“I send thee my love and greetings.
Simon folded the parchment slowly.
“Wilt thou go?” Malvallet asked abruptly.
Simon seemed to consider. His eyes wandered to the window and stared out across the quiet fields. He brought them back to his father, and smiled.
“It seems likely, my lord,” he said.
He rode next day to Montlice to take counsel of Fulk. To my lord’s surprise Alan sprang up, vehement.
“If thou dost go, Simon, then so will I!” he exclaimed. “Too long have I rested at home! I will lead our men to Wales, and I too, will taste the joys of battle!”
When he had recovered from his amazement, Fulk scoffed.
“Little joy wilt thou find in battle.”
Alan turned sharply.
“If thou dost say me nay, my lord, then will I go in Simon’s train. Alone!”
“No need for such heat,” Fulk grunted. “Thou shalt go if thou dost wish it. When dost thou think to depart, Simon?”
“Next month, my lord, towards the end, so that I shall come to Wales in March.”
“And leave thy land masterless?”
“Nay. Maurice of Gountray shall rule in my stead.”
“As he ruled when Barminster died?” Fulk inquired with heavy sarcasm.
“I am not Barminster,” Simon said.
XI
How He Won His Gilded Armour
March saw him in Wales at his brother’s side, engaged in hard fighting and hard generalship. April brought him back to Shrewsbury unscathed, but May saw him marching south to Usk, one of the Prince’s trusted officers, and the Prince’s friend. And at Usk, where they fought the rebels fifteen hundred strong, he engaged with Glyndourdy’s son Griffith, and fought him in single combat till he had him worsted from sheer fatigue. Then took he Griffith prisoner and surrendered him to the Prince.
Henry was enthusiastic over his prize, and smote Simon on the back.
“Ah, Beauvallet! Would that I had thee ever by my side! What wilt thou of thy prisoner?”
“His armour, sir,” Simon answered. “His ransom, if ransomed he be, is yours. But, if it pleases your Highness, I would have his gilded armour.”
“That is a strange wish!” Henry said. “Wherefore? Dost like the golden tint so much?”
“Ay, and the workmanship, sir.”
“Thou shalt have it, then,” Henry promised. “Simon of the Gilded Armour!” He laughed, linking his arm in Simon’s. “Verily, I do believe it is a new title thou seekest! Already have I heard tell of Simon the Lynx-Eyes, Simon the Coldheart, Simon the Lion, Simon the Soft-Footed, and I know not what beside! Whence come these names, lad?”
“From foolish men’s tongues, my lord,” Simon answered.
“Then shall I be foolish,” Henry said, “for I shall call thee Simon the Silent.”
The middle of July saw Simon home again, with Geoffrey and Alan riding one on either side of him. Between these two enmity was dead, for when Geoffrey had clasped Simon’s hands on his coming to Wales, Alan had stood aloof and ill-at-ease, seeing which Geoffrey had gone to him with his charming smile.
“Our sires dispute, Sir Alan, but what shall we do?”
“For my part I would we might agree!” Alan had answered instantly, and grasped Malvallet’s hand.
When Simon rode into Beauvallet he found all quiet and in good order, and a glint of satisfaction came to his eyes. At the castle door his household stood to welcome him. But one there was who forgot decorum and ran forward, arms outstretched.
“My lord! my lord! Lift me? Oh, lift me!” Cedric cried, almost sobbing with excitement and heedless of his father’s shocked protest.
Then Simon the Coldheart bent in his saddle and hoisted his page up with one strong hand, and held him against his shoulder. One little arm encircled his neck, the other plump hand gripped Simon’s doublet tightly; Cedric gave a wriggle of content, and buried his face on Simon’s shoulder.
Simon looked down at the curly head with a curious smile on his lips.
“Thou hast missed me, Cedric?”
The arm tightened about his neck; Cedric nodded.
“Methought thou’dst have forgot thy lord.”
Up came the dark head, indignant.
“I am not a babe—to forget thee so soon!”
“Cedric!” exclaimed Gountray, coming forward. “Thou must not speak so to my lord! To say ‘thee’—thus pertly!”
“I will!” Cedric announced stoutly. “My lord cares not!”
“My lord, forgive his rudeness!” Gountray said in concern. “Indeed, I can do naught with him since ye are gone. He minds me not. I doubt I am too soft with him, but I have no other son, and—and perchance I spoil him with indulgence.”
“Let be!” Simon said shortly. “Loose thy grip, little one; I would dismount.” He handed Cedric to Gountray, and swung lightly down from the saddle. He had a word of greeting for all who stood there, and many were the inquiries after his welfare. He answered each man in kind, and passed into the castle, Cedric dancing at his side, and his other pages following him like a troop of puppies, so that when he stopped to speak with his secretary he stood in the midst of a small band of green-and-russet clad boys, towering above them, while they swarmed about him, relieving him of first this, and then that, and squabbling amongst themselves for the supreme honour of bearing his sword away. One flew to unbuckle it, three others laid hold of the scabbard, glaring at one another belligerently, and two more knelt to unfasten Simon’s spurs. He seemed quite unaware of these somewhat noisy ministrations, but talked calmly over the pages’ heads to his amused secretary. Being smaller by far than the rest, Cedric found himself with naught to carry away. Not to be outdone, he climbed upon a chair and removed Simon’s cap from his head. He also tried to remove the surcoat from Simon’s shoulders, and his fat little fingers tugged busily at the clasps until Simon became aware of his efforts. Then he put them all from him.
“Have done, have done! Would ye have me quite unrobed? Go put my cap away, Cedric! Roger, take my sword from that babe; he
