“To the scullions’ entrance, babe!” one told him, and the muscles about his mouth stood out in anger. He kept his ground, not a whit afraid.
“I must see my lord,” he answered, and only that.
“Wherefore, pup?” the man asked him, and when he would not answer, sought to hustle him roughly away.
But Simon wriggled from under his hands, and springing to one side, brought his heavy quarterstaff down athwart the man’s shoulders with so much force that, great man though he was, the soldier staggered.
Matters then would have gone ill with Simon but for the appearance of a boy, a little younger than himself, who came strolling towards them, followed by two liver-coloured hounds. He was dark, and magnificently clad, and he carried himself with an air of languid arrogance.
“Holà there!” he called, and the soldiers fell away from Simon, leaving him to stand alone, arms folded and head turned to survey the newcomer.
The boy came up gracefully, looking at Simon with a questioning lift to his brows.
“What is this?” he asked. “Who are you who strike our men?”
Simon stepped forward.
“So please you, sir, I seek my Lord the Earl.”
One of the men, he whom Simon had dealt that lusty blow, started to speak, but was hushed by an imperious gesture from the boy. He smiled at Simon with a mixture of friendliness and hauteur.
“I am Alan of Montlice,” he said. “What want you of my father?”
Simon doffed his cap, showing his thick, straight hair clubbed across his brow and at the nape of his brown neck. He bowed awkwardly.
“I want employment, sir,” he replied. “These men deny me entrance.”
Alan of Montlice hesitated.
“My father stands in no need—” he began, then paused, fingering his dark curls. “There is that in you that I like,” he said frankly. “Come within.”
Simon bowed again, but he gave no thanks, only standing aside for the young Montlice to pass through the doorway. And as Alan went by, he shot him an awkward look, keen as steel, appraising him as it were. That was a trick which in after years had the effect of disconcerting his foes most mightily. Alan did not see the glance, but swept into the castle whistling through his teeth. Across the great stone hall he led Simon to an archway over which hung a leathern curtain, nail-studded. Before he pulled it back he spoke again to Simon, in a whisper.
“Ye will speak my lord fair,” he cautioned. “He is not so douce.”
A flickering smile touched Simon’s lips.
“Fulk the Lion,” he said. “I know.”
“He is to be feared,” Alan said, breathless.
Simon looked scorn.
“I fear no man.”
At that Alan opened wide his brown eyes and giggled a little.
“Ye do not know my lord,” he said, and pulled the curtain aside.
They entered a fair room carpeted with rushes and hung with all manner of paintings, biblical and historical. A table stood in the middle, and although it was now past eight o’clock in the forenoon, the remains of my lord’s breakfast still stood upon it: a chine of salt-beef, a broken manchett, and a tankard of ale. In a great chair beside the table, leaning back at his ease, sat Fulk of Montlice, a giant of a man, deep-chested and magnificently proportioned, as fair as his son was dark, with a crisp, golden beard, whose point came forward belligerently. One of his hands was tucked in the belt of his long gown, the other lay on the table, massive and hairy. Alan ran forward and fell to his knees.
“Sir, here is a boy who would speak with thee.”
My lord’s heavy, light-lashed eyelids lifted and his small blue eyes travelled slowly from his son to Simon.
“Shouldst know that I do not speak with every vagrant whelp who is presumptuous,” he said, a rumbling note of annoyance in his voice. “Away with you, sirrah!”
Simon stepped to the table, cap in hand.
“I am no vagrant, good my lord. Nor will I be so miscalled.”
Alan stayed on his knees, affrighted at such temerity, but my Lord of Montlice laughed.
“Good lack, what then are you, springald?”
“I hope one day to be a man, my lord, even as you,” Simon answered. “That is my ambition, sir, and so I come to seek employment with you.”
Montlice flung back his head and laughed again.
“For that you beard the lion in his den, eh? I will eat you for my dinner, cockerel.”
“So said they at the gate, my lord, but you will find me of more use alive than eaten.”
“Shall I so? And what canst do? Wind silks for womenfolk?”
“That and other things, my lord,” Simon answered coolly.
“Soso! What then? Tend my hounds, or are they too strong for your management?”
At that Simon curled his lip in disdain.
“There does not live the beast I will not tame, my lord.”
My lord’s eyes were now a-twinkle. He clapped the table jovially.
“By the Rood, I like thy spirit, my young spring-chicken! Canst take a buffet?”
“Ay, and give one.”
My lord cast him a quizzical look.
“As thou didst to my man without?”
If he expected Simon to show discomfiture he was disappointed, for Simon only nodded. My lord laughed.
“Impudence! Why camest thou to the great door? Know ye not the scullions’ entrance at the back?”
“I have never approached my goal through the back door, my lord, nor ever will. I march straight.”
“It seems so indeed,” said my lord. “Well, what dost thou want of me?”
“I would carry your lance and squire you, sir.”
Montlice snapped his fingers, jeering.
“Thou sit a horse! A flea on a camel!”
The thick brows drew closer
