Georgette Heyer (8 page)

‘And the documents?’ Henry said at last.

Simon presented them, and waited in silence while the King and the Duke slit them open one after the other and perused them. The Duke muttered angrily as he read, and once or twice his eyes flashed, and he thumped his fist on his knee, but Henry read on calmly and almost detachedly. When he had come to the end he struck a small gong that stood on the table at his elbow, and on his secretary’s coming, ordered him quietly to bring the papers captured in Scotland in December. These were fetched, and the King compared them with those Simon had brought, the Duke of York looking over his shoulder.

Presently Henry looked up and at Simon. His sunken eyes rested on him kindly for a moment before he spoke.

‘Ye have done well, Sir Simon. Of how great an import these papers are, or what people this Serle has cozened to his side, we do not know. That we will find from the messenger. At all events it is a cunning plot, for I could not myself tell this seal from that of the late King, and the signatures do indeed bear a resemblance to his hand. The common folk might naturally be deluded into thinking Richard alive. How the gentle-people have received the false news we cannot know as yet.’

‘No man of culture, of education, could believe so empty a tale,’ the Duke said hotly.

‘Oh, I find that the nobles believe in most empty tales, if they are like to bring them greater wealth, or greater rank!’ Henry said tranquilly. ‘Have you, Sir Simon, heard talk of the late King?’

‘Vague rumours I have heard, sire,’ Simon answered. ‘Also talk of certain gold and silver hearts which King Richard was wont to give his knights, and which are now seen in Essex. I gave the rumours no credit, sir, thinking them but peasants’ tales, but it now seems to me that they are the fruits of this plot.’

‘Perhaps,’ Henry said. He gave a short, half-stifled sigh. ‘I suppose there will be plots until my death – and after.’ He glanced up at Simon. ‘King Richard is indeed dead,’ he said.

‘I never doubted it, sire,’ Simon replied. ‘But he will come to life many times yet.’

The Duke laughed a little at that, and even the King smiled.

‘Ay, that is so. Where lies this messenger from Serle?’

‘At Saltpetres, my liege, in the tavern of the Ox. Six men guard him under one Gregory for whom I will vouch.’

‘He must be conducted hither,’ Henry said. ‘We will send to fetch him. Ye had best write to this Gregory, commanding him, lest he refuse to give up the prisoner without word from you.’ Again he struck the gong. Simon noted that although his movements were languid, and his voice so gentle and tired, he went expeditiously about his business, and was not one to put off till tomorrow what might well be done today. When the secretary came he spoke without turning his head. ‘Bring writing materials.’ As soon as his command had been obeyed, he nodded to Simon. ‘Will you write now, Sir Simon?’

Simon went to the table, and seating himself at it, drew the parchment sheet towards him. Henry watched him, liking the decisive way in which he set about his task and the entire lack of hesitation in choosing his words that he displayed.

‘To Gregory Arnold of Saint Dormans,’
Simon wrote.

‘Deliver your prisoner unto the King’s men who shall come for him bearing this my command, and repair at once to Montlice as I bade you.

‘Simon of Beauvallet.

‘Written at Westminster.’

He sprinkled sand over the sheet to dry the ink, then, shaking it off, rose and gave his note to the King.

Henry read it, and smiled.

‘I think ye are a man of action, Sir Simon,’ he said, ‘not of letters.’

Simon smiled, too, and bowed.

‘I trust that this is so, my liege.’

Henry laid his parchment down.

‘Until the prisoner is brought safe to London, that is all, sir. It is our pleasure that ye remain with my Lord of Granmere until we send for you. We have to thank you again for your care of our person and our realm.’ He struck the gong twice, and this time a page came who conducted Simon out.

How King Henry thanked him

There followed a fortnight of forced inactivity for Simon, but although he could do nothing further concerning the plot, he was not altogether idle. Much time he spent in exploring the city, and my Lord of Granmere contrived to keep him occupied by inviting many guests to his house, to all of whom he presented Simon. And if some of these gentlemen did not like the silent, direct young man whom they met, at least they were not in danger of easily forgetting his strangely forceful personality.

