Neither did Grim; even in his brief stay at Canterbury, he’d observed how mindful Lord Thomas was of his archiepiscopal dignity. “These men you named… is much known of them? Are they as ungodly and foul as the de Brocs?”
“If so, we are all doomed. Three of the four are not only known to Lord Thomas, they were his vassals whilst he was chancellor. Hugh de Morville remained for a time in his service after he became archbishop. His family is a respected one; his father was a Constable of Scotland. William de Tracy is well connected, too; his grandfather was a baseborn son of the old king, the first Henry, and he holds the barony of Bradnich. Reginald Fitz Urse’s father was Lord of Bulwick in Northamptonshire and he has lands in Somerset and Montgomery. Lord Thomas was the very one who secured for him his position at court. It defies belief, Ned, that any man of Christian faith could so reward good with evil. The fourth man is younger than the others, one Richard le Bret. I think he once served in the household of the Lord William, the king’s late brother, but I am not altogether certain of that. Richard the cellarer says that his cousin’s husband told him that they had enough men-at-arms with them to require two ships for the Channel crossing.” He paused to swallow, his mouth as parched as his hopes, and then added tonelessly, “And Saltwood Castle is just twelve miles away…”
Grim had always prided himself upon his logical thinking. He struggled now to remain calm, to subject this information to a dispassionate analysis. “So they are not lowborn rabble, but men of property, of substance. Are they of sufficient rank, though, to be dispatched to arrest the archbishop?”
Fitz Stephen pondered that for several moments. “I would think not,” he said doubtfully. “King Henry has a fearsome temper, one that has gotten worse over the years. I have witnessed several of these outbursts myself, and to hear him ranting and raving in the throes of a royal rage is to understand why men say the Angevins are of the Devil’s stock. I was told that he threw a truly terrible fit at Chinon four years ago, upon hearing that Lord Thomas had excommunicated his justiciar, Richard de Lucy, as well as Richard of Ilchester and John of Oxford. It may be that his temper caught fire at Bures, too, and these lords took him at his word-”
He broke off in midsentence, half-rising from the bench as John of Salisbury hastened toward them, his expression so stricken that they knew the news he bore was bad.
“They are here,” he panted. “They’ve just ridden into St Augustine’s!”
“The priory?” Grim was dumbfounded. “Why? Surely they could not expect aid from that quarter!”
Fitz Stephen and John looked at him in surprise, then remembered that his appointment to the benefice of Saltwood was a patronage plum and he’d probably spent little time in the parish before being ejected by the de Brocs.
“Lucifer himself could rely upon a welcome at St Augustine’s,” John said caustically. “Their prior, Clarembald, is a disgrace to the clergy and Church. He is a worldly sinner who was rewarded with an abbacy for his service to the king, a man who cares only for his carnal pleasures, feuding with his own monks, and siring so many bastards that he’s known as the stud of St Augustine’s.”
Fitz Stephen was already well acquainted with the scandalous history of Abbot Clarembald. “Let that be, John. Tell us what is happening at the priory. Does Lord Thomas know of this?”
“Yes, he knows.”
“And…?” Fitz Stephen prodded impatiently. “What did he say?”
“I told him that his enemies had arrived at St Augustine’s and were having dinner with Clarembald, and he… he said that we should make ready to dine, too.”
After dining on pheasant, Becket withdrew to his private quarters at the east end of the great hall. Once all of the monks, clerks, knights, and lay members of the household had finished their meal, it was the turn of the kitchen staff and servers to eat. By now word had spread of the arrival of the armed men at St Augustine’s Priory. William Fitz Neal, Becket’s steward, had been considering his precarious position as liegeman to both the archbishop and the king. Leaving his own dinner untouched, he followed Becket to his bedchamber and asked his permission to depart, saying candidly that “You are in such disfavor with the king and all his men that I dare not stay with you any longer, my lord.”
Becket’s clerks bristled, but he accepted the defection with surprising composure, telling his steward, “Of course you have my leave to go, William.” Fitz Neal ignored the accusing looks thrown his way and returned to the hall. It was now almost 4 P.M. and winter’s early twilight was already beginning to chase away the daylight.
