Thomas’s answer was vague. As a clerk he despised merchants, and as a lawyer he knew that very few of them were honest. He could not make anything with his hands, and he lacked the technical knowledge needed by a buyer of green hides. Unless he served some lord who needed legal advice there was nothing he could do except write letters for a merchant.
It was lowly employment for a scholar of Paris, but nothing better offered. Gilbert was no longer prominent in London politics, and the term as alderman which figured so often in his conversation was nearly forgotten; though he still had important friends in the city. One evening, as father and son were sitting by the fire, talking over the prospects of the leather trade and the rumour of a vacancy on the staff of St. Paul’s school, Thomas’s married sister called with a promising suggestion.
Margaret Tanner bustled in, telling the porter who came with her to dump his load of presents and hurry back to the tannery; as usual, she conveyed the impression that she was too busy to waste a moment, and then settled down to chat until cockcrow. But after exclaiming at the untidiness of the house, and vowing that Thomas must come back with her for a nourishing meal, she at last came to the point.
‘A distinguished visitor called this afternoon. He came, as it seemed, on business, to order a score of leather bucklers for his serving-men. But he asked politely after the health of all my family, and bade me convey his regards to my father and brother. Then he asked what Thomas was doing now, and said something about needing a well-educated clerk in his countinghouse, to write letters to foreign merchants. He had just got rid of his accountant, one of those Englishmen who know all the works of King Alfred and write a neat hand; but the fellow could only write in Winchester English, and nobody oversea could read his letters. He told us all this just as he was leaving, and both Robert and I took it as a hint that he would like to employ Thomas but was afraid to make an open offer, in case you snubbed him. He is ridiculously vain, and a snub hurts him. But he reckons his money in sackfuls, and they say he pays well for faithful service.’
Margaret rattled off this long speech, and at last paused for breath. It was not often that a woman could hold the attention of two men, and she was determined to keep them on tenterhooks until they asked her for the name of this rich employer. Gilbert at last gratified her by grunting the question.
‘Norman or English? Do I know him?’
‘He speaks French, though it’s the French of London. You ought to know him, father. I believe he helped you to get elected when you were made alderman (what a ridiculous word!) He is Goodman Osbert, or perhaps I should say Sir Osbert, citizen and tanner, and knight in the mesnie of Count Robert.’
‘Good heavens,’ said Gilbert, ‘old Huitdeniers flies high, pretending he needs a scholar of Paris to keep the sordid records of his business. But it’s true enough that his money would make a full load for a mule, and if his accountant knows his master’s secrets he must certainly pay the fellow well, or else cut his throat. You should take the post, Thomas. Let Osbert know, Margaret, that if he makes a civil offer he need not fear a snub.’
Thomas had been one of the leading men of his year in Paris, and Margaret helped her husband to manage a prosperous tannery; Gilbert Becket had difficulty in earning a bare living as a drysalter, and his muddleheaded stupidity was made more noticeable by the intelligence of his children. But he was the head of the family; to Thomas it seemed natural that his father should choose a master for him.
‘Huitdeniers, eightpence, what a curious nickname,’ he said mildly. ‘I don’t remember him. But of course I shall be honoured to serve a master who is my father’s friend. But you talk of his business as sordid, and Margaret seems to despise him. Please tell me the full story, in particular what he did with his eightpence to make him so famous.’
‘Oh, Osbert hasn’t done anything with his eightpence,’ said Margaret, chuckling. ‘I don’t think he ever got it. It was his trying to earn it that makes the funny story. Count Robert of Gloucester granted him a manor to be held by knight-service, and when the war broke out Osbert is said to have offered to fight for his lord, if he was paid the eightpence a day that is the standard wage of a knight. The offer was declined with thanks. Count Robert thought he could manage without the reinforcement of a London tanner who can’t ride like a gentleman.’
Thomas looked inquiringly at his father. Margaret thought only of mocking this burgess whom evidently she disliked, but there were gaps in the anecdote as she told it.
