Simon the Younger went on his way, and Aymery with him, Aymery whose
face had lost some of its youthfulness and caught in its stead the
intensity of the life that stirred the passions of those about him. All
who had kept troth with Earl Simon after the Mise were men whose hearts
were in their cause, and who set their teeth the harder when the odds
grew greater against them day by day. Earl Simon’s spirit seemed like
light reflected from the faces of the stern, strong men who rallied to
him. De Montfort had no use for time-servers, or the half-hearted.
“Let them go,” he would say; “we want no rotten timber in our house.”
When Prince Henry, Richard of Cornwall’s son, sought the earl’s leave
not to bear arms against his father and his uncle, Simon bade him go,
and return in arms.
“For,” said he with scorn, “I would rather have a bold enemy, than a
cock that will crow on neither dunghill.”
Then Hugh de Bigot, and Henry de Percy left him, but Simon would not be
daunted.
“I, and my sons will stand for England, and the Charter,” he said. “I
will not go back from my purpose, though I sacrifice my blood, and the
blood of my children.”
Such was Simon the Earl when fate seemed against him, and such were the
men who gathered about him with grim and silent faces, and the
determination to go through to the end. Ardour and high purpose were
theirs those months. The Mise had purged the cause of slackness and mere
self-seeking. The people of England were to read the King a lesson that
was never to be forgotten by his masterful and more kingly son.
Some days after Simon the Younger had passed through Reigate, a party of
the King’s men came riding into the town. They were very insolent and
high-handed gentlemen who swore that Reigate was a nest of rebels
because the townsmen had lodged Young Simon and his following, and given
them food. None other than Gaillard commanded this company, Gaillard who
was furious over the news that a spy had brought him, the news that
Etoile had won young Simon as a lover. Gaillard spared neither tongue
nor fist in Reigate. These fat pigs of English should be bled in return
for the way De Montfort had trampled on Gascony.
Gaillard was never so happy as when he could tease and bully. He and his
men, who were mostly mercenaries from over the sea, took possession of
Reigate, and established themselves strongly there. They terrorised the
place, doing much as their passions pleased, taking all they needed, and
robbing even the churches. So many of them were drunk at night that had
the townsmen showed some enterprise, they could have risen and rid
themselves of the whole pack.
Old Fulcon had shut up his shop, and baked only such bread as he could
serve out secretly to his neighbours. But Gaillard soon heard of
Fulcon’s frowardness, and came riding down one morning to see such
impudence properly chastened. His men beat in the shutterflap of the
shop with their spear staves, and found Fulcon waiting sulkily within.
The baker had shut Ban up in an outhouse, knowing that the dog would
show fight, and have a sword thrust through him for his pains.
Gaillard’s men dragged Fulcon out into the street, and brought him
beside the Gascon’s horse.
“Hullo, you rogue, how is it that you bake no bread?”
“Because I have no sticks,” said Fulcon surlily.
“We will give you the stick, dog, unless you send us thirty loaves
daily.”
Fulcon shrugged his shoulders.
“I have no flour left,” he said, “and no fool will send flour into the
town,” and he grinned from ear to ear.
Gaillard cursed him.
“What, you goat, you horned scullion, are we to be starved! I will see
to it that you have flour and faggots. You shall bake us bread, you dog,
or we will bake you in your own oven.”
Denise was in her room when Gaillard’s men broke into Fulcon’s shop.
There was no window looking upon the street, and since Denise was no
coward and wished to see what was happening to Fulcon, she opened the
door and came out upon the stairway. As she stood there, two of
Gaillard’s men caught sight of her, and began to call to her from the
street.
“See there, the old dog has a pretty daughter.”
“Hallo, my dear, come down and be kissed.”
Gaillard himself turned his horse, and looked up at Denise. And Gaillard
knew her, and she, him.
Denise would have fled in and closed the door, but she seemed unable to
move, held there by Gaillard’s eyes. The man’s face had flushed at
first, but he covered a moment’s sheepishness with a smile like the
glitter of sunlight upon brass. Perhaps he saw how Denise shrank from
him, and for a woman to shrink from him made Gaillard the more insolent.
“Sweet saint,” said he, laughing and looking up at her, “what do we
here? Have we grown tired of the beech wood, and Gaffer Aymery, and the
Sussex pigs?”
Denise closed her eyes, and stood holding the hand-rail of the stair.
She heard Gaillard laugh, and the sound of his horse trampling the
flints of the street. When she opened her eyes, he was still there below
her. And the sight of the man filled her with such sickness and loathing
that she turned her head away as she would have turned her head from
some brutal deed.
“Courage, Sanctissima,” said he, “only ugly women have no friends.
Master Flour and Faggots shall be treated gently for your sake. Speak
for me in your prayers.”
And he called his men about him, and rode away up the street.
Denise went into her room, and barred the door, and sitting down on the
bed, looked with blank eyes at the walls of the room. A sense of utter
helplessness possessed her, so that she could neither pray nor think.
So great was her loathing of the man, so poignant her repulsion, that
she fell into a fever of unrest that night, and could not sleep because
of Gaillard. Denise knew how much pity to expect from a man of
Gaillard’s nature; bolts and bars would not avail in the town if the
Gascon’s whim sought her out. She felt driven out again into the world,
to hide herself, to escape from the very thought of the touch of
Gaillard’s hands.
By dawn Denise had made up her mind. She would slip out of the town, and
throw herself once more into the unknown. Life had so little promise for
her, nor was it in her heart to turn nun after what had passed. She was
ready to work as a servant for the sake of a home.
Denise was not destined to leave Reigate town that day, for Fulcon came
climbing up the stairs soon after dawn, and knocked softly at her door.
He had been at work that night, perforce, baking bread for Gaillard’s
men, but Fulcon had heard news, news that made him grunt exultingly as
he laboured.
“Child,” he said, “come down into the garden. I have a word for you.”
Denise unbarred her door, and followed Fulcon down the stair. He saw
that she was fully dressed, but he said nothing, for Fulcon made a habit
of sleeping in his clothes.
When they had gained the garden the baker shook his fist at some
invisible figure, but looked very sly and cheerful.
“The Gascon dog, the bully, the thief! They are coming with whips to
whip him out of the town.”
He went close to Denise, and touched her on the bosom with a thick
forefinger.
“Sweeting, I was afraid last night because of that hot-eyed wolf. But
last night we had news, we English pigs. Tell me now, can you hear a
bell ringing?”
Denise could not.
“No, child, it is Paul’s Bell in London City. They are up, the men of
London, and have flung the Frenchman’s judgment back into his face.
‘King stands by King, and cobbler by cobbler. No Mise for us, but the
sword of Earl Simon.’ Bold lads, let them shout that! London City has
risen. Hear the wasps humming. They are on the wing everywhere, stinging
fire into Richard the Roman’s manors.”
Denise had never seen the little brown man so excited before. His
taciturnity had become voluble. Dog Ban, sympathetic cur, set up a
militant barking.
“This pig of a Gascon knows nothing. We were sick of his wallowings, and
we sent out our messengers. To-night the men of London will be here. The
Gascon and his fools will be full of mead and wine. We shall open a
gate. Then let these foreign dogs die in the gutter.”
So Denise said nothing to Fulcon of her intended flight, but chose to
bide her time on the chance that Gaillard would be driven out of
Reigate. She had found a refuge in the town, and she loved dog Ban, and
trusted Fulcon. Where else could she find a surer shelter?