Simon the Coldheart · Part I · Chapter 1 10 (2/2)

“To Simon, Lord of Beauvallet.

“Dear and entirely well-beloved, I greet thee well, and send messages of joy and congratulation on thy new good fortune. I do know thy land and like it well. May thou prosper exceedingly as thou deservest!

“My brother, I do write to urge thee that thou shouldst come hither with what force thou mayst muster to join again with the Prince in quelling that most naughty rebel, Owen de Glyndourdy, whose followers are rife in this ill-fated land. Despite the fair promises of His Majesty’s Council, made in August, saying that he should have men and provisions enough to march boldly out against the rebels, naught hath been forthcoming, and at this date at which I write our force numbers little over five score men-at-arms and twelve score archers. Now thou art thine own master wilt thou come not again to fight at my side as thou didst promise? Matters grow serious here in Wales, for thou must know that in December of last year fell Cardiff, and Harlech, and Llampadarn, our most cherished fortresses. The rebel Owen hath not been so great before, and indeed, if we are to conquer him we must set out against him, and that as soon as spring shall have come. And with the spring, come thou, my brother, and I will promise thee as goodly a battle as that of Shrewsbury which thou didst so much enjoy.

“I send thee my love and greetings.

Simon folded the parchment slowly.

“Wilt thou go?” Malvallet asked abruptly.

Simon seemed to consider. His eyes wandered to the window and stared out across the quiet fields. He brought them back to his father, and smiled.

“It seems likely, my lord,” he said.

He rode next day to Montlice to take counsel of Fulk. To my lord’s surprise Alan sprang up, vehement.

“If thou dost go, Simon, then so will I!” he exclaimed. “Too long have I rested at home! I will lead our men to Wales, and I too, will taste the joys of battle!”

When he had recovered from his amazement, Fulk scoffed.

“Little joy wilt thou find in battle.”

Alan turned sharply.

“If thou dost say me nay, my lord, then will I go in Simon’s train. Alone!”

“No need for such heat,” Fulk grunted. “Thou shalt go if thou dost wish it. When dost thou think to depart, Simon?”

“Next month, my lord, towards the end, so that I shall come to Wales in March.”

“And leave thy land masterless?”

“Nay. Maurice of Gountray shall rule in my stead.”

“As he ruled when Barminster died?” Fulk inquired with heavy sarcasm.

“I am not Barminster,” Simon said.