Georgette Heyer (5 page)

‘Up, lad!’ Malvallet cried. ‘Art hurt?’

Simon swung himself on to the frightened animal’s back, and there in the heat of battle, smiled his tranquil smile, still calm and unruffled.

‘A scratch or two. Take no heed of me, Geoffrey of Malvallet.’

‘That will I!’ Geoffrey retorted. ‘Stay by me – Nobody!’

Again they were enveloped in a swirling mass, and with it swept onward, their horses flank to flank, themselves hacking a path before them. Once Fulk drew near, puffing and blowing, his eyes gleaming red through his visor, then he too was swept onward and away.

To Simon the battle seemed interminable, but although his arm was weary and he had to change his sword to his left hand, he lost not one jot of his grim enjoyment. He fought on beside Malvallet, silent for the most part, his lips set in a hard, tight line, and his strange eyes glowing.

‘Canst see Hotspur?’ panted Geoffrey once. ‘Methought I heard a shout.’

Even as he spoke it came again, caught up by many voices: ‘Hotspur has fallen! Hotspur is dead! Hurrah for St George of England!’

‘He is down,’ said Simon, ‘and they waver.’

Waver they did, and from that moment the zest seemed to go from the rebel army. The fighting became less arduous, but it was not until dusk fell that the battle ceased. And when at last the end came and his tired arm could be still, Simon sat quiet for a moment on his jaded horse, surveying the terrible field inscrutably, with little pity in his glance, but an expression of detached interest.

Geoffrey of Malvallet watched him for a moment in the half-light, and presently spoke to him.

‘Art a very hardy youngster,’ he remarked. ‘What think you of it all?’ With a wave of his gauntleted hand he embraced the battlefield.

Simon made answer without turning his head.

‘It is disorderly,’ he said reflectively. ‘Methinks I will aid them to tidy it.’

Malvallet realised that he was of a mind to assist in carrying away the wounded.

‘Not so fast, not so fast! Is that all ye think?’

Simon threw him a fleeting glance.

‘It has been a fair day,’ he said. ‘I would we might have another.’

Malvallet laughed at him.

‘Thou cold-blooded tiger-cub! Thou hast no compassion for these wounded and these dead?’

‘One must die,’ Simon answered. ‘And I would deem this a good death. Why should I pity them?’

‘Yet thou wouldst go tend the wounded,’ Malvallet reminded him.

‘So they may fight again,’ Simon said. ‘I would help them, but I would not pity them, for that is foolish.’

Malvallet laughed again, wonderingly.

‘Good lack, art made of ice! I’ll not have thee aid the wounded now. Art hurt thyself.’

Simon cast a casual glance at his arm, round which, through the shattered plates, he had twisted a scarf.

‘Hurt? I? That is but a scratch, Sir Geoffrey. And thyself?’

‘Well enough,’ Malvallet replied. ‘This is not my first fight. I have been with the Prince here until a few months ago.’

‘I pray God ’twill not be my last fight,’ Simon said.

‘Or mine. I had thought from thy bearing that an hundred campaigns had seen thee.’

‘Nay. But mine is fighting blood.’

Malvallet eyed him curiously.

‘Is it? From what stock dost thou spring, I wonder? Methinks I have seen thy like before.’

Simon gave his short laugh.

‘Look in thy mirror, Geoffrey of Malvallet.’

Malvallet nodded, not surprised.

‘It struck me that that was so a while back when thou didst come to my rescue. For which I thank thee, brother.’ He held out his mailed hand, and Simon gripped it, flushing slightly. They rode slowly on, down the hill.

‘Thy name?’ Geoffrey asked presently.

‘Simon – of Beauvallet.’

Geoffrey laughed.

‘Oh, well done, Simon! I would thou wert not with Montlice. My father would take thee to himself were I to ask it.’

‘Nay.’

‘There is hatred in thy heart for him? Desire for vengeance, maybe?’

Simon turned his head.

‘Why should I hate him?’

‘Because of thy namelessness! Thy – thy mother?’

‘A name will I make for myself. My mother chose her own road, and if she was not happy at least I never heard of it. She is dead. All that is nothing.’

‘Thou art the strangest lad I ever saw!’ Malvallet exclaimed. ‘Art squire, then, to Montlice?’

