his broken bone he was game still, remembering that precious wallet, and came charging forward, only to be met by a shattering blow upon the jaw. He flung up his unhurt arm, and reeling, fell heavily to the ground. Simon was upon him instantly, one knee upon his chest, pinning him to the ground. Again the bully groaned, and made a convulsive effort to shake Simon off. But an iron hand held him down by the throat, and, shifting his position, Simon knelt across him so that with his knees pressed to the fallen man’s sides he held him powerless. With his free hand he pulled a whistle from the neck of his tunic, and placing it between his lips, blew thrice upon it, shrilly. He glanced over his shoulder at the girl, who crouched by her bucket, hiding her face in her hands and weeping. + 

“Cease thy lamentations, wench!” he commanded, “and bring me the wallet that lies yonder.” + 

She rocked herself, wailing. + 

“Oh, sir! oh, sir! Have⁠—oh, have ye slain him?” + 

“Nay, thou foolish child. Do as I bid thee.” + 

But still she crouched where she was, and would not look up. Simon’s eyes grew a little colder, and his voice a little softer. + 

“Thou didst hear me, wench?” Had his squire been at hand, he would have shivered at the note which sounded through the softness. + 

The girl dragged herself up and went with lagging steps to where the wallet lay. She brought it to Simon, trembling, and having given it into his hand, retreated quickly. + 

The prostrate man made one great effort to be free, but his strength was gone, and one arm hung useless. Simon controlled his struggles with his right hand alone, and with the other thrust the wallet into his belt. + 

Through the wood came footsteps running. Roger shouted from somewhere nearby. + 

“Which way, sir? Which way?” + 

“Hither,” Simon called. “By the path that leads towards the brook.” + 

The footsteps grew louder, and Roger came racing round the bend to his master’s assistance. He paused when he saw what was toward, and gazed at Simon wonderingly. + 

“Go fetch the rope from thy saddle holster,” Simon ordered calmly. “Hasten, and say naught to anyone.” + 

With another astonished glance at the weeping girl, Roger turned and ran back through the wood. When he reappeared it was with a coil of stout rope which was one of the things that Simon always carried with him in case he should come upon robbers on the road. He went with it to Simon, and between them they trussed the swearing, groaning man, deftly and securely. + 

Simon pulled the last knot tight and stood up. He took the wallet from his belt, unfastening the strap that bound it. + 

A choking cry came from the bound man. + 

“My lord, my lord, there is naught of import therein, I swear! Some letters from my lass at home⁠—that is all! For the love of God, sir, do not look!” + 

Simon paid no heed, but drew from the pouch some three or four packets. Each one was sealed, and as he examined the seal, Simon’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he cast a searching glance at the man at his feet. For the seal was to all appearance that of the dead King, Richard the Second, for whose sake Glyndourdy fought, and Hotspur had died. The first packet was addressed to a baron who lived not ten miles from Montlice, and whom Simon knew well. The others were all to nobles living either in Norfolk or Cambridge. + 

Without the faintest hesitation Simon slit open one and spread out the crackling sheets. The letter was couched in fair terms, and it assured my lord the Baron of Crowburg, faithful adherent to the true king, Richard by the Grace of God, lately escaped into Scotland, that despite the lying reports of his death, set about by the usurper, Henry Bolingbroke, called the Fourth of England, King Richard lived, and was shortly to show himself, when he would call all his faithfuls to his side to depose the monster Bolingbroke, and his son, Henry of Monmouth. And to all of this he, the writer, could testify, as he had seen and had speech with the blessed King, and who should know him better than himself who had been gentleman of the bedchamber during his reign? And if my lord still was wary of believing this truth, let him closely inspect the seal upon this parchment when he would surely recognise it as King Richard’s own. There was much more in this vein, and the letter was signed “Serle,” and dated a month earlier. Under the signature there was yet another, and examining it closely Simon saw that the scrawl was “Richard R.” + 

He folded the letter carefully, and together with the others put it back into the pouch, tucking the whole away into his own tunic. In his journeyings here and there some faint rumours had come to his ears of the late King’s being still alive, in Scotland, with a great force of French and Scots waiting to cross the border. He had paid no attention to the tale, thinking it but a fantastic belief of the common folk, but this letter warned him that there was more in it than that. He realised that he had surprised a pretty plot, and his eyes kindled a little at the knowledge. He turned and beckoned to Roger, who was trying to comfort the girl. + 

“Here, lad! Thou must help me to carry yon fellow back to the tavern. Leave the silly wench to dry her tears. No harm has been done to her.” + 

Roger came, rather sulkily, and laid hold of the now unconscious man’s legs. Simon took his head, and they set off towards the tavern, the girl bringing up the rear and sobbing loudly all the way. + 

They set their burden down without the kitchen door, and Simon went in to seek the landlord. He took him aside, and questioned him sharply. + 

“When came that fellow ye spoke of?” he asked. + 

The landlord gazed at him. + 

“W-which fellow, lord?⁠—Ah, your pardon! But an hour before your noble self.” + 

“What know you of him?” + 

The landlord began to look alarmed. + 

“I⁠—I have never set eyes on him before, good my lord!” To his horror he found that Simon was looking at him piercingly. Flustered, he started back in bewilderment. + 

Simon nodded. + 

“That is the truth, I think.” + 

“God’s truth, sir! Why⁠—” + 

“I have that fellow bound without,” Simon said grimly. “Thou hast harboured a traitor, unawares, maybe.” + 

The man’s eyes seemed like to pop out of his head. + 

“A⁠—a traitor, lord? Now, by my troth, lord, I knew of naught ’gainst this man! I swear it by the Rood, sir! and the neighbours will tell ye there is no more loyal servant to the King⁠—” + 

“Ay, that will do,” Simon interrupted. “Provided ye obey my commands in this matter I will hold ye blameless, but if ye refuse to obey⁠—why, then ’twill be my duty to report ye for a dangerous fellow.” + 

Mine host wrung his fat little hands. + 

“Oh, my lord, my lord, I will do aught you please! For my respectable house to harbour a traitor! Oh, woe is me, that I was born under an unlucky star! At my birth they foretold⁠—” + 

“Hold thy tongue! Have you a strong place wherein I can imprison this man?” + 

The little man clapped his hands to his head. + 

“Have I? Have I? Ah, yes, above the stable, in the loft! Only reached by the trapdoor, and the roof sound as can be, good my lord!” + 

“Then lead me thither,” ordered Simon, and went out again to his prisoner, the twittering landlord at his heels. They bore the victim in the wake of mine host, and with difficulty mounted the ladder leading into the loft. There they deposited the man, and leaving Roger to stand guard, Simon departed with the landlord, and bade him fetch ink and parchment. When these were brought to him he sat down at a table and proceeded to write to my lord of Montlice, tersely, and with none of the customary embellishments of style. + 

“My Lord, + 

“I am bound for London, having taken a man prisoner here who bears traitorous dispatches concerning the late King. Send me Gregory with six men of his choosing who shall relieve me here. And this with all speed tomorrow. + 

He folded his document and sealed it; then he went out again, and calling Roger down from the loft, gave him the letter. + 

“Look ye, Roger, thou must ride back to Montlice at once, and deliver this into my lord’s own hands. Then change thy horse for another⁠—Sultan or Rover⁠—and bring with thee my mare, Fleet-foot. Gregory will come back with thee, and thou shalt take my horse Cedric to Montlice again. We ride to London on the morrow.” + 

Roger stared. + 

“To London, sir?” + 

“Have I not said so? Keep thy prating tongue still to all save my lord. Now go.” + 

Roger heaved a sullen, weary sigh. He turned away, unenthusiastically. + 

“Stop!” + 

Roger jumped, and paused. He looked over his shoulder at Simon. + 

“Stay thou at Montlice,” said Simon evenly. “Send me Malcolm in thy stead. He will maybe stand the journey better than thou, and spare me these black looks. Go.” + 

Roger flushed to the roots of his curly hair. He came back to stand before his master. + 

“Nay, sir, I⁠—I⁠—shall stand the journey⁠—very well. Bid me not send Malcolm!” + 

Simon looked down at him sternly. + 

“Malcolm will serve me better, and with a readier will,” he said cruelly. + 

Roger swallowed hard and sent a fleeting glance upwards. + 

“Indeed, sir⁠—I⁠—I am sorry, that⁠—that I have angered thee. Take me with thee, sir! Not that⁠—that dolt Malcolm! He would not serve you as willingly as would I.” He gave a contemptuous sniff, for between him and Malcolm was a heated rivalry for Simon’s favours. + 

“Very well,” Simon said. “Take the short road home, not the route by which we came. Thou’lt return tomorrow. See to it that ye go at once to bed on your arrival. It is understood?” + 

Roger’s spirits revived miraculously. + 

“Ay, sir. I will do as ye bid me!” He caught Simon’s hand, kissed it, and went gaily off to the stables. + 

Simon went back to the tavern, where he collected linen and some wood which he fashioned into a rough splint. With these and a bottle of Rhenish and a loaf of bread, he went to see his prisoner. + 

This worthy had come out of his swoon, but he lay quiet and weak upon the floor of the loft. Simon untied his bonds, and ripping up the sleeve of his leathern jerkin, set the bone of his broken arm and bound it to the splint. The man groaned a little, and winced, for Simon’s surgery was crude, but he offered no resistance. Simon gave him the wine and bread and stood silently over him while he ate and drank his fill. Then he rebound him, leaving his useless arm free, and made him a comfortable bed of straw. After that he departed, without having said one word, and bolted the trapdoor on the outside. He went back to the tavern for supper, and the landlord marvelled at his appetite. But he was more than shocked that Simon should elect to sleep in the stable under the loft when he had three men who might guard the prisoner during the night. Simon refused the offer of these men curtly. He was never one to shift responsibility. + 

VI + 

How He Rode Hotfoot to London + 

Simon had hardly finished his breakfast next morning when Roger returned, leading his own mare, and accompanied by Gregory, Simon’s lieutenant, and six of his most trustworthy men. + 

At sight of this troop the landlord was thrown into a flutter. It was bad enough to have a prisoner in his loft, but seven great men to house was too much for him. Simon had told him what was expected of him, and although he dared not expostulate, the little man wrung his hands despairingly and screwed up his face into a hundred worried wrinkles. He had had experience of men-at-arms and their ways, and he feared for the peace of his household and the well-being of his cellar. He hinted at these qualms to the impervious Simon, who waved him aside with the curt promise that for any damage these men of Montlice did he should be paid in full. That was all very well, thought the landlord, but it would not recompense him for the loss of his good name and that of his house. However, he was something of a philosopher, and finding that there was no help for it, he trotted away to arrange for the soldiers’ accommodation. + 

Simon went out to meet his men, and was greeted by a smart salute from everyone. Roger slipped from the saddle and presented him with a packet from Montlice which Simon reserved for future perusal. He turned to Gregory, who stood respectfully awaiting his orders. + 

“Send thy men to stable their horses, Gregory, and come with me.” + 

Gregory gave the order, and leaving the flustered landlord to guide the men to the stables, followed Simon to the back of the house. Together they paced the little garden while Simon told him briefly of what had happened. + 

“Ye will quarter your men here, Gregory, and look to it that there be no laxity of discipline, for which ye will answer to me. There must be a guard over the prisoner all the time. Ye will arrange for that. And no one is to have speech with him save yourselves. Nay, nor sight of him. Ye will deliver him to whoever shall come from London with orders from the King, or from me. And when ye have delivered him up ye will return at once to Montlice. It is understood?” + 

“Exactly, sir.” + 

“Keep the prisoner in the loft. It is safer. I start for London as soon as Roger of Maitland has broken his fast.” + 

Gregory bowed. + 

“Shall I take command at once, Sir Simon?” + 

“At once. Remember that I will have no carousing among the men.” + 

As soon as Gregory had departed, Simon broke the seal of his lord’s letter, and started to decipher the wild scrawl. + 

“To Sir Simon of Beauvallet. + 

“What in Hell ails thee, lad, that thou must poke and pry into plots and other such treasonable matters? Let well alone, and for God’s sake do not implicate thyself to thine own undoing! Thy letter has started my gout again. If thou must ride to London because thou hast waylaid a traitor on the road, thou mightest at least write me the full sum of it! The few lines I do receive from thy hand would enrage a saint, nor could thy rascally squire tell of aught beyond thy fight in the wood over a wench or some such fandangle. And I tell thee, Simon, that I had thought more of thee than that thou’dst embroil thyself in a quarrel over some silly maid. Natheless I say naught for I do suppose that thou wilt ever go thine own headstrong road, plague be upon thee for thine obstinacy! + 

