The Grail Quest Books 1-3: Harlequin, Vagabond, Heretic by Bernard Cornwell Page B

to surrender the town, but the Earl listened politely enough. Then a lawyer, a weasel-snouted fellow called Belas, bowed to the Earl and declaimed a long moan about the treatment offered to the Countess of Armorica. Thomas had been letting the words slide past him, but the insistence in Belas's voice made him take notice.
    'If your lordship,' Belas said, smirking at the Earl, 'had not intervened, then the Countess would have been raped by Sir Simon Jekyll.'
    Sir Simon stood to one side of the hall. 'That is a lie!' he protested in French.
    The Earl sighed. 'So why were your breeches round your ankles when I came into the house?'
    Sir Simon reddened as the men in the hall laughed. Thomas had to translate for Will Skeat, who nodded, for he had already heard the tale.
    'The bastard was about to roger some titled widow,' he explained to Thomas, 'when the Earl came in. Heard her scream, see? And he'd seen a coat of arms on the house. The aristocracy look after each other.'
    The lawyer now laid a long list of charges against Sir Simon. It seemed he was claiming the widow and her son as prisoners who must be held for ransom. He had also stolen the widow's two ships, her husband's armour, his sword and all the Countess's money. Belas made the complaints indignantly, then bowed to the Earl. 'You have a reputation as a just man, my lord,' he said obsequiously, 'and I place the widow's fate in your hands.'
    The Earl of Northampton looked surprised to be told his reputation for fairness. 'What is it you want?' he asked.
    Belas preened. 'The return of the stolen items, my lord, and the protection of the King of England for a widow and her noble son.'
    The Earl drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, then frowned at Sir Simon. 'You can't ransom a three-year-old,' he said.
    'He's a count!' Sir Simon protested. 'A boy of rank!'
    The Earl sighed. Sir Simon, he had come to realize, had a mind as simple as a bullock seeking food. He could see no point of view but his own and was single-minded about pursuing his appetites. That, perhaps, was why he was such a formidable soldier, but he was still a fool. 'We do not hold three-year-old children to ransom,' the Earl said firmly, 'and we don't hold women as prisoners, not unless there is an advantage which outweighs the courtesy, and I see no advantage here.' The Earl turned to the clerks behind his chair. 'Who did Armorica support?'
    'Charles of Blois, my lord,' one of the clerks, a tall Breton cleric, answered.
    'Is it a rich fief?'
    'Very small, my lord,' the clerk, whose nose was running, spoke from memory. 'There is a holding in Finisterre which is already in our hands, some houses in Guingamp, I believe, but nothing else.'
    'There,' the Earl said, turning back to Sir Simon. 'What advantages will we make from a penniless three-year-old?'
    'Not penniless,' Sir Simon protested. 'I took a rich armour there.'
    'Which the boy's father doubtless took in battle!'
    'And the house is wealthy.' Sir Simon was getting angry. 'There are ships, storehouses, stables.'
    'The house,' the clerk sounded bored, 'belonged to the Count's father-in-law. A dealer in wine, I believe.'
    The Earl raised a quizzical eyebrow at Sir Simon, who was shaking his head at the clerk's obstinacy. 'The boy, my lord,' Sir Simon responded with an elaborate courtesy which bordered on insolence, 'is kin to Charles of Blois.'
    'But being penniless,' the Earl said, 'I doubt he provokes fondness. More of a burden, wouldn't you think? Besides, what would you have me do? Make the child give fealty to the real Duke of Brittany? The real Duke, Sir Simon, is a five-year-old child in London. It'll be a nursery farce! A three-year-old bobbing down to a five-year-old! Do their wet nurses attend them? Shall we feast on milk and penny-cakes after? Or maybe we can enjoy a game of hunt the slipper when the ceremony is over?'
    'The Countess fought us from the walls!' Sir Simon attempted a last protest.
    'Do not dispute me!' the Earl shouted,