‘Ay. One day I shall call no man save the King my master, but for the present I owe allegiance to Montlice. I wonder, is he here, or did he fall?’ He looked round keenly, but in the fading light could not see his lord, nor distinguish one man from Montlice.

‘If he is killed, what comes to thee?’ asked Malvallet. ‘Wilt join my train?’

‘Nay, I must lead our men back to Montlice. If Fulk is dead, then do I owe allegiance to Alan, his son. But I do not think he is dead.’

A rider came up with them, sitting very upright in his saddle. From under the shade of his protecting helm Simon saw a pair of shrewd, youthful eyes shining above the bandage that crossed the young man’s face. Malvallet lifted his lance in salute, and the stripling reined in his horse to walk beside them.

‘Oh, bravely done, Malvallet, and you, sir! Bravely done indeed! I saw thee yonder, Geoffrey, when thou wert hard-pressed, and I saw thy companion go valiantly to aid thee. Is all well with thee?’

‘I took no hurt, Highness, thanks be to Simon of Beauvallet here. I grieve to see you wounded, sir.’

‘Why, it is naught!’ Henry said merrily. ‘They made a deal of pother over it, but it irks me not.’ He stretched his arms. ‘Ah, but this has been a glorious day!’

‘Why, so Simon thinks, Highness, and wishes we might enjoy yet another like it.’

Henry bent forward to smile at Simon across Malvallet.

‘That’s the spirit I love,’ he said. ‘Whose man are you, Simon of Beauvallet?’

‘I serve Montlice, Highness,’ Simon answered.

‘Montlice? I saw him fall a while since. They bore him away, but I do not think he is dead.’

‘He would be hard to kill, sir,’ Simon said. ‘I must go seek him, with your permission.’

Henry nodded pleasantly.

‘Ay, do not wait on my coming. I would speak with Geoffrey. But I shall not forget you or your valour this day.’

Simon bowed.

‘Your Highness is very kind, sir.’

Malvallet held out his hand yet again.

‘We shall meet again, Simon.’

Simon gripped his outstretched hand.

‘As foes, Malvallet, once I am at Montlice again.’

‘Nay, nay,’ Geoffrey answered. ‘I shall see thee in Shrewsbury. Remember I am in thy debt!’

Simon smiled, and released his hand.

‘As I will bear no man gratitude so let no man be grateful upon me, Malvallet. Mayhap we shall fight again one day, side by side. Who knows?’

‘Then it is farewell for the present, Simon?’

‘Ay, Geoffrey. But one day we shall meet again as equals.’

‘See thou forgettest me not!’ Malvallet called after him, and watched him ride away towards the rearguard where they were tending the wounded.

‘That is a passing strange man, Geoffrey,’ the young Prince remarked. ‘Who is he? He is very like thee, save that he is fair where thou art dark.’

‘He calls himself Beauvallet, sir, and is my half-brother. I met him for the first time on this campaign. He saved my life a while back, as your Highness saw.’

Henry nodded.

‘Ay, ’twas bravely done. Shall I have my father knight him?’

‘Ah, if your Highness would! Indeed, he deserves it on this day’s work alone.’

Henry looked after the now distant figure thoughtfully.

‘There is that in him that pleases,’ he said. ‘But he is very cold. Perhaps he will be a great man one day. I would fain call him friend, methinks.’

How he was knighted, and how he had speech with his father

He did not find his lord anywhere on the battlefield, but he was in no way perturbed. Back he rode to Shrewsbury, to Fulk’s lodging, and there he found Montlice, stretched upon a bed, and swearing mightily, whiles a leech dressed the wound in his shoulder. Simon clanked in, a grim figure in dusty, bloodstained armour that in one or two places had been shattered by some lusty blows. The face that looked out from under the peak of his helm was tired and drawn, but his green-blue eyes were as calm as ever, as if he had not seen more horrors today than in all his young life.

At sight of him a look of relief swept over Fulk’s countenance.

‘Ah, God be thanked!’ he rumbled. ‘I might have known thou’dst be hard to kill.’

‘As I knew of thee,’ Simon said. He beckoned to my lord’s page. ‘Unlace me, Francis.’

Montlice nodded.

‘Ay, ay, unlace him, boy. Art whole, Simon?’