“Were it not for this accursed gout which, as thou dost know, hath me fast by the leg, and is an hundred times worse from thine unreasonable behaviour, I would be up and after thee to learn the whole tale from thine own tongue, and see for myself what maggot has entered into thy head. And a pretty welcome thou wilt have at Westminster, thou silly boy, carrying a cock and bull story of a trumped up plot! Were it not that I know what a headstrong, impudent determination is thine, I should say thou wouldst never gain access to the King. But I do suppose that thou wilt, and by the front door, as thou didst come to me when thou wert but a babe. I do conjure thee not to break the heads of his guards, for that would surely land thee in gaol, which I do trust will happen if it might tame thy hot blood. And furthermore thou must know that I am considerably incensed with thee and would have come with Gregory had I not had this accursed gout, if only to break my stick across thy shoulders. And if thou art slain by footpads on the road, or clapped into prison for an importunate fool, it will be but thy just deserts, and I shall not grieve nor move a finger to aid thee. + 

“I send thee twenty guineas by Roger, against thy needs, and if thou stand in need of a friend, or a lodging, repair to my cousin, Charles of Granmere, who hath a goodly establishment in the Strand, which is in London, and show him this letter. He will maybe keep thee from running thy silly pate into a halter. + 

“God be with thee, my dear lad, and bring thee safe home again. If thou dost stand in need of more money, ask it of my cousin in my name. And bear a courteous tongue in thy mouth, and spare the King that fiery glance of thine, else he will surely account thee mad and not wrong neither. I would I might go with thee, dear lad, but I know that thou art wise enough for ten. + 

“I send thee my love and blessing, lion-cub. + 

Simon smiled a little as he finished this remarkable epistle, and turning, found that Roger was by his side with a purse in his hand. + 

“Sir, my lord sent this. I forgot to give it thee with the letter.” + 

Simon took the purse. + 

“Hast thou breakfasted, Roger?” + 

“Ay, sir. I am ready, and your mare hath the devil himself in her.” He spoke feelingly, and grinned a little as Simon smiled. + 

“Bring her to the door, lad.” He went into the tavern to speak again to the landlord, and left five of my lord’s golden sovereigns on account. Thus it was that the landlord’s spirits rose considerably, and he was able to bow his guest out in his best manner. + 

Side by side Simon and his squire rode southwest towards Royston, at a brisk, steady pace. There they dined and rested, and again set off down the old Roman road to London. They lay that night at a village near Hertford, and were up betimes on the morrow to complete the journey. The horses were tired, so that they did not reach Bishopsgate until after dusk, when Simon at once set about finding a lodging for the night. + 

He had heard that the city abounded with ruffians and footpads, but none sought to rob him, nor did he meet with any rudeness when he paused to inquire the way. He asked for a tavern as near to Westminster as possible, and an interested mercer directed him to the Lamb and Saracen’s Head, or, if he found it full, to the Rose, nearby. Simon thanked him gravely, and with Roger riding sedately behind him went at a respectable pace to his hostelry. They had no difficulty in securing a room, and the supper laid before them was plentiful enough to satisfy even their hungry appetites. Roger, in a twitter of excitement, implored Simon to let him walk out after supper to see the town, but this Simon would not allow, sending him peremptorily to bed, well-knowing that he would not dare to disobey. He himself sallied forth, armed with a dagger and his trusty quarterstaff. It may have been this stout weapon which kept him immune from assault, or it may have been his formidable bearing. At all events he wandered in perfect safety about Westminster, returning early to the tavern to rest. + 

On the next morning he set about the making of his plans. He had not a doubt but that, if he willed it so, he could gain access to the palace during an Audience with the utmost ease, but he was wise enough to realise that this would be of very little use to him. In all probability he would have no opportunity of speaking privately to the King. Nor did he consider that this would be a proper way of approaching Henry. Accosted by a strange knight in the midst of a reception, he might very well feel annoyance and wave Simon and his news aside. And once that had happened Simon knew that he would never gain a hearing. Had the Prince of Wales been at Westminster he might have risked a rebuff, for he knew that the young Henry would remember him. But the Prince, having wintered in London, was now back on the Marches. + 

Simon decided at length to write to the King, and accordingly he called for quills, ink, and parchment, and sat himself down to compose a suitable note. It proved to be no easy task, for his epistolary style was naturally curt. He had wit enough to see that curtness would not tend to make easier his mission, and he spent the best part of the morning writing and rewriting. In the end it was, for him, a very fair letter. + 

“My very dread and Sovereign Lord the King, + 

“Your Gracious Lordship may perchance remember one Simon of Beauvallet whom you knighted at Shrewsbury after the battle in last July. This same Simon of Beauvallet doth now write to your Majesty with intent to beg an audience of you, or of one of your Majesty’s Council. The matter I would disclose to your Majesty is of great import, as I do judge, and should be attended to with all speed lest it lead to more serious harm. But three days since, I did chance upon one whom I found to bear documents in his possession addressed to various lords of the counties of Cambridge and Bedford, purporting to come from the late King, and seemingly fastened with his seal. These papers I would deliver up to your Lordship, or to those whom your Lordship shall appoint to receive them. The messenger I hold under lock and key and well guarded by the men of my Lord of Montlice. + 

“If it be your Majesty’s pleasure to search further into this matter, I do beseech you to give me a hearing, when I will tell all that I know, and disclose the whereabouts of this messenger. + 

“In humble obedience to your Majesty’s gracious wishes, + 

Simon dusted the finished letter and carefully sealed it. Then a new difficulty presented itself, to wit: how he should assure himself of this letter reaching the King. He thought of Fulk’s cousin, Charles of Granmere, and, much as he disliked asking for aid, he decided to repair to his house in the Strand and demand his assistance. + 

He called Roger to him, who sat kicking his heels by the window, and bade him fetch their horses. Delighted at the prospect of seeing more of the town Roger ran to do his bidding, wreathed in smiles. + 

Together they rode towards London and proceeded down the Strand, past the greater palaces till they came upon one that was less magnificent, and bore the name of Granmere Hall. They rode into the courtyard, and on a lackey’s demanding their business, Simon asked for my Lord of Granmere in no uncertain tones. + 

“Tell my lord that Sir Simon Beauvallet comes from my Lord of Montlice!” he said peremptorily, and, dismounting, signed to Roger to stay with the horses. + 

He followed the lackey into the central hall of the palace, and waited there whiles the man bore his message to my lord. Presently he returned, and bowing to Simon, begged him to follow him to my lord’s apartment. + 

Simon was ushered into a long low room where sat my Lord of Granmere, a man of middle age with a kindly rugged countenance, in which his eyes twinkled humorously. He came forward as Simon entered. + 

“Give you good den, sir. Do ye come from my cousin?” + 

“My Lord Fulk directed me to seek you out, my Lord of Granmere, in case I should need assistance. And lest ye should doubt that I do indeed come from Montlice he bade me show you this letter which he did write to me.” + 

Charles of Granmere took the scrawled sheets and read them through. When he came to the end, he smiled, and gave Fulk’s letter back to Simon. + 

“Ay, that is my cousin’s fist,” he said. “Methinks his words to you give me insight into your nature.” His eyes twinkled more than ever. “What is this plot, if it be not an impertinent question, and what may I do for you?” + 

Briefly Simon gave him the outline, and showed him his letter to the King. + 

“It is not my way, sir, to seek assistance, but although I think I might succeed in this, unaided, the thing will be quicker done if you, my lord, will consent to bear my letter to the King.” + 

“Well, that is good sense, Sir Simon. Hast a hard head on thy shoulders. Where art thou staying?” + 

“At the Lamb and Saracen’s Head, my lord, with my squire.” + 

Granmere’s eyes twinkled anew. + 

“It seems that I should be defying my cousin’s behests an I allowed thee to remain there. Wilt thou honour my poor house, Sir Simon?” + 

Simon flushed. + 

“Ye are more than kind, my lord, but all I ask is that ye will bear my letter to the King.” + 

“Why, this is churlish!” Granmere chided. “It would be my pleasure to house thee. I do beg that thou wilt send thy squire back to the inn to pay thy reckoning and to bring thine appurtenances hither.” + 

Simon considered for a moment, and shot my lord a swift, piercing glance. Then he bowed. + 

“I thank you, sir.” + 

And that was how he first met Charles of Granmere. + 

My lord went to Westminster on the following day, and when he returned it was with a message from the King commanding Simon to a private audience that evening at six o’clock. + 

“He remembers thee,” Granmere said. “He says that thou wert the thirteenth knight, and when I described thee he said at once that thou wert the man recommended for knighthood by the Prince. He is anxious to learn of thy plot. There are too many such afoot for his liking.” + 

“And while the French Court pretends to lend credence to these tales of Richard being in Scotland, there will be a-many more,” Simon said grimly. + 

“But Henry is a man,” Granmere answered. “He will triumph throughout.” + 

“It is the young Henry who is a man,” Simon said. + 

When he presented himself at Westminster Palace that evening he was led at once to the King’s chamber, where he found Henry and the old Duke of York. + 

Simon paused on the threshold as his name was announced, and went stiffly down upon his knee. The King nodded to him, observing him with shrewd, deep-set eyes. + 

“Come forward, Sir Simon of Beauvallet,” he said. “We have to thank you for your courtesy and dispatch in informing us of this treacherous plot.” + 

Simon advanced, and standing before the King’s chair, told at his request the story of Serle’s messenger and his fight with him in the wood. It was not a graphic account that he gave, but it was concise, and devoid of embellishments or exaggerations. While he spoke the King watched him, chin in hand, marking every changing expression of Simon’s face, and every little movement of his strong, well-shaped hands. He listened carefully, several times interrupting to put a gently-spoken question. Yet for all Henry’s kind way and courteous manner, Simon knew that he was under cross-examination, for the questions came thick and fast as his tale proceeded, and it would have been very difficult to have avoided a slip had his story been false. The searching queries, and the steady scrutiny might well have discomposed Simon and have caused him to stumble or lose the thread of his narration. But he was not flustered and not a whit ruffled by these questions, which seemed to indicate that the King disbelieved him. He respected Henry for his lack of credulity and answered him firmly and patiently. + 

“And the documents?” Henry said at last. + 

Simon presented them, and waited in silence while the King and the Duke slit them open one after the other and perused them. The Duke muttered angrily as he read, and once or twice his eyes flashed, and he thumped his fist on his knee, but Henry read on calmly and almost detachedly. When he had come to the end he struck a small gong that stood on the table at his elbow, and on his secretary’s coming, ordered him quietly to bring the papers captured in Scotland in December. These were fetched, and the King compared them with those Simon had brought, the Duke of York looking over his shoulder. + 

Presently Henry looked up and at Simon. His sunken eyes rested on him kindly for a moment before he spoke. + 

“Ye have done well, Sir Simon. Of how great an import these papers are, or what people this Serle has cozened to his side, we do not know. That we will find from the messenger. At all events it is a cunning plot, for I could not myself tell this seal from that of the late King, and the signatures do indeed bear a resemblance to his hand. The common folk might naturally be deluded into thinking Richard alive. How the gentle-people have received the false news we cannot know as yet.” + 

“No man of culture, of education, could believe so empty a tale,” the Duke said hotly. + 

“Oh, I find that the nobles believe in most empty tales, if they are like to bring them greater wealth, or greater rank!” Henry said tranquilly. “Have you, Sir Simon, heard talk of the late King?” + 

“Vague rumours I have heard, sire,” Simon answered. “Also talk of certain gold and silver hearts which King Richard was wont to give his knights, and which are now seen in Essex. I gave the rumours no credit, sir, thinking them but peasants’ tales, but it now seems to me that they are the fruits of this plot.” + 

“Perhaps,” Henry said. He gave a short, half-stifled sigh. “I suppose there will be plots until my death⁠—and after.” He glanced up at Simon. “King Richard is indeed dead,” he said. + 

“I never doubted it, sire,” Simon replied. “But he will come to life many times yet.” + 

The Duke laughed a little at that, and even the King smiled. + 

“Ay, that is so. Where lies this messenger from Serle?” + 

“At Saltpetres, my liege, in the tavern of the Ox. Six men guard him under one Gregory for whom I will vouch.” + 

“He must be conducted hither,” Henry said. “We will send to fetch him. Ye had best write to this Gregory, commanding him, lest he refuse to give up the prisoner without word from you.” Again he struck the gong. Simon noted that although his movements were languid, and his voice so gentle and tired, he went expeditiously about his business, and was not one to put off till tomorrow what might well be done today. When the secretary came he spoke without turning his head. “Bring writing materials.” As soon as his command had been obeyed, he nodded to Simon. “Will you write now, Sir Simon?” + 

Simon went to the table, and seating himself at it, drew the parchment sheet towards him. Henry watched him, liking the decisive way in which he set about his task and the entire lack of hesitation in choosing his words that he displayed. + 

