A Popular History of England, From the Earliest Times to the Reign of Queen Victoria; Vol. I

by François Guizot

A fresh attempt at a reconciliation broke down in consequence of the king's firm decision never to give to the archbishop the kiss of peace, with which it was usual to ratify all oaths. Meanwhile Prince Henry had been crowned in England, his father wishing to secure the succession to him. Becket's office had been usurped, the young prince having received the crown from the hands of the Archbishop of York. The Pope had returned to Rome, after the death of the anti-Pope Victor, and the displeasure or favor of the King of England now had fewer attractions or horrors for him. Henry was afraid that he might authorize Becket to excommunicate him personally, and to place his kingdom under an interdict, and he at length yielded, under the advice of the king of France, with whom he had just effected a reconciliation. In the month of July, 1170, the two antagonists met within the confines of Touraine. As soon as the king perceived the archbishop, he came forward, helmet in hand, and accosted him. They conversed in a friendly manner, with a certain amount of their old familiarity, and when they parted from each other, the king said to his courtiers, "I found the archbishop most favorably disposed towards me, and if the feeling were not mutual I should be the worst of men." Within two days of this event the reconciliation took place. Becket bent his knee to the king, who held the stirrup for the archbishop to remount his horse; but the kiss of peace was not given. However, the restitution of the archbishop's property was agreed upon. Henry promised to supply Becket with the money requisite to defray his travelling expenses to England, and the two enemies, apparently reconciled, took leave of each other. "I do not believe that I shall ever see you again," said the archbishop, looking fixedly at the king. "What! Do you take me for a traitor?" cried Henry angrily. The prelate only bowed in answer. He never saw the king again.

The archbishop had proceeded to Rouen, awaiting the money which had been promised to him, and during the sojourn which he was compelled to make in Normandy, he received frequent warnings of the dangers which awaited him on the other side of the Channel. "They will not even allow Becket time enough to eat a whole loaf," said Ranulph de Broc, who had been excommunicated by him; but Becket did not take heed of any warnings. "Even," he said, "if I had to face the certainty of being cut to pieces on the other side of the Channel, I should not turn back on my way. Seven years of absence are sufficient for the pastor and for his flock."

After having waited for four months, he borrowed three hundred livres of the Archbishop of Rouen, and set sail in a small vessel which landed him in Sandwich Bay, whereby he avoided an ambush which had been prepared for him near Dover. A messenger preceded the prelate, bearing letters of excommunication from the Pope against the Archbishop of York, the Bishop of London, and the Bishop of Chichester, who had all taken part in the ceremony of the coronation of the young king. The letters were publicly consigned to the three bishops, who were enraged beyond measure. It was on the first of December that Becket returned to England, to the great delight of the people, but not a single baron came to meet him. The first who passed were armed and drew their swords; one of the king's chaplains, who had accompanied the primate, was at great pains to quiet them, and to protect Becket on his re-entering his episcopal city. "He gathers serfs round him on his way," said the noblemen, "and leads them with him." The archbishop had come back to Canterbury after having attempted to obtain an interview with the young king, his old pupil, but the latter had refused to see him, and Becket, confined to his diocese, surrounded himself with the poor and the peasants, who constituted a rustic guard round him. Excommunications were still being proclaimed; on Christmas-day, after having begun his sermon with these words, "Venio ad vos, mori inter vos" (I come to you to die among you), Becket, reminding his congregation that one of their archbishops had suffered martyrdom, added, "You will perhaps see another suffer in the same manner; but, before dying, I will avenge some of the wrongs done to the Church." He then excommunicated Ranulph and Robert de Broc, his bitter enemies.

Meanwhile the suspended bishops had crossed the sea, to go and lay their complaints before King Henry II., who was still in Normandy. "We throw ourselves at your mercy, in the name of the Church and State, for your peace and for ours. There is a man who is inflaming all England; he marches with troops of armed horsemen and foot-soldiers, prowling around the fortresses, trying to effect an entrance." Henry had never sincerely forgiven his old favorite, and he was very angry at these accounts of his conduct. "What!" cried he, "does this wretch who has eaten my bread, who came to my court a beggar, upon a lame horse, with all he possessed behind him, insult me with impunity, while not one of the cowards whom I feed at my table dares to deliver me from a priest who is so obnoxious to me."

Words like these are always caught up by willing ears. When the king convoked a council of his barons to decide what was to be done with Becket, four of their number were absent—Richard Brito, Hugh de Moreville, William de Tracy, and Reginald Fitzurse. When the king observed that they were not there, he became uneasy, and hastened the departure of the Earl of Mandeville, who was commissioned to arrest Becket. The four conspirators preceded him.

On the 29th of December, in the morning, they arrived at Canterbury, followed by a troop of soldiers whom they had collected together on their way. They wished to secure the help of the mayor of the town, but the latter refused. The knights recommended him at least to keep the townsmen quiet, and they proceeded to the prelate's house with twelve of their friends.

The archbishop was in his room, and the knights sat down on the floor without saluting him and in silence. No one dared begin. The archbishop asked their business. "We have come on behalf of the king," said Reginald Fitzurse, "in order that those you have excommunicated may be absolved, that the bishops who have been suspended may be re-established in their positions, and that you may justify your designs against the king." '"It is not I who excommunicated the Archbishop of York," said Becket, "but the Pope himself. As to the others, I will re-establish them if they will tender their submission." "From whom do you hold your appointment as archbishop?" inquired Fitzurse, "from the Pope or from the king?" "My spiritual office I hold by the will of God and the Pope," said the primate, "and my temporal rights from the king." "It is not from the king, then, that you obtain everything?" "No." The knights were restless, and were twisting their gloves angrily. "I am astonished," said Becket, "that men who formerly swore allegiance to me come into my house to threaten me." "We will do more than threaten," cried the barons. They thereupon retired hastily.