‘Save for a scratch,’ Simon answered. ‘Gently, Francis, with mine arm. How deep goes your wound, my lord?’

Fulk growled.

‘A nothing, a nothing – Hey, thou clumsy wretch, have a care!’ he roared as the leech handled him. ‘I saw thee by Malvallet, Simon. What madness seized thee?’

‘None,’ said Simon briefly. With his ungauntleted hand he unstrapped his helm and cast it on to the table. ‘When left you the field, sir?’

‘I fell,’ Fulk replied angrily, ‘and they bore me away, a million curses be upon them! I left it not of mine own will! They were wavering. What came of it?’

‘They are in full flight,’ Simon said. Free of his armour he stretched himself, and heaved a sigh of relief. ‘God’s my life, I am weary! Give me leave, sir, I would sleep.’

‘Wait!’ Fulk ordered. ‘Thine arm?’

Simon untwisted the bloody scarf, revealing a great gash that at once began to bleed again. Fulk pushed the leech away from him.

‘Go tend my squire, good surgeon. I shall do very well.’ He waited in silence while the leech washed and bandaged Simon’s wound. Then he nodded.

‘Go thou, Simon, and rest. I will see thee anon.’

Simon went out and to his own tiny room. There he flung himself down upon his hard bed, and slept almost at once. He did not wake until past eight on the following day, and then he made all haste to dress himself and wait upon his lord. He found Fulk breakfasting, despite the late hour, his shoulder neatly bandaged and himself seemingly not very much the worse for wear. He grunted when he saw Simon, and waved him to a seat at his own table. Simon, unimpressed by the honour, sat down and disposed of a tankard of ale. He then drew a platter towards him and proceeded to make a hearty meal. Neither he nor Fulk spoke until they had satisfied their hunger. At length my lord pushed back his chair, and wiping his fingers on the coarse cloth, looked across at his squire.

‘Thomas of Worcester and the Scottish Earl were taken,’ he remarked.

Simon nodded, and there the conversation ended. Fulk went out presently, accompanied by his page, and Simon spent the morning polishing his sword and armour. Fulk did not return for dinner, which he took at Court, but soon after three in the afternoon he rolled in.

‘Hark ye, Simon,’ he puffed, ‘the King goes to make some dozen knights.’ He looked narrowly at Simon as he spoke, but Simon displayed no interest. He was cleaning my lord’s shield, and his whole attention seemed centred upon it.

‘With my good will he will make thee knight,’ Fulk said.

Simon’s busy hands grew still. He shot an upward glance at Montlice.

‘Ye jest, my lord.’

‘Nay. The Prince remarked thy courage on the field and hath recommended thee for knighthood.’

For a minute Simon sat silent, staring before him. He drew a deep breath of wonderment, and looked again at Montlice.

‘And thy – good will, sir?’

‘Well, well,’ Fulk said. ‘I should have recommended thee myself. Shalt have thy knighthood, lad, an thou’lt stay yet a while with me.’

‘As your squire, my lord?’ he asked.

Fulk laid a clumsy hand on his shoulder.

‘As my son if thou wilt, Simon. Art too young to fare forth alone. When Alan is older shalt go forth with him. Till then stay thou with me, and grow yet taller.’

Simon pondered it for a time.

‘But what will you have me do, lord? It seems that I am no longer necessary to you, and I’ll not stay idle at Montlice.’

‘Shalt command my men in Vincent’s room, who fell yesterday, God rest his soul! I will pay thee a good wage so thou mayst have money against thy later needs.’

Simon pondered again, his eyes on the distant hills. He brought them back presently to rest on his lord, and smiled.

‘It is a fair offer,’ he said.

‘Thy hand on it!’ Fulk answered promptly, and held out his great paw. Simon gripped it until the veins along the back of his hand stood out blue and thick. So he accepted Fulk as his liege lord.

The ceremony of knighting took place on the following day. Besides Simon were twelve other men, so that he made the thirteenth, a happening that Fulk regarded as inauspicious until Simon told him that thirteen was a number that brought him good luck. Fulk attended him to Court, and kept an anxious yet proud eye upon him during the rite.

Simon was the last to kneel before the King, and as he bent the knee he saw Malvallet standing amongst a group behind the Prince. Geoffrey smiled at him and made a little saluting movement with his hand.