It did not occur to Simon that he might write to his lord at Montlice, assuring him of his well-being, and when Granmere offered to send a messenger with any letter that he might wish to send, he was rather surprised, and refused the offer.

‘But mayhap my cousin Fulk is worried at thy long absence!’ Granmere pointed out.

‘That is not very likely,’ Simon said.

‘He may think thee dead, or lost!’

Simon smiled a little.

‘He knows me too well to think that, my lord.’

Granmere waved his hands.

‘But at least write him that thou hast arrived in London!’

‘That he knows.’

‘That thou hast seen the King!’

‘That also doth he know.’

Granmere looked at him hopelessly.

‘My good boy, how can he know?’

Simon smiled again, sweetly.

‘Because he doth know me, my lord. What I set out to do, I do.’

Granmere sat down.

‘One cannot always be sure of success, Simon.’

Simon looked inscrutable.

‘Why, boy, surely thou dost know that!’

‘No, my lord, that is what I will not know.’

My lord laughed at him, but he leaned forward, interested.

‘Simon, suppose that thou didst engage on an impossible emprise – something in which thou couldst not succeed?’

‘That were the action of a fool, my lord, and I do not think I am one.’

‘Nor I!’ Granmere laughed again. ‘Thou wouldst never set out to do the impossible?’

Simon reflected.

‘Nay, I think not, sir. Yet I believe that there is a very little that is impossible. There is always a way.’

‘So if ye find not that way, ye will let be? Suppose that thy greatest friend lay imprisoned, and it was seemingly impossible to rescue him, because thou hadst discovered no way? Would ye then let be?’

Simon thought it out carefully.

‘Ay, my lord. But I think that I should find a way,’ he said gravely.

Granmere looked him over.

‘By God, I believe that thou wouldst!’ he said.

At the end of the fortnight came a second summons from the King, and in obedience Simon presented himself at the Palace early one morning. As before, he was conducted to the King’s closet, but this time he found some six or seven gentlemen of the Council there beside the King. Henry gave him his hand to kiss.

‘We do rejoice to see you again, Sir Simon. Methinks some apology we do owe you for the long days ye have been kept waiting.’

Simon rose from his knees.

‘If during these days, sire, information has been yielded, then are they not wasted,’ he said in his deep, deliberate voice.

One of the gentlemen seated about the long table, smiled. Henry saw it, and the smile was reflected in his eyes.

‘Ye speak sooth, Sir Simon, and that is better than a courtier’s soft, flattering answer.’ His glance flickered a shade reprovingly to the gentleman who had smiled. ‘Will ye not be seated, sir?’

Simon thanked him, and sat down in a vacant chair. Henry folded his hands in his sleeves.

‘Ye will like to know, Sir Simon, that full inquiry has been made into this matter of Serle’s plot, and much has been discovered. The messenger whom ye waylaid came safely to London, but methinks he was something stiff of limb, and sore in every part of his worthless carcase.’ He looked quizzically at Simon as he said this, and Simon gave his short laugh.

‘That is possible, my liege.’

Henry ran his eyes down Simon’s large, muscular person.

‘I think it was inevitable, sir,’ he said solemnly. ‘But that is not what we would say. This man has been put to the question, and he disclosed all that he knew. I will not weary you with the details of this traitorous affair, but it will interest you to know that the tale of Richard’s living still has gained the seeming credence of many of my unfaithful nobles in the eastern counties, and even so far indeed as your Cambridge. Thus your vigilance and your promptitude have not been for little cause. Rather they are of great service and import to the realm, for because that ye have brought the news of this plot thus early to our ears, we are enabled to deal with it at once, and to crush the seeds of rebellion ere they have had time to sprout and multiply.’ The gentle voice paused, then, as Simon said nothing: ‘This is not a little thing to have done, Sir Simon,’ Henry said.

