“He enraged me and yet at the same time I had some respect for his fervor. I would be lenient with him. I said, ‘There is not really much about which we disagree. There are just one or two points. Just swear that you will serve me. Forget about your order. Come. Give your complete allegiance to the King. Then all shall be as it once was between us.’ I meant it. I would forgive him all the troubles he has caused me. I wanted to be on good terms with the man.”

“I know you have always had a great affection for him. None but Thomas Becket would have dared provoke you so.”

“Still, he would not give me what I wanted. He kept saying, ‘In all things save when it would be in conflict with my order.’ I gave him one last chance. I said to him, ‘I have tried to reason with you, because of the friendship we once had. I have stripped myself of my royalty and come to you as a friend ... as a commoner. I will put aside all the trouble you have caused me; you shall not suffer for it. You shall have Berkhampsted back ... Eye, too. Young Henry shall return to you. Come, Thomas, what say you? Remember how we enjoyed life together ... what friends we were? All you have to do is give me your word. You will obey the King ... in all things.’ And what do you think he said to that?”

“I can guess.”

“He said, ‘I cannot deny my order, which is to deny God.’ I shouted at him then. I had waived my dignity ... everything for friendship and all he could do was mutter about his order. He would not budge one iota. I told him I would put him back where he was before I set him up. Everything he had he owed to me. He had better be careful, I said. I had had enough of his disobedience. He thought because of the great friendship I had shown him he could treat me scurvily. ‘You will see,’ I told him, ‘what it is to tangle with kings.’ He did not flinch. He just bowed his head; and I left him. That meeting should never have taken place.”

“No,” I agreed. “You have gone a long way to placate Becket.”

“No more,” he shouted. “No more. Now there is war between us and that augers ill for Becket.”

”We shall spend Christmas at Berkhampsted,” said Henry. “Becket will hear that we are there. It will remind him of the proud possession which is no longer his.”

He continued to be obsessed by Becket. Now he was turning over in his mind how he could do him some harm. He wanted revenge; but in his heart I knew he longed for the old friendship.

I was annoyed. He had cared for Becket more than he ever had for me. It was humiliating; but because of his obsessive love, his hatred was the greater, and what he wanted now, since there could not be reconciliation, was revenge.

Henry decided to appeal to the Pope. He believed he might very well be successful in this, for Alexander III was not in a very happy position at this time, and when their state is weak, Popes are often ready to placate powerful monarchs. Henry knew that Alexander could not afford to offend him. When the English Pope, Nicholas Breakspear, who called himself Hadrian IV, had died, there were differences in the Church and two rivals came on the scene. Henry promised his support to Alexander, who was now living in France, and it was to Alexander that the appeal against Becket was addressed.

Henry stressed that he was a good churchman. He was a ruler who wanted nothing but obedience from his subjects, and Alexander would understand that no king could effectively rule without that. He could not allow anyone—even though he held a high position in the Church—publicly to declare his disobedience. All he wanted was a word from his Archbishop that he would obey the King—and that he must have. He said that he wished the Church to be strong in England, for all knew that the Christian faith kept men righteous. Thieves, murderers and rapists were irreligious men and he wanted to rid his realm of them; but to do this he must have power to enforce his laws and he could not allow any man—even if he be a priest—to escape justice.

Henry was known as a man of purpose, and Alexander would understand that he could not be ignored. He might have supported the Archbishop if he had been in a position to do so. It always amuses me to see how these religious men are influenced by their personal needs.

The result was that Alexander wrote to Becket telling him that there must be no quarrel between the Church and the King and that if it was a matter of saying a few words it would be wise for Becket to say them.

I should have enjoyed seeing Becket’s face when he read that. How did he feel about his master the Pope, who was not prepared to take a small risk when he, Becket, was staking his whole career and perhaps his life? But he was trapped. He had orders from the Pope and he must give way because of the uncertainty of Alexander’s position, for Alexander, who needed all the support he could get, was not going to offend a monarch as powerful as Henry.

Becket sought a meeting.

I was with Henry when he was brought in. He looked very disturbed. He must have been feeling that he had been betrayed by the Pope.