At the King’s last words to him: ‘Rise, Sir Simon of Beauvallet,’ Simon came to his feet. The rest of the ceremony passed in a kind of haze. When it was over he found that Geoffrey was at his side with the Prince. Simon bowed.

‘I have heard yet more of your doings, Sir Simon,’ Henry said, twinkling. ‘Paul of Lenoir tells a tale of your lynx-eyes.’

‘That was nothing, lord,’ Simon answered. ‘Mine eyes are sharp, and I can see in darkness.’ He looked at Geoffrey for a moment. ‘So thou hast paid thy debt to me, Malvallet.’

‘No, no!’ Malvallet cried. ‘This is none of my making, though glad I am to see you knighted. Tell him, sir, that ’tis your Highness’s own contriving!’

‘Ay, that is so,’ nodded Henry. ‘Geoffrey had naught to say in the matter.’

‘And so the debt remains unpaid,’ Malvallet said. ‘Now at least, Simon, thou’lt quit Montlice.’

‘Nay,’ Simon answered. ‘I remain with him yet another year or two.’

At this point the Prince stepped aside to speak with one who passed. Geoffrey spoke lower, jerking his head towards the young Henry.

‘Why dost thou not take service under him? He is a good master.’

‘One day I will,’ Simon answered. ‘For the nonce there are reasons why I should stay at Montlice. And Fulk has my word.’

‘Then it is useless for me to say more,’ Geoffrey shrugged. ‘It irks me to see thee with our life-long foe.’ Then, as Fulk came towards them, he clasped Simon’s hand for a moment. ‘I could love thee, Simon. Forget it not.’

‘What did the fellow want with thee?’ grumbled Fulk, when Malvallet was out of earshot. ‘Why must thou make a friend of mine enemy?’

‘I make friends where I will,’ Simon said curtly.

‘Nay, that thou shalt not! Mine enemy is thine, I’ll have thee know!’

Simon looked at him thoughtfully.

‘Not so. Yet this do I owe you, that I will not call Malvallet friend while I remain under your roof.’

They left Shrewsbury with the King, two days later, and went south with him until they had to branch off to reach Cambridge. Fulk’s losses had been few, and in place of Vincent was Simon, who proved himself to be so thoroughly equal to his task that Fulk remarked that Vincent’s death was more of a blessing than a curse.

And so they arrived at Montlice, early in August, after an absence of nearly a month. They rode up the castle-slope to find Alan awaiting them, with my lady at his side, and her two daughters behind her.

Fulk dropped heavily from the saddle and enfolded his frail wife in an elephantine embrace. The two girls hung back shyly, but he kissed them both heartily, and his son.

‘Well, well, well!’ he puffed. ‘So here ye see me, safe and sound, sweetling, with naught to show for my fighting save a scratch upon the shoulder.’

‘For which I thank God with all my heart!’ said my lady devoutly. ‘I have been in an agony of dread, my dear lord, for thy sake.’

‘A pack of rebels cannot slay Montlice,’ he answered. ‘Simon is safe, as thou seest, but Vincent is gone.’

‘Ah, poor Vincent!’ she cried, but held out her hand to Simon. ‘I rejoice to see thee again, Simon of Beauvallet. Ye took no harm?’

Simon knelt to kiss her hand.

‘None, lady, that is worth the telling. I trust I do see you well?’

She smiled.

‘Well enough, now that I have my lord again.’

Fulk put his hand on her shoulder.

‘There is news for thee, Eleanor. Our Simon is my squire no longer.’

She was puzzled, and looked inquiringly at Simon, who had risen to his feet. It was Alan whose quick instinct divined the truth. He ran forward and caught Simon’s hand.

‘Hast been knighted! Simon, Simon, is’t true indeed?’

‘Ay, knighted he is,’ said Fulk, ‘and by the King’s own hand, for his exceeding great valour on the field. I present thee Sir Simon of Beauvallet, my lady.’

Then the Countess out of the sweetness of her nature, made Simon mightily uncomfortable. Overcoming her slight timidity of him, she stepped forward and laid her hands in his. Simon, flushing, bent, and received a kiss upon his rugged brow.

Fulk laughed, clapping his hands to his sides.

‘Now art thou honoured indeed, lad! My lady, is there refreshment within? I could drain a well, and Simon too, I’ll swear.’

