Arnold sped out across the country, clad in the new green-and-russet livery. He came upon Simon among the archers, in the act of loosing an arrow from his bow.
Simon watched the arrow’s flight, and without turning his head, spoke to his page.
“Well, Arnold?”
This was an uncanny trick he had, and which greatly bewildered and discomposed his men. No matter how softly one might creep up to him, he always knew of the approach, and needed not to see who it was who drew near. Arnold was accustomed to the trick, so he showed no surprise.
“My lord, there are guests at the castle! My Lord of Montlice, Sir Alan, and my Lord of Granmere. Master Gountray sent me to fetch you.”
Simon rose from his knee.
“I will come,” he said. He stayed but to speak with Santoy a moment and followed Arnold to the castle. Arnold would have taken his bow, but Simon shook his head, smiling.
“How far wouldst thou bear it, child?”
Arnold drew himself up till he stood half as high as the bow.
“I could carry it, my lord, indeed!”
“I doubt not thy good will,” Simon said, but he would not relinquish the bow.
Arnold walked demurely behind him then. It was a curious turn of character in Simon that he liked children. His pages fell over one another to serve him and were perfectly happy if he but nodded to them, while the littlest one of all’s pride when Simon lifted him over a broad ditch one day knew no bounds. He was Gountray’s son, a dark, curly-headed boy of eight named Cedric, who owed his office to his own impertinence. When he found that his father would not speak for him to Simon, he determined to speak for himself. So up he went to the castle, a chubby little fellow with merry eyes, and waylaid Simon on his way out.
Simon, remembering his own coming to Fulk of Montlice, was amused. He made Cedric page with Gountray’s consent, and the child seemed to walk straight into his rather dormant heart. He was the one person in all Beauvallet who would openly defy Simon, and once when he burst into tears of rage at being thwarted, his father and the Secretary were struck dumb by the sight of him seated on Simon’s knee in the great hall.
He it was who now entertained Simon’s visitors with engaging and solemn conversation.
“And who art thou, young hop o’ my thumb?” Fulk asked him.
Cedric answered importantly.
“I am my lord’s page. I made him take me.”
Fulk burst into a roar of laughter.
“Oh, tit for Simon’s tat!” he cried. “How didst thou make him, prithee?”
“I said that I would be his page. And I am. He calls me the little one.”
Alan smiled, drawing the small person to him.
“That sounds not like Simon,” he remarked. “Dost thou like thy lord?”
“Ay, I love him dearly. As much as my father.” Cedric paused to give weight to his next statement. “I have sat upon his knee,” he announced with due solemnity.
“Holy Virgin!” Fulk said. “What comes to our Simon?”
Simon entered at this moment, and Cedric, wriggling free of Alan’s hold, skipped towards him.
“My lord, I received these guests with my father, and I gave them chairs, but I have not done your bidding!” He chuckled mischievously and danced before Simon.
Simon gave him his arrows.
“Put these away then, little miscreant—and see thou dost not play with them!” he added as Cedric trotted off. He came forward and grasped Fulk’s hand.
“My lord, ye are more than welcome, and you, Lord of Granmere. Well, Alan?”
“Never saw I so great a change in any land!” Fulk assured him. “We came to pry upon thee and to see how thou wert progressing, and behold! the place is as orderly as a monastery! As we passed we saw on all sides good work on hand, while as for thy household, it is as quiet as the grave! What hast done, lion-cub?”
“It was very easy,” Simon answered. “I struck at the heads of the disorder. How fares Montlice?”
“We miss thy strict hand,” Fulk grimaced. “But Alan doth what he can. God’s my life, when I think that scarce a month ago this land was peopled by drunken rogues, and the crops going to ruin for want of care, and look at it now, I can scarce believe mine eyes!”
“I am not surprised,” Granmere remarked. “From what I had seen of thee, I had thought to see thee conquer within the month. Who was yon chubby page?”
Simon smiled a little.
“That is my Marshal’s son.”
“Who sits upon thy knee,” Alan teased.
Simon looked up.
“Did he say that? ’Twas but once, when he cried because that I chid him for some fault.”
“Simon,” Fulk interrupted, “I demand that ye loose thy tongue and tell me all that thou hast performed here!”
“Well, sir, if ye must have the full tale, will ye come out whiles my varlets lay dinner?”
“Ay, that will we,” Fulk nodded, and rose. “Alan would stay with thee, if thou’lt permit him.”
Alan locked his arm in Simon’s affectionately.
“I shall stay whether thou likst it or no.”
“Why, of course thou canst stay!” Simon said, and led them forth into the sunlight.
They returned presently to dinner, when Simon presented his marshal, his captain, and all his other officers. It was nearly three hours later when they came away from the table, and Fulk took Simon aside.
“Simon lad, thou art now come to manhood,” he began, by way of preamble. “There is a proposition I would set before thee.”
“My lord?”
Fulk tapped him on the shoulder.
“Look ye, boy, thy land should have a mistress, ay, and an heir! Now it is in my mind to give thee my daughter Elaine, though I had intended her for John of Balfry’s son. What dost thou say to that?”
Simon compressed his lips.
“Why, sir, I say that albeit I do thank thee for the honour ye would do me, yet were it best that ye should give the lady to Robert of Balfry.”
“Thou’lt none of her?” Fulk
