“William of Sens, in 1184, finished the building which we now see.”—Page [264].
Canterbury’s cloisters are wonderfully ancient. Blackened as they are by the centuries, and their still exquisite carvings broken, yet here, more than in the edifice itself, can one imagine the scene of Becket’s terrible death.
“The residence of the Archbishop stood alongside the church,” Mrs. Pitt proceeded, “and here the murderers came unarmed, upon their arrival in the town, to interview him. Becket was unmoved by their threats, so they left him to go and arm themselves. The entreaties of the monks that their master should seek safety in the cathedral would have been of no avail had not the hour for evening service arrived. Can’t you almost think how dark and cold these stones must have seemed on that winter afternoon, when Becket marched along with majestic deliberateness through these very cloisters, in by that little door, and up to the altar. A feeling of dread and terror was everywhere. Most of the monks had fled to places of hiding, and the Archbishop found himself alone with his three or four faithful friends, whom he commanded to unbolt the heavy church doors, which, in a panic, they had barred. No sooner had the armed men rushed in than the challenge came from Reginald Fitzurse, as Tennyson gives us the scene:
‘Where is the Archbishop, Thomas Becket?’
and Becket’s brave answer:
‘Here.
No traitor to the King, but Priest of God,
Primate of England. I am he ye seek.
What would ye have of me?’
They responded, ‘Your life!’ and there immediately followed the horrible death.”
Mrs. Pitt drew a long breath and sighed.
“Such were the deeds of those unenlightened days. These fierce Norman knights, wishing to gain favor in the eyes of the King, and hearing him say in a moment of anger, that he wished himself rid of the troublesome Archbishop, they at once proceeded to Canterbury and killed him. It was all the outcome of the continual strife and struggle for power, between the Church and the State.”