“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 lifelong 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