I was mildly irritated to see that Henry’s mood had softened at the sight of Becket. It was amazing that, after all that had happened, he could still feel affection for him. I believed he was telling himself that when this little matter had been settled and Becket realized it would be wise to stand firmly beside the King, they could return to their old relationship.

“Well,” said Henry expansively, “what has His Holiness to say on our little matter?”

“He is of the opinion that I must swear to serve you without reservations.”

“Wise man. So our little difference is over, eh?”

“The Pope commanded it.”

Henry’s genial mood began to fade. “And you must obey him, eh?”

“I must, my lord King.”

“You must, of course ... while you disregard me.”

“He is the Head of the Church.”

“And you still think that you were right and His Holiness is wrong?”

“I thought I was right in what I did.”

“And because he is not prepared to agree with you, you will do your duty and swear allegiance to your King?”

“I am assured from His Holiness that I must make this concession because you, as the King of this realm, cannot have your wishes openly disregarded and that you have given your word that you will not go against the laws of the Church.”

“You swear to obey me, Thomas?”

“I do, my lord.”

Henry’s face was tinged with purple. I could see the love fighting with the hatred. He so desperately wanted this man to tell him that he would serve him, forsaking all other; he wanted not so much complete obedience from Thomas as love; he wanted Thomas to break down that cold reserve, that dedication to his Church, to be as he had been in the old days when they had roamed the streets of London together, sharing interesting conversation, private jokes, enjoying the fun which two people, close in spirit, can find in each other. But between them stood the Church. Thomas was a strange man. Perhaps therein lay his fascination.

Remembering the past was angering Henry. Why had it changed? And all because he had bestowed on this man high office in the Church. He had been a fool to do it. He had been warned ... outspokenly by his mother, obliquely by me ... and by Thomas himself. Henry hated to think himself a fool and it was typical of him that when the blame rested on himself he sought to shift it onto others.

His face hardened. “I am glad of your allegiance, Thomas,” he said, “grudgingly given though it is and on the orders of one whom you serve before you serve me.”

“My lord, then I trust all is well between us,” said Thomas.

“You opposed me in public,” said Henry, his lips tightening, so I knew he was controlling his rage. “It is not fitting that you should give me your apology in private. I shall need you to make your oath of allegiance to me before the Great Council.”

Becket looked stunned and Henry laughed harshly.

“It will soon be Christmas,” said Henry, “and, knowing your pleasure as well as your pride in the place, I, with the Queen and the Court, am spending it at Berkhampsted.”

That was not a very happy Christmas. I could not find much pleasure in spending it among what was some of Becket’s splendor. I was glad when it was over.

The Great Council was to assemble on January 25, and it was to be held in the hunting lodge at Clarendon, not far from Salisbury. We arrived on the thirteenth. The children were with us.

Young Henry was very thoughtful and I noticed that he avoided his father. The King could never understand children; he underrated their intelligence and treated them as little children, not realizing how quickly they become adults; and I think there is nothing children resent so much as this attitude.

Young Henry was aware of a great deal more than his father gave him credit for.

I said: “Your father has had a difference of opinion with the Archbishop because the Archbishop stands for the Church and your father for the State.”

“But the Church is part of the State, is it not?” asked Henry.

“Yes, but the Church is under the rule of the Pope and the State under that of the King and sometimes it makes for differences.”

I explained about the King’s desire that all criminals should be judged by the State and that there should not be special privileges for members of the Church.

“And Thomas wants those privileges?”

“Well, he would, you see, being the head of the Church in England.”

Henry pondered this. He was on Thomas’s side not because he believed that Thomas was right but because he loved Thomas, and the plain truth was that he did not love his father. My feelings were mingled. I thought Henry was right in this matter. I could not see why murderers should go free just because they were clergy. I believed many of them were rogues and would be prepared to swear their innocence for the sake of escaping punishment for their misdeeds. But I had to admit to a great pleasure when I saw my children turn to me rather than to their father. Henry had disappointed me in many ways. I found it hard to forgive his blatant infidelity, especially in the days just after our marriage; and my nature was such that I enjoyed scoring over him.