‘Quite right, Lord Archbishop,’ Bosham and other young hotheads exclaimed.
John spoke quietly. ‘Tom, I think you should meet the King.’ He was a perceptive student of the art of politics.
About an hour later, Becket announced, ‘The two swords shall touch this evening. John, you’ll accompany me.’
His ever-cheerful friend capered around the floor. ‘I’m to make sure iron does not clash against gold?’
By four o’clock in the afternoon, it was already dark. When Becket and his companion arrived, they found Hamelin Plantagenet seated beside the King, who rose to welcome the Archbishop. His head was uncovered, the candle glow turning his hair red gold.
‘Much as I admire the scholarship and writing of Master John,’ he said, ‘I’d prefer to speak to you alone, Tom.’
‘If John leaves, so should the Earl.’
The King nodded to his brother to depart. He took Becket by the sleeve. ‘Come over to this big candle, Tom. There are documents you may or may not want to read.’
‘Oooh,’ Becket said. ‘I sense secrets.’
Henry smiled. ‘John affects your mood admirably. You should keep him by your side always.’ He held two rolled parchments that he smacked against his thigh.
The Archbishop said, ‘What are those?’
‘A death sentence. Or rather, it will become a death sentence after the man has been tried. Some time ago, a couple of my English barons formed a conspiracy to depose me, but to date they’ve not acted on their vow. Meanwhile, one has repented and I’ve pardoned him. The other has not. Yet.’
Becket felt his stomach begin to flutter. ‘Who’s the other wretch?’
‘Better you don’t know his name.’
‘H-H-Henry, what you describe is a matter for the royal court. It has nothing to do with canon law.’ The King stared at him, unblinking. ‘Why have you called me …?’
The King sighed. ‘I’m overburdened. No doubt you are too. Tomorrow we great men of England will clarify royal law and church law. I want you, as Archbishop, to lead your bishops in agreement to the separation of our jurisdictions. You have many greedy prelates to control. They’ve become accustomed, for example, to hearing land disputes, and deciding the land in question is forfeit to their sees. This must stop.’
‘It will.’
‘Excellent. My head will rest easy tonight.’
‘That’s all?’
The King moved out of the candlelight so he stood in darkness. Becket had to peer to see his face. They remained in silence until the Archbishop blurted, ‘What is really in those documents?’
‘An attestation that you vowed to depose me. The man who made it signed it with his own blood.’
Becket grasped the nearest object, an unstable chair. ‘Depose you! Calumny! What’s more, you said the conspirators were barons. I’m Archbishop of Canterbury. The deposition is a lie by some …!’ He paused for breath. Judas! Richer is my Judas! Fury calmed his fear. ‘Henry, not only is that a lie, I have the impunity of my status. We both know that.’
The King shrugged.
Quietly Thomas added, ‘I have the power to excommunicate you.’
In the shimmer of candlelight, their eyes locked onto each other’s.
In an equally soft voice the King asked, ‘But do you have the grounds?’
The Archbishop was silent as he and John of Salisbury returned to the abbey. ‘C’mon, Tom. What did he want?’
‘Just my agreement to his proposal tomorrow.’
‘Why do you look so morbid?’
Becket clenched his jaw. ‘I’m not morbid. I’m thinking.’ Abruptly he stopped walking. ‘John, dear friend, he made a threat against me.’ He stroked his palm across his tonsured head. ‘I threw it back in his face. I am fully armoured against Henry’s tyranny. My armour was forged the day I took my vows.’
‘So cheer up.’ John danced a little jig, but gasped in pain as he twisted his ankle.
Next morning the King opened proceedings in the great hall on the ground floor of the palace. ‘We have gathered, my lords, because disputes have arisen between clergy, the royal justiciars and the baronage about their various rights and dignities. Less than a century ago my great-grandfather, William, drew boundaries for the Church. He ordered it to enforce its laws stringently and warned it off civil matters. English kings and bishops worked together to bolster each other’s authority. If there were a dispute between them, the King’s word decided the matter.’
