Georgette Heyer (25 page)

How he came to Bayeux, to the King

He rode slowly into Bayeux, at the head of his men, Alan at his side, and Huntingdon some way behind, leading the rearguard. He had ridden north and west, past Falaise and Caen, for Belrémy was situated between Argentan and Falaise, commanding the centre of Lower Normandy some twenty-five leagues from Bayeux. On his arrival he went straight to where the King dwelt, taking Alan with him. Henry received him at once, and dispatched a page to conduct him to his room. He was there with his brother, the Duke of Clarence, who commanded one of the three divisions of the army, and whose task it was to prepare for the advance on Rouen.

When Simon entered Henry came quickly forward.

‘Ah, my Soldier!’ He would not permit Simon to kneel, but embraced him, and also Alan. ‘And my Poet! Where is my Knight?’

‘At Belrémy, sire,’ Simon answered. ‘Huntingdon came with me.’

Henry was disappointed.

‘I would you had brought Malvallet in his stead, Simon, but ye know best.’

‘Why, sir,’ Alan said, ‘Simon left Geoffrey in a lady’s arms. He is shortly to be wed.’

‘What?’ Henry turned in astonishment. ‘Is it indeed so? No – not the Amazon?’

‘No!’ It was Simon who answered, quickly. ‘One of her ladies!’

‘Is it so? I had suspected Alan of it, but not Malvallet. Sit down, Simon, and tell me all.’ He touched a pile of parchment sheets on the table. ‘Thy dispatches are very curt.’ He smiled, and picked one up. ‘Listen, Alan! “My very dread and sovereign lord the King” – so we start, and all is well. But wait! – “I have the honour to inform your Majesty that the town of Belrémy did yesterday morning make submission after an attack from my forces. I have also the honour to inform your Majesty that the castle has ceded, save for the Lady Countess, who holds out against your Majesty. I am your Majesty’s faithful servant, Simon of Beauvallet.” Well! My Majesty’s faithful servant just whets mine appetite for news, and no more. Here again – “I am constrained to tell your Majesty that on Tuesday last the Lady Countess did escape from Belrémy, accompanied only by her lady, Mademoiselle Jeanne. I did set forth in pursuit, and finding madame in the hands of your Majesty’s ally, Raoul, called the Terrible, did slay him for the treatment he did mete out to the Lady Countess. And so have rid Normandy of a very foul rogue.” I thank thee, Simon.’ Henry’s eyes twinkled. ‘As you say in this lengthy dispatch, Raoul was mine ally. And a pretty time I have had, seeing his people who flocked here demanding thy head.’

‘What said your Majesty?’

‘Why, I did say that I desired no further dealings with Raoul’s men, but I would know why my allies are thus summarily slain, without trial or delay.’

Simon stood up.

‘Ay, sir. I do owe you an apology, but in my place ye would have done the same.’

‘I doubt it not,’ Henry said. ‘But it was unlike thee to kill him without trial, vile though we guessed him to be.’

‘I did it in sudden, overwhelming anger, sir.’ Curtly Simon told him all that happened in Raoul’s palace.

Henry smote his hands together.

‘By my troth, I would I had been there! The knave! I am well rid of him, indeed. But it has caused a deal of pother, Simon.’

‘The blame is mine alone, sir.’

‘I’d not lay it on thy shoulders, my Simon. I must uphold my generals.’

‘Sire, if it please you, punish me for the deed, so the French shall not call you assassin.’

‘It is over now,’ Henry answered. ‘Clarence dealt with them.’

Simon smiled across at the Duke, of whom he was very fond.

‘Then I thank your Grace.’

‘I’d uphold thee through fire and water!’ Clarence said. ‘But I was all amazed when I heard how Simon the Just had fallen.’

Alan upraised his dreamy voice.

‘Nay, it was justice. Quick justice.’

‘The Poet hath spoken,’ Henry laughed. ‘Now, Simon, tell me from beginning to end, how you took Belrémy.’