‘It’s all quite true, but not the whole truth,’ Gilbert said earnestly; since Rose’s death he had forgotten how to talk nonsense. ‘This Osbert is a French Londoner, and I believe of sound Norman blood; though he was born here, and the French he speaks sounds odd. He was a tanner in a very big way until he went in for buying green hides wholesale all over the country. I used to deal with him, and he supported me at the hustings when I stood for election. He always has ready money by him, and he lent some to Count Robert. The Count could only repay by offering land, and Osbert certainly holds a manor in the west country by knight-service, though the story about his volunteering to serve in person may be only a joke. His confidential clerk will have plenty of work, for Osbert is up to his neck in high politics.’
‘Dangerous business for a mere burgess,’ said Thomas. ‘Which side is he on? I suppose, since he is a friend of ours, he holds by the old oath of fealty to the Empress?’
‘You couldn’t call him a friend of ours any longer,’ said Margaret, sniffing. ‘He is a very great man, and he condescended to my Robert until I longed to set the dogs on him. As to which side he is on, what would you say, father? Both at once is my guess, and I doubt if his Guardian Angel knows more.’
‘He has not been a very consistent partisan,’ Gilbert replied judicially. ‘But politics here in England are tangled, and you can’t blame a merchant with a fortune in cash for keeping in with the lord who rules London. By the way, I should make it clear that he was never more than a business acquaintance, and as it happens we have not met for some years. If you serve him, as I think you should, it will be because we lack money, not to requite an old friendship.’
‘And his politics?’ Thomas pressed.
‘He used to favour the Empress, as I do. Because after all an oath is an oath, and her father was a good King who kept the peace. But he lives in London, and his coffers are worth robbing. So at present he is on very good terms with Count Geoffrey de Mandeville, who holds the Tower for King Stephen. Count Geoffrey will take money from him anyway, and I suppose Osbert would rather think of it as a friendly loan, which may be repaid later, than as a sheriff’s tallage.’
‘He doesn’t sound a very honourable master to follow,’ said Thomas with a sigh. ‘But since we lack money, and he offers it, I may as well earn it as the next man. The Londoners may despise me, but I can make it sound respectable if my colleagues in Paris inquire what I am doing. I shall be serving a knight, of sorts; and he serves the lawfully appointed sheriff of Middlesex and Constable of the Tower; who happens to be a lawless brigand but in Paris they won’t know that. After all, our lord Stephen is a crowned King.’
Within a few days a delicate message had been conveyed to Huitdeniers, and the formal offer of a place in his counting-house was formally accepted. The salary was quickly agreed, and for the first time Thomas began to earn his own living.
He could write quickly, in a hand that strangers could read; though he was not a trained scribe who could make beautiful books. In Huitdeniers’ office, however, speed was what counted. Often a discreet shabby man would come on foot with a letter and wait in the kitchen for the answer. The correspondence appeared to be concerned with the price of leather; but there was too much urgency and discretion for such a mundane subject. One day as Thomas was passing the Tower he recognized a sergeant as the discreet and shabby messenger. Then he understood that Osbert was acting as go-between for Count Geoffrey. But since Count Geoffrey openly supported King Stephen these secret messages must deal
with a projected change to the party of the Empress. Since Thomas himself favoured the Empress he was glad to lend his skill to what might otherwise have seemed a dirty business.
Osbert paid good wages. Thomas was glad of the money, for sometimes his father had none at all. Gilbert was not ruined, but he had been slow to recognize the seriousness of the civil war; like other elderly men reared in the long peace of old King Henry he could not conceive of a time when it would be impossible to collect debts because whole shires were in rebel hands. Most of his wealth was tied up in the stock-raising districts of Devon and Somerset, where Count Robert of Gloucester ruled supreme.
All that winter armies rode through England, sacking towns and plundering open manors. The Londoners strengthened their wall and reorganized their militia. One of the eight ‘viscounts’ who commanded it was Osbert, but he would not allow Thomas to bear arms in his command. He said that even in the field he would need a confidential secretary, and Thomas was ordered to follow him with a portable desk and inkhorn, not lance and sword.