Around the hall churchmen slid glances to each other. Some whispered, ‘He makes himself head of the Church.’
Henry ignored them. He continued, ‘Unhappily, these virtuous practices have decayed. Today the situation of the law in England is worse than at the end of the civil war. Nine years ago, as a man of twenty-one, I swore in my coronation charter to restore the realm to the prosperity it had enjoyed before it was wrecked by a usurper. I swore I would bring back conformity to its customs and laws. I did so. Soon people were saying, “A virgin may walk the length of England with her bosom full of gold, knowing she is safe.” That is no longer true. Inside Mother Church vipers lurk.’
He paused to narrow his eyes at men on the episcopal bench before nodding to his barons, all attentive as hounds on the hunt.
‘Archdeacons and deans extort more money from the faithful than I myself draw in taxes for the Crown. At this assize, I require that clergy and lay barons swear to observe the customs and traditions of their predecessors and that the prelates gathered here vow to reform their sees.’
Becket rose to speak. ‘Unhappily, Lord King, I am too young to know these customs and traditions of which you speak. I shall need to study them. But then, I am sure, there will be no obstacles to our agreement.’ He sat down. Around him the bishops were murmuring.
Foliot whispered to York, ‘The pair of them met in private last night. They’ve cooked something up.’
‘An ambush.’
Henry nodded solemnly at the Archbishop. ‘Once you are informed, I’ll require all bishops to set their seals to a document.’
The churchmen fell into frenzied discussion. ‘No!’ one of them shouted.
Foliot’s face was granite. ‘Lord King, we don’t know what you mean by the terms “customs and traditions”,’ he said loudly. Sotto voce he added, ‘This is a trick.’
Henry appeared amiable. ‘Dear uncle, in referring to customs and traditions, your mind goes to the nub. By this evening these terms will be clarified. We shall reconvene then to discuss them.’
Thomas told his entourage, ‘There’s no need for the fuss Foliot and York are stirring up. I suggest we enjoy our dinner and have a rest. John, perhaps you will join me?’
Salisbury put his arms akimbo and danced a couple of steps. As soon as he and Becket were alone, the Archbishop grabbed his shoulders. ‘Henry plays a game. I may have to leave England very soon,’ he whispered.
‘Dear Tom, calm yourself. I perceive his position is weaker than he realises.’
‘How?’
‘By definition, what he desires is backwards-looking. In all other areas of government he has been the champion of new thinking. His civil laws are the fairest and most admired in Europe. His taxation is reasonable. His treatment of vassals is honourable. His very castles announce he is a man of the new age. This sudden passion for customs and traditions cuts across the grain and will be seen as a step back.’
‘You don’t understand! It’s not about customs and traditions. It’s about me!’
‘You speak in riddles.’
Becket dropped onto his bed, exhausted. ‘I did something foolish a few years ago. He holds it against my throat.’
Salisbury sat on the edge of the bed, silent and unhappy. At length he said, ‘You should not have banned the marriage of William Plantagenet and the Countess of Surrey. Everyone who knows anything saw it as a direct threat to Henry’s marriage to the lady of Aquitaine. Paris talked of nothing else.’
Becket turned his face away. ‘
It’s something else I did.’
‘Can it be undone?’
Becket took a long, shuddering breath. ‘If I’m willing to publicly cover myself in ordure.’
‘Come, come, Tom. You and Henry …’ John sighed. ‘I’ll never understand—’
‘Passion,’ Becket said. ‘You think too much. You’ll never understand passion, John. That wild, burning world of mad, true language. Henry and I know what it is.’
A cloud of incomprehension covered John’s sunny face.
After vespers, the hall refilled, the churchmen arriving first. Pages hurried to pass notes to them, bishops forced to share one among three. They were still jostling and calling for more light when the heavy tread of the baronage silenced them.
