But although Simon and Geoffrey were armour-clad, they were badly outnumbered, and already the noise of this fierce battle had reached the ears of those below. Simon cast a quick glance behind him, to see how far away was the door that led into the room beside the dais. He started to back, and called to Geoffrey in English.
“At my side! Through the door behind me is our only chance. Guard thou Jeanne!”
“Ah, yes, yes!” Margaret panted, and made sign to Ranaud, slightly jerking her head backwards. He nodded, bellowing out curses on his foes’ heads, and wielding his sword like a maniac. Blood was dripping from a gash on his cheek, and from his left arm, but it seemed only to goad him to fresh endeavours.
Jeanne had heard Simon’s command, and she slid along the wall, unnoticed in all this turmoil, and lifted the latch, ready to open the door at Simon’s word.
The palace-guards were in the room now, but Simon had drawn right back into the corner, so that his little following was guarded on two sides by the wall. He spoke again, gasping.
“Back, Geoffrey! I will hold them. Get all through first. Open!”
Jeanne flung the door back and ran into the adjoining chamber, Margaret at her side. Ranaud followed and stood within—sword upraised. The French made a desperate effort to cut Simon and Geoffrey off from this means of escape, but they stood now in the opening, Geoffrey with his left hand clutching the latch.
Simon cut down the foremost guard, and leaped backwards. On the instant Geoffrey dragged the stout oak door shut, and between them they slammed the bolts home.
Simon wasted no words. He caught Margaret’s hand and ran with her down the long, empty chamber to an archway at the far end. Through this they sped, Geoffrey with Jeanne in his arms, and Ranaud bringing up the rear, singing now, an exultant chant. Room after room they traversed, whither they knew not, while from behind came the sound of frenzied blows on the bolted door. At last they came to a large hall, leading from which were three doors, all shut. Margaret flew to one, opening it. A long corridor was revealed. Simon, who had gone to another, found that it led into yet another chamber.
“Here, here!” Margaret cried.
“On then!” Simon commanded, and flung the door he stood by wide. He hurried after Ranaud, who was rolling in Margaret’s wake, down the corridor, and waited for Geoffrey to bear Jeanne through. Then he went himself, and stayed to shut the door.
“They should be through by now, but they will go by the door I left open,” he panted.
From ahead Margaret’s voice sounded.
“Stairs! Stairs!”
“Gently!” Simon hissed, and pushed by Geoffrey. “There may be men below. I go first.” Sword in hand he went down the stairs, to find a scullion staring at him open-mouthed. They had come to the kitchens.
The scullion fled for his life, down yet another passage, calling for help.
“The window!” Geoffrey gasped.
“Nay, the door,” Simon answered, pointing. “For your life!”
Ranaud tore it open, and out they tumbled into a narrow yard. At the end of it was a barred gate, and to this they ran.
Sounds betokening pursuit came from behind them, and it was with desperate fingers that Simon and Ranaud dragged back the bolts. The gates swung outward, and they found themselves upon greensward. To the right was Santoy, with his men. He saw them, and spurred forward, leading Simon’s horse, and shouting to his men to follow.
Simon attempted no explanation, but flung Margaret up on to his horse. She clutched at the animal’s mane, sitting astride, and gripping hard with her knees.
Geoffrey seized his own mount, and swung himself up, setting Jeanne on her feet before he did so.
“Hand her up!” he called, and Simon tossed her into his arms.
Ranaud clambered clumsily on to the back of one of the spare horses, grunting and cursing.
“God’s my life, I’ve never sat a horse but once before.”
Simon heaved himself into the saddle behind Margaret, his strong arms about her, lifting her across the saddlebow.
“Cling tight,” he said, and smiled down at her. “To the south, and spur them on!” he commanded his men, and on the word his horse sprang forward.
It was not a moment too soon, for through the gate behind them came their pursuers, yelling in hideous discord. For a while they ran after the mounted men, but soon they realised the hopelessness of the chase, and turned back.
Simon looked over his shoulder.
“Gone to get horses, belike. Well, we are near the border, and a little while should see us out of this accursed land.” He looked across at Geoffrey, and laughed. “Geoffrey, this is the first time—and the last, please God—that I have turned my back on the enemy.”
“And the first time that thou hast lost thy head,” Geoffrey retorted. “I was so taken aback—after thy warning to me, too, that I should keep a cool brain! God’s my life, what will King Henry say?”
“He will say good riddance to a foul knave. Bear to the right, Santoy.”
Raoul’s palace stood but a league from the border, and soon they had crossed it, riding in close formation. Not until they were half a league into the neighbouring domain did Simon give the order to draw rein. Then they halted, while Simon slammed his sword home into the scabbard, and unstrapped his great green cloak from the saddle. This he threw over his shoulders, clasping it at the neck, and drew the heavy folds round him so that they covered the Lady Margaret, shielding her both from the cold wind and from curious eyes. He shifted her a little, so that she lay cradled in his left arm, held in an unyielding grip.