‘By siege first, and then by storm, sir.’

Henry clicked his tongue impatiently.

‘And now I know,’ he remarked. ‘Alan, tell me!’

Alan crossed his legs.

‘Certainly, sire. We sat down before Belrémy until Christmastide, and lived in blissful peace. I composed an ode and Geoffrey kicked his heels. Simon likes not bliss, sir, nor peace. He must always be at work. So he dug a mine into the town, under the southern ramparts, which seemed made of granite. Very pleased was he with the mine, sire, and he set his brain to work out a plan. Huntingdon had sat down before the western ramparts, which were unstable and ready for assault. Simon bade him, at a certain hour of a certain day, train his cannon upon it for a while, and at a given signal, storm the walls, thus attracting the garrison. Geoffrey and I were in readiness with the rest of our army, for it was Simon’s plan to go with eleven other men along his mine, to dig themselves out within the town, and, so as Geoffrey had given the signal for assault, and the town was in a turmoil, to speed to the southern gates and open them, letting down the drawbridge. The which he did, sire, by some miracle, and in we rode, Geoffrey first, to hem Huntingdon’s attackers in from the rear. I came second to lead my men into the town. With Simon in his gilded armour at our head, we swept all before us to the market-place, and there had a fierce battle. I was captured, sire, and borne to the castle, whither fled most of the garrison. The town was Simon’s then, but the Lady Margaret sent to tell him that if he withdrew not his men I should hang from the battlements.’ Alan paused, smiling.

‘Go on!’ Henry commanded. ‘What did Simon then?’

‘He entered the castle, sir, alone, as a herald. From all I can hear he did draw upon the Lady Margaret, who would have had him slain, and held his sword-point against her breast, so that not one of her people dared move hand or foot, lest he should press home. She is a brave lady, sir, and she would not have let Simon have his way, but that he threatened to sack the town and slay the children. Then, perforce, she yielded, and led him to me. Simon conceived that it would be well for him to enter the castle in force, so he left me where I was (I was wounded and could not rise) and took the Lady Margaret back to his quarters as hostage. And after that it was simple.’

Henry drew a deep breath.

‘By God, but thou art a Man!’ he cried, and looked at Simon in admiration. ‘And the Amazon? Tell me of her!’

It was Alan who answered.

‘She is the loveliest woman ever I saw, sir, and the bravest. A tigress.’

‘But she submitted?’

‘Ay,’ Simon said. ‘Because I did save her life. Give me leave, sir. I would come out of this armour.’

Henry nodded.

‘Ay, go. And Alan too. I like not Alan in armour. Did my Lord of Montlice find thee? I sent him.’

‘He did arrive, roaring,’ Alan smiled. ‘We left him with Geoffrey.’

‘He is a man after mine own heart,’ Henry said, and dismissed them.

The very next day he called for Simon and was closeted with him for a long hour. When Simon emerged at last Alan was waiting for him, and took him apart.

‘Well?’

A sigh escaped this new Simon.

‘I am to go into the Côtentin. To join Gloucester. Huntingdon goes to Coutances. Thou art to remain here.’

‘For how long art thou to be away?’

Simon shrugged.

‘Till the Côtentin is subdued. Gloucester plans to lay siege to Cherbourg as early in April as may be. Cherbourg will not fall easily.’

‘I see,’ Alan said, and said no more.

Simon left Bayeux the following week, but it was not until some ten days had passed that Henry, much occupied with the affairs of his conquered land, had time for private speech with Alan. Then, one day, when he was listening to Alan’s harping, he roused himself, and spoke.

‘Alan, what ails our Simon?’

Alan drew a last, sobbing wail from his strings, and laid the harp aside.

‘Ah!’

‘Dour he was always, but never did his mind wander as now it doth! Half the time he dreams, and once I heard him sigh. Simon! Then there is new light in his eyes, and methinks he is more gentle than of yore. What hath come to him? Is he sick?’

