“Jeanne? Methought—ah, he is safe?” She struggled up, staring about her.
Jeanne pressed her back on to the cushions.
“Yes, chérie, quite safe. He brought thee here. Mignonne, mignonne, I would not lie to thee!”
The strained muscles relaxed. Margaret lay still, eyes closed. Presently she opened them, and looked wistfully up at her lady.
“I—I am mad, Jeanne,” she said, and her lips quivered. “I—do not—really—care—whether he—is alive—or dead! I—my head—is reeling! Jeanne! I—I am—weeping! What—comes to me?”
“Love, chérie,” Jeanne whispered, and kissed her softly.
XVII
How He Left Belrémy, and How the Lady Margaret Dealt with Her Cousin
Geoffrey burst in upon him, Alan following languidly at his heels.
“Simon, what is this I hear?” Geoffrey demanded. “Is it true that one sought to slay thee?”
“Ay.” Simon smiled a little. “A creature in the Chevalier’s pay.” He nodded to Alan. “Thou wert right, O sage!”
“Of course I was right,” Alan said placidly. “What wilt thou do now?”
“I go to Bayeux.”
“Ay, but what of thy would-be assassin?” Geoffrey cried.
“Naught. I know not who he was, and I have no proof. Once I am gone the Chevalier will be happy enough.”
Geoffrey was dissatisfied.
“I would clap him up!”
“I have not the power. He would deny the charge, and the Lady Margaret rules here now.”
“Simon, it is not like thee to be magnanimous!” Geoffrey exclaimed. “What ails thee?”
“God knows. The Chevalier is too little for my vengeance, I think. I can punish him best by ignoring him. But when I am gone, do thou have a care, Geoffrey.”
“I mislike the task of ruling this land,” Geoffrey grumbled. “Leave Huntingdon, and take me with thee.”
“He is too young. And thou wilt be content enough with thy Jeanne. She would never forgive me an I wrested thee from her now.”
“What is that to thee?” Geoffrey stated. “Thou art changed indeed, Simon!”
Simon shrugged.
“Maybe,” he said, and then was silent for a long time.
Later, Ranaud came to him, recovered now, and in high spirits. Simon received him unemotionally, but Ranaud tried to kiss his hand.
“Ah, lord, it was well done! I would it had been my hand that had slain the toad. By the Virgin, your grip was of iron on his fat neck!”
Simon smiled a little.
“Ye did well, Ranaud, though I slew Raoul. Art a brave man, methinks. What want ye of me?”
Ranaud smote his thigh.
“Thought I to myself, by God, this is a fit master for me! So please you, sir, I’ll join your guards, or your archers. I have some training with a crossbow.”
Simon looked him over for a moment, and then nodded abruptly.
“If I am the master for thee, thou art the man for me, yet the Lady Countess doth command your loyalty.”
“I am Ranaud, and I serve whom I please,” the giant answered. “But it seems to me that the day is not far distant when I shall call ye both master, and own not two neither.”
“That is as maybe,” Simon said coldly, and drew pen and parchment forward to enrol Ranaud.
On the day of his departure he went to the Lady Margaret’s bower where she reclined on a couch, pale and listless. He was clad in his armour, and at the sight of it her lips quivered.
“I come to bid thee farewell, Margot,” he said quietly.
She rose, gazing at him.
“You—you are going—to Bayeux?”
“Ay. Thou art rid of me at last.”
She winced at that, and her eyes filled with tears.
“You—return—not?”
“If God wills, I shall return. But if so be I fall in battle, think this of me, Margot, that if ever I harmed thee, or hurt thee, at least it was not of mine own desire. And remember also that I did love thee very dearly.” He went down on his knee, most unexpectedly, and kissed her cold hand. “Plague not Malvallet,” he said humorously. “He is no match for thy fierceness.”
She smiled wanly.
“I have submitted.”
“Ay.” He rose and looked at her for a moment. “Farewell, Margot.”
“Fare—well—” The whisper just reached him. He turned and went to the door.
The weights that held Margaret to the floor seemed to fall away. She stumbled forward, hands outstretched.
“Ah, thou wilt come back? Thou wilt!”
He caught her in his arms.
“I will come back. But when I come it will be to lead thee to the altar, if I am alive still.” He bent his head and kissed her long and passionately, and although she did not return his kiss, she was passive under it. The next moment he had released her, and was gone through the door, away.
The Lady Margaret fell on her knees beside the table, clinging to it, while hard, dry sobs shook her. How long she remained there she did not know, but presently came the noise of horses’ hoofs without, and the sound of voices. She pulled herself up, and dragged her feet to the window, kneeling on the high bench below it. Dry-eyed, she watched Simon clasp Geoffrey’s hand in farewell, and kneel to receive Fulk’s blessing. Then she saw him mount his horse, and ride towards the drawbridge, in the midst of his men. Once he looked up at her window and seeing her there, raised his mailed hand in salute. Then he was gone, and the clattering of the horses’ hoofs died away in the distance.
Jeanne entered softly, and came to her mistress, passing an arm about her waist. So they stood for a time, silent, until Margaret disengaged herself. Her voice was calm, now, and cold.
“Jeanne, bid them fetch my cousin and his father.”
“Yes, chérie. What will you do?”
“Fetch them, Jeanne,” Margaret repeated gently.
When the Chevalier and her uncle came in they found Margaret seated in a high-backed chair by the table, her hands folded in her lap, her stately head held high.
The Sire de Galledemaine bowed to her.
“You desired our presence, madame?”
“Yes, my uncle. I desire that ye shall hear what I have to say to your son.”
The Sire looked surprised, glanced inquiringly at the Chevalier.
“Is it possible, madame,