‘’Tis laid out against your coming, my lord,’ she answered. ‘Come within, and Simon also.’

Simon stepped back.

‘I give ye thanks, lady, but I must first see to my men.’

‘Ay, ay, there speaks the general,’ chuckled Fulk, and watched him walk away towards the waiting column of men.

From that day onwards Simon ranked with Alan in my lord’s household. He sat at table with the family, far above the salt, and he was given a squire of his own and a page. A fair chamber was allotted to him, and in addition to all this he received a round sum each month as wage for his services. Still he felt no pang of gratitude, for if in these things his life was made easier and more luxurious, he repaid it amply by the work he did. In a surprisingly short space of time the management of the estate devolved itself on to his broad shoulders. My lord was no longer young, and the late campaign had taxed his strength, even though he would not admit it. He lost some of his untiring energy, and he was content to put the reins of government into Simon’s hands, since his son would have none of them.

So life drifted onwards for a time, placidly enough, with but one incident to disturb its even tenor. And this was the coming of Malvallet to Montlice.

He rode up to the castle, late one afternoon in September, attended by his page. One of Montlice’s varlets, astonished at his advent, was sent to advise my lord of this visit.

Fulk was with his lady, and when he heard the news, he screwed up his eyes and frowned.

‘Simon,’ he said succinctly. ‘Plague be on him!’

‘But Malvallet in our domain!’ cried my lady.

‘Curse his impudence,’ growled Fulk, and went out with his rolling gait to receive this unwelcome guest.

Malvallet was standing before the fireplace, his hands behind him, and one spurred foot tapping the ground. He did not move a step to meet Fulk, but merely inclined his head haughtily. Midway across the hall Fulk paused, and returned the faint bow every mite as stiffly.

‘My lord?’ he rumbled.

‘I regret the necessity which compels me to intrude on your land, my Lord of Montlice,’ said Malvallet icily. ‘I desire to see my son, Sir Simon of Beauvallet.’

‘To what purpose?’ A red gleam appeared at the back of Fulk’s eyes, sure sign of danger.

‘Your pardon –’ Malvallet gazed back at him unflinchingly – ‘That is mine affair.’

‘Nay it is mine, my lord. Simon of Beauvallet is in my service.’

A little pulse started to throb on Malvallet’s temple. Fulk regarded it, pleased.

‘That is an error which I will rectify,’ Malvallet said. Under the calm of his voice anger sounded.

‘Will you so, my lord? And what if Simon wills otherwise?’

‘Sir Simon is my son, sir.’

‘Good lack, have ye but just discovered it?’ Fulk jeered.

Malvallet bit his lip.

‘Just, Lord Fulk.’

‘Hey, hey! And he has squired me these three years!’ Fulk said, and watched the barb go home.

‘That would not have been had I known, my lord.’

Fulk gave a great laugh.

‘Well, I suppose ye knew of the existence of a child, Lord Geoffrey. Methinks your efforts at paternal authority are a thought belated.’

Malvallet was silent for a moment, curbing his anger. Presently he looked up again.

‘My lord, will ye have the goodness to summon my son?’

‘To what avail?’ Fulk asked politely. ‘Three years since he came to me of his own free will, in preference to you. I do not think he is like to change.’

Again Malvallet battled with himself. But his voice trembled a little with passion when he spoke.

‘Nevertheless, my lord, I demand to have speech with him.’

‘Demand, demand! And by what right do ye “demand” in my domain, my lord?’

‘I have told you. Simon is my son.’

‘Simon is my servant,’ Fulk retorted quickly. He saw Malvallet’s jaws clench.

‘This bandying of words is useless!’ Malvallet said. ‘We but waste time.’

‘Why, so I think,’ bowed Montlice. ‘I will e’en summon your horse.’

Malvallet tapped the table between them with his riding whip. He leaned forward, glaring at Fulk.

‘Lord Fulk, I do not stir from this spot until I have seen Sir Simon!’

Then, ere Fulk could reply in kind, a deep, cold voice spoke from the doorway.

‘Who is it desires speech with Simon of Beauvallet?’ it said. ‘I am here.’

Malvallet swung round. Just within the hall stood Simon, a very giant of a man, regarding him fixedly from under lowering brows.