Georgette Heyer (22 page)

‘Simon, thou dost not know! Much have I heard of this man. Not for nothing is he called the Terrible, and women – women are his pastime.’

‘If he thinks to make a pastime of these women –’ Simon broke off, but his eyes smouldered. ‘I will ride first to his castle. If they are not there – I will scour the land. It may be that they passed through unharmed. And yet – something warns me of danger. That red-bearded man … who could he be?’

‘God knows. A rogue.’

‘Yet he went with them. Therefore he sought not to rob, for that could he have done here. The Lady Margaret commands men’s loyalty and service, I think. God grant this one be true.’

‘Thou art very anxious for the Lady Margaret,’ Geoffrey remarked, but he was too worried to laugh or jibe at Simon.

‘I am responsible for her to the King,’ Simon said shortly.

They rode next day into Raoul’s lands, but although King Henry’s warrant, which Simon bore with him, gained them fearful respect, they could discover nothing. Ranaud had been careful to eschew high-roads, and Raoul’s domain was large. The tracks seemed lost, so Simon branched off to the north, deserting the route to Vazincourt, and riding towards Raoul’s stronghold.

‘If he hath not taken her, I must have his aid,’ Simon told Geoffrey. ‘Whiles we ride on to Vazincourt, Raoul must search within his own land. He dare not refuse me, for he is afraid for his peace. Ye remember his bearing when he came to the King?’

‘Ay, and I would not trust him.’

‘In this I can trust him, for he is a coward, and he would sell his soul to keep King Henry away.’

Raoul’s castle lay some miles to the north, and so bad was the road that it was close on five in the evening when they came to it. A stir was caused by their arrival, but a cringing chamberlain assured them that his lord was away at his palace in the south, where he hunted that week.

An oath escaped Geoffrey, for this meant that they had ridden a day’s journey out of their way. A storm was brewing, and they had not covered many miles on their return journey when it burst above their heads in such fury that Simon was forced to halt at the first village they came to, to take shelter for the night.

They were up betimes next morning, and rode on again in the calm weather that follows a storm. Shortly after eight they found themselves once more on the road that led to Vazincourt, and on inquiry of a peasant which was the way to Raoul’s hunting-lodge, were bidden to cut through the woods that flanked the road on one side, and to bear on to the south-west.

Picking their way, they pushed into the wood along the same path which Margaret and her companions had trodden the day before. Slowly they went, and carefully, for the low-hanging tree branches impeded their passage.

Suddenly Simon exclaimed, and reined in his horse. Startled, Geoffrey followed his gaze. By a clear stream lay a cloak, sodden with rain. Side by side he and Simon sped forward, and dismounted. Simon caught up the cloak, shaking it out. It was of a length to suit a boy, made of plain but rich stuff. Simon wheeled about, looking about him keenly.

‘Ah!’ Quickly he went forward to the bush through which Margaret and Ranaud had plunged when they raced to Jeanne’s rescue. ‘That was not done by the storm!’ Simon said, and pointed to the broken branches. ‘Some large body forced its way through. Did they not say the red-beard was a giant?’

‘Through! Through!’ Geoffrey said hoarsely, and dived in.

Simon followed him, and they came upon the cutting at the end of which Raoul had captured Jeanne. With one accord the two men strode down it, and presently came to where Margaret’s dagger lay. Simon pounced upon it.

‘There has been a struggle. See! Hoof marks!’ He pointed to the trampled ground, and Geoffrey saw the muscles about his jaw stand out in anger. ‘Out on his hunt, belike, and found them. Two women. ’Twas good enough. By God, if harm has been done to either he will dearly rue the day! Come!’

‘Simon, that devil with my Jeanne! My little, little Jeanne!’ Geoffrey hurried after him, back to where their men waited.

Through the wood they went, and out on to the open. A rough track plainly showed the way to the palace, and they rode down it at a brisk canter.

‘I command thee, Geoffrey, keep thy head! Raoul will give them up, but we are eight men to their hundreds, and we must go cautiously to work. I go as an envoy from King Henry. It should be simple.’

‘If he has hurt Jeanne –’

‘If he hath discovered that the page is none other than Margaret of Belrémy, he will seek to sell her, methinks. He will not harm them, unless he is a fool.’

Geoffrey said nothing, but he compressed his lips in disbelief. Presently the palace came into view, and a few minutes later they halted before it. Simon turned to Walter of Santoy.

‘Walter, Sir Geoffrey and I enter alone. Do you hold the horses here, in readiness. Stir not until I come. No danger awaits us, for I go as an envoy.’ He dismounted and gave his horse into Walter’s care. Together he and Geoffrey went to the great door of the palace, and knocked upon it loudly.