‘Some call it sickness, sire.’

Henry turned sharply round in his chair to gaze at Alan.

‘God’s my life, he is not – he cannot be – in love?’

‘Why, sir, have you not always said, with me, that love would one day come to him?’

‘Ay, but – Alan, I never suspected. Who is it?’

‘It is the Lady Margaret of Belrémy, sire.’

The King’s jaw dropped. In blank astonishment he stared at Alan.

‘The Amazon? The tigress? Alan, you jest!’

‘No, sir. True it is. I saw it coming slowly, but Simon knew not his own heart till he saw my lady in Raoul’s arms.’

‘Then that was why he killed him!’ Henry started up. ‘It was jealousy!’

‘It was the lion in him, sir, roused to awful rage.’

Henry sank back.

‘’Fore God, I am glad I was not Raoul! And she? Doth she love him? Is there love in her?’

‘Love there is, sir, but also pride. She loves him, but she will not admit it, even to herself. They woo with daggers, Simon and his lady.’

Henry smiled.

‘I would give much to see it. She hates him, then?’

‘So she says, sir, but it is a strange hatred. She loves him, and when he returns to her, she will wed him.’

‘Return?’ Henry frowned. ‘I had planned to have him at my side when I march on Rouen.’

Alan said nothing.

‘Speak, Alan!’

‘If ye take Simon to Rouen, sire, it is death to his happiness. That campaign may last a year.’

Henry leaned his chin in his hand, thinking.

‘What would ye have me do? If Simon loves indeed he must have his way. Geoffrey, too, I suppose. Yet I can ill spare them.’

‘He will follow your Majesty unquestionably, sir. It is not for me to advise you.’

‘He would sacrifice his love for his duty?’

‘He is Simon of Beauvallet,’ Alan said quietly.

How they fared at Belrémy during his absence

The Lady Margaret walked upon the terrace of the castle alone. It was mid-March, and Simon had been absent for three long weeks. She had had news of him through Geoffrey, and knew that he was fighting in the Côtentin, away to the west, with King Henry’s brother, the Duke of Gloucester. He did not write to Margaret, and he sent no messages. The letters that came from him came rarely, and were bald and unsatisfying.

The Lady Margaret glanced across the gardens wistfully. In the pleasaunce Geoffrey sat with his bride, she knew. She craved companionship, but she would not intrude into these two lovers’ idyll. Her ladies watched her, and she had sent them from her, to pace slowly up and down the terrace, her thoughts far away, and her black eyes sad and longing.

A rumble sounded behind her; Fulk was stumping after her, his little eyes twinkling good-humouredly.

‘Hey, hey! Not so fast, lass!’ he roared. ‘Come thou here, I say!’

He and she were close friends by now, and the haughty Lady Margaret came meekly to his side, to sit down on the stone seat. Fulk sank heavily beside her, puffing and blowing.

‘What dost thou here, silly maid?’ he demanded.

‘I am not a silly maid,’ she answered mildly. ‘I am a woman-grown. So be not so rude, milor’.’

‘Ho – ho! And how old art thou? No more than twenty-eight, I’ll swear.’

‘Twenty-eight?’ Margaret sat up indignantly. ‘I am not yet twenty-six!’

Fulk laughed.

‘A maid still! Now whence this fiery blush?’

‘Do – do I look twenty-eight?’ Margaret demanded.

‘Nay, nay, twenty-one rather. What dost thou here, alone?’

‘I was – taking the air.’

‘I’ll warrant ye were sighing and pining for that lad of mine.’

‘Alan?’ said the Lady Margaret coolly. ‘Nay, why should I?’

‘Alan! Hark to the child! Simon, thou dull girl!’

‘I – do not think of him at all! And – and I will not have ye – call me names!’

‘Here’s a heat! Art a pert, saucy lass, I say.’

‘Well, sir, and what else?’

‘A wilful, headstrong baggage!’ Fulk roared.