‘They’re armed!’ Winchester exclaimed. At the morning session a few barons had worn swords, out of habit. Now all did. In addition, battleaxes hung from their belts. Pages hurried towards them but most waved them off, not caring to read a document with which they already agreed. Among its sixteen clauses was one that ensured labourers could not leave a liege to join the Church without the lord’s permission. The barons loved this clause, as it ensured their harvests would be gathered. Henry had agreed to it, knowing it would be unpopular with his poorer subjects, but would ensure his taxes.
The Archbishop entered. There was no sign of the King. Whispered fears ricocheted against the stone walls.
Suddenly the doors were flung open and the monarch entered, crowned in rubies, robed in purple, his shoulders swathed with ermine. The hall leaped to its feet before the awesome presence. Henry nodded brusquely and sat.
‘My Lord Archbishop, young as you are …’ he paused, ‘and English-born, your mind is now informed about the customs of this realm. I require your assent to them, and the assent of all bishops. You are to set your seals on the grand document that will be drawn up overnight.’
In the dim light, few could see that Thomas’s face was the colour of dust; all, however, heard the tremble in his voice. ‘As you wish, Lord King.’
Henry gave a broad smile. ‘Well, off we go to supper.’ He rose and walked out.
Becket refused requests for interviews that night. Besides John of Salisbury, if there was one man at Clarendon who knew that King Louis had promised Thomas asylum in France, it would be the Bishop of Winchester. Even he was refused. Henry, meanwhile, threw off his finery, dressed himself in sheepskin and engaged his barons in a competition of spear-throwing. He tied with a young baron from the north. ‘Now we walk on our hands,’ he yelled. ‘Wrists! We fighting men need strong wrists.’
Some wit added, ‘To wring scrawny priests’ necks.’
The storm broke next morning. Thomas Becket rose. ‘Lord King, this document is an outrage to the Church. What is formulated here, for which you require our unconditional support, is heretical depravity.’
‘I believe, Archbishop, you overstate the case. I think you and your brother bishops should withdraw together, to a separate chamber, and in a calm manner discuss the document among yourselves. I’m sure you’ll discover nothing depraved, nothing heretical, but rather a few simple statements of law and practice for the Crown and the Church. Until now these things have remained unwritten. But times change and we enter an age of making documents for the benefit of posterity.’ Henry turned to Beaumont to mutter, ‘Put ’em in the small hall. Herd them together like hostages.’
He himself retired to Eleanor’s apartment, where he could overhear the uproar coming from the chamber below. Hamelin and Richard and the royal justiciars joined him upstairs. The noise from the bishops’ gathering was like a gale at sea. An outburst of shouting, a lull, then another outburst. During one quiet period Henry said to the Earl of Leicester and Richard de Lucy, ‘As soon as they start shouting again, you’re to gather half a dozen of our most ferocious barons and go to them. Make it plain they must agree.’
‘Swords?’ Leicester asked.
‘Drawn.’
The Earl raised his eyebrows. ‘Henry, iron terrifies them.’
The King leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He looked through Eleanor’s glass windows and noticed that the sky had cleared. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he said to Hamelin. ‘No need to be around to see bishops pissing themselves in fright.’
While Becket sat with his head in his hands, Foliot led the argument against the document, now called the Constitutions of Clarendon. ‘The King’s privileges and customs are anathema to us. We stand boldly in the spirit of the Lord. We are not moved nor terrified. Although we face ruin to our fortunes, bodily torment, exile or, if God should so please, the sword, we stand firm, do we not, my brothers?’
‘We do!’
At that moment, the door jolted with blows from sword hilts. The barons burst in, throwing back their cloaks to shake their fists at the prelates. In their hands were drawn swords. One shouted, ‘Listen, you who set at naught the statutes of the realm and heed not the King’s commands: these hands, these arms, these bodies of ours are not our own, but belong to our lord the King. They are ready at his nod to avenge every wrong to him and to work his will, whatever it may be. Whatever he commands will be just to us. Repent, churchmen. Incline your thoughts to our King’s command, so as to avert the danger while there’s still time.’
Foliot, tall, thin, aristocratic and furious, lifted his chin to glare at them. ‘How dare you threaten us!’
