Simon bent to pass his hand thoughtfully down his horse’s neck.
“What thinks he, sir? Can we hold against Hotspur?”
Fulk shot him a sidelong glance, and pursed his small mouth.
“Who shall say, Simon? It is said that Hotspur is fourteen hundred strong. And he hath Douglas with him, and Worcester, with Glyndourdy like to join him ere we can engage. Word is brought that he is little over a day’s march from here. We are a handful, and if help comes not we can but hold the town.”
“The while Glyndourdy joins him. H’m! Where lies the King this night?”
“I know not. If he comes before Hotspur all may be well. But …”
“What manner of man is this Henry of Bolingbroke?” asked Simon. “Is he one to allow another to forestall him?”
“Nay, by the Rood! Henry is a man, even as his son.”
“Then I doubt not he will be with us before Percy,” said Simon placidly. “Whate’er befall, it will be an interesting combat.”
“It is like to be bloody enough to satisfy even thy savage heart,” Fulk grunted. He shifted a little in his saddle. “Malvallet is here.”
“I know.”
“Hast seen him then? ’Tis not thy father, but his firstborn. Thy father lies sick of a fever.”
“Doth he so? I have spoken with Geoffrey of Malvallet. While ye were with his Highness.”
“Spoken with him?” Fulk turned to look at him. “What said he? Why didst thou accost him, pray?”
“I did not. I but looked, and my look misliked him. Wherefore he gave me warning that I should not again cross his path.”
Fulk laughed.
“That swift glance of thine, eh, Simon? So Malvallet called thee to book? And what dost thou think of him?”
“He seems a man,” Simon answered, and then relapsed into a silence which was not broken until they came back to their lodging.
A little after noon on the following day Simon sallied forth from his quarters and went afoot through the packed town towards the battlements. The streets were thronged with soldiers, both of high estate and low, so that Simon’s progress was necessarily slow. But at length he came to the battlements, on the east side of Shrewsbury, and entered into conversation with some of the men-at-arms stationed there. He was permitted, presently, to mount the battlements, and stood behind the parapet, looking out across the country. The breeze stirred his fair hair, and whipped his surcoat about his legs. He leaned his hands on the low wall; closely scanning the surrounding country. Thus he stood, motionless, until an officer came up to him.
“Well, young sir, and what seest thou?” he asked, rather amused.
“I do not know,” Simon answered. “Presently I will tell you.”
The officer shaded his eyes from the sun, looking out from under his hand to where Simon gazed.
“There is naught, Sir Sharp-Eyes. No sign of life of Hotspur or of our King. For the one God be praised, and for the other God pity us. Ye came with Montlice?”
“Ay.” Still Simon stared at the distant horizon, his eyes narrowed and keen.
The officer laughed at him.
“Do ye think to take my place in spying out the approach of men?” he inquired.
“Mine eyes are sharper than most,” Simon replied. “See yonder!” He stretched out his arm, pointing to the southeast.
The officer screwed up his face against the sun’s rays, blinking rapidly.
“What is it? I see naught.”
“Look more to the right. There, coming over the brow of the hill. Something moves. Do ye see it not?”
The man leaned forward, again shading his eyes.
“Naught,” he said uneasily. “Art sure, Sir Squire?”
Simon’s gaze did not waver.
“Ay, I am sure. Something is coming over yonder hill, for I can see movement, and ever and anon there is a glistening like a tiny star. That is the sun on armour.”
The officer turned to hail one of his men.
“Godfrey! Come hither! Ye have sharp eyes. What can ye see yonder?”
The archer stared at the faraway hills for a long time in silence.
“A clump of trees, my captain,” he ventured at last.
“Nay, not that. Coming over the brow, more to the right.”
“I see naught, sir. Ah!”
“Well, what?”
“Little enough, sir, or perhaps mine eyes deceived me. Methought I saw a twinkling. There again!”
Captain Lenoir turned again to Simon.
“Mayhap ye are right, sir. But I’ll sound no alarm till we see more plainly. If what ye see is indeed an army it is twenty miles distant, or more. If it is Hotspur, we—”
At last Simon turned.
“Hotspur? What folly is this? Hotspur will come from the north, from Chester. What I see is the King’s army.”
“It may be.” Paul Lenoir looked out again, and in a moment gave a start. “I saw a flash! Yet another!”
“Ye will see them more and more as the army comes over the hill,” Simon remarked.
Lenoir sat down upon the parapet.
“I would give something for thine eyes, sir. May I not know thy name? I am called Paul of Lenoir.”
“I am Simon of Beauvallet.” He too sat down on the parapet, and for a long time they stayed thus, saying little, but ever watching the twinkling line that was slowly growing. And at last Paul of Lenoir rose and gave orders for the trumpeters to blare forth the great news that the King’s army was approaching. Then Simon left him, and went back to his lord’s side.
The town was of a sudden in ferment, the streets more crowded than ever, some men cheering, others asking excited questions, others gloomily prophesying that it was Percy and not the King who had made a cunning detour in order to bewilder them. One and all rushed to the walls to verify the joyous tidings, and Simon’s progress was even slower than it had been before.
He came upon Fulk, who was conferring with his marshal, and would have passed him silently had not Fulk called after him.
“Ha, Simon! Where hast been? Is the King indeed approaching?”
Simon paused.
“Ay,
