“Ay, my lord.”
“She spake not?”
“Nay, sir. She withdrew with her gentlemen, and was closely veiled.”
Simon nodded.
“Go then.”
When the herald returned again it was with a verbal message.
“ ‘Tell my lord of Beauvallet,’ ” he recited, “ ‘that the Lady Margaret, Countess of Belrémy, will treat with him within her castle of Belrémy if he comes alone, and under the laws of truce.’ ”
“Thou’lt not go alone into that trap!” Geoffrey exclaimed.
“No trap is it,” Simon said.
“What! Thou wilt trust to a woman’s honour?”
“Nay.” Simon smiled unpleasantly. “She dare not harm me, or detain me. If I return not within the hour lead out the Sire de Galledemaine, and slay him before the castle. Then if I still make no sign, thou mayst sack the town, to show that I lied not, and storm the castle, for I shall be dead.”
“What dost thou propose?” Geoffrey asked curiously. “Once within her stronghold thou art lost.”
Simon laughed.
“Am I so? Once within the castle, and I may crush the she-devil at will.” He rose. “Thou art lord in mine absence, Geoffrey, but look to it that ye obey mine orders.” He went out to his own quarters, where he found Cedric resting on his pallet, relating his glorious adventures to Edmund, who listened curiously, drinking in every word. When Simon came in, they both started up.
Simon looked Cedric over keenly.
“Thou wert wounded?”
“It is naught, sir,” Cedric blushed. His arm lay in a sling.
“The surgeon hath seen to it?”
The boy fidgeted.
“Nay, my lord. I asked him not, for he was busy with others, and indeed my wound is trifling.”
Simon went to him and unbound his arm. An ugly flesh wound met his eye, which still bled sluggishly.
“Fetch me water and clean linen,” Simon ordered briefly, and Edmund ran out. He came back with the water, and watched his lord wash Cedric’s wound quickly and deftly. Simon bound it up again, and Cedric’s teeth slowly unclenched. He was rather pale, for Simon’s methods were rough and ready.
“Get thee to bed,” Simon said, “and stay there. Edmund, bring mine armour. Ye have cleaned it?”
“Ay, my lord.”
“Fetch it then, and get thee ready. I go to the castle.”
Cedric, who had retired to his pallet, raised himself on one elbow.
“My lord!”
The hard eyes looked down upon him coldly.
“Well?”
“Take—take me!”
“Edmund goes with me. Lie thou still.”
“But, sir!—”
“It shall be thy punishment for defying me today,” Simon said inexorably.
“Oh, my lord, no! I cannot let ye go to the castle without—”
“Let? Let? What is this talk? Thou wilt be silent, Cedric, an ye desire not my displeasure.”
Cedric’s eyes filled with tears.
“My lord, punish me how you will, but take me with you now! If—if aught should befall you—”
“What help could ye give me?” Simon said scathingly.
Cedric plucked at his blanket with trembling fingers.
“I—I should—at least be—with you. If—if ye should be slain, I—I—”
“Ye will have learned a lesson. I am not lightly defied, Cedric.”
The boy turned his face to the wall without another word. Not until Simon was fully clad in his shining armour, did he speak again, and then it was to Edmund, who stood preening himself in his green-and-russet dress.
“If harm comes to my lord, I will beat thee senseless!” he whispered savagely.
Simon strode out, an amused glint in his eyes.
He rode through the town with Edmund close behind him, and came quickly to the castle. The bridge was let down for them, and they went across at a walk-pace. In the courtyard Simon dismounted and gave his horse into Edmund’s charge. Unattended, he followed the steward into the castle.
The great hall was empty, and the steward led Simon across it, to the Countess’s audience-chamber. He swung back the curtain, and sonorously announced, “My Lord of Beauvallet!”
Simon entered, stepping firmly, yet panther-like. Within the room he paused, hand upon his sword-hilt, and sent a swift glance round.
Upon a dais, seated on a throne-like chair, was the Lady Margaret, like a pillar of ice. Her regal head, crowned by a cloud of black locks, and a great horned headdress, from which hung a veil of gold net, pearl embroidered, was held high. Not a muscle in her long white throat quivered; her face was mask-like, oval and pale, with thin, disdainful lips, and black eyes that shone between lowered lids. The lashes, long and curling, seemed to cast a shadow on the perfect skin beneath them. Her nose was short and straight, the nostrils finely carved, and slightly pinched. She was clad in a gown of wine-red silk, which moulded itself to her superb form, showing the swell of her breasts, and the long line to her hips. It fell about her feet in a great train, hiding them, and clung close to her rounded arms till it widened at the wrists in huge sleeves which brushed the ground as she walked. Her white hands lay along the arms of her chair, the nervous fingers gripping the carved wood tensely. On her bosom a great ruby glowed, the only living thing about her.
Beside her stood a dark gentleman, foppishly clad, who regarded Simon with a faint sneer upon his full lips. He twirled a rose between his fingers, and raised it to his nose now and again. Other gentlemen were scattered about the room, all in court-dress, and all watching Simon curiously. Behind the Countess stood three of her ladies, still as was their mistress.
Simon walked forward deliberately. He seemed to tower above the men present, an incongruous figure in the midst of this elegant assembly, Saxon-fair, and all in gold save for his waving plumes, and long green surcoat. Before the dais he halted, and glanced calmly at the Countess from beneath his helm.
“Madame,” he said in blunt French, “I am here
