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.