Georgette Heyer (13 page)

How he took Belrémy

He struck a week before the promised date, and the manner of his striking was typical of his policy throughout his career. His mine ran from the camp beneath the town-walls to a corner of waste ground within the town. He had made his calculations exactly, a rough plan of Belrémy as his guide. Two hours’ work would make an outlet from this subterranean passage.

Simon called a council of his captains on the day before his attack, and laid his last commands upon them. Holland was there, a youngster, unskilled in wars, but brave as a lion, and eager; Geoffrey, dark and tall, peerless in attack, and Alan, dreamy and nonchalant, yet ready to obey any order, blessed with the Montlice dash and verve whenever necessity called. They gathered together in Simon’s tent, unwontedly grave. Huntingdon was clad in leather, his armour laid by, and sat upon a rude bench, leaning forward the better to keep his eyes on Simon. Geoffrey stood before the table, fully equipped, but Alan had drawn a stool near to the entrance of the tent, and was dressed in soft cloth and silks. He rested his head in his hand, and his eyes were upon Simon, wide-open, and shining with a childlike innocence. Simon himself sat at the table, plans before him, in such a way that he might look easily from one to the other of his captains. His hands were loosely clasped upon the rough wood; he frowned, but his voice was passionless and even.

‘You, Huntingdon, at the sounding of the horn at seven in the morning, shall fall upon the western gate with all your force, using your three towers of archers, and your breaching-tower. The wall hath crumbled ’neath your cannon. Ye should breach it easily now, and ye must set about the task with much to-do and noise, so that the garrison may think I seek to enter there in full force. Thus ye draw their fire. It will be easy enough, for it is at the western gate that they are most vigilant. There they expect assault. Twelve men will creep along my mine at five o’clock, to break away the earthcrust within the town. When the signal is heard and the townsfolk are thrown into a turmoil by Huntingdon’s sudden attack, those twelve will run swiftly to the southern gates which I now front, and open them. You, Malvallet, with Montlice, shall charge then, and enter. There will be fighting enough to satisfy ye all, but the greater part of the garrison will have flown to defeat Holland. Malvallet, your task then is to ride westward through the town to Holland’s assistance. Montlice will press forward to the centre, where stands the castle. I shall be with you by then.’ He paused, and shot a keen glance round. ‘Ye do understand?’

‘Ay,’ Huntingdon nodded.

‘Well enough,’ Alan sighed.

‘But one thing,’ Malvallet said.

Simon’s eyes were upon him.

‘And that?’

‘I do understand mine own part, for ’tis child’s play. What part do you play, sir?’

‘I lead those who enter the town by the mine. I am the twelfth man,’ Simon answered quietly.

On the word there was an outcry.

‘You have assigned to yourself the most difficult task!’ Huntingdon exclaimed.

‘Nay, Simon, it is not fitting,’ Alan said softly.

‘At least ye will take me with you!’ Geoffrey cried.

‘Nay.’ The word fell heavily, enforcing silence. ‘It shall be as I have said.’

‘But, Simon!’ Geoffrey threw out his hands impulsively. ‘What comes to us if ye fall?’

‘Then shall ye be commander in my room. I fall not.’

Huntingdon smote his knee.

‘Beauvallet, take my place, and let me take thine! Indeed, indeed –’

‘Silence, Holland. What I have said I have said.’

Alan rose, stretching himself like a cat. His eyes seemed more childlike than before, his pose more indolent.

‘Simon, for the love that lies betwixt us two assign thy task to me.’

Simon came to his feet, and laid his hands on Alan’s shoulders.

‘Thou love-sick child! Then were we indeed lost. Be content to do my bidding.’

Alan clasped his hands on Simon’s arm.

‘Simon, I beg of thee!’

‘And I.’ Malvallet clanked forward, and smote Simon upon the shoulder. ‘Lad, there is too much danger in thy task. We need thee for other things, and if thou art slain we fall to pieces.’

Simon shook his head indomitably.

‘Thou wilt meet me within the gates of Belrémy, Geoffrey. My hand on it.’

Malvallet wrung his hand.

‘Simon, if so be they slay thee before thou hast flung open the gates, Belrémy shall have no quarter. That I swear.’

A gleam came into the curious eyes.