On the afternoon of the 4th of February 1141 Thomas was at his desk when a strange clamour suddenly filled the air. For a moment the whole household, porters, workmen, and serving-maids, paused in astonishment, for it was a sound that had rarely been heard in England during the reign of the late King. Then Osbert shouted above the hurrying rhythm which invaded every glassless casement: ‘That’s the common bell, and it beats the tocsin. Let every man collect his shield and sword from my armoury, and muster behind me where I stand at the folkmoot. Come on, Thomas. Bring your pen and tablets. I shall need an accurate record of the decisions taken at the meeting.’
The burgesses mustered selfconsciously in arms, each behind his appointed ‘viscount’. Thomas noted with interest that Huitdeniers led by far the largest and best-armed contingent, with a disciplined core of his own employees, armed at his expense. Among the excited, puzzled crowd in the churchyard of St. Paul’s he alone seemed self-possessed; it was likely that London as a whole would follow his advice.
The gates of the Tower were closed, and there was no sign of Count Geoffrey the sheriff. After an indecisive pause the senior Canon of St. Paul’s called the meeting to order. There were murmurs of discontent, for the burgesses, who resented the domination of the King’s sheriff, were alert to the danger that the Bishop might seek to displace him in the rule of the town. But the Canon did not make a speech; he merely introduced a tired and travel-stained courier, who read aloud from a despatch.
The message was brief, and its tone carefully neutral. The Chapter of Lincoln Cathedral wrote to inform their brethren of St. Paul’s that in a great battle fought outside their city King Stephen had been taken prisoner, and that it seemed probable that the Empress would shortly bring her power to the gates of London. In this crisis, with the civil government in dissolution, the clergy were charged with the duty of maintaining order.
The eight viscounts consulted together in private, but no resolution was put to the meeting. The gates were closed, and watchmen placed on every tower of the walls. Then the burgesses were dismissed to their homes, though every man was advised to sleep with his arms by his bedside.
When Thomas returned with his master to the big house near Billingsgate he found his father waiting. Gilbert was in a twitter, expecting fire and sack that very night. ‘Sir Osbert,’ he said anxiously, dwelling on the knightly title in a fawning manner, ‘this is splendid news for the loyal followers of the Empress. The whole Angevin faction look to you for guidance. But what are we to do about Count Geoffrey in the Tower? King Stephen appointed him, and he may be loyal to his defeated lord. Besides, he has a splendid excuse to sack the city. He could plunder it even if we all cheered for his King, since now the King’s peace has vanished. He can enter our wall through the west gate of the Tower. Should we barricade Tower Green against his horsemen, or do you think we could collect a ransom big enough to induce him to go away?’
‘Leave it to me, Goodman Gilbert,’ Osbert replied easily. ‘King Stephen has lost a battle, but the Empress hasn’t yet won London. Count Geoffrey is open to persuasion. I don’t see why the clergy should not keep the peace successfully. At least we might give them the chance.’
‘You Londoners!’ said Gilbert bitterly, too frightened to keep up his courteous manner. ‘You’ve had nearly forty years of peace, and you can’t imagine a torch in your thatch and a drunken sergeant battering at your chamber. I have seen towns sacked, in Normandy and Maine. Thank God my wife is dead and my daughters gone from home. I have nothing to lose but my life and a little silver. Thomas, do you think I should be safe if I sit on the altar of St. Mary Colechurch?’
‘You would be even safer on the wall, with your spear. Remember, father, we are Normans. Sir Osbert, you won’t need a clerk while Geoffrey’s men plunder the city. Give me mail and a sword.’
‘There is no reason for alarm,’ Osbert said again. ‘You and I favour Anjou, and Anjou is victorious. What you don’t know is that Count Geoffrey is half-bought for our side. So long as he remains neutral both factions will continue to bribe him; once he sacks London he will get no more from the Empress. To-morrow, when men’s minds are calmer, I shall call another folkmoot. We must send envoys to the Empress, begging her to come to London and be crowned. If the burgesses follow my advice I can promise you there will be no sack.’