“To Gregory Arnold of Saint Dormans,” Simon wrote. + 

“Deliver your prisoner unto the King’s men who shall come for him bearing this my command, and repair at once to Montlice as I bade you. + 

He sprinkled sand over the sheet to dry the ink, then, shaking it off, rose and gave his note to the King. + 

Henry read it, and smiled. + 

“I think ye are a man of action, Sir Simon,” he said, “not of letters.” + 

Simon smiled, too, and bowed. + 

“I trust that this is so, my liege.” + 

Henry laid his parchment down. + 

“Until the prisoner is brought safe to London, that is all, sir. It is our pleasure that ye remain with my Lord of Granmere until we send for you. We have to thank you again for your care of our person and our realm.” He struck the gong twice, and this time a page came who conducted Simon out. + 

VII + 

How King Henry Thanked Him + 

There followed a fortnight of forced inactivity for Simon, but although he could do nothing further concerning the plot, he was not altogether idle. Much time he spent in exploring the city, and my Lord of Granmere contrived to keep him occupied by inviting many guests to his house, to all of whom he presented Simon. And if some of these gentlemen did not like the silent, direct young man whom they met, at least they were not in danger of easily forgetting his strangely forceful personality. + 

It did not occur to Simon that he might write to his lord at Montlice, assuring him of his well-being, and when Granmere offered to send a messenger with any letter that he might wish to send, he was rather surprised, and refused the offer. + 

“But mayhap my cousin Fulk is worried at thy long absence!” Granmere pointed out. + 

“That is not very likely,” Simon said. + 

“He may think thee dead, or lost!” + 

Simon smiled a little. + 

“He knows me too well to think that, my lord.” + 

Granmere waved his hands. + 

“But at least write him that thou hast arrived in London!” + 

“That he knows.” + 

“That thou hast seen the King!” + 

“That also doth he know.” + 

Granmere looked at him hopelessly. + 

“My good boy, how can he know?” + 

Simon smiled again, sweetly. + 

“Because he doth know me, my lord. What I set out to do, I do.” + 

Granmere sat down. + 

“One cannot always be sure of success, Simon.” + 

Simon looked inscrutable. + 

“Why, boy, surely thou dost know that!” + 

“No, my lord, that is what I will not know.” + 

My lord laughed at him, but he leaned forward, interested. + 

“Simon, suppose that thou didst engage on an impossible emprise⁠—something in which thou couldst not succeed?” + 

“That were the action of a fool, my lord, and I do not think I am one.” + 

“Nor I!” Granmere laughed again. “Thou wouldst never set out to do the impossible?” + 

Simon reflected. + 

“Nay, I think not, sir. Yet I believe that there is a very little that is impossible. There is always a way.” + 

“So if ye find not that way, ye will let be? Suppose that thy greatest friend lay imprisoned, and it was seemingly impossible to rescue him, because thou hadst discovered no way? Would ye then let be?” + 

Simon thought it out carefully. + 

“Ay, my lord. But I think that I should find a way,” he said gravely. + 

Granmere looked him over. + 

“By God, I believe that thou wouldst!” he said. + 

At the end of the fortnight came a second summons from the King, and in obedience Simon presented himself at the Palace early one morning. As before, he was conducted to the King’s closet, but this time he found some six or seven gentlemen of the Council there beside the King. Henry gave him his hand to kiss. + 

“We do rejoice to see you again, Sir Simon. Methinks some apology we do owe you for the long days ye have been kept waiting.” + 

Simon rose from his knees. + 

“If during these days, sire, information has been yielded, then are they not wasted,” he said in his deep, deliberate voice. + 

One of the gentlemen seated about the long table, smiled. Henry saw it, and the smile was reflected in his eyes. + 

“Ye speak sooth, Sir Simon, and that is better than a courtier’s soft, flattering answer.” His glance flickered a shade reprovingly to the gentleman who had smiled. “Will ye not be seated, sir?” + 

Simon thanked him, and sat down in a vacant chair. Henry folded his hands in his sleeves. + 

“Ye will like to know, Sir Simon, that full inquiry has been made into this matter of Serle’s plot, and much has been discovered. The messenger whom ye waylaid came safely to London, but methinks he was something stiff of limb, and sore in every part of his worthless carcase.” He looked quizzically at Simon as he said this, and Simon gave his short laugh. + 

“That is possible, my liege.” + 

Henry ran his eyes down Simon’s large, muscular person. + 

“I think it was inevitable, sir,” he said solemnly. “But that is not what we would say. This man has been put to the question, and he disclosed all that he knew. I will not weary you with the details of this traitorous affair, but it will interest you to know that the tale of Richard’s living still has gained the seeming credence of many of my unfaithful nobles in the eastern counties, and even so far indeed as your Cambridge. Thus your vigilance and your promptitude have not been for little cause. Rather they are of great service and import to the realm, for because that ye have brought the news of this plot thus early to our ears, we are enabled to deal with it at once, and to crush the seeds of rebellion ere they have had time to sprout and multiply.” The gentle voice paused, then, as Simon said nothing: “This is not a little thing to have done, Sir Simon,” Henry said. + 

There was silence for a moment. Simon looked up. + 

“The deed itself was little, sire, and easy. It is only the fruits of the deed that are great. To me is small honour due, for by chance alone did I discover the plot, without toil, and without intent.” + 

“Some of the greatest issues in the history of this world have had birth from Chance,” Henry answered, “yet to him whom the finger of Chance guided to the vital spot has honour ever been due.” + 

Simon did not answer. He hoped that Henry would continue to talk, for the soft voice pleased him, and he was interested in what the King had to say. + 

Henry resumed after another pause. + 

“I see, Sir Simon, that ye do think your share in this matter but trifling, since it was not done with pain and travail, and of intent. But a measure of intent there was, for having discovered this plot what easier than to take no action, or to send the messenger on his way with those documents?” + 

Simon’s eyes narrowed. + 

“That were treachery, sire, or indolence and lack of care for your Majesty’s person and the safety of the realm.” + 

Henry slid one hand along the arm of his chair. + 

“It were indeed so, Sir Simon. None of these faults was yours.” + 

“Nay.” + 

“Rather was zeal yours, and loyalty, and firmness of purpose. It was not chance alone which brought you safe to London, and which has brought your prisoner, too. It was determination brought you, sir, and strength both of body and mind which kept you safe from robbers, and brought you thus surely to my presence. Ye frown. Is it not as I say?” + 

“It is true that mine own wit and strength brought me here, sire,” Simon said, who had no false modesty: “But it was your Majesty’s men who brought my prisoner.” + 

Henry’s lips quivered. Two or three of the gentlemen of the Council chuckled a little. + 

“That is so,” Henry agreed, “but by whose contriving was the prisoner safely delivered into their hands?” + 

“By my lieutenant Gregory’s contriving, sire,” Simon answered seriously. + 

Henry bent his brows upon him, but his eyes twinkled. + 

“Sir Simon of Beauvallet, are ye determined to foil me at every turn?” + 

“Nay, my liege,” Simon said. “But it seems that your Majesty would give honour to me where it is due unto another.” + 

“Under whose orders acted this Gregory?” Henry asked. + 

“Under mine, sire.” + 

“Then ye will agree, Sir Simon, that his part was but to obey, asking no questions.” + 

“Ay, that is so, my liege.” + 

Henry nodded. + 

“Will ye also agree, sir, that honour is due to him whose brain planned the whole emprise so well that it was carried through with no hitch or stoppage?” + 

Simon considered this. + 

“It seems just, sire.” + 

“It is just,” Henry assured him. “I sent for you hither that I might reward you for your services, but it hath taken me all this while to convince you that ye are deserving of a reward. Nor am I sure that I have done it even now. Are you convinced, Sir Simon?” + 

Simon smiled. + 

“Your Majesty’s reasoning is so full of wit that it were insolent of me to dispute your judgment. And indeed as your Majesty has put the matter, it seems reasonable enough. Yet it was in all truth a very little thing that I did, sire.” + 

“Sir Simon, are you content to let me judge of the magnitude of the service ye have rendered me?” + 

Simon’s rare humour peeped out. + 

“Ay, my liege, since that promises to be more to my advantage.” + 

“And to your advancement,” Henry said in amusement. “Tell me, Sir Simon, what may I do for you? Is there something that ye desire, and that I can give you? Advancement in rank? Gold? Land? Tell me!” + 

Simon rose to his feet, swiftly turning a certain cherished project round in his mind. He looked down at Henry, hardly knowing that he did so, and Henry saw his eyes keen and shrewd, and knew that something was he weighing in his brain. He leaned back in his chair, waiting. + 

After a short pause Simon spoke. + 

“My lord the King, one thing is there that I desire.” + 

“If it be within my power to give it you, it is yours.” + 

“It is in your power, sire, but it may not be pleasing to your Majesty to accord it me.” + 

“What is it?” Henry asked. “It would not have been pleasing to me to have had a rebellion thrumming about my ears.” + 

“Sire, in Cambridge, to the south and east of Montlice, is a fair barony of little size, but, as I judge, of passing great wealth. It is named Fair Pastures, and it was once the property of one John of Barminster, who joined with Percy against your Majesty, and was fitly hanged for his pains. The land is confiscate unto the Crown, sire, but your Majesty has neither set one to rule over it in your name, nor given it to some noble about your person. It is in disorder now, and the serfs are masterless, while lawless men ravage the place. Give this land to me, sire, and I will bring law and order into it, and hold it as mine own, myself owning allegiance to you!” + 

“It seems not much to ask,” Henry said slowly. He looked at one of his Council. “What know ye of this place?” + 

“I remember it, sire. It is as Sir Simon says, not large, but fertile. Naught has been done with it as yet.” + 

Henry brought his eyes back to Simon. + 

“Is this indeed your desire? There are larger, more orderly lands I might bestow on you.” + 

“Nay, sire, I need them not. It is this barony I desire.” + 

“Why?” + 

“There are several reasons, sire, but the greatest of all is that its name is very like to mine.” + 

“Fair Pastures⁠—Beau Vallet. Ay, that is a good omen. Ye shall have that land, Sir Simon, and ye shall call it Beauvallet and be yourself Lord of Beauvallet. The deed of gift shall be sent to you at Granmere Hall, and ye shall subdue your turbulent subjects. Can ye do that, I wonder?” + 

Simon smiled grimly. + 

“I can do that, sire.” + 

(“I make no doubt he can!” whispered one of the Council to his neighbour.) + 

“Then the land is yours, and I have paid my debt to you. Ye shall not wait long for my mandate, I promise.” He held out his hand, and Simon knelt. + 

“I do thank you, sire,” he said sincerely. + 

“Nay, ’tis I thank you,” Henry answered. “I need have little fear of risings near Beauvallet now. This gift is to mine own advantage, for ye will hold the peace under me in your barony. May you prosper, my Lord of Beauvallet.” + 

When Simon told Charles of Granmere what had befallen him, Granmere clapped him heartily upon the back, delighted at his protégé’s good fortune. + 

“Why, it is excellent, Simon! The King must have conceived as great a liking for thee as have I!” + 

“Have you a liking for me?” inquired Simon, rather taken aback. + 

“That have I! Have I been so cold in my bearing that thou shouldst doubt it?” + 

“Nay, but kindness may mean naught. It is curious how many people call me friend, who call friend so few.” + 

“Well, I do trust I merit that title,” Granmere said. + 

“Oh, yes,” Simon answered. “Thou and my half-brother, Geoffrey of Malvallet, and my Lord of Montlice. Alan, too, I suppose, although he would rather be my slave.” + 

“Thou hast not many,” Granmere commented. + 

“Nay, for I can find few whom I desire to call friend.” + 

“Yet you count my cousin amongst these few? He is not most men’s choice.” + 

“My Lord Fulk and I have dwelt amicably enough together for three years and more. Were there not friendship between us we had not done that.” + 

“I do not think so indeed!” Granmere said, and laughed. “What will he have to say concerning thy sudden elevation?” + 

“He is like to say much,” Simon answered placidly. “He knows that I go mine own road.” + 

“Holy Virgin, what fights thou must have had!” + 

“Oh, no,” said Simon. “We understand each other very fairly.” + 

“Do ye so? Well, ye are a fitting pair!” Then he burst out laughing again. “Thou and Fulk!” he gasped. “I would give much to see it!” + 

“Well, so thou mayst,” Simon said, watching him gravely. “Come with me to Montlice, and pay my lord a visit.” + 

Granmere checked his mirth. + 

“By God, I believe I will come! Why it is seven years since I set eyes on Fulk! We will ride together, Lord of Beauvallet.” + 

