Текст книги "The Plantagenet Prelude "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Chapter XIII
FLIGHT FROM ENGLAND
In the great hall the justiciary Richard de Luci read out the clauses of the code which was known as the Constitution of Clarendon, and Thomas realised at once that he had been duped. Henry had had no more compunction in lying to the Templars than he had to him. He had been ready to promise anything to gain his point. Sometimes Thomas thought that this was not so much a quarrel between Church and State as a conflict between Thomas Becket and Henry I of England. It was like one of the games they had played in the past, only this time it was in deadly earnest.
When the Clerk read out that clerics were to be tried on all accusations by the King’s justiciary, Thomas could not forbear crying out: ‘This is against the laws of the Church.
Christ is judged anew before Pilate.’ Another clause stated that no one must leave the kingdom without the King’s consent.
‘The kingdom will become a prison,’ said Thomas. ‘What of those who wish to go on holy pilgrimages? What of those members of the Church who were summoned by the Pope to attend a council? Would they not be obliged to obey the Pope even if the King refused permission?’
There was worse to follow. There should be no appeals to the Pope without the King’s consent.
‘How could an archbishop agree to this?’ demanded Thomas. ‘When he receives the pal ium he takes an oath not to hinder appeals to the Pope.’
As Thomas protested the King sat glowering at him and when the reading was over he stood up and in a voice of thunder cried: ‘Now shall the members of the clergy sign and seal these constitutions and the Archbishop of Canterbury shall do so first.’
Thomas looked at his bishops, some of whom hung their heads in shame while others, more bold, looked at him appealingly. To sign and seal such a document was to deny their duty. The Bishop of Salisbury murmured that if they signed it they would be guilty of perjury.
The King looked on. His armed guard was standing alert.
One word from him and there would be a bloody massacre.
‘God help me,’ prayed Thomas.
Then he said in a clear voice: ‘We need time to study this document. I am sure the King in his grace will give us a few hours to discuss it together in private.’
He picked up a copy – there were three – and the
Archbishop of York took another.
He mounted his horse and with his small company about him, he rode to Winchester. He despised himself. He had gone too far along the road to placating the King. He should never have taken the oath in public; he should never have agreed to it in private. He should have led his weaker brethren. He should have defied the King, inviting death.
What mattered it if he were done to death? All that mattered was that he should be faithful to God and the Church.
He could hear the members of his suite discussing the Constitution.
‘What could he have done?’ asked one. ‘If he had defied the King more openly it would have been the end for us all.’
‘Yet has he not endangered the liberties of the Church?’
asked another.
His standard-bearer, a Welshman of an impetuous nature, cried out suddenly, ‘Iniquity rages through the land.
No one is safe who loves the truth. Now that the chief has fallen, who will stand?’
‘To whom do you refer?’ asked Thomas.
‘To you,’ answered the Welshman. ‘You, my lord, who have betrayed your conscience and your fame and the Church. You have acted in a manner which is hateful to God and against justice. You have joined with the ministers of Satan to overthrow the Church.’
‘Oh God of Heaven, you are right,’ cried Thomas. ‘I have brought the Church into slavery. I came not from the cloister but from the Court, not from the school of Christ but from Caesar’s service. I have been proud and vain. I have been foolish. I see that I have been deserted by God and am only fit to be cast out of the Holy See.’
His Archdeacon rode up beside him.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘if you have fallen low, rise up bravely.
Be cautious and strong and the Lord will help you. Did He not make David great and was he not an adulterer and a murderer? Did not Peter deny Him thrice and was he not the founder of His Church? You have been Saul and now you are Paul. You know what you must do. The Lord will help you do it.’
‘You are right, my friend,’ said Thomas. ‘I will start again.
God will be beside me and never again will I fall so low. I will die for the Church if need be.’
