Denise’s eyes met the eyes of the woman who rode at young De Montfort’s side. And in that look the shame of the near past leapt up into Denise’s face, for the lady in the cloak of sables was the woman who had ridden with Gaillard and Peter of Savoy the day they dragged Aymery from her cell. Etoile’s black eyes had flashed as they stared at Denise’s face. She also had not forgotten. And once again she looked down upon Denise, and mocked her with lifted chin, and laughing mouth. The street had cleared, and Simon and Etoile went riding on together, with spear and shield following along the narrow street. Denise had drawn back into the shadow of the shop, her face still hot with Etoile’s sneer. Her shame seemed to have been flung at her like a torch out of the darkness. Denise felt as though it had scorched her flesh. And while she hid herself there, Aymery rode by among young Simon’s gentlemen, but Denise neither saw him, nor he her. Soon Fulcon came back panting, having pushed his way through the crowd in the street. He blessed God and Denise when he saw his bread untouched. “Five score loaves for Simon’s men,” he said gloating. “I had the order yonder up at the Cross. Simon is a lord who pays.” Fulcon was very happy, but Denise went to her room above, sorrowful and sad at heart. The peace seemed to have gone suddenly from the place. Aymery, who had passed so near to her for whom he would have pledged his spurs, served as knight of the guard that evening at De Montfort’s lodging. Young Simon and Dame Etoile were very merry together, drinking and laughing into each other’s eyes. Aymery distrusted the woman, and feared her power over the earl’s son. It always seemed to him that he had seen her face before that night in Southwark, but where, for the life of him, he could not remember. And as he kept guard in Reigate town that night, he thought of Denise, and of that dolorous thing that had befallen her. The shame of it had not driven her out of Aymery’s heart. Little did he guess that he had been so near to her that day. CHAPTER XXV 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.