“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