There seemed to be only one thing Thomas could do. He must see the Pope. He must tell him everything that had happened and ask what he must do next. The King’s edict was that no one should leave the country without his consent. Even so he must get away. The King had ignored him but he would not continue to do so. Thomas knew that Henry was trying to shift the power from Canterbury to York for he was aware that in Roger there was a man of immense ambition as well as an enemy of Thomas Becket.
Thomas disguised himself as a wandering monk and
with a few members of his suite rode to Romney where he had arranged that a boat should be waiting for him.
He reached the coast without mishap but so violent a wind had blown up that he was forced to abandon the project.
He could not remain at Romney but must return to Canterbury, and this he did. But he intended to try again in a clement season, and one day when the weather was mild he set out again.
His servants, believing that he had now reached France, were afraid to stay in his palace and with the exception of one cleric and his boy servant, they left.
They talked awhile of the sad fate of the Archbishop and how the man, who many had said had ruled the King, for when he was Chancellor the King had loved him dearly, was now fallen so low, the lower for having risen so high.
‘Ah, my boy, it is a lesson to us all,’ said the cleric. ‘Now go and make sure the doors are shut and bolted that we may sleep safely this night. In the morning we must depart, for it will not be long before the King’s men arrive. They will take away all the worldly goods of the Archbishop for the King would despoil him not only of his office but of his goods as well.’
The boy took a lantern and went to do his master’s bidding, and as he came into the courtyard in order to close the outer door he saw a figure slumped against the wall. He held the lantern high and peered. Then he let out a shriek and ran to his master.
‘I have seen a ghost,’ he cried. ‘The Archbishop is dead and has come to haunt the place.’
The cleric took the lantern and went to see for himself.
He found no ghost but Thomas himself.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘you are back then?’
‘The sailors who were to take the boat across to France recognised me,’ said Thomas. ‘They would not sail, so fearful were they of the King’s wrath. I see that God does not wish me to escape.’
If this were so then he must try other methods. It occurred to him that if he could see Henry, if he could talk reasonably, if he could remind him of their past friendship they might yet come to an understanding.
He asked for a meeting and somewhat to his surprise the King, who was at Woodstock, agreed to see him.
Henry was in a mellow mood. He had spent a few days in the company of Rosamund and their two children, and these sojourns always had a softening effect on him.
When Henry saw Thomas he noticed how wan he had become.
‘You’ve aged,’ he said. ‘You are not the merry reveller you once were.’
‘Nor are you, my lord King, the friend who joined in our fun.’
‘We have had our differences,’ answered Henry, ‘and
alas they persist. Why did you attempt to leave the country?
Is there not room here for us both?’
Thomas looked at the King sadly, but Henry would not meet his gaze.
The King went on: ‘Why have you asked for this audience? What have you to say to me?’
‘I had hoped, my lord, that you might have something to say to me.’
‘There is much I would say to you, but first there is one thing that you must say to me. Have you come to your senses, Becket?’
‘If you mean by that have I come to sign and seal the Constitution I can only say nay.’
‘Then go,’ cried the King. ‘There is nothing else I want to hear from you.’
‘I had hoped for the sake of the past...’
‘By God’s eyes, man, will you obey my orders or will you not? Go! Get from my sight. I will hear one thing from you and one only.’
Thomas came sorrowing away.
The Queen had followed the conflict between Becket and Henry with some interest. It amused her to recall how great their friendship had been and how there was a time when Henry preferred that man’s company to anyone else’s. It was strange to think that she had been jealous of Becket.
Who would be jealous of him now? Poor broken old man. If she were not so pleased by his downfall she could be sorry for him.
She was forty-two years of age now – still a beautiful woman, still able to attract men, or so her troubadours implied. They still sang songs to her and she did not feel that they flattered her overmuch.
Since her marriage with Henry she had not wanted any other man, which was strange when she considered how he angered her; but then perhaps it was because he did anger her that she found his company so stimulating.
Now when they talked together of Becket, she did not say to him as his mother had done, ‘I told you so.’ She let him pour out his disappointment in that man and fed his anger against him. It brought them nearer together.
