“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.”