During that gloomy Lent every burgess who had cash to be plundered or daughters to be raped continued to anticipate a sack of the city. But the Bishop of Winchester, papal legate, brother of King Stephen and cousin of the Empress, managed to arrange a peace conference in his cathedral city.
Goodman Osbert now came forward as the avowed leader of the Angevin party in London. When the folkmoot decided that London must be represented at the conference he was chosen to lead the burgess delegation; and of course he took with him his treasure of a confidential clerk.
On the Sunday after Easter all the magnates of England assembled in the great hall of the Bishop of Winchester’s castle. Thomas had ridden there with Osbert and a small escort, but they found to their annoyance that burgesses were not important enough to be admitted to the hall; they must wait in the bailey with the common herd.
This was Thomas’s introduction to high politics, and he was keenly interested to see all these great men. Osbert identified them as they dismounted in the bailey. They all looked worried or dissatisfied except the Bishop of Winchester, who was disposing of the crown of England, and the Empress, who was about to receive it. The Lady of England, for that was now her title, was as splendidly dressed as a princess in a fairy-tale. On her mantle of cloth of gold were embroidered in black silk the imperial two-headed eagles; her shoes were of purple silk, and her long tunic, also woven from the imperial silk of Constantinople, was a vivid green; her fair hair hung low in two plaits before her shoulders (but Osbert whispered that these plaits also were of silk), and her head was covered with a white veil of very fine lawn, kept in place by the silver-gilt coronet of the County of Anjou; her cheeks were coloured bright red, and her neck a dead white. This last was most extraordinary, and brought a gasp of astonishment from the crowd. Thomas, the learned clerk, was delighted to explain it; he told Osbert that painting the face was the custom of Constantinople, introduced to the court of the western Emperors by their Greek brides. Even he had never seen it before, and every member of the crowd stared to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him.
Osbert muttered what a great many people were thinking. ‘The Lady of England goes in state, in the robes of the Empire and the coronet of Anjou. Is she ashamed of her grandfather, Duke William the Conqueror, that she wears no emblem of Normandy or of England?’
Bishop Henry received his cousin at the door of the hall. He was beaming all over his face, as happy, Thomas muttered with a certain lack of charity, as a magnate should be when his elder brother is in fetters. This sally at the expense of old King Henry and his treatment of Duke Robert brought a smile from Osbert, but it was not
a topic to be discussed in public.
Except for Count Robert of Gloucester, the other magnates wore sour faces. For all of them this should have been a joyful occasion; they had sold their loyalty to King Stephen at a heavy price and now, less than six years later, they must be bought all over again. If they looked unwilling they must hate the Angevin party very bitterly indeed.
But there was nothing they could do. King Stephen was fettered in a dungeon and his armies dispersed. The holy crown of King Edward the Confessor was kept in the Treasury at Winchester, and the Empress had already taken it out to gloat over it. But only coronation could make her a Queen. Though that meant no more than that she must ride to London, for the party of Blois had no armed force to bring against her.
When the details of the coronation in Westminster Abbey had been settled, the delegation of London was called in to give its formal consent. Osbert demurred, pleading that he must seek instructions from the folkmoot; for though he himself supported the Empress he knew that London as a whole was hot for King Stephen. But Count Geoffrey of Essex reminded him that the Tower was now held in the name of the Lady of England, and he gave way gracefully. He agreed to fix the common seal of London to the treaty.
It was the duty of Thomas to heat the wax and impress the lead seal of the viscounty of London, a little seal which he carried in a bag in his bosom. This was a piece of ceremonial most gratifying to Osbert’s pride. He, who was too ignoble to be granted the spurs of a knight, had a chancellor to keep his seal, or at least the seal of his city. For the moment that put him on a level with great magnates like the Counts of Gloucester and Chester. Thomas also was pleased to have a task which excused his presence in the hall and allowed him to hear what was going on.
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