Simon the Coldheart · Part II · Chapter 2 12 (2/2)

They were up betimes next morning, and rode on again in the calm weather that follows a storm. Shortly after eight they found themselves once more on the road that led to Vazincourt, and on inquiry of a peasant which was the way to Raoul’s hunting-lodge, were bidden to cut through the woods that flanked the road on one side, and to bear on to the southwest.

Picking their way, they pushed into the wood along the same path which Margaret and her companions had trodden the day before. Slowly they went, and carefully, for the low-hanging tree branches impeded their passage.

Suddenly Simon exclaimed, and reined in his horse. Startled, Geoffrey followed his gaze. By a clear stream lay a cloak, sodden with rain. Side by side he and Simon sped forward, and dismounted. Simon caught up the cloak, shaking it out. It was of a length to suit a boy, made of plain but rich stuff. Simon wheeled about, looking about him keenly.

“Ah!” Quickly he went forward to the bush through which Margaret and Ranaud had plunged when they raced to Jeanne’s rescue. “That was not done by the storm!” Simon said, and pointed to the broken branches. “Some large body forced its way through. Did they not say the red-beard was a giant?”

“Through! Through!” Geoffrey said hoarsely, and dived in.

Simon followed him, and they came upon the cutting at the end of which Raoul had captured Jeanne. With one accord the two men strode down it, and presently came to where Margaret’s dagger lay. Simon pounced upon it.

“There has been a struggle. See! Hoof marks!” He pointed to the trampled ground, and Geoffrey saw the muscles about his jaw stand out in anger. “Out on his hunt, belike, and found them. Two women. ’Twas good enough. By God, if harm has been done to either he will dearly rue the day! Come!”

“Simon, that devil with my Jeanne! My little, little Jeanne!” Geoffrey hurried after him, back to where their men waited.

Through the wood they went, and out on to the open. A rough track plainly showed the way to the palace, and they rode down it at a brisk canter.

“I command thee, Geoffrey, keep thy head! Raoul will give them up, but we are eight men to their hundreds, and we must go cautiously to work. I go as an envoy from King Henry. It should be simple.”

“If he has hurt Jeanne⁠—”

“If he hath discovered that the page is none other than Margaret of Belrémy, he will seek to sell her, methinks. He will not harm them, unless he is a fool.”

Geoffrey said nothing, but he compressed his lips in disbelief. Presently the palace came into view, and a few minutes later they halted before it. Simon turned to Walter of Santoy.

“Walter, Sir Geoffrey and I enter alone. Do you hold the horses here, in readiness. Stir not until I come. No danger awaits us, for I go as an envoy.” He dismounted and gave his horse into Walter’s care. Together he and Geoffrey went to the great door of the palace, and knocked upon it loudly.

A lackey opened it, but fell back when he saw the two armour-clad figures who stood there so menacingly.

Simon showed his warrant.

“I am Simon of Beauvallet, and I come with a message from King Henry to your master. Lead me to him, sirrah!”

“Lord Simon!” The man crossed himself. “My master is⁠—is⁠—occupied. I doubt⁠—”

“Knave!” thundered Simon. “Do ye deny the King’s messenger ingress? Lord Raoul knows that I come. Lead me to him!”

Too nervous and startled to reflect that his master had not warned his household of a messenger’s advent, the lackey ushered them in, and called forward the steward who thought it politic to placate this wrathful man in golden armour. Accordingly he backed before Simon, bowing low, and conducted him up the stairs to the room where Raoul sat, with his three prisoners. He flung wide the door and announced the Lord of Beauvallet in the name of King Henry of England.