Read "Simon the Coldheart" by Georgette Heyer online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
From page to Alan, he became page to my lord himself, and was decked out in Montlice red and gold. Very brave he looked in the short red tunic worked with gold and caught in at the waist by a leathern belt. His hose were gold, his shoon red, and red was the cap that sat a thought rakishly on his fair head. His duties were many and arduous, nor did my lord spare him any fatigue or exertion. He slept on a hard pallet across Fulk's threshold, rose early and went late to bed. It was part of his duty to wait upon my lord and his lady at dinner, and every morning at ten Simon took his stand on the dais beside my lord's chair, attending to his wants or standing immobile the while my lord and his guests ate and drank their fill. He was at three people's beck and call: my lord, his lady, and young Alan, and he spent his time running from one to the other.
He grew apace in height and breadth and strength until there were few who could throw him in a wrestling match; few who could shoot an arrow farther or more precisely, be it at butt, prick or rover; and few who could stand beneath his mighty buffet. Yet for the most part he was gentle enough, if stern, and it was only when his cold anger was aroused that the caged lion within him sprang to life and swept all before it. And when that happened there came that light to his eyes which could make the hardiest evildoer cringe and the most arrogant squire cry mercy, even before Simon's iron hands had touched him.