A lackey opened it, but fell back when he saw the two armour-clad figures who stood there so menacingly.

Simon showed his warrant.

‘I am Simon of Beauvallet, and I come with a message from King Henry to your master. Lead me to him, sirrah!’

‘Lord Simon!’ The man crossed himself. ‘My master is – is – occupied. I doubt –’

‘Knave!’ thundered Simon. ‘Do ye deny the King’s messenger ingress? Lord Raoul knows that I come. Lead me to him!’

Too nervous and startled to reflect that his master had not warned his household of a messenger’s advent, the lackey ushered them in, and called forward the steward who thought it politic to placate this wrathful man in golden armour. Accordingly he backed before Simon, bowing low, and conducted him up the stairs to the room where Raoul sat, with his three prisoners. He flung wide the door and announced the Lord of Beauvallet in the name of King Henry of England.

How he found the Lady Margaret

When Raoul pressed his flaccid lips to Margaret’s mouth a second time, she jerked her head back wildly, tearing at his encircling arms like a tigress. Jeanne sprang to her aid, eluding her guard, and was borne back again before she had time to do more than strike at the grinning face bent over Margaret. Slowly Raoul controlled the frenzied struggling of Margaret’s limbs.

‘The dove shows fight indeed,’ he purred. ‘Well, I like it better so.’

Then was the door flung open, and then did the steward call Simon’s name. On the threshold two knights stood; one all gold and green, the other black and steel.

With an oath Raoul let Margaret go, pushing her from him so that she fell on to the ground. This was the worst that could befall Raoul, and as he passed his tongue between his lips, he sought feverishly in his mind for a plausible excuse wherewith to soften this English devil. For of all things he most feared an English invasion of his land.

But Simon had seen, and the sight of Margaret’s slim figure, fighting madly with this deformed, evil creature, awoke some hitherto dormant emotion within him. Rage surged up, and suddenly everything grew red. For the first time in his life he forgot caution, and sprang forward.

‘Dog!’ he roared, and caught Raoul in his iron grip, forcing him backwards over his bent knee, down and down, hands tightening above the flabby throat, crushing out life. His lips were drawn back in a terrible snarl, and his eyes blazed. ‘Die, thou dog! Die!’ he cried, and stabbed above the collarbone with Margaret’s dagger, which he still held.

It was all over in a few seconds, but Raoul’s men were upon Simon even as he stabbed. Up he sprang, throwing the dying man down, and tore his sword from the scabbard. After the first shock of surprise Geoffrey had acted quickly, dragging the steward into the room that he might not give the alarm, and slamming the door to. Out came his sword, and in a flash he was upon Simon’s assailants, attacking them from the rear.

The two men who held Ranaud’s arms, lost their heads, and released him to join in the fight. One only got to the struggling mass, for Ranaud seized the other, and dealt him such a blow upon the chin, that he lost consciousness. Then the giant rushed to aid Geoffrey, and kicking against one fallen man, stopped to wrench the sword from his dead grasp. With this he fell to work, using it like a quarter-staff, and causing considerable damage upon the armourless courtiers.

Margaret flew to where Raoul’s crumpled body lay, and fell on her knees beside it, wrenching his light dress-sword from its scabbard. She thrust Jeanne back against the wall, and fought her way to Simon’s side, stabbing and thrusting with all her might.

But although Simon and Geoffrey were armour-clad, they were badly outnumbered, and already the noise of this fierce battle had reached the ears of those below. Simon cast a quick glance behind him, to see how far away was the door that led into the room beside the dais. He started to back, and called to Geoffrey in English.

‘At my side! Through the door behind me is our only chance. Guard thou Jeanne!’

‘Ah, yes, yes!’ Margaret panted, and made sign to Ranaud, slightly jerking her head backwards. He nodded, bellowing out curses on his foes’ heads, and wielding his sword like a maniac. Blood was dripping from a gash on his cheek, and from his left arm, but it seemed only to goad him to fresh endeavours.

Jeanne had heard Simon’s command, and she slid along the wall, unnoticed in all this turmoil, and lifted the latch, ready to open the door at Simon’s word.

The palace-guards were in the room now, but Simon had drawn right back into the corner, so that his little following was guarded on two sides by the wall. He spoke again, gasping.

‘Back, Geoffrey! I will hold them. Get all through first. Open!’

Jeanne flung the door back and ran into the adjoining chamber, Margaret at her side. Ranaud followed and stood within – sword upraised. The French made a desperate effort to cut Simon and Geoffrey off from this means of escape, but they stood now in the opening, Geoffrey with his left hand clutching the latch.

Simon cut down the foremost guard, and leaped backwards. On the instant Geoffrey dragged the stout oak door shut, and between them they slammed the bolts home.

