He received them with his clergy about him, and they began to threaten him in the name of the King, and order him to leave the kingdom. He must fully have understood the meaning of all this; but he stood firm, and quietly answered all their railing. They then told him his doings should recoil on his own head; and on his replying that he was ready to suffer martyrdom, they noisily left the room, Fiturse shouting out, “Ho! clerks and monks, in the King’s name seize that man, and keep him till justice is done.”
“You will find me here,” answered Becket, standing by the door.
The knights had gone back to arm themselves and join their retainers. In the meantime the terrified clergy fastened all the doors of the monastery, and besought the Archbishop to take shelter in the church; but he seemed the only person present who had no fear, and replied that he would not flee—he would remain where he was. At last he was persuaded to come into church, as it was the hour for vespers, and set off, with the cross borne before him.
“My lord! my lord! they are arming!” cried one frightened monk; and another brought word that they were upon them—Robert de Broc having shown them the way through the orchard. Still Becket was calm; and as the monks tried to drag him into the church, he stood at the door, saying, “Go on with the holy service. As long as you are afraid of death, I will not enter.”
They proceeded, and he advanced up the aisle. As he was going up the steps to the altar, there was a rush of monks into the church; for Reginald Fitzurse, with a drawn sword, had just come through the cloister door, the other murderers following. Becket turned, on seeing the monks trying to bolt and bar the church doors. “It is not right,” said he; “to make a fortress of the house of prayer. It can protect its own, even if its doors are open. We shall conquer our enemies by suffering, not by fighting.”
The vespers ceased; the clergy threw themselves on the altars for protection; the Archbishop stood alone with one canon, with Fitzstephen and Edward Grim, a priest who had come to visit him. In rushed the band of armed men, crying out, “Where is the traitor, Thomas Becket?” To this he made no answer; but when the cry was, “Where is the Archbishop?” he came down the steps, saying, “Here I am; no traitor, but a priest of the Lord. What would you of me?”
“Absolve those you have excommunicated.”
“They have not repented, and I will not.”
“Then you shall die.”
“I am ready, for the Lord’s sake; but, in the name of Almighty God, I forbid you to harm these, whether priests or laymen.”