Simon rose in his stirrups; his voice blared forth, and at the sound of it his men rallied round him again, and put new zest into their blows.
“For St. George and the King!” Simon cried, and someone behind him started to roar out the song of Agincourt.
A score of voices took it up, and again the English pressed forward.
A burly fellow at Simon’s side smote down one Frenchman who would have hamstrung his horse, and as he did so he sang jovially.
“ ‘Our King went forth to Normandy’—have at ye now! ‘With grace and might of chivalry’—So, so! That for thy pains! ‘The God for him’—Would ye, would ye? ’Ware, lord! ’ware!—‘wrought marv’lously’—Oh, brave, brave, my lord! On, on! ‘Wherefore England’—Hey, John Dawlish, Peter Westmere, take it up!—‘may call and cry: De‑o Gratias! De‑o Gratias!’ ”
“Deo Gratias, Deo Gratias!” came the roar from all around, and on the words the English swept the French backwards, pressing on and on, down the street.
For fully an hour the fight lasted, all over the town, but at length, first in one place, and then in another, the French cried for quarter. In a little while the truce was called, and comparative silence fell, the battle-yells dying away. Quarter was granted everywhere, and soon the sheriff sent to Simon, who had pushed his way back to the marketplace, surrendering the keys of the town.
Dead and wounded lay upon the ground, but already the women and the noncombatants were out, tending the wounded, whether they were French or English.
Simon found one of his captains in the crowd, and delivered his orders. Most of the French soldiery, it seemed, had fled north to the castle, which still held firm, and wherein lay the Lady Margaret.
Across the square came Malvallet, his armour dented and battered, his surcoat torn.
“God be thanked! Thou art alive!” he cried, and reined in beside Simon. “Huntingdon is in long since. Where is Alan?”
“I have not seen him. To the right, I think, down the street. Holland hath his men in hand?”
“Ay. They tend the wounded, some of them. We hold each gate. I’ll go seek Alan.” He turned, and picked his way across the square.
When he came back it was full half-an-hour later, and the marketplace was almost cleared.
“Simon, Simon!” Malvallet cried, and Simon turned sharply, waiting for Geoffrey to come up to him. “Alan is taken! Taken by that she-devil, and carried into her stronghold!”
“What!” Simon glared into Malvallet’s haggard face. For a moment he was silent, and then his upper lip curled back, showing his teeth in that famous tiger-snarl.
“If I have not Alan by nightfall, may my soul wither in hell!” he said softly.
IV
How He Saw the Lady Margaret
By noon he had brought some semblance of order into Belrémy and had held a long parley with the sheriff. The usual proclamations were posted up, in the King’s name, promising fair treatment and protection to all who would swear allegiance to Henry. For the most part the townsfolk availed themselves of this clemency, for they were tired of the long siege, and anxious to revictual the town. Simon’s men were stationed round the town and in it, and at length he had leisure to consider Alan’s predicament. It was rumoured that Montlice was first wounded, and then overcome by the Lady Margaret’s men-at-arms.
“Simon, thou’lt rescue him?” Geoffrey said anxiously. They were in the justice-house, which Simon had made his temporary headquarters.
“Ay,” Simon answered. “She will look to hold him as hostage, but I have her in a vice. I hold her uncle prisoner.”
“Her uncle? He fought this morning?”
“He is her Marshal. The Sire de Galledemaine. Huntingdon took him. Bernard, bring thy quill, and parchment.”
The secretary collected them, and sat waiting for further orders.
“Write,” Simon said slowly. “ ‘To the Lady Margaret of Belrémy. In the name of His Most Gracious Majesty, King Henry the Fifth of England and France, I, Simon of Beauvallet, command that ye surrender the keys of the Castle of Belrémy within the hour, swearing fealty to His Majesty King Henry, and delivering the knight, Sir Alan of Montlice, into my hands.’ Thou hast that?”
“Ay, my lord.”
“Dispatch it by my herald at once, then, and bid him await the lady’s answer.”
“What folly is this?” Malvallet asked, when Talmayne had withdrawn. “She will laugh at thy message.”
“Perchance. It is my formal command. If she laughs now, she will weep later.”
The herald returned within the hour, and knelt to give Simon the Lady Margaret’s packet.
Simon broke the seals and spread the crackling parchment sheets before him. Over his shoulder Geoffrey read:
“To Simon of Beauvallet.
“If ye depart not from this my city within the space of twelve hours, surrendering the keys unto Ferdinand de Valmé, my Sheriff, the knight, Sir Alan of Montlice, swings from the ramparts in thy sight.
Geoffrey let fly a great oath, and clapped his hand to his sword-hilt.
“Thou wilt storm the place, Simon?”
Simon smiled.
“Nay. That would surely bring death to Alan, thou hothead. Write again, Bernard: ‘If my commands be not obeyed, I, Simon of Beauvallet, do swear by the Rood and by all the blessed Saints that the Marshal, Jean de Galledemaine, dies before the Castle of Belrémy with the other prisoners in my hold, and every third breadwinner of this town. And further if any harm be done unto the knight, Sir Alan of Montlice, I do swear by God that I will raze this city to the ground, slaying all who dwell therein and sparing neither woman nor child. And that ye may see that I swear it not idly, six of the children will I slay before the castle if ye surrender not at once.’ ”
Malvallet laughed.
“Oh, ay! With thine own hand, belike!”
“It will not come to that,” Simon answered. He waited until Bernard had
