Simon the Coldheart

Simon would not allow, sending him peremptorily to bed, well-knowing that he would not dare to disobey. He himself sallied forth, armed with a dagger and his trusty quarterstaff. It may have been this stout weapon which kept him immune from assault, or it may have been his formidable bearing. At all events he wandered in perfect safety about Westminster, returning early to the tavern to rest.

On the next morning he set about the making of his plans. He had not a doubt but that, if he willed it so, he could gain access to the palace during an Audience with the utmost ease, but he was wise enough to realise that this would be of very little use to him. In all probability he would have no opportunity of speaking privately to the King. Nor did he consider that this would be a proper way of approaching Henry. Accosted by a strange knight in the midst of a reception, he might very well feel annoyance and wave Simon and his news aside. And once that had happened Simon knew that he would never gain a hearing. Had the Prince of Wales been at Westminster he might have risked a rebuff, for he knew that the young Henry would remember him. But the Prince, having wintered in London, was now back on the Marches.

Simon decided at length to write to the King, and accordingly he called for quills, ink, and parchment, and sat himself down to compose a suitable note. It proved to be no easy task, for his epistolary style was naturally curt. He had wit enough to see that curtness would not tend to make easier his mission, and he spent the best part of the morning writing and rewriting. In the end it was, for him, a very fair letter.

“My very dread and Sovereign Lord the King,

“Your Gracious Lordship may perchance remember one Simon of Beauvallet whom you knighted at Shrewsbury after the battle in last July. This same Simon of Beauvallet doth now write to your Majesty with intent to beg an audience of you, or of one of your Majesty’s Council. The matter I would disclose to your Majesty is of great import, as I do judge, and should be attended to with all speed lest it lead to more serious harm. But three days since, I did chance upon one whom I found to bear documents in his possession addressed to various lords of the counties of Cambridge and Bedford, purporting to come from the late King, and seemingly fastened with his seal. These papers I would deliver up to your Lordship, or to those whom your Lordship shall appoint to receive them. The messenger I hold under lock and key and well guarded by the men of my Lord of Montlice.

“If it be your Majesty’s pleasure to search further into this matter, I do beseech you to give me a hearing, when I will tell all that I know, and disclose the whereabouts of this messenger.

“In humble obedience to your Majesty’s gracious wishes,

“Simon of Beauvallet.

“Written at the sign of the Lamb and Saracen’s Head.”

Simon dusted the finished letter and carefully sealed it. Then a new difficulty presented itself, to wit: how he should assure himself of this letter reaching the King. He thought of Fulk’s cousin, Charles of Granmere, and, much as he disliked asking for aid, he decided to repair to his house in the Strand and demand his assistance.

He called Roger to him, who sat kicking his heels by the window, and bade him fetch their horses. Delighted at the prospect of seeing more of the town Roger ran to do his bidding, wreathed in smiles.

Together they rode towards London and proceeded down the Strand, past the greater palaces till they came upon one that was less magnificent, and bore the name of Granmere Hall. They rode into the courtyard, and on a lackey’s demanding their business, Simon asked for my Lord of Granmere in no uncertain tones.

“Tell my lord that Sir Simon Beauvallet comes from my Lord of Montlice!” he said peremptorily, and, dismounting, signed to Roger to stay with the horses.

He followed the lackey into the central hall of the palace, and waited there whiles the man bore his message to my lord. Presently he returned, and bowing to Simon, begged him to follow him to my lord’s apartment.

Simon was ushered into a long low room where sat my Lord of Granmere, a man of middle age with a kindly rugged countenance, in which his eyes twinkled humorously. He came forward as Simon entered.

“Give you good den, sir. Do ye come from my cousin?”

“My Lord Fulk directed me to seek you out, my Lord of Granmere, in case I should need assistance. And lest ye should doubt that I do indeed come from Montlice he bade me show you this letter which he did write to me.”

Charles of Granmere took the scrawled sheets and read them through. When he came to the end, he smiled, and gave Fulk’s letter back to Simon.

“Ay, that is my cousin’s fist,” he said. “Methinks his words to you give me insight into your nature.” His eyes twinkled more than ever. “What is this plot, if it be not an impertinent question, and what may I do for you?”

Briefly Simon gave him the outline, and showed him his letter to the King.

“It is not my way, sir, to seek assistance, but although I think I might succeed in this, unaided, the thing will be quicker done if you, my lord, will consent to bear my letter to the King.”

“Well, that is good sense, Sir Simon. Hast a hard head on thy shoulders. Where art thou staying?”

“At the Lamb and Saracen’s Head, my lord, with my squire.”

Granmere’s eyes twinkled anew.

“It seems that I should be defying my cousin’s behests an I allowed thee to remain there. Wilt thou honour my poor house, Sir Simon?”

Simon flushed.

“Ye are more than