She often wondered how many mistresses he had scattered about the country. As long as there were several of them it was not really important. The only thing she would not tolerate was if there was one who specially took his fancy.
But no! She was sure this was not so. And the fact that she could talk to him of the exigencies of Thomas Becket certainly brought them closer together.
They were passionate lovers at this time, almost as they had been in the early days of their marriage. It was intriguing that his hatred of Becket was driving him into her bed.
He would lie awake sometimes and talk about him. He
would tell her little incidents from the past which she had never heard before. How he had often tried to tempt Becket to indiscretions with women and never succeeded.
‘You didn’t try hard enough,’ she told him.
‘But I did. I even sought to trap him. But not he. I don’t believe he ever slept with a woman in his life.’
‘What sort of a man is he?’
‘Oh, manly enough. He can ride and hawk with the best.
He is skilled in all the arts of chivalry.’
‘And where could a rustic learn such things?’
‘He was always an appealing fellow. Some knight taught him these things when he was quite a boy.’
‘He is a schemer. He wormed his way into Theobald’s good graces. I believe the Archbishop of York could tell you some stories.’
‘I never liked that fellow. Though he’d be loyal to me rather than to Thomas. He’s ambitious. I thought Thomas was, but he’s changed.’
‘You should not allow him to flout you.’
‘He is Archbishop of Canterbury. He would have to resign of his own volition.’
‘You should make it impossible for him to cling to office.’
‘How so?’
‘Is it beyond your powers? You know a good deal of how he lived when he was constantly in your company. There must have been something you could bring against him.’
The King’s eyes shone. ‘I will do it,’ he said. ‘I will find something from Roger of York, and John the Marshal will surely contrive something.’
‘Then do this, for I do assure you that that man is determined to plague you and while he is Archbishop of Canterbury you will not be true King of England. Could you bear now to hear of something other than the affairs of your Thomas Becket? Then listen to me. I am pregnant again.’
The King expressed his pleasure. He would welcome an addition to the nursery. A girl or a boy. He would not mind which.
All the same his mind was still on Thomas Becket.
As Eleanor said, it was easy. John the Marshal some time before had claimed the manor of Pagham which was on one of the archiepiscopal estates. The case which had been tried in the Archbishop’s court had been decided in Thomas’s favour. Now he could have the case re-tried in the King’s court and accordingly a summons to attend was sent to the Archbishop.
After his meeting with the King, Thomas had grown so sick at heart that he had become ill and had had to take to his bed. He was therefore unable to obey the summons and sent four of his knights to the court in his place.
This gave John the Marshal a chance. To ignore a summons to court showed a contempt of it and this was a crime.
Thomas was ordered to appear before a council at
Northampton to answer the accusation. When he approached Northampton a rider met him with the news that the lodgings which were always at his disposal in that town had been given by the King to another member of the council; he must therefore find his own shelter.
Thomas saw then that the King was determined to humiliate him, but fortunately he could go to the Saint Andrew’s Monastery. Still hoping to bring about a reconciliation, Thomas went to the castle to pay his respects to the King. Henry was at Mass when he arrived and Thomas was obliged to wait in the ante-room for the service to be over. When it was, Henry emerged, and as Thomas went forward ready to kiss his hand, if it were extended to him for this purpose, the King walked past him as though he did not see him.
This was indeed the end, thought Thomas. The King would neither receive nor listen to him. He was clearly bent on his destruction, and if Thomas would preserve his life he must get out of the country.
When the Council sat, Thomas was called to account for having held the King’s court in contempt. He explained that he had been ill and had sent his knights to stand in for him.
This was not accepted and a fine of £500 was imposed.
Then came another list of charges. £300 was demanded for it was said he had received this as the warden of the castles of Berkhamstead and Eye. Thomas replied that he had spent this and more in repairs to the King’s palace of the Tower of London and far from having profited from any money he had received, he had spent far more in the King’s service.