While Fitz Neal was planning to abandon the archbishop’s sinking ship, a large contingent of knights and men-at-arms had left St Augustine’s and were entering the city through its Northgate. Leaving their men at a house close by the palace gateway, Hugh de Morville, Reginald Fitz Urse, William de Tracy, and Richard le Bret rode into the palace courtyard. Dismounting by the mulberry tree, they removed their swords and scabbards, then entered the great hall. Declining Fitz Neal’s polite offer of refreshments, they demanded to see the archbishop.
Thomas Becket was sitting upon his bed, conversing with one of the monks. Others of his household were seated or kneeling in the floor rushes. Fitz Neal announced the four knights, who strode into the bedchamber and sat on the floor, too. Fitz Stephen, frozen by the door, almost forgot to breathe. For what seemed forever to him, the archbishop ignored the knights and they said nothing. Finally the impasse was broken by Becket, who acknowledged their presence coolly, only to get a response so terse as to be deliberately discourteous, a growled “God help you” from Fitz Urse. Becket flushed and another silence ensued.
After exchanging glances with his companions, Fitz Urse assumed the role of spokesman and declared that they carried a message from the king. Did the archbishop want it said in private or public? To Fitz Stephen’s horror, his lord said that was for them to say, and Fitz Urse responded with a succinct “Alone, then.” As his clerks and monks started to leave the chamber, Becket suddenly changed his mind and recalled them. Still seated on the bed, he said to the knights:
“Now, my lords, you may say what you will.”
“We have been sent to escort you to the young king at Winchester, where you are to swear fealty to him and make satisfaction for the offenses you have committed against the Crown.”
“It was my dearest wish to meet with the young king at Winchester. I was prevented from doing so by his advisers, who ordered me to return to Canterbury. I will gladly swear fealty to him. But I have committed no offenses against the Crown and I will not go to Winchester to be put on trial.”
Fitz Urse seemed taken aback by the archbishop’s defiance. By now all of the knights were on their feet. “The lord king commands you to absolve the bishops, both from damnation and the bond of silence!”
“I have not excommunicated the bishops. It was the Lord Pope, whose power comes from God. And if His Holiness has seen fit to vindicate me and my Church against grave injury, I am not sorry for it.”
Fitz Urse’s jaw jutted out. “The excommunications were still your doing, so you will absolve them!”
“Indeed, I will not. Only the Lord Pope can do that. Moreover, this was done with the king’s consent.”
Fitz Urse whirled toward his companions. “Have you ever heard such deceit? He accuses the king of betraying his closest friends! This is beyond endurance.”
John of Salisbury mustered up the courage to intercede at this point, realizing that there was a great and gaping chasm between what the archbishop and the king believed to have been agreed upon at Freteval. “My lord archbishop, this serves for naught. You ought to speak privately about this with your council.”
Fitz Urse, who so far had maintained a respectful distance, now took several steps toward Becket. “From whom do you hold your See?”
“The spiritualities from God and my lord the Pope. The temporalities from my lord the king.”
“You do not admit that you owe all to the king?”
“No, I do not. We must render unto the king what is the king’s, and to God what is God’s. I will spare no one who violates the laws of Christ’s Church.”
“You dare to threaten us? You mean to excommunicate us all?”
When Fitz Urse strode closer still to the bed, the archbishop rose to his full height, towering over the knight. “I do not believe that you come from the king,” he said and at that, the other men burst into loud, angry speech. For several moments, there was chaos, all speaking at once. They cursed the archbishop for breaking the peace and seeking to uncrown the young king and foment rebellion and even to make himself king. No less wrathful himself, Becket denied those charges with passion and leveled accusations of his own, reminding them that they’d once sworn fealty to him on bended knee. This enraged them all the more, and to the frightened witnesses, it seemed as if violence would erupt then and there, in the archbishop’s own bedchamber.
“You threaten me in vain.” Becket’s voice was hoarse, his dark eyes blazing. “If all the swords of England