VIII + 

How He Returned to Montlice + 

A week later, Charles of Granmere and Simon of Beauvallet rode through Montlice towards the castle, their squires behind them. Word flew round that Sir Simon was back, and all along the road men came out to cheer him, and women dropped him shy curtseys. He acknowledged all with his curt nod, and sometimes he hailed a man by name and asked after his wife or his children. + 

“Why, thou art beloved here!” Granmere exclaimed. “What hast done to make them cheer thee so?” + 

“I know them, and they know me. Some fought at Shrewsbury with me. That makes a bond.” + 

They arrived at the drawbridge and went over, saluted by some half-dozen men-at-arms, who one and all gave Simon welcome. And so they rode up to the castle door, and dismounted there. A lackey saw them from an upper window and cried the news abroad. Out came Alan, full tilt, with Fulk hobbling after him. + 

“Simon, Simon, thou art alive and safe! Ah, God be thanked! We knew not what to think! Simon, I swear thou hast grown!” Impetuously Alan flung himself upon Simon, only to be put gently aside, as Simon stepped forward to meet my lord. + 

Fulk came roaring. + 

“Hey, Simon lad! Hey, thou rascally, turbulent, naughty knave! How darest thou stay away all these weeks! Hast no regard for me at all, cub? Praise be to God, no harm has come to thee! Holy Virgin, I would they had clapped thee up for a mad rogue! I might have known thou’dst return to enrage me further, small thanks to thee for doing it! Lord, Lord, thou’rt broader still! And had no one the sense to break thy head?” For once Fulk’s reserve deserted him. He discarded his stick and caught Simon in a large embrace, kissing him loudly on both cheeks. “Thou self-willed puppy! I thought I was rid of thee at last! But no! Back thou comest, with not a hair out of place, as cool as ever thou wert! Now as God’s my life, I’ve a mind to send thee about thy business! We do well enough without thee, Master Stiff-Neck. Think not that we missed thee, thou conceited boy! Oh, Simon, Simon, let me get hold on thy hands!” And thereupon he seized both Simon’s hands in his, and gripped them as though he would never let go. + 

Simon was a little flushed at this excited welcome, and his voice was deeper than ever as he answered Fulk, and strangely moved. + 

“Thou couldst not shake me off, my lord. And glad I am to be here again with thee. Thy gout is no better?” + 

“Better! How should it be better when I have to take thy place here and work myself to a shred all for a silly boy’s whim? Hey, hey, who’s here?” + 

Granmere, who had been such an amused spectator, came forward. + 

“Hast also a welcome for me, cousin?” + 

Fulk released Simon and surged to meet his kinsman. + 

“Ay, that have I! God’s Body, it’s a dozen years since I set eyes on thy countenance, Charles! Didst bring my rascal Simon home?” He proceeded to embrace Granmere. + 

“Nay, he brought me,” Granmere answered. + 

“Ay, ay, he would!” chuckled Fulk. “Come within, lad, come within! Simon, Simon! Where goest thou, pray?” + 

Simon paused. He was walking away from the castle with Alan at his side. + 

“I go to look to my men, my lord. Hast need of me?” + 

Fulk exploded into a mighty bellow. + 

“He goes to look to his men! Beshrew me, was there ever such another? Come thou here, sirrah, this instant! Have I need of thee, forsooth! Thou quittest my side for a month, wandering God knows where, and as soon as thou art back, thou dost go to ‘look to my men’! Come thou here, I say, ere I lose my temper with thee!” + 

Simon came back to them, and seizing him by one arm and Granmere by the other, Fulk bore them into the great hall and shouted in stentorian tones for sack and ale to be brought. Then he sank down into a chair, and puffed. + 

Granmere withdrew his hands from his ears. + 

“Cousin, I rejoice that the passing of years has not affected your lungs,” he said. “Methinks they could hear thy voice in London.” + 

“Ay, I can shout with the best of them,” Fulk answered complacently. His unwonted display of feeling over, he turned to Simon and addressed him more or less quietly. + 

“Well, didst thou see the King, my Simon?” + 

“Twice, my lord.” + 

“Well, well, I guessed as much! What of thy silly plot?” + 

Granmere answered him. + 

“A great deal. One Serle hath a buffoon coached to counterfeit King Richard in Scotland, and half the country would have risen for him, had it not been for Simon here.” + 

Fulk opened his little round eyes as wide as they would stretch. + 

“So, so! Tell me the whole tale from the very beginning, Simon, and see thou tellst it better than in thy letter. By Our Lady! My blood boils anew when I bethink me of that letter! Three or four bald words, and there was I a-fret to know the whole story! Well, go on, lad, go on!” + 

“There’s not much to tell,” Simon said. He took a long drink of sack. “I rode out one morning, as ye know, and came to Saltpetres in time for supper, where I chanced upon a fellow in the wood behind the inn and discovered that he bore treasonable papers, so⁠—” + 

“Hark to the boy!” Fulk cried. “How didst chance on this fellow, numskull?” + 

Simon sighed. + 

“I was walking in the wood, sir, and heard a woman scream. I went to see what was toward and found this ruffian with her in his arms. So I came upon him unawares and flung him backwards from her.” + 

“Of what like was this woman?” demanded Fulk suspiciously. + 

Simon stared. + 

“Of what like, sir?” + 

“Ay! Was she dark or fair, comely or plain?” + 

“Faith, I know not, my lord. She⁠—she was just a woman. Plain, I think.” + 

Fulk grunted. + 

“Go on!” + 

“The fellow came upon me and I closed with him. No, first I hit him, I think.” + 

“Where?” + 

“Over the ear. Then we wrestled awhile, and he broke away. Then a wallet fell from the bosom of his tunic, and for fear lest I should seize it, he came at me again. And when he found he could not throw me, he drew his dagger and rushed to stab me.” + 

“Cur!” roared Fulk. “Drew steel, eh? Dastardly cur! And what didst thou do?” + 

“I broke his arm,” Simon said simply. + 

“Well done, well done! What next?” + 

“Next I called Roger to me and we bound him. The rest is nothing.” + 

“Tell it!” Fulk ordered, and accordingly Simon recited the tale of his adventures up to his second interview with the King. Then, as he paused, Roger came into the hall, and on Fulk’s hailing him good-naturedly, doffed his cap, blushing. + 

“So thou hast brought Sir Simon safe home, eh?” Fulk said jovially. + 

Roger, already bursting with pride over his master’s new honour, and agog to tell the news to someone, answered primly: “My lord took no hurt, sir.” + 

Simon looked up frowning; Granmere smiled at the boy’s suppressed excitement; Fulk stared. + 

“What’s this? Who now art thou ‘my lording’?” + 

The boy drew himself up. + 

“My Lord of Beauvallet, sir.” + 

“Roger, get thee hence!” said Simon sharply. “Thy tongue runs away with thee.” + 

Roger retired, somewhat crestfallen. + 

“Lord of Beauvallet, Lord of Beauvallet! What means the boy?” + 

Granmere spoke. + 

“For his services the King made Simon Baron of Beauvallet, and gave him a land called Fair Pastures, which was once the estate of John of Barminster.” + 

“Simon!” Alan was out of his chair in a flash, catching his friend by the shoulders. “A lord? Thine own estate! Oh, Simon, I am so glad! Father, is’t not marvellous?” + 

Fulk collected himself with an effort. He rolled out a huge oath, which seemed slightly to relieve him. Then he started at Simon afresh. + 

“A lord! God’s my life, what next? John of Barminster’s estate? Christ’s Wounds, wert thou my page but three years since?” + 

“Ay. Else had I not now been lord, sir.” + 

“Come thou here!” Fulk commanded, and when Simon knelt before him, smote him on the shoulder, and embraced him again. “It is great news, lad, and I am glad for thy sake. But it means that I must lose thee, and I like it not.” + 

“I must have gone one day, my lord, and as it chances I go not far.” + 

“Ay, but who’s to take thy place here, my lion-cub?” + 

“Alan is of an age now, my lord.” + 

“Bah!” growled Fulk. “Alan to take thy place! As if he could do one tittle of what thou canst do!” + 

“He must,” Simon said. + 

“I hope I shall live to see the day! Simon, I shall miss thee sorely.” + 

“And I you, my lord. Yet I shall be but a few miles distant.” + 

“H’m!” Fulk let him go. “In what condition are thine estates?” + 

“In bad condition, my lord. There has been no master there since last July.” + 

“Good lack! Thou’lt have work enough even for thee!” + 

“So I think, my lord, but it is work I like.” + 

“Ay, ay. And thou shalt have as many men from here to help thee as thou askest of me. My Lord of Beauvallet, forsooth! Little did I think that thou’dst come to this, three years ago! And by the straight road, God wot! as thou didst say thou wouldst ever go! Ah, what an obstinate babe thou wert then! Charles, dost thou know that I have borne with this headstrong boy for three years?” + 

“I do wonder that ye are both alive,” Granmere replied. + 

“I’ll not deny he has enraged me a-many times, but can one fight a block of ice? Well, well, come ye in to supper! This is a glad and a sad day for me.” He heaved himself up, and leaning heavily on Simon’s shoulder, led the way into his chamber, where supper lay ready for them. + 

They rode out next day, Fulk and Granmere, Alan and Simon, to survey Simon’s lands. Not even Fulk’s swollen foot would induce him to remain behind. He was assisted into the saddle, groaning and cursing, by three of his varlets, and rode abreast with his cousin, while Alan and Simon fell in behind. + 

“Will there be a place for me in thy castle, Simon?” Alan asked. + 

“Ay, whenever thou wilt,” Simon answered. “And when I have set the place in order.” + 

“I suppose thou wilt do that well enough. But it will be no easy task.” + 

“I have never wanted that,” Simon said. + 

Presently Alan shot him a mischievous glance. + 

“Who shall be mistress of Beauvallet, Simon?” + 

“None.” + 

Alan laughed. + 

“So thou sayest, so thou sayest, but love comes to all men one day.” + 

“I do pray it will pass me by.” + 

“Ah, no, thou wilt fall, Simon! I shall see thee at some gentle maid’s feet, I know!” + 

“Wilt thou?” Simon said grimly. “I doubt it, lad.” + 

But Alan shook his head wisely and laughed again. + 

They rode rather silently through Fair Pastures, looking about them with appraising eyes. Occasionally Fulk turned in his saddle to make some remark to Simon. + 

“There has been no work done here for months, lad. See that field yonder.” + 

“I do know it,” Simon answered. + 

Then as they passed a group of loiterers on the road: + 

“Too little toil, too much sack,” Fulk growled. “Thou hast a hard time before thee, Simon. When wilt thou come here?” + 

“At once, my lord.” + 

“Ay, ay. And how many men wilt thou take with thee?” + 

“None, my lord, save Roger, my squire, and little Arnold, my page. And that only if it be thy pleasure.” + 

“Much use would they be to me always pining to be with thee,” grunted Fulk. “Thou shalt take Malcolm also for thy squire, then may Roger still have with whom to fight for thy favours. Art thou wise to refuse my men-at-arms? Will ye not take a man from Montlice to be thy Marshal?” + 

“Nay, I will bring no strangers into Beauvallet. For the nonce I will make shift without a Marshal, but when I do better know my men, then will I promote some of them to rule under me.” + 

“There speaks a sage man,” Granmere remarked. “I shall look to see thee master in a month.” + 

Simon smiled a little. + 

“In three months there shall be no lawlessness here,” he promised. + 

IX + 

How He Took Possession of His Estates + 

In a small chamber by the kitchens at the Castle of Fair Pastures, now known as Beauvallet, sat Master Hubert, the steward, with James, called the Short-Leg, on account of his limp, and Bernard of Talmayne, the late John of Barminster’s secretary. They sat about an oaken table on which stood three brimming tankards of sack and a jug full of that liquid for when the tankards should need replenishing. Master Hubert, a little, potbellied man with an inflamed countenance and a large voice, fruity in timbre, was speaking, aggrievedly and as one to whom some sore injury has been done. Ever and anon he smote the table with his fat hand, and his voice throbbed with a righteous indignation. + 

“Now I do say it is not to be borne!” he swore, “and by my troth, it shall not be borne! Are we to cringe under this tyrant’s heel? What is he to us, I ask of ye? Whose men are we? Why, we were John of Barminster’s! But he being hanged for a rogue, whose men shall we be? Why, our own, say I, and rightly so!” He paused in his harangue and glared belligerently at his friends. “Who shall gainsay it?” Then as neither James nor Bernard seemed inclined to gainsay it, he continued. “We were very well before this beetle-browed deathshead came upon us. There was good food in plenty, much sack and strong ale, a rich land to call our own, and a life of ease and peace for us. What have we now? Why, what but a heavy-jowled youth, who comes upon us like a tyrant and an oppressor? Not a word of warning, not a moment’s respite to think on the matter at our leisure! Down he comes with his pert squires and tramps into the castle, willy-nilly, with his devil’s eyes like stones, and his thundering voice like a death-knell!” + 

