Chapter 87: Rewards and Punishments

"How could it be the Earl of Thomond's son?"

John's tone was full of doubt. He had never harmed the Earl of Thomond, only imprisoned him in Dublin without releasing him. In handling this matter, John could be said to have been exceedingly benevolent. However, the fact that the Earl of Thomond's son still wanted to assassinate him was beyond John's comprehension.

"This is absolutely ridiculous. Tell me, what did I do to make him treat me like this?" John, not knowing who he was addressing, said, "I neither harmed his father nor took away his lands. Why would he still act this way?"

No one present dared to respond. John also knew that venting his anger like this would not lead to any results. After thinking for a long time, he took a deep breath and looked at Conchobar lying on the ground.

Guillaume seemed to understand what John intended to do. He went over, grabbed Conchobar, and, with another royal guard, dragged him away. Everyone left in the hall understood what was about to happen next. However, they all remained silent, pretending not to know about it.

John continued, "Send Breton's army to control the castles directly governed by the Earl of Thomond. By next summer, make sure all enemy castles are eradicated."

At this point, the Earl of Thomond's family was in dire straits. Everyone silently mourned for the poor earl, who was still in the dungeon, completely unaware of what was happening. If he knew that his son had caused such a big issue, he would probably go mad.

"Who is the Earl of Thomond?" Pierre quietly asked the person next to him. The person questioned gave him a glare. No one wanted to risk being caught by John at this time.

Pierre's question drew John's attention. The uninformed knights tensed up, thinking Pierre was done for. They watched John walk up to Pierre, wondering what punishment Pierre would receive. Then, to their astonishment, John patted Pierre on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Pierre," John sighed deeply. "If it weren't for you, we would have been doomed."

What's going on?

The clueless knights, like spectators eating melon seeds, pondered what Pierre had done to make John treat him this way. Pierre lowered his head. "It was my duty, Your Highness."

Indeed, as a royal guard, his duty was to protect the royal family. But John could not overlook Pierre's significant contribution. None of the other royal guards possessed Pierre's ability to turn the tide.

Although John valued wealth, he was not at all stingy when it came to rewarding his subordinates.

"Pierre, to commend your contributions in the recent battle, I will grant you Blomfeld. The people, forests, rivers, and everything on that land will be yours."

This statement nearly set the entire hall ablaze. Blomfeld, which translates to "Land of Bloom," is located south of Malin. It lies in the heart of the Simis region and is very prosperous. The knights could hardly believe that John would bestow such a valuable territory on someone so young.

The knights whispered among themselves, wondering what Pierre had done to deserve this. After all, Pierre had only recently joined the royal guard and now suddenly had his own land. The knights who had just returned from Dublin Cathedral took the opportunity to brag, elevating Pierre's status to mythical proportions.

Rumors spread that Pierre had been possessed by Saint George and had single-handedly vanquished the assassins. Such tales were only believed by the more gullible members of the group.

Pierre, however, was genuinely moved and knelt on one knee. "Thank you for your generosity and wisdom, Your Highness!"

In truth, he restrained himself from bowing even lower. No one had anticipated that he would receive John's reward so quickly, not even Pierre himself. In his plans, he might have hoped to earn John's favor by the time he was in his forties or fifties, perhaps receiving a small fief and sending his son to serve at John's court. But reality often surpasses the most magical of imaginations.

Little Roches beside him was green with envy, while Guillaume's feelings were a mix of emotions.

"Stand up," John said. "But I hope you will continue to serve me and protect my safety by my side. Can you do that, Pierre?"

Such a question required no thought.

Pierre nodded emphatically. "I would be honored, Your Highness."

John then turned his gaze to Guillaume. Realizing he was being watched, Guillaume stood up straight, as if awaiting John's command.

"How old are you this year, Guillaume?" John suddenly asked.

Guillaume was taken aback for a moment, then calculated and replied, "I am already forty-six, Your Highness."

At forty-six, in this era, Guillaume was indeed considered an old man. Yet he was still serving in John's court, unmarried and childless. This era was such that most people spent their entire lives wandering in hardship.

"That means you've been serving the royal family for thirty years," John calculated.

Indeed, Guillaume had entered the court at sixteen, protecting Henry II. At that time, Henry II was not even the King of England but merely the Count of Anjou. One could say he witnessed the rise of the Plantagenet dynasty firsthand.

"From today, Guillaume, I no longer need you to serve as a royal guard," John said. "I will grant you Tullamore and Snake Mountain to the northwest as your hereditary fief. From today, you are the Baron of Tullamore."

This ennoblement surprised no one. Guillaume, with his impeccable lineage and decades of loyal service to the royal family, was well-deserving of such a reward. 

Tears welled up in Guillaume's eyes, and he knelt on the ground, unable to say a word. 

John helped him to his feet, and Guillaume finally spoke, "Your Highness, I cannot let go of my worries. Since you went to Oxford at the age of ten, your safety has always been my responsibility. Who will protect you after I leave?"

Everyone present was speechless. If it were them, they would probably be jumping for joy at this moment, not caring about such matters. This just showed the depth of Guillaume's bond with the Plantagenet family. It was no wonder he had been so highly valued all these years.

"Valcalin, Pierre, Roches, they are all here," John said.

But Guillaume, disregarding their feelings, shook his head. This was one of the rare times he publicly contradicted others.

"They are too young, Your Highness. They are bound to make mistakes. Our job is to ensure your safety, a task that allows no margin for error!" Guillaume was on the verge of tears, deeply concerned for John's well-being.

Seeing Guillaume's distress, John relented, "Then please recommend a suitable candidate."

Guillaume stood still, looking at the few old knights behind him. These men were familiar faces to John, though he could never remember their names.

"Savigny, Your Highness," Guillaume said, pointing to an old knight. "He is the most suitable candidate."

John looked at the man Guillaume pointed to, a knight who had almost no presence. He was always silent, with a terrifying scar on his face, half-hidden by his brown hair, but the visible part was still chilling.

"Abel de Savigny," the knight stepped forward and knelt on one knee.

"I am honored to serve you, Your Highness."