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Page 206
The only thing Simon could think of was that Geoffrey was dying. He would listen to nothing, impatiently dismissing Richard's warnings that it might be a trap and ignoring his efforts to discover who the messenger was so he would be more secure as to Simon's safety. Simon could barely wait for his destrier to be saddled, flinging himself onto his mount and clattering across the drawbridge before it was properly down so that Ymlladd had to jump at the end. He was so frantic that he never noticed the expression on Tostig's facethe fact that Tostig had come confirmed Simon's conviction of disaster.
"Where is he?" Simon cried.
"In his tent, my lord."
"Quick, then, quick."
Tostig was well acquainted with Sir Simon and quite accustomed to his fits and starts. He regularly thanked God that he had been placed in the service of a man such as Lord Geoffrey, who was not given to sudden lunacies. However, if Sir Simon said "quick," it was not Tostig's place to dispute. Indeed, he would be in danger of a broken head if he did. Therefore, he obeyed Simon I's order, wheeling his horse and clapping heels to its ribs with enough force to set it off at a gallop. This action, naturally enough, further increased Simon's fear that Geoffrey was at his last gasp.
It was thus a considerable shock to Simon, who arrived quite frantic and with his eyes half-blinded by tears, to find Geoffrey sitting at ease, with his feet up, comfortably sipping a cup of wine. He let out a bellow of mingled joy and rage that startled Geoffrey into dropping his cup and leaping to his feet with his hand on his sword.
I will kill him," Simon roared, looking over his shoulder.
"Who? Who?" Geoffrey cried, drawing his own sword and limping forward, fearing that insult or treachery had been offered.

 
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