“Nay,” Bernard interposed. “Ye mistake, Master Hubert. He spake softly enough, though with a note of danger creeping through the softness.” + 

Master Hubert thumped the table anew. + 

“What matters it how he spake, Master Secretary? His words were a death-knell!” + 

“Ay, that is so,” Short-Leg agreed. “Death-knell indeed, and as full of proud arrogance as an egg is full of meat.” He picked up his tankard and sought to drown his troubles in the comforting sack. + 

The steward crossed his fat legs and loosened his doublet. + 

“Arrogance indeed! What did he, I ask? To what lengths did his pert haughtiness carry him? Why, to call me to him in the hall! Me! As though I had been a scullion for the kitchens instead of the steward of Fair Pastures. He sent a varlet to fetch me⁠—me! I ask myself today, why was I fool enough to go to him? Can ye tell me? Was it not because I am a courteous man, and peace-loving? What else should⁠—” + 

“I did hear that it was because he sent his squire with yet another message when ye did tarry,” Bernard said drily. “And I did hear that the message ran shortly and sweetly: ‘Tell Hubert the steward that he knows not me, but that I know him.’ Then ye did go.” + 

Master Hubert’s full-blooded face grew purple. Before he could answer the secretary he had recourse to his sack. Then, wiping his flaccid lips on the back of his hand, he said in a voice half-choked with rage and drink: + 

“Take heed how ye listen to scullions’ gossip, Master Secretary! It is true that he did send that curt message, but could he intimidate me? I was of a mind to show him what manner of man am I, but I bethought myself⁠—is it befitting for this coxcomb to stamp about the castle over which I am lord since Barminster died? I did go to him, constrained by courtesy, and when I came to the hall what found I? What but a mountain of a fellow with a damned flaxen head crammed full of haughty tyranny? A springald with not a hair to his lips, but great brows that ’most hid his wicked eyes, and a nose like to my hawk’s beak yonder.” + 

“A jaw like a mastiff’s, a frame like a giant’s, eyes like two daggers, a smile like a tiger’s snarl,” Bernard murmured. + 

“Ay, he is all that!” Master Hubert said. “A murrain be on him! And when I came to him, what did I do? I did bow in all politeness, yet stiffly withal, to show him that I’d not brook his surliness.” + 

“I did hear that ye did bow so low that your head came below your knees,” Bernard said. + 

“Ye heard! Ye heard! Ye will hear next that I kissed his feet!” Hubert cried angrily. “Little truth will ye learn from the scullions’ talk, Master Secretary! I bowed, as I have said, welcoming him with pleasant words, and demanding, as is my right, to learn of his business.” + 

“Ay, and thou didst continue speaking, and continue speaking, whiles he stood there as quiet as the statue of King Richard Lion-Heart that is in Saltpetres, and spake never a word, nor seemed to breathe,” piped Short-Leg suddenly. “And one hand he had on his hip, and the other he laid on his sword-hilt. And he interrupted thee not, nor seemed to grow out of patience, yet looked so great and formidable that even I was afeared!” + 

“Hold thy babble!” Master Hubert ordered, “though true it is that such was his discourtesy that he had no answer to my greetings, nor gave any sign of having hearkened to my discourse! Then when I held my peace, seeing that he was dumb and deaf, what did he but shoot at me a sudden glance the very thought of which makes⁠—” + 

“The blood freeze in your veins,” Bernard said gently. + 

Master Hubert snapped at him. + 

“Ay, with anger, Master Bernard! On my life, I grew pale and trembling with choler at the fellow’s impudence! I could scarce speak, so great was mine ire!” + 

“Yet still thou wert courteous,” James said eagerly. “Thou didst speak him fair, saying, ‘Lord, what may be your pl⁠—’ ” + 

“I do know very well what I did say without thy senseless reminder!” Hubert rounded on his tactless friend. “I spake him fair, for, thought I, is it befitting for one in my high position to bandy words with a ruffianly tyrant? ‘What may be your pleasure?’ I said. Then, with an effrontery at which I still gasp, ‘I am lord of this estate,’ he said, and handed me a parchment roll. And there I found it set down in many words that the King had given Fair Pastures to Sir Simon of Beauvallet, who was now to be baron, and call the land after himself. Beshrew me, I suffocate, at the thought of it! Give me air!” As though to prove his words he tore his doublet open still further, and rolled his eyes alarmingly. The obsequious James hastened to replenish his tankard, but the secretary paid little heed to Master Hubert’s sufferings. He leaned back in his chair, a smile hovering over his thin lips. After another draught of sack, Master Hubert resumed his harangue. + 

“Then, ere I had time fully to grasp the import of that infamous document, he spake again, demanding that I should bring to him the accounts of the barony since last July! By Our Lady! I was so taken aback, so affronted, and so enraged, that I could find no words with which to express myself. And when I would have spoken reasonably to him, he turned on his heel saying: ‘See ye have them for my inspection in the morning.’ Oh, I burn, I rage! All night was I at work striving to remember this payment and that, and setting all down in the book. And on the morrow I did go to the late lord’s chamber where sat this coxcomb, with you, Master Secretary, nor had we reached an end by ten of the clock. There he sat, and questioned me till my poor head reeled, and ever and anon he shot me that evil look from out his strange eyes, whereat I choked with passion. All the accounts of last year and the year before did he read, up to July, and knew to a farthing what sums were collected yearly, how many heads of cattle we numbered, how⁠—” + 

“Ay,” James interrupted, “and he summoned Nicholas of the Guards to give an account of his men. Rare it was to see great Nicholas stammer, and strive to bluster and overrule my lord’s queries.” + 

“And all the while,” said Bernard dreamily, “he did sit as still as carven stone, with only the glitter in his eyes to show that he lived. And when the bully Nicholas would have shouted and blustered more, then of a sudden he sprang to life. Methinks I shiver still.” + 

“They told me,” James said, “that he scarce raised his voice above the usual, yet so great and cold was his passion, so menacing his look, that Nicholas was silenced, and stood sulkily enough whiles my lord cut him in twain with his tongue. I would I had been there to see it,” he sighed regretfully. + 

“But that is not all!” Master Hubert cried. “He had the audacity to summon also Edmund, the Marshal, that aged fool! What said he to Edmund, Master Secretary?” + 

“Not much,” Bernard answered. “I think he is not wont to waste his words. He spake the Marshal courteously enough for his years’ sake, but he asked him this question and that, till the Marshal was nigh to weeping with mingled fear, and shame for his negligence. My lord had the full sum from him, and at the end he said with great gentleness, ‘Edmund of Fenton, it seems that ye grow too old for your task, since rogues thrive under your rule and ye are either too weary or too fearful to check their arrogance. It were better that ye should retire now with the pension that I will give you.’ And not another word would he vouchsafe, for all the Marshal’s pleading and argument. It is in my mind that my lord knoweth a rogue when he doth see one, nor will he bear with incompetence.” + 

“How now, Master Secretary!” the steward exclaimed. “This is pretty hearing indeed! Master Fenton is a worthy man, and not one to be prying into another man’s affairs! Now is he gone, and God alone knows what will come to this poor land!” + 

“Nay, not God alone,” the secretary said. “My lord knows also.” + 

Master Hubert flung up his chubby hands in horror. + 

“Oh, blasphemous man!” he cried virtuously. “To speak thus lightly! Oh, that I should live to hear thee!” + 

James the Short-Leg took this opportunity of filling his tankard. Master Hubert caught sight of him, and heaved a gusty sigh. + 

“Ay, drink, James, drink! ’Tis little ale or sack will flow in the future. Verily this new lord hath lynx-eyes! I shudder to think of the things he threatened to do unto me if I gave more than he commanded to any man in the castle! Oh, an evil fate hath befallen us! He is everywhere at once, so that I have ta’en to starting at every sound! And what doth he purpose? No man can tell, for he goes softly and saith little. He doth ride forth all this week about the estate, and I learn from Robert the Herd that already he knoweth each man by name and how many children he hath, or what is his fortune. Plague be upon it, the peasants cheer him and hasten to do his bidding. They are all upon the fields again, and tending the cattle.” + 

“Ay, but the guards murmur against him,” James remarked. “And the men-at-arms would rise against him at any moment.” + 

“Small wonder!” Master Hubert said. “For what hath he done? Why, within a week of his coming he had laid strict rules on all the men-at-arms and archers that are here, so that they fret and grumble. And as for Maurice of Gountray who commands them, it needs but a spark to set him blazing. Would that I had died before this fate had come upon us! We were happy before, but now no man may call his soul his own. Back hath come Father Jocelyn, and we have Masses and penances enough to make a poor man’s flesh shrink. Woe is me! Oh, woe is me!” Overcome by grief and sack, the steward beat feebly at his breast and moaned. “If he would but make known his vile intentions!” he cried. “My teeth are all on edge because that I know not from one hour to the next when he will fall upon me!” + 

Someone knocked upon the door and the steward started upright, pulling his doublet together. His little eyes shifted uneasily. + 

“En⁠—en⁠—enter!” he said. + 

A page thrust his head into the room. + 

“My lord hath need of Master Bernard,” he said importantly. + 

The steward drew himself up. + 

“Ho!” he grunted. “Is it for this you disturb me, boy? A murrain seize your impudence!” + 

The boy grinned. + 

“Shall I bear that message to my lord?” he asked tauntingly. “It is not convenient for Master Bernard to come to him?” + 

Bernard rose. + 

“If it is convenient for my lord, then is it convenient for his secretary,” he said with some dignity. + 

The steward blew out his flabby cheeks. + 

“I wonder that ye go so humbly! I wonder at it!” + 

Bernard went to the door. + 

“I go because I dare not tarry,” he said. + 

Master Hubert laughed jeeringly. + 

“Oh, brave! Oh, brave! Ye will tell me next that ye love this new lord, craven!” + 

“I think I do,” the secretary said, and closed the door softly behind him. + 

The page, a child of ten or twelve years, danced a few paces in front of him adown the corridor. + 

“Oh, and I do love this lord!” he said. “He lets not the bullies beat us and ill-treat us, and though he is cold to us and stern, he is kind withal, and just. And though he flies not into a passion over a little thing, yet we durst not disobey his commands. Nor does he strike one down when one comes late to do his bidding, as the old lord was wont to do, but looks at one so that one is afraid, and shamed. Indeed, I am glad that he is come, for it was an ill time for us pages when the Marshal ruled.” + 

“Where is my lord?” Bernard asked. + 

“In the chamber looking south where he doth sit so often. He sent me for you, yet I do not think he is angered with you!” + 

The secretary smiled faintly, and leaving the page to join his fellows, went to Simon’s room. + 

Simon was seated at a table, his arms resting upon it, and his brows frowning. He glanced up as Bernard entered, and then the heavy frown lifted a little. + 

“Sit ye down, Master Bernard,” he said. “There is much I would say to thee.” + 

The secretary looked at him in momentary surprise, for this was the first time that Simon had made use of the familiar “thou” in speaking to him. He drew up a chair and sank into it, his gentle, tired eyes resting on Simon’s face. + 

“I have been in this land a fortnight,” Simon said, “and much have I seen. Mayhap ye think that I have been strangely inactive?” + 

“Nay,” Bernard answered. “Your lordship hath done much already. The peasants cleave to you. I have thought that ye but hold your hand until all things be clear to you.” + 

“That is so,” Simon said. “And until I should know what men I might trust.” + 

The secretary bowed his head. + 

“I do now wish to take counsel with thee,” Simon said evenly. + 

The secretary looked up, a sudden gleam in his eyes. + 

“Ye trust me, my lord?” + 

“Ay.” + 

The tired shoulders straightened. + 

“Your trust shall not be misplaced, sir,” he said earnestly. + 

“That I do know. I am seldom out in my reckoning of mankind.” + 

“Yet I have done little to bring order into Fair Beauvallet.” + 

Simon glanced at him enigmatically. + 

“All men were not born to fight,” he said. “Why didst thou stay here?” + 

Bernard made a hopeless gesture with his hands. + 

“For three reasons, my lord. Lack of money, love of this land, and⁠—indolence.” + 

“So I judged. Money thou shalt have, indolence thou must lose, love of this land I trust thou wilt retain. Tell me now, what knowest thou of the Captain, Maurice of Gountray?” + 

Bernard hesitated. + 

“He⁠—he is a dour man, sir, and⁠—and not easily won over.” + 

“So much the better. I have looked well into the records of the estate, and the mentions I find of him lead me to think him honest and stiff-necked, obstinate, yet a ruler.” + 

