Cedric, the squire, plucked a blade of grass and began to suck it meditatively. His eyes were upon Simon’s broad shoulders, and he was wondering if his would ever match them in breadth or straightness. He sighed a little, for he was a slim youth, not square-set as was his lord, and without the iron muscle that had been Simon’s long before he had attained Cedric’s age. His eyes travelled down Simon’s tapering flanks, to the arched, spurred feet, and then up again to that stern, rugged face. He had not been told why they had tramped out of Alençon this afternoon, and he knew better than to ask, privileged though he was. He had followed Simon to this hill, silent all the way, for Simon was deep in thought. Cedric guessed that he was puzzling over some weighty problem, by the frown on his brow, and the grimness about his mouth. They had been stationary upon this hill for a long time now, and Cedric rather wished that his lord would say or do something to relieve the tedium, instead of gazing far away at the distant horizon.
Then Simon spoke in his deep, grave voice, without turning his head.
“Canst find naught better to do than stare at thy lord, child?”
Accustomed as he was to Simon’s unexpected ways, Cedric was startled. He had thought that Simon had forgotten his presence, nor been aware of the fixed scrutiny behind him.
“Nay, my lord, I think not.”
Simon smiled a little.
“I am so pleasing to thine eye?”
“Yes, sir,” Cedric answered simply.
Simon moved at last, and looked down at his sprawling squire. There was a note of feeling in his voice now.
“Thou lazy pup!” he said, still smiling. “Take that grass out of thy mouth.”
Cedric ejected it, laughing up at Simon. He made no effort to rise, for well he knew that he was privileged in his lord’s eyes. Other pages had come and gone, but for none had Simon cherished the same affection that he felt for Cedric of Gountray, who, long years ago, had forced himself upon his notice.
“Lord, when do we move from Alençon?” he asked presently. “Are we to remain here for aye?”
“When the time comes ye will know,” Simon answered curtly.
Cedric was in no way abashed. He sat up, hugging his knees.
“It is soon, I think,” he said shrewdly, and cast a glance upward at Simon’s impassive countenance. “I wonder, do we march with the King, or with the Duke?” He paused a moment, “Or alone?” he added softly.
Simon vouchsafed no reply, but jerked his head, as a sign that they were going. He set off with striding steps towards the town, Cedric trotting along beside him.
Within the gates they came upon Sir Alan, whereupon Cedric fell discreetly to the rear.
Alan slipped his arm in Simon’s, looking up at him with the subservient affection that not all the years had tempered. He was very little changed from the youth Simon had met without the castle of Montlice. His face had retained its girlish curves, his figure its slender grace. He was attired in silks and velvets, for he scorned a soldier’s garb save when it was necessary.
“Simon,” he said in an undertone, “whence comes this talk of sending thee to Belrémy?”
“From idle men’s tongues belike,” answered Simon shortly.
“It is not true?”
“True enough, but prate not of it, Alan.”
“Thou art indeed to pit thy strength against the Lady Margaret of Belrémy?”
“Ay.”
“Where Umfraville hath failed thou art to conquer. Shalt thou take the town, Simon?”
“God willing.”
Alan chuckled softly, whistling “Deo Gratias” below his breath.
“I too shall come, of course,” he remarked dreamily. “I have a mind to see this Lady Margaret.”
Then Simon smiled.
“There will be no lovemaking while thou art with me, Alan.”
“Will there not? Thou shouldst bear the Lady Margaret off thyself, lad. That indeed would be a conquest.”
“Um!” Simon grunted. “A spitfire to wife? I thank thee.”
They were nearing the King’s quarters, and passed several knights who waved a greeting, or asked a question of Simon.
“I came in search of thee,” Alan said. “The King would speak with thee. Where hast been?”
“Over yonder, upon the hill.”
“Wherefore?”
“To think, and to breathe. The town chokes me. Dost thou come with me to the King?”
“Ay. Geoffrey is there, and swears he will go with thee to Belrémy. So we fare forth together once more.”
They entered the house and made their way up the staircase to the King’s apartments. Henry was there, with Geoffrey of Malvallet, and Gilbert of Umfraville. He looked up as Simon entered, and smiled.
“Hither, my Soldier. I did send for Gilbert.”
Umfraville came forward to grip Simon’s hand.
“Unlike me, thou’lt be like unto Caesar, Simon,” he said. “To Belrémy wilt thou go, and where I saw, thou wilt also conquer.”
“Thou wouldst have conquered but for the short space of time accorded thee,” Simon answered slowly.
Henry laughed, signing a sheet of parchment that was spread out before him.
“Hark to my Soldier! He blames me for Umfraville’s defeat.”
“Nay, sire!” Geoffrey interposed swiftly. “He is not so ungallant.”
“He is not gallant at all,” responded Henry. He pushed the parchment from him, and turned to look at Simon. “He is honest. Tell me, Simon, was it my fault that we took not Belrémy?”
“Ay, sir,” Simon replied imperturbably. “Ye did underrate the enemy. The task had been too easy before.”
“That is so,” nodded the King. “And now a woman baulks me. So I send her Simon