Simon wasted no words. He caught Margaret’s hand and ran with her down the long, empty chamber to an archway at the far end. Through this they sped, Geoffrey with Jeanne in his arms, and Ranaud bringing up the rear, singing now, an exultant chant. Room after room they traversed, whither they knew not, while from behind came the sound of frenzied blows on the bolted door. At last they came to a large hall, leading from which were three doors, all shut. Margaret flew to one, opening it. A long corridor was revealed. Simon, who had gone to another, found that it led into yet another chamber.

‘Here, here!’ Margaret cried.

‘On then!’ Simon commanded, and flung the door he stood by wide. He hurried after Ranaud, who was rolling in Margaret’s wake, down the corridor, and waited for Geoffrey to bear Jeanne through. Then he went himself, and stayed to shut the door.

‘They should be through by now, but they will go by the door I left open,’ he panted.

From ahead Margaret’s voice sounded.

‘Stairs! Stairs!’

‘Gently!’ Simon hissed, and pushed by Geoffrey. ‘There may be men below. I go first.’ Sword in hand he went down the stairs, to find a scullion staring at him open-mouthed. They had come to the kitchens.

The scullion fled for his life, down yet another passage, calling for help.

‘The window!’ Geoffrey gasped.

‘Nay, the door,’ Simon answered, pointing. ‘For your life!’

Ranaud tore it open, and out they tumbled into a narrow yard. At the end of it was a barred gate, and to this they ran.

Sounds betokening pursuit came from behind them, and it was with desperate fingers that Simon and Ranaud dragged back the bolts. The gates swung outward, and they found themselves upon greensward. To the right was Santoy, with his men. He saw them, and spurred forward, leading Simon’s horse, and shouting to his men to follow.

Simon attempted no explanation, but flung Margaret up on to his horse. She clutched at the animal’s mane, sitting astride, and gripping hard with her knees.

Geoffrey seized his own mount, and swung himself up, setting Jeanne on her feet before he did so.

‘Hand her up!’ he called, and Simon tossed her into his arms.

Ranaud clambered clumsily on to the back of one of the spare horses, grunting and cursing.

‘God’s my life, I’ve never sat a horse but once before.’

Simon heaved himself into the saddle behind Margaret, his strong arms about her, lifting her across the saddle-bow.

‘Cling tight,’ he said, and smiled down at her. ‘To the south, and spur them on!’ he commanded his men, and on the word his horse sprang forward.

It was not a moment too soon, for through the gate behind them came their pursuers, yelling in hideous discord. For a while they ran after the mounted men, but soon they realised the hopelessness of the chase, and turned back.

Simon looked over his shoulder.

‘Gone to get horses, belike. Well, we are near the border, and a little while should see us out of this accursed land.’ He looked across at Geoffrey, and laughed. ‘Geoffrey, this is the first time – and the last, please God – that I have turned my back on the enemy.’

‘And the first time that thou hast lost thy head,’ Geoffrey retorted. ‘I was so taken aback – after thy warning to me, too, that I should keep a cool brain! God’s my life, what will King Henry say?’

‘He will say good riddance to a foul knave. Bear to the right, Santoy.’

Raoul’s palace stood but a league from the border, and soon they had crossed it, riding in close formation. Not until they were half a league into the neighbouring domain did Simon give the order to draw rein. Then they halted, while Simon slammed his sword home into the scabbard, and unstrapped his great green cloak from the saddle. This he threw over his shoulders, clasping it at the neck, and drew the heavy folds round him so that they covered the Lady Margaret, shielding her both from the cold wind and from curious eyes. He shifted her a little, so that she lay cradled in his left arm, held in an unyielding grip. Her late labours, the terror she had passed through, and the hardships she had endured during these last five days all told on her. While danger threatened and she had to take command of her emprise she bore up, shaking off fatigue, but now that Simon had come and swept all before him, the need for strength and watchfulness was gone. She lay limp in his arms, half-conscious, knowing herself safe at last. Too tired to realise – or, if she did realise, to care – that Simon was her hated foe, she nestled close against his hard armour, clutching his cloak with a little sigh of relief. Simon looked down at her, and saw that her eyes were shut. And something else he saw, which made the fierce light come into his eyes again. A red patch showed on the sleeve of her tunic. He turned his head, addressing Geoffrey, who was busy wrapping his Jeanne in a cloak.

‘Geoffrey, she is wounded. I want linen.’

Jeanne started.

‘Wounded? Margot? Oh, sir, is – is it deep?’

‘Nay, I think not. Give me thy kerchief.’

Jeanne tore it away from her neck, handing it to him, and for a while Simon bent over his charge, slitting the sleeve of Margaret’s tunic with his dagger. The wound was above the elbow, and slight, but Margaret gave a little cry when Simon started to bind it tightly round. He paid no heed, but tied the bandage, and drew his cloak round her once more, so that she was entirely hidden.