Bernard looked admiringly across at him. + 

“That is so, my lord. But he loves not you, for ye have taken command of his men, and shown him that ye think him worthless. He curses your name, for all that he was at fault in allowing drunkenness and strife to come upon his men. He⁠—he is slow to wrath, sir, but when his wrath flares up, it makes him blind and careless of what shall befall him. I think he will fly out upon you, and mayhap he may seek to do you an injury.” + 

Simon nodded. + 

“He is easily dealt with. What of Nicholas of the Guards?” + 

“Like all bullies, sir, he is a coward at heart.” + 

“That also I know. What friends hath he?” + 

“But few, my lord. He is too harsh in his dealings with the guards, for them to love him.” + 

“So I thought. What record hath Basil of Mordaunt?” + 

The secretary was at a loss for a moment. + 

“I do not think I know him, my lord,” he said hesitantly. + 

“No? He is a quiet fellow of some thirty-five summers, with broad shoulders and a square head set close upon them. He looks one between the eyes.” + 

Recollection came to Bernard. + 

“Ah, yes, my lord! I know but little of him, save that he is peaceable in his ways, and orderly. The men like him, I believe.” + 

“It is in my mind to promote him to Nicholas’s room,” Simon said. + 

“Ye will degrade Nicholas, sir?” + 

“Nay, I will banish him. If I read him aright he is a sly fellow and I want none such here.” + 

“You are wise, my lord. I had thought ye would put a stranger in command.” + 

Simon smiled, a different smile from the deadly snarl Bernard had seen before. + 

“Yet ye call me wise,” he said. + 

“I had not realised how wise, my lord,” Bernard riposted. + 

“Nay? How read ye Walter of Santoy?” + 

“Do ye know every man in Beauvallet, sir?” asked Bernard wonderingly. + 

“I have need,” Simon said. “Dost thou?” + 

“Nay, my lord, to my shame. But I know this man, and I would call him good. Also he is beloved of the men-at-arms.” + 

“That will suit my purpose well,” Simon nodded, but he did not disclose what was his purpose. “I think to make Harold the Smooth-Tongued steward in Hubert’s room.” + 

“Then ye will do wisely, sir, for he is an honest man, and sober. What comes to Hubert?” + 

“Naught,” Simon answered. “He goes.” + 

“Thus ye will be rid of a very pretty mischief-brewer, sir. He is full of indignation at your coming, and although he durst not go openly against you, he might do much harm by his talk.” + 

“Ay.” Simon rose. He pointed to the sheets of parchment that lay scattered over the table. “Have the goodness to make me fair copies of these, Master Talmayne. I go now to send for Maurice of Gountray.” + 

Bernard stood up. + 

“My lord, if he comes not be not too enraged, for he⁠—” + 

Simon glanced over his shoulder, smiling rather grimly. + 

“Dost thou think I shall bungle my affairs, Master Talmayne?” + 

Bernard looked him in the eyes. + 

“Nay, my lord. Your pardon.” + 

Simon gave his short laugh and went out. + 

He sent his squire to summon Maurice, but Roger returned alone. + 

“My lord, he will not come!” he said, wide-eyed. “He⁠—he bade me tell you he⁠—he comes not at any⁠—any⁠—any⁠—” + 

“Well?” + 

“C-coxcomb’s call, my lord!” + 

“So?” Simon smiled unpleasantly. “Then I will e’en go to him.” + 

Roger put himself in front of him. + 

“Sir, take me with you!” + 

Simon looked down at him. + 

“Wherefore?” + 

“I⁠—indeed, I mislike his looks, sir!” + 

Simon laughed, and taking his squire by the shoulders put him aside. + 

“I need not thy protection, lad. Go thou to Malcolm, and bid him be ready to accompany me forth in an hour.” + 

“Oh!” Roger ran after him. “Sir, let me ride with you! I am not weary, and Malcolm⁠—” + 

“Thou didst hear me, Roger?” Simon said softly. + 

Roger sighed and fell back. + 

“Ay, my lord.” + 

Simon strode out into the sunlight. He crossed the courtyard to the men-at-arms’ quarters, and went in quietly. He walked through the hall, past staring, whispering soldiers, and made his way to the room which he knew to be Gountray’s. + 

He entered with his noiseless step, and found Maurice up with an oath and stood as if at bay. + 

Simon walked forward unhurriedly. He favoured Maurice with a long look before he spoke. + 

“This time I have come to you,” he said abruptly. “Another time I shall not do that.” + 

“I care not for your threats!” Gountray cried. + 

“I never threaten,” Simon answered composedly. He went to the table and lifted two wine bottles from it. These he flung out of the window with unerring aim. + 

“Now, by God⁠—” Gountray roared, and sprang forward. + 

Simon’s cold voice checked him. + 

“Do ye think it no shame, Maurice of Gountray, for a strong man to become a drunken sot?” he said. + 

Maurice flushed to the ears. + 

“I’ll not be answerable to you for my actions!” he snapped. + 

“Ay, that will you,” Simon said, “or leave this my land. I care not which ye choose, but an end will I have to your carousing and your rebellious insolence.” + 

“Rebellious insolence, forsooth!” Maurice cried. “Ye have yet to prove yourself strong enough to be my master! Think ye I will bend the knee to a pert boy not out of his teens?” + 

“Ay,” Simon answered. + 

“Then know that it is not so! I will fight ye for as long as ye remain here, and my men will refuse to do your bidding! One and all will stand by me! Ye have chosen to slight me, but I will show you of what stuff Maurice of Gountray is made!” + 

“Ye have shown me,” Simon said deliberately. “Within a week of my coming hither I knew you for a drunken knave who proves himself trustless in the absence of a master. I see you now, a common, brawling malcontent whose muscles are weak for want of training, whose temper is soured by the lawless, pleasure-seeking life ye have led during these past months. I have little use for such, Maurice of Gountray. I want true men about me, not worthless braggarts who bluster and shout, yet who have not honour enough or strength to keep their men in order when the master is away.” + 

Livid with rage, Maurice sprang forward again. His passion enveloped him, so that all semblance of sanity was gone. Simon had supplied the spark that was needed to set his rancour in a blaze. In a flash he had whipped his dagger from its sheath and had rushed upon Simon, blindly. + 

There was a moment’s wild struggle, and then Simon’s hands were about his wrists like iron clamps, bearing them downwards. Panting, Maurice glared into the green-blue eyes, and saw them passionless. + 

“Twice in my life hath a man sought to slay me foully,” Simon said. “This is the second time. The first was when a base cur, a traitor little above the swine, could not worst me in a fight. Then, being base, he drew steel and would have stabbed me.” He paused, staring grimly into Maurice’s eyes, until they sank, and the dark head with them. Then, with a quick, scornful movement he released Gountray’s wrists, and turned away, presenting his back, fair mark for an assassin’s dagger. + 

The tinkle of steel falling on the stone floor sounded behind him, and a man’s laboured breathing. He went quickly to a chair, and sat down, not even looking at Gountray. + 

Maurice spoke unsteadily. + 

“I have⁠—never⁠—done that⁠—before.” + 

Simon said not a word. Maurice turned, flung out his hands. + 

“You goaded me to it! I would never have drawn steel had you not taunted me so!” + 

Simon turned his head and looked at him. Maurice went to the window, leaden-footed, and stood with his face averted. After a moment he came back into the room, his mouth set as though in pain. + 

“Well⁠ ⁠… Kill me!” he said. “My honour’s dead.” + 

Still Simon said nothing. Maurice stood before him, twisting his hands, his head bowed. Suddenly he looked up, and his voice quivered. + 

“Ah, can you not speak?” he cried. “Are you made of ice? I have sought to stab you foully, like a⁠—cur! What will you do with me? Death would be welcome!” + 

“I seek not your death,” Simon answered sternly. “But by this one foul act have you placed your life and your fortune in my hands.” + 

Maurice straightened himself a little, but his head was bowed still, his fingers twitching. + 

“Well,” Simon said slowly, “I will make you my Marshal.” + 

For one whirling second Maurice was dazed. He took a hesitating step forward, staring in blank amazement. Then he recoiled. + 

“Ah, you mock at me!” he cried. + 

“I do not mock.” + 

Maurice opened his mouth to speak, but only passed his tongue between his dry lips. He was trembling, and sweat stood on his brow. + 

“Will⁠—will you not⁠—explain⁠—?” he said hoarsely. + 

“Sit down,” Simon ordered him, and waited to see him sink limply into a chair. “What I have said, I have said. I will make you my Marshal, but I will have obedience from you.” + 

“But⁠—but⁠—” Gountray’s hand flew to his head as one in wild bewilderment “⁠–⁠I sought to kill you! In that moment I could have done it, ay, and would have done it!” + 

“I know.” + 

“Then⁠—My lord, you torture me! What punishment will you inflict?” + 

“None.” + 

“None!” Gountray came to his feet. “You⁠—you⁠—forgive?” + 

“I forget,” Simon said. + 

“But why, why? What have I done to deserve your mercy?” + 

“Naught. It is my pleasure. Sit ye down again, and listen. When I came hither I did find your men disorderly and drunken, yourself no better. Yet I do know a man when I see one, and I do know that ye are one, if ye will it so. And I do also know a ruler of men and a fighter. Therefore I say that I will make ye Marshal in Edmund’s room, where ye shall prove yourself worthy of my trust. But I will have obedience and no black looks. So if ye hate me and wish me dead, get thee gone from Beauvallet, for thou art of no use to me.” + 

There fell a long silence. Then as Simon’s words sank well into his soul, Maurice came to his knees before him, sobbing drily in overwrought gasps. + 

“Ye cannot mean what ye say! What trust could ye place in me?⁠—a cur who is like to stab you in the back when ye are unarmed!” + 

Simon smiled a little at that, but he said nothing. + 

“Hanging is my desert! Ye have said that ye found all in disorder here, and myself a drunken sot! True it is⁠—God pity me! What use have you for me now?” + 

“I have told you.” + 

Then Maurice caught his hand and kissed it. + 

“My lord, I swear that since ye are pleased to forget my treachery and to elevate me thus undeservedly, I will never⁠—give you just cause to⁠—regret it⁠—so help me, God!” + 

“That I know,” Simon said calmly, and laid his hand on Gountray’s shoulder, gripping it. + 

Maurice raised his head and looked full into the compelling eyes. + 

“My lord⁠—forgive!” he whispered. + 

“It is as nothing,” Simon answered, and rose. “Come thou to me this even, for there is much I would ask of you, and I think ye can fitly advise me.” He held out his hand, and after a moment’s shamed hesitation Maurice laid his own in it. In that long grip was his allegiance to Simon sealed. + 

X + 

How He Brought Order Into His Lands + 

The next thing Simon did was to dismiss Nicholas of the Guards. At the same time he made it known that Basil of Mordaunt was to succeed him. Thus he did away with almost all opposition, for Basil was an easygoing, generous fellow, liked by his peers, and respected. Nicholas did not take this dismissal quietly. As soon as he was out of Simon’s hearing he fell to shouting his grievance over the estate, vowing that he would pay no heed to the new, upstart lord, but would hold his place and his men in Simon’s very teeth. In this he had little support, for the guards were weary of his hectoring and blustering. They listened to him in silence, but when he had gone they conferred amongst themselves, and for the most part agreed that they would be well rid of him. Yet for very fear of him and because they did not know their lord’s temper, they remained obedient to Nicholas until they should see which way the wind would blow. Some few declared openly that they would stand by Nicholas, but these were his friends and their number was small. + 

Nicholas went roaring to the men-at-arms with intent to stir up rebellion. Gountray was no friend of his, but among the men he counted some six or seven allies. He found them murmurous and ill-at-ease, for they had a new captain in Walter of Santoy who was busily employed in disciplining them. Nicholas knew better than to approach him. + 

“Maurice of Gountray will stand my friend,” said he loudly. “If Maurice is dismissed he will be at one with me. He and I will smash this fellow!” + 

“It is rumoured that Maurice of Gountray is Marshal in Edmund’s room,” one of his friends said uneasily. + 

Nicholas laughed gustily. + 

“A likely tale! Why, he hath sworn how he will meet this lord, and hath cursed his name! I warrant ye I shall find a friend in him.” He swaggered across the courtyard, and came most opportunely upon Gountray who emerged from a door leading into the castle. + 

“Ha, good Maurice!” Nicholas cried, past enmity forgotten. “Come hither, man! There is somewhat I would say to thee.” + 

Maurice paused a moment and waited till Nicholas came up to him. + 

“I have orders to see ye leave this place within the space of seven hours,” he said coldly. “Look to it that ye are gone.” + 

Nicholas lost a little of his colour, but he strove to laugh as at a joke. + 

“Why, this is pretty hearing, beshrew me! From whom do ye take your orders, Maurice of Gountray?” + 

