II
How He Encamped Before Belrémy
Midway through October in that year of grace, 1417, Simon appeared before the town of Belrémy, with an army of fifteen hundred strong, Geoffrey of Malvallet leading the van, John Holland, Earl of Huntingdon, the left wing, and himself the right, Alan of Montlice with him, acting Master of Simon’s Horse. Two squires came in Simon’s train, Cedric of Gountray and Edmund Marnet. In the rear, with the ordnance and provisions, were the surgeons, the priest, and one John Tarbury, with his officers, as Master of Works.
Belrémy stood upon a slight incline, with its castle frowning down upon this force, and its grey walls sullen and forbidding.
“God’s my life! I like not this place!” murmured Alan, at Simon’s side.
Simon looked out from under his heavy brows, surveying the town, and Alan saw him smile. It was his tiger-snarl, and Montlice shivered a little, pitying Belrémy.
Simon turned, glancing along his halted army. He spoke over his shoulder to his squires.
“Fetch me John of Tarbury. Alan, bid Huntingdon march on to cover the western side. He knows.”
Within an hour the army was at work, under Simon’s direction. His men were set to build wooden huts, for Simon anticipated a prolonged siege, and winter was drawing on. Trenches were dug, and palisades erected for the protection of the army, and until these were finished, some ten days later, the camp was hard at work, both officers and men.
Simon sent a herald to the town, bidding them surrender, but the Lady Margaret returned a hot answer, that he should enter Belrémy over her dead body. Simon had no taste for heroics, and he received this answer indifferently.
And so he began his blockade, hearing occasionally some tidings from the King. He had learned the art of war under Henry, and he followed his precepts strictly, with the result that he lost no men, save by sickness, during all that weary siege. Nor did he once lose patience, although Geoffrey of Malvallet was nigh to weeping from boredom and inactivity.
“Simon, Simon, art thou grown timorous?” he cried one night, standing by Simon without his tent.
“Nay,” Simon answered placidly. “Nor am I of a sudden foolhardy, Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey jerked his shoulder in impatience.
“Shall we sit down before this town forever?” he demanded. “To what avail your bombardment? The walls of Belrémy seem made of granite! They laugh at thy guns! I tell thee, Simon, this is waste of time!”
Simon deigned no answer, nor looked at his half-brother.
“To what avail?” Geoffrey asked peevishly.
“So that I may weaken their fortifications, and, by hunger, weaken the soldiers.”
“And thy mine? Dost thou hope to enter the town under ground?”
“Maybe,” Simon answered.
“Were I in thy place I would storm it now in full force!” Geoffrey exclaimed.
A little smile flitted across Simon’s face.
“That I know. Yet I am wiser than thou.”
Geoffrey laughed at that, and slipped his arm in Simon’s.
“Ay, I know. How much longer, Coldheart?”
“Thou shalt feast at Christmas within those walls,” Simon said, pointing. “I pledge thee my word.”
“A month hence!”
“Nay, three weeks only. Fret not, Geoffrey. I do indeed know my strength.”
“Oh, I doubt it not!” Geoffrey heaved a sharp sigh. “My men grow troublesome, and murmur.”
“Check their murmuring, then. ’Twere to more avail than this whining in mine ear.”
Geoffrey flushed.
“I have not thy power over them. I can lead them into fight, but I cannot hold them in leash.”
“Ay, but thou canst; none better.” Simon spoke slowly, not looking at Malvallet. “Quell thine own complaining, Geoffrey, and thou mayst then rebuke thy men.”
“Even as thou dost now rebuke me?”
“Even as I do now rebuke thee.”
There fell a silence upon them, until Geoffrey spoke again.
“Thou art right, Simon. I will mend my ways. Thy pardon.”
Simon turned, hand outstretched. Some of the severity went out of his face.
“What is this fiery blood that runs in thy veins?” he asked, and gripped Geoffrey’s fingers till the bones cracked. “Is it Malvallet blood?”
“Nay, for it is not in thee. Give ye good night, Simon, I’ll school myself. Even as Alan,” he added, as the young Montlice came towards them. “What dost thou, pretty poet, out of thy bed at this hour?”
Alan came to Simon’s side, and laid a hand on his shoulder, leaning on it. His head was bare, and he was wrapped about in a great velvet coat, unlike the other two, who wore their armour. His dark eyes shone in the light of the fire at their feet, and he spoke softly.
“The night was so still,” he said. “Your voices woke me. What is toward?”
“Naught,” Simon answered. “Geoffrey pants to scale yonder walls.”
“Geoffrey must always fight,” Alan nodded. “I think I would we might remain here forever. There is peace in the air, and an ode in my head.”
“There is frost in the air,” Geoffrey shivered. “If Simon will not march in, I could find it in my heart to wish they would march out upon us, so we might have action at last. Simon hath pledged me his word we shall feast in Belrémy on Christmas Day, Alan.”
“He must always be boasting,” Alan replied. “I pray God we may enter together and whole.”
“That will not be if thou dost forget thine armour,” Simon said. His deep voice cut through the stillness like a knife. A sentry, hearing it, peered through the darkness to see where stood his lord.
“I wonder, do they starve within?” Alan said, looking towards the black shadow that reared itself before them, and was Belrémy. “No help came to them.”
“When Umfraville drew off to Alençon they revictualled the town, belike,” Geoffrey said.
“The New Year should see their skins stretched across fleshless bones,” Alan insisted. “In the winter starvation and sickness come swiftly. Thou couldst hold the siege, Simon, and waste no lives.”
“I will not.”
Alan looked up at him under his lashes.
“What is thy motive, Simon? In an assault ye must lose men; in a blockade ’tis but the enemy who dies.”
Simon gripped his arm above the wrist, and held it so, as in a vice.
“Fool! Were I to hold this town till starvation came, I should enter it over children’s bodies. I war not with babes.”
Alan was silent, abashed. From Simon’s other side spoke Geoffrey.
“It is for this, then, that thou’lt risk an assault, Simon?”
“Ay, but I risk naught. I strike not until the proper time. Go thou to bed, Geoffrey; it is past midnight.”
Geoffrey stretched himself.
“I am weary,” he sighed. “Thy great mine reaches almost to the walls now.”
“It must reach farther,” Simon said grimly, and laughed to himself.
Alan and Geoffrey strolled away together.
“What doth he propose?” Alan wondered. “Some plan he hath, I’ll swear.”
“Ay, but he says naught. Mayhap we are to enter Belrémy through this mine he digs so hard.”
“What! And be caught like rats in a trap? That is not Simon’s way.”
“Who knows? When the time comes he will tell us his will. If I read him aright he is as yet undecided. One thing I know.”
Alan yawned.
“And I. That I must sleep or die. What is thy knowledge?”
“That we enter Belrémy by Christmastide. What Simon says, he means.”
“He speaks not until he is sure,” Alan said. “If he told me he would march into Hell by Christmas and enslave the Devil, I would follow him.”
Geoffrey crossed himself.
“So would we all. Belrémy will be hell enough, God wot!”
“And the Lady Margaret, the Devil,” Alan chuckled.