Simon the Coldheart

Simon the Coldheart

By Georgette Heyer.

Table of Contents

1. Titlepage
2. Imprint
3. Dedication
4. Simon the Coldheart
   1. Part I
      1. I: How He Came to Fulk of Montlice
      2. II: How He Grew to Manhood
      3. III: How He Went with Fulk to Shrewsbury
      4. IV: How He Was Knighted, and How He Had Speech with His Father
      5. V: How He Rescued a Fair Damsel, and Discovered a Plot
      6. VI: How He Rode Hotfoot to London
      7. VII: How King Henry Thanked Him
      8. VIII: How He Returned to Montlice
      9. IX: How He Took Possession of His Estates
      10. X: How He Brought Order Into His Lands
      11. XI: How He Won His Gilded Armour
   2. Part II
      1. I: How He Came to Normandy
      2. II: How He Encamped Before Belrémy
      3. III: How He Took Belrémy
      4. IV: How He Saw the Lady Margaret
      5. V: How He Brought the Lady Margaret to the Justice-House
      6. VI: How the Lady Margaret Could Not Stab Him
      7. VII: How He Found Geoffrey and Jeanne on the Terrace
      8. VIII: How the Lady Margaret Plotted
      9. IX: How the Lady Margaret Escaped
      10. X: How the Lady Margaret Came to Turincel
      11. XI: How the Lady Margaret Fell Into the Hands of Raoul the Terrible
      12. XII: How Simon Set Forth in Pursuit
      13. XIII: How He Found the Lady Margaret
      14. XIV: How He Received the Lady Margaret’s Submission
      15. XV: How He Came Upon the Lady Margaret in the Gallery
      16. XVI: How He Walked Alone in the Garden
      17. XVII: How He Left Belrémy, and How the Lady Margaret Dealt with Her Cousin
      18. XVIII: How He Came to Bayeux, to the King
      19. XIX: How They Fared at Belrémy During His Absence
      20. XX: How He Was Sent for by the King
      21. XXI: How He Came to His Own
5. Endnotes
6. Colophon
7. Uncopyright

Imprint

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To
the memory of
my father⁠—
this,
his favorite.

Simon the Coldheart

Part I

I

How He Came to Fulk of Montlice

He came walking from Bedford into Cambridge one May morning when the sun was still young and the dew scarce gone from the grass. His worldly possessions he carried on his back in an old knapsack; his short jerkin was stained and torn, and there were holes in his long hose. On his square head and drawn over his brow he wore a frayed cap set jauntily, with a heron’s feather pointing skywards. He carried a quarterstaff, and stepped out right manfully, scanning the flat fenland from beneath his thick brows, his young mouth dogged, his sombre eyes coldly calculating. Of years he numbered fourteen, but his shoulders had a breadth beyond his age, and his thighs a thickness of muscle that gave him the appearance of a grown man dwarfed. Nor was the face below the clubbed fair hair that of a child, for in the low brow lay strength, and about the straight mouth purpose. There was little boyishness in the eyes, but a frowning look, and at the back, lurking in the green-blue depths, a watchful gleam that was never absent.

One spoke to him on the road, a pedlar tramping south, and gave him good day. He answered in a crisp, deep voice, and smiled, showing a row of strong white teeth.

“Whither goest thou, younker?” the pedlar asked him idly.

“To my goal, fellow,” Simon retorted, and passed on. The pedlar called after him for his haughtiness, but he paid no heed. He was never one to waste words.

So at length he came to Montlice, which was his goal, and stood for a moment before the drawbridge, surveying the rugged castle. A man-at-arms, lounging on the bridge, hailed him good-naturedly.

“What want ye, boy? This is the lion’s den.”

The glimmer of a smile came to light the darkness of Simon’s eyes.

“I seek the lion,” he said, and walked forward across the bridge.

The man laughed at him, barring his passage.

“Ho-ho! Ye seek the lion, eh? He would make but one mouthful of you, my fine sprig.”

Simon looked up into his face, jutting brows lowering, eyes agleam.

“I seek my Lord the Earl,” he said. “Out of the way, sirrah!”

At that the man clapped his hands to his sides, shaken with herculean laughter. Having recovered somewhat he achieved a clumsy bow.

“My lord is from home,” he said, mocking Simon.

“You lie!” Simon answered quickly. “My lord will know how to punish a lying servant. Let me pass!” He awaited no permission, but slipped by, eel-like, and was gone across the bridge in a flash. Out of sight he paused, not hesitating, but seeming to debate within himself. He looked thoughtfully at the great gateway, standing wide with soldiers lounging