One rode hot-haste through Cambridge, early in the month, and came to Montlice, covered with dust, dropping with fatigue, upon a jaded horse whose sides were flecked with foam, and whose slender legs trembled when at last he was checked before the bridge of the castle of Montlice.
“In the King’s Name!” he cried to those who would have questioned him, and passed over the bridge and up the winding path to the castle at a stumbling trot. At the great door he was met by Simon, coming forth to target practice. “In the King’s Name!” he said again, and slipped wearily to the ground. “My lord the Earl is within, young sir?”
“Ay.” Simon beckoned to one of the guards who came to the tired horse’s head. “Take yon beast to the stables, William, and see to it that he is well cared for. Come within, sir.” He led the King’s Messenger through the great, central hall where the scullions were clearing away the remains of dinner, to the room where he himself had first come to Fulk. The same leathern curtain hung across the doorway, and Simon pulled it back, stepping aside for the Messenger to enter.
“My lord,” he said calmly, “one comes from the King.” Then, seeing the man safely within, he let fall the curtain and went out again to his target practice.
When at length he returned he found the Messenger departed and Fulk roaring for his squire. Even before he had set foot across the threshold of the castle he could hear his lord bellowing his name from the hall. He went in unhurriedly, and found that Fulk was standing at the foot of the winding stairway, vainly calling him. Alan sat in a great chair by the empty fireplace, and Simon saw at once that he was perturbed and a little nervous.
“You called, my lord?” Simon said, walking forward across the stone floor.
Fulk wheeled about.
“So thou art here! And where hast been, cub? I have shouted myself hoarse, thou hapless fool!”
Simon propped his bow up against the wall.
“I have been shooting without, sir. What is your pleasure?”
“Shooting without, forsooth!” roared Fulk. Then of a sudden his wrath died down. “Well, well, we shall have need of it belike. Come thou hither, Simon lad.”
Simon came to the table, and Fulk handed him a sheet of parchment. Simon read it through slowly, the while my lord puffed and blew, and stamped his feet, for all the world like some curbed-in battle-horse.
“Well,” Simon said at last. “So we go to war.” He gave the King’s writ back to Fulk and frowned. “We can make ready in the space of three days,” he added tranquilly.
Fulk laughed, stuffing the parchment into his belt.
“Thou cold little fish! Is it nothing that the King has sent for me to join him at Shrewsbury?”
“Nay, it is a great thing,” answered Simon, “but I shall not be in a heat because of it. That is foolish.”
“Holy Virgin, why?” demanded Fulk.
“There will be more done, and that expeditiously, if a head is kept firm upon one’s shoulders.”
“Wise boy!” Fulk shook with laughter. “Eh, but one would think thou hadst been in a dozen campaigns! Sit thee down, my Simon, that I may confer with thee. See our Alan there. The lad’s in a ferment! Never fret, Alan, I’ll not take thee along with me.”
Alan flushed at the taunt.
“Indeed, sir, and that is my place! Dost say I shall not ride forth with thee?” he cried.
“A pretty captain wouldst thou make!” jeered Fulk. “Paling at every sound, weary ere ever the day is begun! Thou’lt stay with the womenfolk. ’Twill be more to thy taste, methinks.”
Up sprang Alan in a rage.
“It is not to be borne!” he cried. “I have as much courage as thou, and I say it is my right to go with thee!”
“And I say thou art a very babe,” Fulk replied. “It is Simon I will take.” Then as Alan looked as though he would fly at him, he spoke more gently, pleased at his son’s fury. “Nay, nay, Alan, calm thyself. I did not mean to taunt thee. Art too young for a hard campaign, but shalt rule here in my stead.”
“I tell thee—”
Fulk brought his fist down on the table so that the boards almost cracked beneath it.
“Hold thy tongue! What I have said I have said. Sit thee down again!”
Alan went sulkily to his chair and sank into it. Satisfied that he was silenced for the time, Fulk turned to Simon.
“Look you, Simon, there are six score men-at-arms I can muster, and eight score archers, under Francis of Dalley. There is John the Marshal, and Vincent, my captain. No puny force that, lad! And thou shalt ride with me and taste the joys of war. Does the prospect please thee?”
“Very well,” Simon said, with the glimmer of a smile. “Which way do we go?”
For over an hour they discussed the various routes, until Alan began to yawn and fidget.
“It is through Northampton and Warwick I will go!” declared Fulk obstinately.
“And thereby waste time,” said Simon. “It is through Lutterworth and Tamworth, or Lichfield, we must go.”
“I say I will not! Who can tell in what state are the roads that way, foolish boy?”
“The Messenger came through Lichfield, sir,” remarked Alan languidly. “He made no complaint.”
“Well, I will think on it,” growled Fulk. “Hotspur is marching towards Chester, so we must e’en take the speediest road.” He