Margaret covered her ears with her hands.

‘Do not shout at me!’ she said. ‘I wonder you care to sit with a – a baggage!’

‘So do I,’ Fulk grunted. ‘A fitting pair will ye make, you and Simon. Belike ye will scratch his eyes out before he hath time to school ye. Maids were more gentle when I was a lad.’

‘Milor’ Fulk, I do not know why ye should couple my name with that of Lord –’

‘There’s enough, there’s enough! Think ye I am come to listen to thy foolish chatter against Simon? Bah! Bah, I say!’

‘I heard you,’ said the Lady Margaret.

‘Thou and thy hate! Talk for babes! Empty lies!’

‘Sir –’

‘Now, will ye have done, Margot? Body o’ me, do ye think to fool a man of my years? Thou froward maid!’

The Lady Margaret abandoned the struggle.

‘Indeed, I have never been so set at naught and – and bullied in my life!’

‘Better for thee if thou hadst,’ growled Fulk. ‘Thou dost need a master.’

The Lady Margaret tilted her chin.

‘And will have one. In Simon!’ Fulk went on, louder. ‘Shake not thy head, I say!’

‘He – Simon – will not return. Thou – thou must look for my master – elsewhere,’ she said, a tiny catch in her voice.

Fulk put his great arm about her waist.

‘Said I not thou wert a silly lass? Did he tell thee that he would come back? Answer me, Margot!’

‘I have forgotten.’

‘That for a tale! He said he would return, and he breaks not his word.’

‘I – I do not – care!’

‘Ho – ho!’ Fulk pinched her cheeks. ‘Canst look me in the face and say that, child!’

Margaret was silent, eyes downcast.

‘Now here come a pretty pair,’ Fulk remarked, and looking up Margaret saw Geoffrey and Jeanne wending their way across the garden. Geoffrey’s arm was about Jeanne’s waist, and his black head was bent over her brown one.

Margaret looked away, chin set firmly.

‘Never fret!’ Fulk said. ‘Simon will come. Hey, there!’

The absorbed couple below started, and looked up.

‘Is this the way thou dost mind thine affairs?’ Fulk bellowed jovially.

‘Ay!’ Geoffrey answered. ‘So please you, sir, this is mine affair.’

‘I am not at all,’ Jeanne said with dignity. ‘I shall warn all maids ’gainst marriage. Husbands are very ungallant persons.’ She looked up at Fulk. ‘Once I did think Geoffrey courtly and kind,’ she said plaintively.

‘And thou thinkest it no longer?’ Margaret asked, smiling.

Jeanne shook her head mournfully.

‘He is a tyrant, madame. My life is misery.’

‘What hath Geoffrey to say?’ Margaret inquired.

He laughed up at her.

‘Why, madame, that maids are sweet, but wives are shrews.’

‘Oh!’ Jeanne turned to pummel him.

Fulk’s great laugh rang out.

‘There’s for you, Jeanne! God’s Body, kissing again? Margot, let us hence! My stomach turns at all this billing and cooing. Give me thine arm, child.’ So they went away together.

‘He – he – called me – the Amazon,’ Margaret said, as they crossed the hall.

‘Simon? A murrain on him for a scurvy knave!’

She smiled faintly.

‘And yet you love him.’

‘I? What ails the girl? I love that roystering, obstinate young hothead? Now, by the troth –’

‘Who is lying now?’ Margaret said softly.

Fulk squeezed her arm.

‘Thou hast me there. He is a good lad, when all is said and done. I do wish to see him happy, Margot.’

‘Oh?’

‘Ay. And think not that a pert, wilful lass who doth not know her own heart shall gainsay my lion-cub! Think it not, Margot!’

‘I – I – am not that – that wilful lass,’ she said, very low.

‘Are ye not? Who –’

‘For – for – I do know mine own heart well.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘Ah, I – I shall not tell thee that.’

‘So long as ye do tell it to Simon, I care not,’ Fulk said gruffly.