There was silence for a moment. Simon looked up.

‘The deed itself was little, sire, and easy. It is only the fruits of the deed that are great. To me is small honour due, for by chance alone did I discover the plot, without toil, and without intent.’

‘Some of the greatest issues in the history of this world have had birth from Chance,’ Henry answered, ‘yet to him whom the finger of Chance guided to the vital spot has honour ever been due.’

Simon did not answer. He hoped that Henry would continue to talk, for the soft voice pleased him, and he was interested in what the King had to say.

Henry resumed after another pause.

‘I see, Sir Simon, that ye do think your share in this matter but trifling, since it was not done with pain and travail, and of intent. But a measure of intent there was, for having discovered this plot what easier than to take no action, or to send the messenger on his way with those documents?’

Simon’s eyes narrowed.

‘That were treachery, sire, or indolence and lack of care for your Majesty’s person and the safety of the realm.’

Henry slid one hand along the arm of his chair.

‘It were indeed so, Sir Simon. None of these faults was yours.’

‘Nay.’

‘Rather was zeal yours, and loyalty, and firmness of purpose. It was not chance alone which brought you safe to London, and which has brought your prisoner, too. It was determination brought you, sir, and strength both of body and mind which kept you safe from robbers, and brought you thus surely to my presence. Ye frown. Is it not as I say?’

‘It is true that mine own wit and strength brought
me
here, sire,’ Simon said, who had no false modesty: ‘But it was your Majesty’s men who brought my prisoner.’

Henry’s lips quivered. Two or three of the gentlemen of the Council chuckled a little.

‘That is so,’ Henry agreed, ‘but by whose contriving was the prisoner safely delivered into their hands?’

‘By my lieutenant Gregory’s contriving, sire,’ Simon answered seriously.

Henry bent his brows upon him, but his eyes twinkled.

‘Sir Simon of Beauvallet, are ye determined to foil me at every turn?’

‘Nay, my liege,’ Simon said. ‘But it seems that your Majesty would give honour to me where it is due unto another.’

‘Under whose orders acted this Gregory?’ Henry asked.

‘Under mine, sire.’

‘Then ye will agree, Sir Simon, that his part was but to obey, asking no questions.’

‘Ay, that is so, my liege.’

Henry nodded.

‘Will ye also agree, sir, that honour is due to him whose brain planned the whole emprise so well that it was carried through with no hitch or stoppage?’

Simon considered this.

‘It seems just, sire.’

‘It is just,’ Henry assured him. ‘I sent for you hither that I might reward you for your services, but it hath taken me all this while to convince you that ye are deserving of a reward. Nor am I sure that I have done it even now. Are you convinced, Sir Simon?’

Simon smiled.

‘Your Majesty’s reasoning is so full of wit that it were insolent of me to dispute your judgment. And indeed as your Majesty has put the matter, it seems reasonable enough. Yet it was in all truth a very little thing that I did, sire.’

‘Sir Simon, are you content to let me judge of the magnitude of the service ye have rendered me?’

Simon’s rare humour peeped out.

‘Ay, my liege, since that promises to be more to my advantage.’

‘And to your advancement,’ Henry said in amusement. ‘Tell me, Sir Simon, what may I do for you? Is there something that ye desire, and that I can give you? Advancement in rank? Gold? Land? Tell me!’

Simon rose to his feet, swiftly turning a certain cherished project round in his mind. He looked down at Henry, hardly knowing that he did so, and Henry saw his eyes keen and shrewd, and knew that something was he weighing in his brain. He leaned back in his chair, waiting.

After a short pause Simon spoke.

‘My lord the King, one thing is there that I desire.’

‘If it be within my power to give it you, it is yours.’

‘It is in your power, sire, but it may not be pleasing to your Majesty to accord it me.’

