Jean Plaidy - The Plantagenet Prelude

Louis then began to make attacks on the Vexin for he said that if Henry did not regard her as young Henry’s wife and queen, he saw no reason why he should have her dowry.

Henry decided that it was easier to crown Marguerite and make peace with Louis than to stand out against the crowning and have to make war. One thing he could not do was lose the Vexin.

While he was in France the Archbishop of Rouen visited him, and the reason for his visit was to tell him that the Pope wished him to make his peace with Thomas Becket. It was an impossible situation. For several years England’s Archbishop had been in exile and this displeased the Pope. Becket would be happy to return to his post. It was for the King to invite him to. If he did not the Pope had hinted that he would have no alternative but to excommunicate the King of England.

Henry pretended to consider the matter. To see Thomas again! He had to admit that the idea was not displeasing. On the contrary it filled him with an excitement he could not understand.

He was in excellent spirits when he met Louis to take leave from him before returning to England.

‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘that thief of yours shall have his peace and a good one too.’

‘By the saints of France, what thief pray?’ asked Louis.

‘That Archbishop of Canterbury of ours,’ answered Henry.

‘I wish he were ours as well as yours,’ replied the King of France. ‘You will please God and man if you make a good peace with him, and I shall be ever more grateful to you.’

It was dawn and the meeting was to take place in a green field which was called Traitor’s Meadow.

The King of France, although he was stationed near by, had declared that he would not be present at the meeting for he realised that it would be an emotional encounter.

Henry surrounded by a few of his knights rode ahead of his party into the meadow, and there he waited until he saw approaching from the opposite direction the well-known figure and two of his friends riding on either side of him.

Oh God, thought Henry, is this he? He who used to look so fine on his horse in his magnificent cloak lined with fur. The years have ill-used him.

He spurred his horse that he might ride ahead and greet his old friend.

Thomas did the same and in that field they faced each other.

‘Thomas,’ said Henry, his voice shaken with emotion.

‘My lord King.’

Henry dismounted and Thomas did the same. Then the King held out his arms and they embraced.

‘Thomas, it has been so long since we met.’

‘It is five years,’ replied Thomas. ‘A long time for a man to be away from his home.’

‘I have thought of you often and the days we used to spend together. I doubt I ever laughed as much as I did with you. Why did you plague me so? Why could you not have been as I wished?’

‘Because I was your Archbishop, my lord, and I owed my allegiance first to God and then to you.’

‘I wanted you to have the highest honour. You knew that.’

‘It was an honour that should have come to me through my service to God, not through your favour.’

‘By God’s eyes, what troubles we have made for ourselves! My son Henry talks of you fondly. You bewitched him, Thomas.’

‘I am glad that he did not lose his love for me.’

‘Nay. ‘Tis hard to do that. You will come back to England, Thomas. Canterbury has been too long without its Archbishop. Your lands shall be restored to you.’

Thomas smiled but sadly. He knew Henry so well. How often in the past had his emotion extracted promises from him which in cooler moments he had not kept. Yet it was pleasant to be with this man, this Henry, for had they not loved each other well?

‘I have often thought,’ said the King, ‘that I would take the cross to the Holy Land. If I did, Thomas, I would leave my son Henry in your care.’

‘He is almost a man now with a will of his own.’

‘Yet he would be guided by you and this would I do if I were to leave on a crusade.’

Leave on a crusade! Leave England! Leave Normandy, Anjou, Aquitaine! These were the meaning of life to him. He would never leave them. But he liked to dream. He wished to show Thomas that he loved him, so he let himself indulge in this fancy.

‘I could not undertake a secular office,’ said Thomas. ‘But if you so desired I would give my advice to the young King.’

‘Thomas, you shall return. We will forget our differences. Come back to us soon.’

‘My lord is good,’ said Thomas. ‘There are certain bishops who have offended against the Church. None but the Archbishop of Canterbury should have crowned the young King. Those churchmen who agreed to this should be called to task for doing so.’