‘Beauvallet dies not with his task unaccomplished, Geoffrey. Now listen to me, and cease thy plainings. Lie safe and still behind yonder palisade until the gates swing back, and the bridge is down. Then charge swiftly over. Let no movement be seen in my camp that thou canst avoid. Thyself lead the van, and let Alan follow. And come quickly, Geoffrey, for it may be that I shall need thy help.’

‘By God!’ Malvallet swore, ‘if I come not at once, may I be damned eternally!’

Simon nodded briefly, and turned to address them all.

‘And further, let this my command be given out: If any man strike down a woman or child in the fight, or offer injury where none is courted, his life will I take, and that right speedily. I will have no burning or pillaging, but order and chivalry. Ye do understand?’

‘Ay.’

‘Then that is all. Fare ye well, Huntingdon. I shall not fail you.’

The young Earl gripped his hand for a moment, smiling.

‘We meet within Belrémy, Beauvallet. God be with you and keep you in His care.’

‘And you.’ Simon watched him swing out of the tent, and turned to his two friends. There was a little warmth in his voice now, and his eyes rested kindly upon them.

‘If this be my last fight, my lands go to the King, by this my Will.’ He picked up a sealed parchment. ‘My wealth I have divided equally between you, saving only that which I have left to my Marshal, Maurice of Gountray, and mine other men. I leave this packet with Bernard of Talmayne. One of you will care for Cedric and Edmund for my sake?’

‘I will,’ Alan answered and turned away, lifting one flap of the tent and gazing out.

But Geoffrey put his hand on Simon’s shoulder.

‘Simon, ye have never spoken thus before. Not in all our fights. What ill-omen dost thou feel, my brother?’

‘None.’ Simon smiled into the anxious eyes. ‘Yet this will be a stern fight, and I would leave all in order.’

‘If thou shouldst be slain,’ Geoffrey began, and broke off. ‘Well, thou dost know.’

‘Ay.’

‘If thou shouldst be slain,’ Alan said slowly, ‘then shall the vixen Margaret die.’

‘Nay. That is folly. I die not. But if any of us be missing tomorrow, when all is done, those that are left will have lost the most faithful and the dearest friend. Go now, Geoffrey, and sleep whilst thou may.’

Geoffrey lingered still.

‘And thou?’

‘I have to see my captain, Walter of Santoy, and I must attend to some other matters. Remember, Geoffrey, if I fall tomorrow, thou art in command. Subdue Belrémy and invest it under Huntingdon. Then repair at once to the King. I can tell thee no more.’

‘If thou dost fall before thou canst open the gates –’

Simon smiled grimly.

‘That may not be. Fare thee well, my brother.’ He watched Geoffrey walk to the entrance. ‘Tell thy men to follow the Gilded Armour. I shall wear it.’

Geoffrey nodded. He paused by Alan and spoke to him.

‘Thou wilt be ready, Alan?’

‘Ay. I will come to thee when Simon goes, to hear thine orders.’

Geoffrey nodded again and went out. Simon’s secretary entered from the inner tent, and Alan waited until Simon had finished with him. Bernard went softly out to summon Walter of Santoy.

‘It grows late,’ Alan remarked. ‘Six of the clock. Thou wilt rest, Simon?’

‘Presently.’

‘Who goes with thee into the town?’

‘Mine own people. Eleven men.’

‘Well, they would die for thee,’ Alan said, as though he found therein some grain of comfort. ‘Cedric also?’

‘Nay, he is too young. Take the boy with thee, Alan, for he will not be left behind. He is enraged already that I will not take him with me. Have a care to him.’

‘I will. I’ll see thee again, lad, when thou art ready.’ Alan smiled over his shoulder, and sauntered out to his own quarters.

The night was very still and calm, the silence broken only within the camp where men moved stealthily about in preparation. The palisade had been undermined so that it would fall as soon as the supports were withdrawn. Away to the left Huntingdon was moving, with less stealth and more noise.

Simon stood at the entrance to his mine, tall and square, girt in his gilded armour, which glinted in the light of the fires. His great sword hung at his side, but his lance and shield he had discarded to be brought to him in Malvallet’s charge. He was wrapped about in a great cloak, as was each of his men, and he carried his green-plumed helm beneath his arm. Alan stood by his side, while he called the names of each of his followers. Every man answered promptly but softly. Dimly they were outlined against the black sky. Simon cast a quick glance over them, and turned to bid Alan farewell. He wasted no time, but held Alan’s hand a moment in his mailed clasp.