The priests and attendants who surrounded Becket were alarmed; they wanted to close all the doors and barricade the house, begging the bishop to take refuge in the church. He refused. Already the noise of battle-axes rattling against the entrance was heard. Fitzurse was endeavoring to break open the door, which an attendant had shut upon the intruders, who had now come back with their weapons. The bell of the church was ringing for vespers. "Since it is my duty, I will go to the church," said Becket, and, preceded by a priest carrying a cross, he passed slowly through the cloisters and entered the cathedral. The door had not given way, but the conspirators had just entered the palace by the window. The clergy were hastening to close the doors of the church. "No," said the archbishop, "the house of God should not be barricaded like a fortress." He was ascending the steps leading to the choir when Reginald Fitzurse entered abruptly at the other end of the church. He was brandishing his sword and crying, "Come, loyal subjects of the king." It was late; the movements of the conspirators were scarcely observable, neither could the latter see the priests distinctly. The archbishop was urged to descend into the crypt. He refused, and advanced boldly towards the sacrilegious intruders, who were brandishing their swords within the holy precincts. His cross-bearer alone had not fled "Where is the traitor?" cried a voice. Becket did not answer. "Where is the archbishop?" repeated Fitzurse. "I am here," said Becket, "but no traitor, only a priest of the Lord. What are you here for?" "Absolve all those whom you have excommunicated." "They have not repented, and therefore I cannot." "You shall die then." "I am ready, in the name of the Saviour; but I forbid you, by the Lord Almighty, to touch any of these present, either priests or laymen." At this moment he received between the shoulders a blow with the flat part of a sword. "Fly," they cried, "or you are a dead man." The archbishop did not stir; the intruders endeavored to drag him out, not daring to kill him in the sanctuary; he was struggling in their grasp. At length William de Tracy raised his sword and wounded the archbishop in the head, striking down at the same time the hand of Edward Gryme, the brave cross-bearer. Becket had clasped his hands together: "I confide my soul and the cause of the Church to God, to the Virgin Mary, to the patron saints of this church, and to St. Denis," he cried. A second thrust from a sword laid him prostrate upon the ground near St. Bennet's altar; a third blow split his skull, and the sword was broken on the paved floor. "Thus perish all traitors," cried one of the conspirators, and they left the church hurriedly, while the monks were tearfully laying the archbishop's body out at the foot of the altar, taking up his blood in vessels, leaving exposed to view the hair-cloth which he wore, and already revering him as a martyr. But on the morrow they were obliged to bury him in great haste in order to spare his dead body the indignity of being insulted by Ranulph de Broc, who desired to take it away. The Archbishop of York publicly declared that Becket had fallen in his guilt and his pride like Pharaoh, while other bishops maintained that the body of the traitor ought not to lie in consecrated ground, and that he should be thrown into the foulest ditch or be put upon a gibbet to rot. It was forbidden in the churches to speak of him as a martyr.

Decrees are incapable of influencing the development of public opinion; King Henry was the first to discover this. Scarcely had he heard the news, when a profound feeling of repentance for his imprudent words overcame him; he shut himself up in his private apartment, and during three days would not see anybody or take any food. When he awoke from this sullen depression, he immediately sent an ambassador to the Pope, assuring the latter of his innocence and of the grief which the death of the archbishop caused him. At the same time, he hesitated to punish the murderers, who had acted according to his suggestion, and he allowed them the benefit of clergy, the crime having been committed upon the person of a priest. Thus the liberties of the Church, for which Becket had just died, protected his assassins. It is related that the latter were stricken with remorse in their turn, and that they went and threw themselves at the feet of the Pope, at Rome, who ordered them to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where they died sincerely penitent. If the story of the repentance of the murderers is not well authenticated, that of Becket's posthumous triumph is incontestable. He had not been buried two years, and King Henry had scarcely obtained forgiveness of the Pope (1172) by undertaking to support, during three years, two hundred horsemen intended for the defence of the Holy Sepulchre, when pilgrims were already proceeding in crowds to Canterbury Cathedral, begging the protection of the martyr, canonized by the public voice before being recognized as a saint by the Church. Two more years elapsed, and on the 10th of July, 1174, the king was proceeding barefooted along the road leading to Canterbury. Each step he made left behind him a spot of blood; he wore a pilgrim's dress, and on his arrival descended into the crypt, and prostrated himself before the tomb. The Bishop of London, from the pulpit, assured the people of the innocence of the king, of the profound grief which the death of the archbishop had caused him, and of the remorse which he experienced for the fit of anger which had caused the commission of the crime; the king remained praying. He rose, uncovered his shoulders, and, passing before the chapter, he received from each monk three strokes from a knotted rope; Henry then returned to the tomb, still fasting and praying. He passed the night in the church, and the morning after, having attended holy mass, he returned to London so exhausted by the fatigue and severity of his punishment that he fell ill on his arrival.

During the anxieties which Henry experienced while he was quarrelling with Becket, he had not neglected external affairs, and a new kingdom had been added to his vast dominions, a kingdom insecurely held, however, as yet, and which was to cost England much blood and many errors before being united completely to his crown. Henry II. had made the conquest of Ireland.