The King’s affability was a little strained at this.

‘I believed that as King of England I was entitled to have my son crowned wherever and by whomsoever I wished. You will remember how my grandfather and great-grandfather were crowned.’

‘My lord, when the Conqueror was crowned by Aldred of York the throne of Canterbury was virtually vacant. Stigand had not at that time received the pall from a legitimate Pope. As for your grandfather Henry I, when he was crowned Anselm the Archbishop was in exile. The Bishop of Hereford crowned him as Anselm’s representative and as soon as Anselm returned he was requested to perform a new coronation.’

”Tis true,’ said Henry. ‘And you shall perform a coronation for my son and this time his wife shall be with him for the King of France was sorely vexed because his daughter was not crowned with Henry.’

Thomas knelt then at the King’s feet; Henry leaned forward and lifted him. Then he embraced him. This was indeed a reconciliation.

Six years before he had escaped from the town of Sandwich and now he came back to it. His servants had set up the cross of Canterbury on the prow and as the little boat came in the people came down to the shore to welcome him. Many of them waded in the water battling for the honour of helping him ashore. On that strand many knelt and asked for his blesssing.

One man shouted: ‘Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.’ And some of them shouted: ‘Hosanna.’

As he took the road to Canterbury people fell in behind him. They cried out: ‘He is back among us. God has blessed us and given him back to us.’

In the city of Canterbury itself they set all the bells ringing; people dressed themselves in their finest garments; they filled the streets; they cried to each other that all was well with Canterbury for Thomas Becket was back.

Thomas walked into the cathedral. The joy of being in his own church was unsurpassed. He sat on the throne and one by one his monks came to receive the kiss of peace and the people who had crowded into the cathedral looked on with awe.

Some whispered to the others: ‘All is well now. He is back.’

There were many who were deeply disturbed by his return; those who had helped to destroy him, those who had taken part in the coronation of young Henry, those who had believed their ambitions would be furthered if he were out of the way. And chief of these was Roger, Archbishop of York.

‘How long will he last?’ he asked his friends. ‘Has he not laid strictures on us because we officiated at the ceremony of coronation. I have the King behind me. I will empty my coffers … I will spend eight - nay ten thousand pounds - to put down this man. Let us to Normandy where the King is and there we will tell him of how Thomas Becket conducts himself as soon as he has returned to England.’

Smarting under the threat of excommunication the bishops agreed with him and they set out for Normandy.

Thomas meanwhile was discovering that the King had not kept his promise to return his estates, and had even taken revenge on his family. His sisters had been forced to go into exile. Mary who had become a nun had gone to a French convent, and Matilda and her family had also gone to France where the Abbot of Clairmarais had given them refuge.

How deep had Henry’s feeling been? Had he really meant his promise of friendship?

Roger of York was a powerful man and he had been Thomas’s enemy from the days when they had been together in Theobald’s household. He now knew that Thomas’s rise could only be his fall, and he had meant what he said when he had boasted that he would spend his fortune on ruining him.

He was an influence in the Church; he had won the King’s favour by showing him that he had no scruples and was bent on reaching his ambition which was to be head of the Church in England.

Before he left for Normandy he went to Woodstock to see the young Henry.

Henry was proud of his crown and his attitude had changed since his coronation. He was apt to be critical of his father and wise men said that it was folly for one king to crown his successor while he still lived. The boy king was undoubtedly a little arrogant; he was surrounded by sycophants, and when Roger came with that unctuous manner which he knew so well how to use and flattered the young boy, he could influence him.

‘Becket is on his way to see you, I doubt not,’ he told him, ‘I’ll warrant you will have little time for the old hypocrite.’

Henry was puzzled. ‘I liked him well,’ he said. ‘He tutored me, you know.’

‘Ah, my lord. That was when you were a young boy and could be easily deceived. How quickly you learned to see the truth. I’ll swear that you see this more quickly even than your noble father.’

‘It may be so,’ said Henry solemnly.