‘What is it?’ Henry asked. ‘It would not have been pleasing to me to have had a rebellion thrumming about my ears.’

‘Sire, in Cambridge, to the south and east of Montlice, is a fair barony of little size, but, as I judge, of passing great wealth. It is named Fair Pastures, and it was once the property of one John of Barminster, who joined with Percy against your Majesty, and was fitly hanged for his pains. The land is confiscate unto the Crown, sire, but your Majesty has neither set one to rule over it in your name, nor given it to some noble about your person. It is in disorder now, and the serfs are masterless, while lawless men ravage the place. Give this land to me, sire, and I will bring law and order into it, and hold it as mine own, myself owning allegiance to you!’

‘It seems not much to ask,’ Henry said slowly. He looked at one of his Council. ‘What know ye of this place?’

‘I remember it, sire. It is as Sir Simon says, not large, but fertile. Naught has been done with it as yet.’

Henry brought his eyes back to Simon.

‘Is this indeed your desire? There are larger, more orderly lands I might bestow on you.’

‘Nay, sire, I need them not. It is this barony I desire.’

‘Why?’

‘There are several reasons, sire, but the greatest of all is that its name is very like to mine.’

‘Fair Pastures – Beau Vallet. Ay, that is a good omen. Ye shall have that land, Sir Simon, and ye shall call it Beauvallet and be yourself Lord of Beauvallet. The deed of gift shall be sent to you at Granmere Hall, and ye shall subdue your turbulent subjects. Can ye do that, I wonder?’

Simon smiled grimly.

‘I can do that, sire.’

(‘I make no doubt he can!’ whispered one of the Council to his neighbour.)

‘Then the land is yours, and I have paid my debt to you. Ye shall not wait long for my mandate, I promise.’ He held out his hand, and Simon knelt.

‘I do thank you, sire,’ he said sincerely.

‘Nay, ’tis I thank you,’ Henry answered. ‘I need have little fear of risings near Beauvallet now. This gift is to mine own advantage, for ye will hold the peace under me in your barony. May you prosper, my Lord of Beauvallet.’

When Simon told Charles of Granmere what had befallen him, Granmere clapped him heartily upon the back, delighted at his protégé’s good fortune.

‘Why, it is excellent, Simon! The King must have conceived as great a liking for thee as have I!’

‘Have you a liking for me?’ inquired Simon, rather taken aback.

‘That have I! Have I been so cold in my bearing that thou shouldst doubt it?’

‘Nay, but kindness may mean naught. It is curious how many people call me friend, who call friend so few.’

‘Well, I do trust I merit that title,’ Granmere said.

‘Oh, yes,’ Simon answered. ‘Thou and my half-brother, Geoffrey of Malvallet, and my Lord of Montlice. Alan, too, I suppose, although he would rather be my slave.’

‘Thou hast not many,’ Granmere commented.

‘Nay, for I can find few whom I desire to call friend.’

‘Yet you count my cousin amongst these few? He is not most men’s choice.’

‘My Lord Fulk and I have dwelt amicably enough together for three years and more. Were there not friendship between us we had not done that.’

‘I do not think so indeed!’ Granmere said, and laughed. ‘What will he have to say concerning thy sudden elevation?’

‘He is like to say much,’ Simon answered placidly. ‘He knows that I go mine own road.’

‘Holy Virgin, what fights thou must have had!’

‘Oh, no,’ said Simon. ‘We understand each other very fairly.’

‘Do ye so? Well, ye are a fitting pair!’ Then he burst out laughing again. ‘Thou and Fulk!’ he gasped. ‘I would give much to see it!’

‘Well, so thou mayst,’ Simon said, watching him gravely. ‘Come with me to Montlice, and pay my lord a visit.’

Granmere checked his mirth.

‘By God, I believe I will come! Why it is seven years since I set eyes on Fulk! We will ride together, Lord of Beauvallet.’