“It grows late,” Alan remarked. “Six of the clock. Thou wilt rest, Simon?”
“Presently.”
“Who goes with thee into the town?”
“Mine own people. Eleven men.”
“Well, they would die for thee,” Alan said, as though he found therein some grain of comfort. “Cedric also?”
“Nay, he is too young. Take the boy with thee, Alan, for he will not be left behind. He is enraged already that I will not take him with me. Have a care to him.”
“I will. I’ll see thee again, lad, when thou art ready.” Alan smiled over his shoulder, and sauntered out to his own quarters.
The night was very still and calm, the silence broken only within the camp where men moved stealthily about in preparation. The palisade had been undermined so that it would fall as soon as the supports were withdrawn. Away to the left Huntingdon was moving, with less stealth and more noise.
Simon stood at the entrance to his mine, tall and square, girt in his gilded armour, which glinted in the light of the fires. His great sword hung at his side, but his lance and shield he had discarded to be brought to him in Malvallet’s charge. He was wrapped about in a great cloak, as was each of his men, and he carried his green-plumed helm beneath his arm. Alan stood by his side, while he called the names of each of his followers. Every man answered promptly but softly. Dimly they were outlined against the black sky. Simon cast a quick glance over them, and turned to bid Alan farewell. He wasted no time, but held Alan’s hand a moment in his mailed clasp.
“God be with thee, Alan. Follow the Gilded Armour, remember, and have a care to thyself. Give me the torch.”
It was handed to him and he bent, entering the mine, sword in hand. One by one his men crept in behind him, and presently were hidden from Alan’s sight in the gloomy tunnel. Even the glow of the torchlight faded; it was as though the earth had swallowed one and all.
Treading softly, and bent almost double, the line of men went steadily along the dank, earth-smelling passage, following the torch, and trusting implicitly to their leader. And so at length they came to the end of the mine, where they could stand upright. For a moment they stood listening, and then, quietly, Simon gave the order to begin to break upwards. Concealing cloaks were laid aside, and arms bared. Each man was furnished with either a pick or a spade, and with these they set to work, digging upwards as steeply as was possible. Simon himself flung down his cloak and helm, and hampered as he was by his armour, fell to hacking away the earth, his torch stuck in a niche in the earthen wall. There was no word spoken for a long time, but when Simon turned to pick up a spade his eyes fell on the eleventh man, shovelling the earth away with a will. A curly black head met his eye, and a young, strained face down which the sweat rolled in great beads. The boy raised his head at that moment and saw Simon’s stern glance upon him. He paused in his work to send his lord a look of piteous apology, not unmixed with triumph.
“You and I shall have a reckoning to settle for this, Cedric,” Simon said softly.
Cedric nodded, flushing.
“Ay, my lord. That I know. I could not let ye come without me. If—if aught befall us—you—you will have—forgiven?”
Simon’s hard mouth twitched.
“It would seem so. Go to now.”
Cedric threw him a grateful smile and returned to his digging with renewed vigour. Not another word was spoken; the work was done as silently as possible, and no man shirked his full share of this arduous task, although the tunnel was dank and airless, and the roof seemed to close down upon them. These picked men of Beauvallet would cheerfully have died sooner than fail their lord, or grumble at his strictness in a time of stress.
At last the foremost, one Malcolm Clayton, glanced back over his shoulder, and spoke in a hushed voice.
“Lord, my pick went through.”
Simon scrambled up the crumbling slope of loose earth.
“Then silence now, as you value your lives. Stand back, the others.”
He was observed instantly; the panting, sweating men rested on their tools, watching Simon and Malcolm break through the thin crust. It was slowly done, and carefully, but at length a wave of frosty air came down to them, and they drank it in gladly. Still Simon worked, making a hole just large enough to admit a man. Then he set down his pick, and raising himself on Malcolm’s shoulders, peered cautiously above the opening. Down he came again, springing lightly, and nodded.
“Bank the earth to form a step. You, John, and Peter. The dawn is upon us.”
Again they set to work, and soon had fulfilled his behest. A pale grey light filtered down into the tunnel, but overhead the sky seemed still dark and frowning.
Simon gave the order to stack the tools. Wine had been brought in small leathern bottles; they drank deeply of it before they donned their helms and cloaks. Cedric picked up the golden helm and shook its waving plumes free of the dirt. He buckled it on to Simon’s neck-plate, and clasped the long green surcoat upon his shoulders. Then Simon wrapped the dark cloak over all and picked up his great sword. It gleamed wickedly in the torchlight, and the golden helm seemed to glow with an inward fire. Beneath its peak Simon’s eyes looked calmly forth and the green of his plumes seemed to steal into them, so that he appeared as some huge knight all gold and green. His men were nervous through anticipation, but his measured voice quieted them.
“Extinguish the torch.”
It was done, and the golden figure faded to a black silhouette against the faint light. Each