But then the Archbishop stood, visibly shaking. ‘My brothers in Christ, I believe we have no choice.’ He raised his hands in surrender.
There was deafening silence. The bishops’ faces blanched as they stared at the sharp blades surrounding them. The barons narrowed their eyes and in unison took a step forward. The churchmen in unison stepped back, treading on each other’s feet. ‘I can’t breathe,’ moaned a bishop. Another grabbed himself by the crotch.
‘Sheep!’ roared a baron.
Slowly, in ones and twos, the churchmen raised their hands before joining their palms in prayer. Becket’s fingers were so tightly clasped, the bones in his knuckles looked ready to burst the skin.
A baron announced, ‘Men, the Archbishop leads his flock in the proper direction. We’ve achieved our purpose.’ Swords clanked against their other weaponry as they slammed the door.
‘You crawling insect,’ Foliot spat at Becket.
The assize reconvened. Becket rose. ‘I obey your wishes in all things, Lord King, and order my bishops to follow my example.’ Ashen-faced, they came out in single file, holding their seals of office. Pages held pots of hot wax. Becket was the last to step forward to append his seal to the document. As he did so he said, ‘I do this, saving my order.’
Henry leaped to his feet. ‘Saving your order! Saving your order, Archbishop? Your order overrides everything you do or say? Every vow you make? You cannot append your seal then with words snatch back what you have agreed to. That is perjury!’
Becket trembled. ‘I’ll have myself scourged, Lord King.’ As he left, Hamelin rose to follow him. ‘Get away from me, bastard! Away from me, vile, money-grabbing bastard!’
Hamelin stood looking after him. ‘So it ends,’ he groaned.
That afternoon, a number of clerks asked permission to leave the Archbishop’s service. When news reached Henry, he laughed. ‘They’re finished with him. I am not!’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Henry and Hamelin watched from the royal apartment in Clarendon’s upper storey as the long procession of prelates and their escorts rode away. ‘I’m well satisfied. I’m now officially head of the Church in England, despite Bec’s cowardly fit reneging on his seal. “Saving my order”! Saving my arse.’ When the Earl did not reply, the King kicked his ankle. ‘Croak, Bullfrog.’
‘It’s not over.’
‘Of course it’s not. I need the Pope to recognise what all the bishops agreed.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of that.’
‘Bec threatened to excommunicate me.’
‘That would throw the empire into chaos. A
lexander would overrule him. Even Louis would be horrified.’
‘I felt him quake with fear as he spoke. It was a threat, all the same.’
‘He seems to have forgotten his vow to be your vassal.’
‘Because he believes nobody witnessed it.’ They grinned.
The Archbishop had changed from the sumptuous attire in which he had arrived at Clarendon into a plain black habit. ‘How many clerks have asked permission to leave my service?’ he asked Bosham as they prepared to leave.
‘About a dozen.’
‘Scum.’
‘Lord Archbishop, you’re better off without them. Half were probably spies for the Beast.’ Herbert watched Becket’s face to see if the idea cheered him. It didn’t.
‘Unfortunately, Herbie, those are precisely the ones who won’t leave my service. Besides you and our other scholars, whom can I trust?’
‘Many! There’s great uneasiness that the King’s sword is now so magnified, while the sword of our Mother is diminished.’ When Becket did not reply, Bosham ventured to add some advice. ‘Your Grace, as fear of the King increases, little by little even magnates will seek comfort from the Church.’
The Archbishop glanced at him. ‘Good point. Meanwhile, we pursue our noble and humble efforts to comfort the poor.’ His beautiful eyes softened as he turned to face Bosham. His smile, with its chipped front tooth, made him suddenly a man ten years younger. ‘I love you, Herbie.’
‘I love you too, Tom. I have from the day I first saw you.’
They kicked their horses into a canter. ‘First we travel the realm, dispensing alms to the poor. When these acts of charity are known, we sail for France.’
Bosham whooped with excitement. ‘Tom, how I’ve longed to hear those words from you! Sail for France.’
‘Because our monarch is now a tyrant, usurper of the power of the Church.’
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