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Authors: Jean Plaidy
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lord, to consider what must be done. We will confer again tomorrow.’
In the chamber they had set aside for him he clenched his fists and bit them until they were red and blue with his teeth marks.
‘By God’s arms, eyes and teeth!’ he cried. ‘Thomas, you will not let me rest. I would to God I had never seen you. Why could you not have died in your bed?’
He was too wise and shrewd to believe he could defy the Pope. If he did, as soon as he left Normandy the rebellions would start. He would have to stay here to hold them in check. And what would be happening in England while he did that? He had his enemies there. Excommunication, a loss of his lands. No, he must be wise. There was nothing for it. He must give way.
It was in a chastened mood that he met the Cardinals on the next day.
‘Well,’ he cried, ‘what is it you desire of me?’
‘We desire this, my lord. You must hold the Holy Gospels in your hand while you swear that you did not order nor wish the death of Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury.’
Henry was thoughtful. Of course he had wished it. Who would not have wished the death of a man who caused so much trouble? He had demanded of his knights why they did not rid him of the tiresome cleric. But, he assured himself, I did not wish the murder of Thomas. He was my dear friend, and I would to God he had not been so brutally killed in the Cathedral.
He took the gospels in his hands. It’s true, Thomas, he thought. I would we were together again as we used to be when we roamed the countryside together. I always wanted that. It was only when you became my Archbishop that there was this trouble between us.
They were demanding of him some sort of penance. Why, if he had had no part in the murder? It was easier to grant what they asked than to swear on the holy book.
‘My lord, the Pope asks that you support two hundred knights for the defence of Jerusalem for a year.’
‘I will do this,’ said Henry. It was always simple to promise money for there were invariably so many reasons why such promises could not be kept.
‘You will allow appeals to be made freely to the Pope.’
Now they were tampering with the Constitutions of Clarendon over which he and Thomas had quarrelled. Well, if it must be, it must. He would have to extricate himself from this unpleasant affair as quickly as possible and get on with the important business of safeguarding his realm.
‘You must restore the possessions of the See of Canterbury so that they are as they were before the Archbishop left England.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed.
Finally, English Bishops must not be asked to take the Oath he had demanded of them at Clarendon; and those who had taken it must be freed from any obligation to keep it.
He must put an end to this humiliating situation. He must make his peace with the Pope.
He could have murdered those Cardinals. He could have gone into battle against the Pope. But he was not called the most shrewd king in Europe for nothing. He knew when concessions had to be made and this was one of those occasions.
He had settled the matter, he believed, once and for all.
And Thomas, my beloved friend and hated enemy, you in your shrine at Canterbury have defeated the King of England on his throne. The battle is over, Thomas, and I can say with truth that I wish with all my heart that it had never been necessary to indulge in it.
He left Savigny with rising spirits. He was free of Thomas.
There was news from Eleanor. Richard was now of an age to be officially declared Duke of Aquitaine, and she believed that the ceremony of establishing him as such should no longer be delayed.
He agreed with her. Let Richard be the acknowledged Duke of Aquitaine. When he considered what he had done to Richard’s betrothed it soothed his conscience a little to agree readily to his acquisition of Aquitaine. Eleanor was for once pleased with him, and when they met at Poitiers she was quite gracious to him.
Richard viewed him
In the chamber they had set aside for him he clenched his fists and bit them until they were red and blue with his teeth marks.
‘By God’s arms, eyes and teeth!’ he cried. ‘Thomas, you will not let me rest. I would to God I had never seen you. Why could you not have died in your bed?’
He was too wise and shrewd to believe he could defy the Pope. If he did, as soon as he left Normandy the rebellions would start. He would have to stay here to hold them in check. And what would be happening in England while he did that? He had his enemies there. Excommunication, a loss of his lands. No, he must be wise. There was nothing for it. He must give way.
It was in a chastened mood that he met the Cardinals on the next day.
‘Well,’ he cried, ‘what is it you desire of me?’
‘We desire this, my lord. You must hold the Holy Gospels in your hand while you swear that you did not order nor wish the death of Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury.’
Henry was thoughtful. Of course he had wished it. Who would not have wished the death of a man who caused so much trouble? He had demanded of his knights why they did not rid him of the tiresome cleric. But, he assured himself, I did not wish the murder of Thomas. He was my dear friend, and I would to God he had not been so brutally killed in the Cathedral.
He took the gospels in his hands. It’s true, Thomas, he thought. I would we were together again as we used to be when we roamed the countryside together. I always wanted that. It was only when you became my Archbishop that there was this trouble between us.
They were demanding of him some sort of penance. Why, if he had had no part in the murder? It was easier to grant what they asked than to swear on the holy book.
‘My lord, the Pope asks that you support two hundred knights for the defence of Jerusalem for a year.’
‘I will do this,’ said Henry. It was always simple to promise money for there were invariably so many reasons why such promises could not be kept.
‘You will allow appeals to be made freely to the Pope.’
Now they were tampering with the Constitutions of Clarendon over which he and Thomas had quarrelled. Well, if it must be, it must. He would have to extricate himself from this unpleasant affair as quickly as possible and get on with the important business of safeguarding his realm.
‘You must restore the possessions of the See of Canterbury so that they are as they were before the Archbishop left England.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed.
Finally, English Bishops must not be asked to take the Oath he had demanded of them at Clarendon; and those who had taken it must be freed from any obligation to keep it.
He must put an end to this humiliating situation. He must make his peace with the Pope.
He could have murdered those Cardinals. He could have gone into battle against the Pope. But he was not called the most shrewd king in Europe for nothing. He knew when concessions had to be made and this was one of those occasions.
He had settled the matter, he believed, once and for all.
And Thomas, my beloved friend and hated enemy, you in your shrine at Canterbury have defeated the King of England on his throne. The battle is over, Thomas, and I can say with truth that I wish with all my heart that it had never been necessary to indulge in it.
He left Savigny with rising spirits. He was free of Thomas.
There was news from Eleanor. Richard was now of an age to be officially declared Duke of Aquitaine, and she believed that the ceremony of establishing him as such should no longer be delayed.
He agreed with her. Let Richard be the acknowledged Duke of Aquitaine. When he considered what he had done to Richard’s betrothed it soothed his conscience a little to agree readily to his acquisition of Aquitaine. Eleanor was for once pleased with him, and when they met at Poitiers she was quite gracious to him.
Richard viewed him
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