‘Art ready, Geoffrey?’

Geoffrey was kissing Jeanne at the moment, but he nodded, and they trotted forward briskly. He drew away from Simon, and looked down into the big eyes that surveyed him.

‘Art – art thou – angered with me, Geoffrey?’ Jeanne asked him.

‘No,’ he said simply. ‘I could not be.’

The eyes grew rounder.

‘I – I thought thou wouldst be furious,’ Jeanne said, just a little disappointed.

He shook his head.

‘Nay, but I will take good care ye play me not such a trick again, sweetheart.’

This was better. Jeanne sighed.

‘But how wilt thou prevent me?’ she asked.

‘I will wed thee,’ Geoffrey said. ‘Then shalt thou see that I am a stern husband.’

Jeanne’s spirits were reviving fast. She dimpled.

‘Thou wilt bear me, then, to the altar by force, sir.’

‘If need be,’ Geoffrey replied.

‘Would – would you really?’ she asked in keenest admiration.

‘I would.’

‘Then I shall hate thee,’ Jeanne said severely.

He laughed.

‘And make thy life a misery with my shrewish ways.’

‘Thou wilt be punished, then,’ Geoffrey said.

‘How?’

He kissed her.

‘Thus.’

‘It is very grievous,’ she said. ‘I do not think I could bear it.’

‘Then it is thy life which will be a misery,’ Geoffrey told her.

‘In truth ye would make me your chattel,’ she sighed. ‘It is very sad and ungallant. But English, no doubt! A barbarous race.’

‘I will show thee how the English make love, sweet.’

‘Oh, I can guess, sir. With a club. As Beauvallet will woo my mistress.’

‘Beauvallet? Woo the Lady Margaret?’ Geoffrey said incredulously. ‘Thy wits are wandering, Jeanne.’

‘It is you that are just a great stupid man,’ she replied scornfully. ‘I have seen it coming this many a day.’

‘But Simon doth not –’

‘If Simon loves not my lady, why did he slay Raoul?’

‘I do not know. I –’

‘That is very true,’ Jeanne said firmly, and closed her eyes.

They rode on in silence then, but at noon they halted at a tavern. Both ladies were asleep, so their bearers carried them into the parlour. They did not wake until dinner was served, and even then Margaret was too worn-out to eat. She drank a little wine, but relapsed almost at once into heavy slumber.

An hour later they set out again, and rode steadily onward, not drawing rein again until dusk, when the gates of Belrémy loomed large ahead. They went through, and along the street to the castle. Jeanne woke then and stretched herself.

‘Where are we?’ she asked drowsily.

Geoffrey dismounted, holding her against his shoulder.

‘Home, dear heart. See!’

‘Ah, how good!’ she exclaimed. ‘Set me down, Geoffrey. I will not be carried.’

He put her on her feet, turning to Simon and holding out his arms.

‘Let me take her, lad.’

‘Nay.’ Simon’s arm tightened about Margaret’s sleeping form. He dismounted carefully, and strode into the castle.

There were several people in the hall. Alan, the Chevalier, and a big man who sat back in the shadow. Hélène too was there, and she ran forward.

‘Thou hast my lady?’ she cried, and would have drawn back the folds of Simon’s cloak.

He warded her off.

‘Ay.’

Alan hurried forward.

‘Already! Both, lad? Ah, Geoffrey!’

The Chevalier minced forward.

‘Milor’, set my cousin down. It is not fitting that you should carry her thus. Her ladies will attend to her.’

‘Out of my way,’ Simon said curtly, and brushed past him to the stairs.

Margaret woke, pushing aside the cloak, and looking about her. She was flushed from sleep, and drowsy still.

‘Home! Hélène!’ She glanced up into Simon’s rugged face, and her eyelids fluttered.

‘If you please – I will walk,’ she said.

‘I will carry thee to thy rooms,’ Simon answered. ‘Lie still, madame.’

She remembered her boy’s clothing, and obeyed. Simon swung quickly up the stairs, Jeanne and Hélène at his heels.

A bevy of ladies swarmed about him, but he pushed by to the Countess’s chamber, laying her on the bed.

‘Get her to bed,’ he commanded. ‘One of you fetch the surgeon for her wound.’ In his turn he was swept aside. The Lady Margaret’s ladies gathered about her, exclaiming and fondling. Simon went out, back to the great hall.

A bluff voice smote his ears.

‘Now by the Rood, is that my Simon? God’s Body, what doth he with a maid in his arms? Ha, Simon, thou rogue! Come hither!’ Fulk limped forward, hands outstretched.