Maurice looked him steadily between the eyes. + 

“From my lord of Beauvallet, sirrah.” + 

“Ho-ho! Do you tell me that, Master Gountray? But yesterday ye did speak brave words against him!” + 

“Much hath happened since yesterday, Nicholas Conrad, and for what I have said against my lord am I heartily ashamed. Ye will leave this land today.” He strode on, and as he passed him Nicholas noticed the chain about his neck that bespoke his marshal’s office. + 

Back he went to the guardroom to find Basil of Mordaunt in his place. Then his rage knew no bounds, but he had little support now that the men saw that my lord’s word was not idly spoken. The end of it was that Nicholas departed from Beauvallet in an hour, calling down curses on Simon’s head. + 

In the week that followed strange and strenuous changes were wrought in Beauvallet. Malefactors were brought to judgment and Simon’s hand was heavy upon them. When they sought to rebel, the men found that his yoke was securely round their necks, and his new officers implicitly obedient to him. The week passed in grumbling and petty mutinies, but at the end of the week men knew Simon for master. Regulations were formed, irksome at first, but sound, as the wiser fellows realised; Simon was found to be ruthlessly just, and if his rule was stern, at least he was not above knowing his men individually. He had ever a nod and a curt word of greeting for all who crossed his path, and he mingled freely amongst them, saying little, but making himself familiar to them. The peasants were set to work again, and laboured with a will, because work meant fair wages. Walter of Santoy had orders to drill his men, and although they groaned under it, they submitted, and very soon put some life into their labours, for no one knew when Simon would appear upon the scene, watching closely from under his jutting brows, chary of praise, but giving it where it was due. + 

Disgust was felt when he ordained that archery was to be practised, and some of the peasants who were compelled to enter into this sport grumbled loudly, and declared that Simon worked them to a shred. But when he came himself with his great bow, and shot with them they ceased their lamentations to admire his skill. And when he declared that to the man who could shoot an arrow farther than his own he would award a prize of a grant of land, competition became keen, and day after day saw the serfs fitting arrows to bow till they could almost rival the archers themselves. + 

Within the castle all was quiet. Master Hubert had departed, wailing, and the new steward slipped into his place. There was plenty of work and plenty of good food, a fair dole of ale or sack, and sports to occupy spare hours. In a surprisingly short time the men of Beauvallet settled down under the new regime, and were content. + 

It was not until the end of the month that Montlice rode over to see Simon. He came without warning one day, and appeared before the castle just before ten, accompanied by his son and his cousin. Simon was shooting with his men, so Gountray, who received the guests, dispatched Arnold, Simon’s page, to fetch him. + 

Arnold sped out across the country, clad in the new green-and-russet livery. He came upon Simon among the archers, in the act of loosing an arrow from his bow. + 

Simon watched the arrow’s flight, and without turning his head, spoke to his page. + 

“Well, Arnold?” + 

This was an uncanny trick he had, and which greatly bewildered and discomposed his men. No matter how softly one might creep up to him, he always knew of the approach, and needed not to see who it was who drew near. Arnold was accustomed to the trick, so he showed no surprise. + 

“My lord, there are guests at the castle! My Lord of Montlice, Sir Alan, and my Lord of Granmere. Master Gountray sent me to fetch you.” + 

Simon rose from his knee. + 

“I will come,” he said. He stayed but to speak with Santoy a moment and followed Arnold to the castle. Arnold would have taken his bow, but Simon shook his head, smiling. + 

“How far wouldst thou bear it, child?” + 

Arnold drew himself up till he stood half as high as the bow. + 

“I could carry it, my lord, indeed!” + 

“I doubt not thy good will,” Simon said, but he would not relinquish the bow. + 

Arnold walked demurely behind him then. It was a curious turn of character in Simon that he liked children. His pages fell over one another to serve him and were perfectly happy if he but nodded to them, while the littlest one of all’s pride when Simon lifted him over a broad ditch one day knew no bounds. He was Gountray’s son, a dark, curly-headed boy of eight named Cedric, who owed his office to his own impertinence. When he found that his father would not speak for him to Simon, he determined to speak for himself. So up he went to the castle, a chubby little fellow with merry eyes, and waylaid Simon on his way out. + 

Simon, remembering his own coming to Fulk of Montlice, was amused. He made Cedric page with Gountray’s consent, and the child seemed to walk straight into his rather dormant heart. He was the one person in all Beauvallet who would openly defy Simon, and once when he burst into tears of rage at being thwarted, his father and the Secretary were struck dumb by the sight of him seated on Simon’s knee in the great hall. + 

He it was who now entertained Simon’s visitors with engaging and solemn conversation. + 

“And who art thou, young hop o’ my thumb?” Fulk asked him. + 

Cedric answered importantly. + 

“I am my lord’s page. I made him take me.” + 

Fulk burst into a roar of laughter. + 

“Oh, tit for Simon’s tat!” he cried. “How didst thou make him, prithee?” + 

“I said that I would be his page. And I am. He calls me the little one.” + 

Alan smiled, drawing the small person to him. + 

“That sounds not like Simon,” he remarked. “Dost thou like thy lord?” + 

“Ay, I love him dearly. As much as my father.” Cedric paused to give weight to his next statement. “I have sat upon his knee,” he announced with due solemnity. + 

“Holy Virgin!” Fulk said. “What comes to our Simon?” + 

Simon entered at this moment, and Cedric, wriggling free of Alan’s hold, skipped towards him. + 

“My lord, I received these guests with my father, and I gave them chairs, but I have not done your bidding!” He chuckled mischievously and danced before Simon. + 

Simon gave him his arrows. + 

“Put these away then, little miscreant⁠—and see thou dost not play with them!” he added as Cedric trotted off. He came forward and grasped Fulk’s hand. + 

“My lord, ye are more than welcome, and you, Lord of Granmere. Well, Alan?” + 

“Never saw I so great a change in any land!” Fulk assured him. “We came to pry upon thee and to see how thou wert progressing, and behold! the place is as orderly as a monastery! As we passed we saw on all sides good work on hand, while as for thy household, it is as quiet as the grave! What hast done, lion-cub?” + 

“It was very easy,” Simon answered. “I struck at the heads of the disorder. How fares Montlice?” + 

“We miss thy strict hand,” Fulk grimaced. “But Alan doth what he can. God’s my life, when I think that scarce a month ago this land was peopled by drunken rogues, and the crops going to ruin for want of care, and look at it now, I can scarce believe mine eyes!” + 

“I am not surprised,” Granmere remarked. “From what I had seen of thee, I had thought to see thee conquer within the month. Who was yon chubby page?” + 

Simon smiled a little. + 

“That is my Marshal’s son.” + 

“Who sits upon thy knee,” Alan teased. + 

Simon looked up. + 

“Did he say that? ’Twas but once, when he cried because that I chid him for some fault.” + 

“Simon,” Fulk interrupted, “I demand that ye loose thy tongue and tell me all that thou hast performed here!” + 

“Well, sir, if ye must have the full tale, will ye come out whiles my varlets lay dinner?” + 

“Ay, that will we,” Fulk nodded, and rose. “Alan would stay with thee, if thou’lt permit him.” + 

Alan locked his arm in Simon’s affectionately. + 

“I shall stay whether thou likst it or no.” + 

“Why, of course thou canst stay!” Simon said, and led them forth into the sunlight. + 

They returned presently to dinner, when Simon presented his marshal, his captain, and all his other officers. It was nearly three hours later when they came away from the table, and Fulk took Simon aside. + 

“Simon lad, thou art now come to manhood,” he began, by way of preamble. “There is a proposition I would set before thee.” + 

“My lord?” + 

Fulk tapped him on the shoulder. + 

“Look ye, boy, thy land should have a mistress, ay, and an heir! Now it is in my mind to give thee my daughter Elaine, though I had intended her for John of Balfry’s son. What dost thou say to that?” + 

Simon compressed his lips. + 

“Why, sir, I say that albeit I do thank thee for the honour ye would do me, yet were it best that ye should give the lady to Robert of Balfry.” + 

“Thou’lt none of her?” Fulk was incredulous. “Bethink you, silly boy, she is comely and gentle, and fair-dowered!” + 

“Ay, sir, but she loves not me, and I love not her.” + 

Fulk was inclined to be offended. + 

“Mayhap thou dost look higher for thy bride?” + 

“Nay. I look nowhere for a bride. I have no love for women, and I think to remain a bachelor.” + 

“But that is folly, lad!” Fulk cried, a little appeased. “A docile wife is a great thing to have!” + 

“Is it, sir?” Simon said drily. “Methinks I admire not gentleness, nor docility.” + 

“But, thou dost love children, Simon!” + 

“Do I?” Simon considered the point. “Nay, I think not.” + 

“Thou dost, lad! What of thy little page?” + 

“Cedric? Yes, I do care for him, yet I want him not for mine own.” + 

“Simon, Simon, thou quibblest! Since I have been in Beauvallet I have seen more pages than thou canst possibly have need of! What made thee take them⁠—children that they are?” + 

“They⁠—they are useful to me,” Simon answered, rather lamely. “They run mine errands.” + 

“How many hast thou?” Fulk demanded sternly. + 

“Six,” Simon said gruffly. + 

“And what does one man want with six pages?” Fulk persisted. + 

“I⁠—I find employment for them.” + 

“Tush!” said Fulk. “Thou dost like to have them follow thee about.” + 

“Nay! I send them from me⁠—when they plague me.” + 

“Simon, thou canst not deceive me,” Fulk told him. “Thou hast a love for children, and shouldst breed thine own.” + 

Simon flushed a little. + 

“Nay.” + 

“And I say, ay!” + 

“My lord, it is to no avail that ye seek to persuade me. I will take no woman to wife.” + 

Fulk grunted, but he knew Simon too well to argue any further. + 

“Well, please thyself. But one day ye will know that I was right, and a man must take a wife unto himself.” + 

“I will tell you when that day comes,” Simon promised. + 

Alan remained at Beauvallet a week, and Simon was rather glad of his companionship. He organised a chase for Alan’s amusement, and hired mummers from a neighbouring town. But Alan was quite content to dispense with these forms of entertainment, and to please Simon he went with him to practise archery. When he came away from this tedious sport, he shot Simon a sidelong glance. Simon was aware of it, without seeing it. + 

“Well?” + 

“How hast thou contrived to endear these men to thee, Simon?” + 

“Have I? Some of them like me not.” + 

“But most do like thee. What is it they do find to love in thee? What do any of us find? Thou art stern, and cold, and hast no love for any man.” + 

“Alan, if thou dost wish to prate of love, go do so to thy ladylove. I know nothing of it.” + 

“Why do thy men love thee?” Alan insisted. + 

“I know not. Perchance because I bend them to my will.” + 

“That may be so,” Alan mused. “But why do the children so dote on thee?” + 

“Because I pay but little heed to them.” + 

“Nay, that cannot be so. In truth, Simon, long as I have known thee, I still know thee not. Something there is ’neath thy coldness of which I wot not.” + 

“There is hunger,” Simon said, thereby closing the conversation. + 

When Alan had returned to Montlice, Simon set about reforming his men-at-arms, and archers, with so much success that within the space of six months he had a very fair army at his beck and call, composed of peasants’ sons, and some wandering soldiers. Walter of Santoy proved himself an admirable captain, so that Simon relaxed some of his vigilance, and turned his attention to the cultivation of his land. In Gountray he had full confidence, and Maurice would have worked himself to death to please his lord. + 

And so the year rolled placidly by and the New Year came. Then, when Simon had begun to look about him in search of fresh emprises, came Geoffrey of Malvallet, his father, one damp morning, to visit him. + 

When word was brought of his coming, Simon went swiftly out to meet him, and knelt to receive his guest. + 

“My lord, ye do me great honour,” he said gravely. + 

Geoffrey raised him. + 

“I hardly dared come to thee, Simon, but now I have an excuse for this visit which perhaps thou dost think importunate.” + 

Simon led him to his private room. + 

“Nay, sir, I am honoured.” + 

Geoffrey glanced around. + 

“Well, thou hast estates, after all. Of thine own endeavour.” + 

“As I did say I would have them,” Simon answered, and sent a page to bring ale. “What is your will of me, sir?” + 

“I am the bearer of a letter to thee from thy half-brother,” Malvallet answered. “Will ye read it?” + 

“From Geoffrey? Ay, that will I, and gladly! Will ye not be seated, sir?” + 

Malvallet chose a chair by the window, and watched Simon break the seals of Geoffrey’s letter. + 

“To Simon, Lord of Beauvallet. + 

“Dear and entirely well-beloved, I greet thee well, and send messages of joy and congratulation on thy new good fortune. I do know thy land and like it well. May thou prosper exceedingly as thou deservest! + 