Thomas’s heart was heavy for he saw that the King was determined to ruin him. He had cast back in his mind to the days of their friendship when the King had given him money that he might live in a manner similar to his own. Now he demanded that this money should be paid back. Moreover Thomas had received revenues from several bishoprics and abbeys and the sum mentioned was some 40,000
marks.
It was no use. Thomas could not fight against such injustice. When he came out of the council chamber that day he believed the end was near.
The next day he was back. His Archdeacon Herbert had said to him: ‘My lord, we do not know what this day will bring forth, but forget not that you have the power to excommunicate all those who stand against you.’
William FitzStephen, one of his faithful canons, replied:
‘Our lord would not do that. The Holy Apostles did not do it when they were taken. My lord will pray for them I doubt not and forgive them.’
Thomas laid his hand on FitzStephen’s shoulder and blessed him.
Thomas was allowed to retire to an inner chamber and there to discuss with his bishops what action he should take against the charges which were being brought; and finally in great impatience the King sent some of his barons to inquire whether Thomas Becket was prepared to give an account of the money he had spent during his Chancellorship.
Thomas replied with dignity that he was ready to obey the King in all things saving God’s obedience. He was not bound he said to give an account of his Chancellorship and had been summoned to the court to answer the charges brought by John the Marshal and none other.
‘I would remind you,’ he said, ‘that when I was chosen to become Archbishop, before my consecration I was delivered over by the King to the Church of Canterbury, free from all secular claims. I place my person and the Church of Canterbury under the protection of God and the Pope.’
When the King heard what Thomas had said his fury was obvious and one of his knights reminded him that his great-grandfather, William the Conqueror, had known how to tame clerics. Had he not imprisoned Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, who was his own brother?
In the inner chamber, hearing of the King’s wrath, the bishops believed that the Archbishop would be imprisoned and doubtless have his eyes put out. They feared too that they who had been with Thomas and had listened to him and stood beside him would suffer a like fate.
It was the Earl of Leicester, a man of principle who clearly had no liking for his task, who came into the chamber.
‘The King will have you deliver up your accounts or hear your sentence,’ he told Thomas.
‘Hear me first,’ replied Thomas. ‘You, my lord Leicester, know full well that I had no wish to become the Archbishop of Canterbury and that it was the King who willed it. It was for love of him rather than for love of God that I gave way, which is why today both God and the King have deserted me. You know that when the post was given me I was declared free of all secular obligations.’
‘I know it,’ answered Leicester. ‘I would not pass judgement on you.’
‘Then I am not your prisoner.’
‘Nay, my lord.’
‘Then I shall go from here. I shall appeal to the Pope.’
Thomas then rose and passed out of the chamber. As he went he stumbled over some faggots and almost fell. At that moment a sneer arose in the company and the King’s bastard brother who was standing by called, ‘There goes a traitor.’
Thomas surveyed him in such a manner that the man quailed before him.
‘If I were a soldier,’ said Thomas, ‘with my own hands I should prove you false.’
He mounted his horse and rode to the monastery of Saint Andrew’s. There he retired to his private chapel and spent a long time on his knees, and when he went to the refectory he found that of the forty knights who had accompanied him
to Northampton only six remained.
‘Your table is depleted,’ he said sadly, but many poor people came into the monastery and begged to be allowed to gaze on the face of the man whom they were calling the saviour of the Church, and they were Thomas’s guests at that meal.
When it was over Thomas asked that his bed should be placed behind the high altar. Before he retired to it he called one of his servants to him. This was Roger de Brai, a man whom he knew he could trust to serve him with his life.
‘Roger,’ he said, ‘my life is in danger. It may be this night the King will send his guards to take me.’
A look of horror crossed Roger’s face. He could visualise the fate which could await the Archbishop. Incarceration in a dungeon, his eyes perhaps gouged out. Left to live out a dark and wretched existence, for the King might have qualms about murdering the Archbishop of Canterbury.
‘I think it is God’s will that I should not be taken,’ said Thomas. ‘If I were, the fight would be over. Roger of York would fall in with the King’s wishes. