When it came to Henry’s ears that Louis had written encouraging letters to the Archbishop congratulating him on the firm stand he was taking on behalf of the Church and in the name of God, he was furious; he raged and shouted abuse of Louis, that lily-livered half-man. Louis hinted that, should life in England become intolerable for Thomas, there would be a welcome for him across the water.

To make matters worse, a tragedy struck the family, and this again Henry laid at Thomas’s door.

There was news from Matilda. Her letter betrayed her violent grief. Her young son William was dead.

Henry could not believe it. When last he had heard of William, his brother had been perfectly well—sad, of course, because he had been in love with the Countess and on account of consanguinity he had been denied—by that meddling priest Thomas of Canterbury—permission to marry her.

Matilda wrote: “Dear William, he was always so gentle, so different from you and Geoffrey. He only wanted to live in peace and amity with the whole world. He never sought anything for himself. He only wanted love and he could have had it—but your Archbishop prevented the marriage. He never recovered from that disappointment. He was listless. When he came to me I was shocked by the sight of him. I nursed him myself but it was no good. He did not care to live. He caught a cold. There are so many drafts in the castle. I think he could have recovered, but he just did not want to live without the Countess. You should never have appointed that man as Archbishop. Now he has killed William.”

The letter dropped from Henry’s hand. I picked it up and read it.

Henry’s face was crumpled in sorrow. He had really loved William. Then suddenly his grief turned to rage.

“It is Thomas Becket ... always Thomas. He plagues me. He brings trouble into my life.”

“It would seem so,” I agreed.

Henry sank onto a stool and covered his face with his hands. Then he lifted his eyes to my face, and I saw the burning hatred there.

“This,” he said, “I will never forgive.”

Tension was increasing all through that summer. I knew that sooner or later it would have to come to a head. Henry’s mind was completely obsessed by Becket. I knew he would not rest while Thomas was in the country. He wanted to dismiss him, but he could not dismiss the Archbishop of Canterbury. All he could do was hope to humiliate him into resigning.

I did not think Thomas would do that. He would consider he had failed the Church if he did. He would want to stand firm and fight the good fight for the sake of the Church.

He did, however, make two attempts to escape during that summer, I heard afterward. On one occasion he disguised himself as a monk and with only a few of his loyal servants rode to Romney, where a boat was to have been waiting to take him across the water to enjoy that hospitality which Louis had promised him. However, the elements were against him, and the boatmen would not risk their lives trying to cross on such seas. I wondered what he thought of God’s being so careless as not to arrange better weather for His chosen one. He would always have an answer, such as “God has other plans for me.”

He could not stay in Romney and had to return to his palace. When he arrived late at night, his servants thought he was a ghost and some terrible fate had befallen him. They were terrified but at last he was able to persuade them that he was no ghost and they let him in; he was their own Archbishop and was still with them because it was God’s will that this should be so.

Then came an opportunity to summon him to the court.

One of Henry’s officers, John the Marshal, brought an action against the Archbishop’s court. There had been a dispute over a piece of land in Pagham in Sussex, which John claimed as his; but it happened to be on Church land and the Church disputed John’s claim to it. Then a court, set up by the Church, heard the case and set aside John’s claim. Under the new law John could contest the case and have it tried in the King’s court.

Henry was delighted, for here was a chance to come once more into conflict with the Archbishop.

The court was to be held at Westminster, and Henry, with great glee, summoned Becket to appear.

On the day set for the hearing, Becket did not arrive in court. He sent a message to say he was unwell.

Henry did not intend to spare him, though Becket had sent four knights and a sheriff with the letter in which he stated he was too unwell to attend court, and the case ought not to be brought, as John the Marshal had taken his oath on a hymn book instead of the Bible.

Henry then declared that he did not believe in Becket’s illness. He said Becket need not think he was going to escape. The suit should be held on October 6, which was a few weeks later, and it should take place at Northampton, where we should be at that time.

Henry had worked himself up into a passion, certain that Becket had been well enough to attend on the previous occasion, and when he was in court and Becket put forward his case, Henry refused to listen and accused him of contempt of court. He demanded that sentence be passed against him.

Henry was so fierce in his accusations that those who were to judge took fright and, realizing that he wanted Becket found guilty, condemned him to be “at the King’s mercy.” This generally meant that he would be required to give up all his goods to the King, but in most cases it was a figure of speech and merely meant the imposition of a fine.

But Henry wanted more than that. He wanted the sentence carried out to the letter. He sent his demands, which were enormous, referring back to the time when Becket had been Chancellor and money had passed into his hands. Everything must be accounted for. It was clear that the King’s intention was to ruin Becket.

Sick and emaciated from insufficient nourishment, Becket was ill again and could not appear in court to face more charges. When he did not arrive, Henry humiliated him by sending several men to his chambers to be assured that the Archbishop was not malingering.

I think at that time Becket wanted to be a martyr. His feelings for the King must have been as strong as Henry’s for him, and in my opinion he wanted to goad Henry into doing something which would cause him lifelong regret. He came into the court, barefoot and carrying his own cross, implying that it was his only protection against a tyrant. I heard that his advisers clustered around him—one urging him to use his power to frighten the King with a threat of excommunication, another to remember the saints and meekly accept what was coming to him.

Henry was not present on this occasion. His feelings fluctuated; he swayed between love and pity for his old friend and hatred and the desire for revenge. He could not face him, so he sent the Earl of Leicester to sentence him. What the sentence would have been it was never discovered because it was never given. Becket told the Earl so sternly and with such conviction that he was committing a sin by attempting to sentence his spiritual father that Leicester refrained from doing so. And Becket left the hall, carrying his own cross.

The next day news was brought to Henry that the Archbishop had disappeared.

Henry fell into a rage. He shouted that the traitor had escaped him. He would go to France, where they would make a saint of him. It would be easy for him to work against the King there and he must be stopped.

He commanded that all ports be watched.

It was some time afterward that we heard what actually happened. Being aware that the King’s men would be waiting for him at the port of Dover, Thomas, disguised as a monk, had turned northwards and gone to Grantham and from there to Lincoln. There were many who regarded him as a saint and were ready to shelter him. So he was traveling in England for some days, and from Lincoln he sailed down to Boston, and then turned back to Kent. With him was Roger de Brai, who would serve him with his life, and two lay brothers, Robert de Cave and Scailman. It was a hazardous journey and they knew that one false step could lead them to disaster. Becket would be called a traitor now, and the fate of traitors was death.

They took their lives in their hands every time they rested for a night but in due course they came to the little village of Eastry, close to Sandwich, and they stayed there for a while in the house of a priest until a boat could be found and the weather was clement enough to give them a safe crossing.

In due course they set sail and were fortunate enough to pass safely over the sea and to land on the sands of Oie, not far from Gravelines.

I wondered what Thomas Becket’s thoughts were when he went ashore from his little boat. Did he think of that other time when he had come to this spot with splendor and pomp, come on a mission from the King to ask for the hand of Louis’s daughter for Prince Henry? Then he had been the King’s beloved friend; now he was his bitter enemy.

The Fair Rosamund

HENRY’S REACTION WAS WHAT I should have expected. When he finally realized that Becket had escaped him and landed in Flanders and was doubtless on his way to take advantage of Louis’s offer of protection, he was overcome with rage.

This time he did not attempt to suppress it. He raved and ranted, tore at his hair, screamed abuse, lay on the floor, kicked the furniture and, seizing handfuls of rushes, gnawed them.

I stood watching him dispassionately. Everyone else made haste to get out of the way when these moods took him.

He was aware of my analytical gaze. It angered him. He would have liked me to be terrified. I just thought he was behaving like a spoiled child.