“My brother, I do write to urge thee that thou shouldst come hither with what force thou mayst muster to join again with the Prince in quelling that most naughty rebel, Owen de Glyndourdy, whose followers are rife in this ill-fated land. Despite the fair promises of His Majesty’s Council, made in August, saying that he should have men and provisions enough to march boldly out against the rebels, naught hath been forthcoming, and at this date at which I write our force numbers little over five score men-at-arms and twelve score archers. Now thou art thine own master wilt thou come not again to fight at my side as thou didst promise? Matters grow serious here in Wales, for thou must know that in December of last year fell Cardiff, and Harlech, and Llampadarn, our most cherished fortresses. The rebel Owen hath not been so great before, and indeed, if we are to conquer him we must set out against him, and that as soon as spring shall have come. And with the spring, come thou, my brother, and I will promise thee as goodly a battle as that of Shrewsbury which thou didst so much enjoy. + 

“I send thee my love and greetings. + 

Simon folded the parchment slowly. + 

“Wilt thou go?” Malvallet asked abruptly. + 

Simon seemed to consider. His eyes wandered to the window and stared out across the quiet fields. He brought them back to his father, and smiled. + 

“It seems likely, my lord,” he said. + 

He rode next day to Montlice to take counsel of Fulk. To my lord’s surprise Alan sprang up, vehement. + 

“If thou dost go, Simon, then so will I!” he exclaimed. “Too long have I rested at home! I will lead our men to Wales, and I too, will taste the joys of battle!” + 

When he had recovered from his amazement, Fulk scoffed. + 

“Little joy wilt thou find in battle.” + 

Alan turned sharply. + 

“If thou dost say me nay, my lord, then will I go in Simon’s train. Alone!” + 

“No need for such heat,” Fulk grunted. “Thou shalt go if thou dost wish it. When dost thou think to depart, Simon?” + 

“Next month, my lord, towards the end, so that I shall come to Wales in March.” + 

“And leave thy land masterless?” + 

“Nay. Maurice of Gountray shall rule in my stead.” + 

“As he ruled when Barminster died?” Fulk inquired with heavy sarcasm. + 

“I am not Barminster,” Simon said. + 

XI + 

How He Won His Gilded Armour + 

March saw him in Wales at his brother’s side, engaged in hard fighting and hard generalship. April brought him back to Shrewsbury unscathed, but May saw him marching south to Usk, one of the Prince’s trusted officers, and the Prince’s friend. And at Usk, where they fought the rebels fifteen hundred strong, he engaged with Glyndourdy’s son Griffith, and fought him in single combat till he had him worsted from sheer fatigue. Then took he Griffith prisoner and surrendered him to the Prince. + 

Henry was enthusiastic over his prize, and smote Simon on the back. + 

“Ah, Beauvallet! Would that I had thee ever by my side! What wilt thou of thy prisoner?” + 

“His armour, sir,” Simon answered. “His ransom, if ransomed he be, is yours. But, if it pleases your Highness, I would have his gilded armour.” + 

“That is a strange wish!” Henry said. “Wherefore? Dost like the golden tint so much?” + 

“Ay, and the workmanship, sir.” + 

“Thou shalt have it, then,” Henry promised. “Simon of the Gilded Armour!” He laughed, linking his arm in Simon’s. “Verily, I do believe it is a new title thou seekest! Already have I heard tell of Simon the Lynx-Eyes, Simon the Coldheart, Simon the Lion, Simon the Soft-Footed, and I know not what beside! Whence come these names, lad?” + 

“From foolish men’s tongues, my lord,” Simon answered. + 

“Then shall I be foolish,” Henry said, “for I shall call thee Simon the Silent.” + 

The middle of July saw Simon home again, with Geoffrey and Alan riding one on either side of him. Between these two enmity was dead, for when Geoffrey had clasped Simon’s hands on his coming to Wales, Alan had stood aloof and ill-at-ease, seeing which Geoffrey had gone to him with his charming smile. + 

“Our sires dispute, Sir Alan, but what shall we do?” + 

“For my part I would we might agree!” Alan had answered instantly, and grasped Malvallet’s hand. + 

When Simon rode into Beauvallet he found all quiet and in good order, and a glint of satisfaction came to his eyes. At the castle door his household stood to welcome him. But one there was who forgot decorum and ran forward, arms outstretched. + 

“My lord! my lord! Lift me? Oh, lift me!” Cedric cried, almost sobbing with excitement and heedless of his father’s shocked protest. + 

Then Simon the Coldheart bent in his saddle and hoisted his page up with one strong hand, and held him against his shoulder. One little arm encircled his neck, the other plump hand gripped Simon’s doublet tightly; Cedric gave a wriggle of content, and buried his face on Simon’s shoulder. + 

Simon looked down at the curly head with a curious smile on his lips. + 

“Thou hast missed me, Cedric?” + 

The arm tightened about his neck; Cedric nodded. + 

“Methought thou’dst have forgot thy lord.” + 

Up came the dark head, indignant. + 

“I am not a babe⁠—to forget thee so soon!” + 

“Cedric!” exclaimed Gountray, coming forward. “Thou must not speak so to my lord! To say ‘thee’⁠—thus pertly!” + 

“I will!” Cedric announced stoutly. “My lord cares not!” + 

“My lord, forgive his rudeness!” Gountray said in concern. “Indeed, I can do naught with him since ye are gone. He minds me not. I doubt I am too soft with him, but I have no other son, and⁠—and perchance I spoil him with indulgence.” + 

“Let be!” Simon said shortly. “Loose thy grip, little one; I would dismount.” He handed Cedric to Gountray, and swung lightly down from the saddle. He had a word of greeting for all who stood there, and many were the inquiries after his welfare. He answered each man in kind, and passed into the castle, Cedric dancing at his side, and his other pages following him like a troop of puppies, so that when he stopped to speak with his secretary he stood in the midst of a small band of green-and-russet clad boys, towering above them, while they swarmed about him, relieving him of first this, and then that, and squabbling amongst themselves for the supreme honour of bearing his sword away. One flew to unbuckle it, three others laid hold of the scabbard, glaring at one another belligerently, and two more knelt to unfasten Simon’s spurs. He seemed quite unaware of these somewhat noisy ministrations, but talked calmly over the pages’ heads to his amused secretary. Being smaller by far than the rest, Cedric found himself with naught to carry away. Not to be outdone, he climbed upon a chair and removed Simon’s cap from his head. He also tried to remove the surcoat from Simon’s shoulders, and his fat little fingers tugged busily at the clasps until Simon became aware of his efforts. Then he put them all from him. + 

“Have done, have done! Would ye have me quite unrobed? Go put my cap away, Cedric! Roger, take my sword from that babe; he will fall over it. Edmund, fight not over my spurs! Thou’lt scratch thyself. Take heed! And be ye all gone till I send for you, turbulent brats!” He nodded to Gountray. “I will speak with thee after supper, Maurice, and thee also, Bernard.” He strode away to the staircase, and went swiftly up to his chamber, followed only by Malcolm, his squire. + 

Walter of Santoy cast a laughing glance at Gountray. + 

“This place will soon be overrun with pages,” he remarked. “Surely I did see three more than when we left Beauvallet?” + 

“Ay,” Gountray replied. “My lord had given orders they were to be enrolled. One falls over them at every step, but it is my lord’s pleasure. And since my lord did strike Patrick of Kildare senseless for beating little Edmund, two days before he set out on his travels, never have children been more indulged in this land! As for mine own son, he is grown so defiant and mischievous that only my lord can check him.” + 

“Things have come to a pretty pass,” the steward sighed, for he was weak with children and they plagued him unmercifully. + 

“Pretty indeed,” Bernard said softly. “Methinks it is a sweet thing to see the iron lord with these babes about him like flies around a honey-jar.” + 

“They are very importunate,” Roger complained. “They cluster about my lord so that there is naught for us poor squires to do. And he will not say them nay. And⁠—and when I did push Donald so that he fell⁠—I meant not that he should, but I was angered⁠—he would not have me near him for three whole days! So that Malcolm waited upon him!” At the thought of this past injury his eyes flashed, and he withdrew to dwell upon it darkly. + 

After supper, Maurice of Gountray came to Simon’s room to render an account of his stewardship. Simon listened intently to all that he said, and read over the accounts. Maurice spoke hesitantly, anxious lest he should have failed to satisfy his lord. Just at the end of his recital he looked at Simon almost shyly. + 

“There⁠—there is one other matter, my lord, in which ye may perhaps think I have exceeded my duty. In your absence I⁠—I did what seemed best to me.” He paused, unaccountably nervous before this man who was full fifteen years his junior. Simon said nothing so Maurice continued, squaring his shoulders: “I did discover three lewd fellows, sir, among your guard, who were friends of Nicholas. They were set upon stirring the men to rebellion in your absence, the which Basil reported to me. So I did summon them to⁠—to judgment, sir, and Edwin of Palmer, whom I saw to be the leader, I banished in your name. The other two I did punish⁠—and they are quiet now.” He looked up again, diffident, and in his eyes was a look of fidelity such as is seen in the eyes of a dog. + 

“Thou hast done well,” Simon said. “In all things thou hast acted as I should have acted had I been here.” + 

At the sound of that cool voice, Gountray sat straighter in his chair, and one or two worried lines upon his brow were smoothed away. + 

“If⁠—if I have pleased you, sir, I⁠—can be easier in mine own mind.” + 

“I am pleased, but it is no less than I expected.” + 

“My lord⁠—I have but one ambition in life, and that is to merit your trust, so that I may⁠—in time⁠—wipe out the black memory of what I⁠—sought to do to you.” + 

Simon brought his fist down upon the table between them. + 

“A year ago I said three words to thee, Maurice of Gountray: ‘I have forgotten.’ ” + 

“Ye have not yet said: ‘I have⁠—forgiven,’ my lord,” Gountray answered low. + 

“Then I say it now. I have forgiven. Though why thou shouldst want forgiveness from any man, I know not. The past is dead.” + 

“My lord, I⁠—I thank you! And for all that you have done for me, upholding mine authority, and permitting my son to tease you, I thank you.” + 

“Thank me not for pleasing myself,” Simon answered. He rose, and Maurice with him, and as Gountray would have left the room, he spoke again, more lightly. “Thou wilt think me careless, Maurice. Before I went to supper I walked out to cast a look on my lands, and Cedric followed me. He ran a sharp thorn into his hands, and it bled grievously before he showed me what had happened.” Then as Maurice looked rather anxious. “I pulled the thorn out and bound his hand. I think it will be well tomorrow.” + 

“Sir, it is kind indeed of you to take such pains with Cedric! I will go look to him.” His hand was on the latch of the door when Simon spoke again. + 

“I could not but hurt him, but he shed not one tear.” + 

He rode to Malvallet a week later, and was royally entertained by his father. When he had gone again, Malvallet turned to his son Geoffrey who still remained at home. + 

“Geoffrey, I do love that boy,” he said abruptly. + 

“And I, sir.” + 

Malvallet spoke bitterly. + 

“I shall never be more to him than a friend.” + 

Geoffrey said nothing to that, and there fell a silence. Then he looked across at his father, smiling. + 

“Thou wouldst have liked to see him when he took Owen’s son prisoner, sir. On my word, he was there, there and everywhere, vying with the Prince himself in spurring our men onward. Then he came upon Griffith in one part of the field, and engaged him to single combat. Methought they never would have done, for Griffith is no weakling, sir, and he tilted and hacked at Simon until my heart was in my mouth. But Simon is untiring, and at last Griffith’s arm sank, and he yielded himself prisoner. Simon haled him to the Prince, and demanded naught from him but his armour, a curious set, gilded over, and so delicately fashioned that when on it hath scarcely any weight at all. And when next we fought, he wore that armour so that he was a mark for all eyes. Seeing him so much to the fore, his men did press onward to join him, inspiring the others. That victory the Prince vows is due to Simon’s valour alone. Henry hath a great liking for him, sir, and would have kept him at his side had Simon willed it so.” + 

Malvallet nodded slowly. + 

“Ay. He will be great one day⁠—if he wills it so.” + 

“And if no woman comes into his life to divert his thoughts,” Geoffrey said. + 

“There is no woman as yet?” + 

Geoffrey laughed. + 

“Holy Virgin, sir, if thou couldst but see Simon with a maid! He pays no heed to them, nor seems to notice their presence! I tell him he will fall one day, and Alan tells him, too, but in truth, sir, I think he never will!” + 

“I wonder,” Malvallet said. + 

“Or if he doth, ’twill be before some timid, pale-faced wench who will make of herself a carpet for his disdainful feet!” + 

“I⁠—wonder,” Malvallet said again. + 