‘God be with thee, Alan. Follow the Gilded Armour, remember, and have a care to thyself. Give me the torch.’

It was handed to him and he bent, entering the mine, sword in hand. One by one his men crept in behind him, and presently were hidden from Alan’s sight in the gloomy tunnel. Even the glow of the torchlight faded; it was as though the earth had swallowed one and all.

Treading softly, and bent almost double, the line of men went steadily along the dank, earth-smelling passage, following the torch, and trusting implicitly to their leader. And so at length they came to the end of the mine, where they could stand upright. For a moment they stood listening, and then, quietly, Simon gave the order to begin to break upwards. Concealing cloaks were laid aside, and arms bared. Each man was furnished with either a pick or a spade, and with these they set to work, digging upwards as steeply as was possible. Simon himself flung down his cloak and helm, and hampered as he was by his armour, fell to hacking away the earth, his torch stuck in a niche in the earthen wall. There was no word spoken for a long time, but when Simon turned to pick up a spade his eyes fell on the eleventh man, shovelling the earth away with a will. A curly black head met his eye, and a young, strained face down which the sweat rolled in great beads. The boy raised his head at that moment and saw Simon’s stern glance upon him. He paused in his work to send his lord a look of piteous apology, not unmixed with triumph.

‘You and I shall have a reckoning to settle for this, Cedric,’ Simon said softly.

Cedric nodded, flushing.

‘Ay, my lord. That I know. I could not let ye come without me. If – if aught befall us – you – you will have – forgiven?’

Simon’s hard mouth twitched.

‘It would seem so. Go to now.’

Cedric threw him a grateful smile and returned to his digging with renewed vigour. Not another word was spoken; the work was done as silently as possible, and no man shirked his full share of this arduous task, although the tunnel was dank and airless, and the roof seemed to close down upon them. These picked men of Beauvallet would cheerfully have died sooner than fail their lord, or grumble at his strictness in a time of stress.

At last the foremost, one Malcolm Clayton, glanced back over his shoulder, and spoke in a hushed voice.

‘Lord, my pick went through.’

Simon scrambled up the crumbling slope of loose earth.

‘Then silence now, as you value your lives. Stand back, the others.’

He was observed instantly; the panting, sweating men rested on their tools, watching Simon and Malcolm break through the thin crust. It was slowly done, and carefully, but at length a wave of frosty air came down to them, and they drank it in gladly. Still Simon worked, making a hole just large enough to admit a man. Then he set down his pick, and raising himself on Malcolm’s shoulders, peered cautiously above the opening. Down he came again, springing lightly, and nodded.

‘Bank the earth to form a step. You, John, and Peter. The dawn is upon us.’

Again they set to work, and soon had fulfilled his behest. A pale grey light filtered down into the tunnel, but overhead the sky seemed still dark and frowning.

Simon gave the order to stack the tools. Wine had been brought in small leathern bottles; they drank deeply of it before they donned their helms and cloaks. Cedric picked up the golden helm and shook its waving plumes free of the dirt. He buckled it on to Simon’s neck-plate, and clasped the long green surcoat upon his shoulders. Then Simon wrapped the dark cloak over all and picked up his great sword. It gleamed wickedly in the torchlight, and the golden helm seemed to glow with an inward fire. Beneath its peak Simon’s eyes looked calmly forth and the green of his plumes seemed to steal into them, so that he appeared as some huge knight all gold and green. His men were nervous through anticipation, but his measured voice quieted them.

‘Extinguish the torch.’

It was done, and the golden figure faded to a black silhouette against the faint light. Each man stood very still, and breathed rather fast. Again the cool voice spoke.

‘Silence now until I speak. The time should be soon. Follow me close, but keep your swords hidden and show no fight until ye see me draw. Cedric, stay by me throughout.’

A low murmur of assent came and then all was eerily silent. Yet through the chilling darkness and the tense period of waiting Simon’s magnetic personality seemed to spread over his men so that their jagged nerves were soothed. Not one amongst them but placed his whole trust in Simon, believing implicitly that he would lead them to victory.

Time crept by on leaden feet, and bit by bit the grey light grew stronger. Above, all was quiet as the grave, so that the very silence seemed to din in the waiting men’s ears.

Presently one fidgeted unconsciously, and drew a deep, sobbing breath. Against the light they saw Simon raise his hand, and once more there was quiet.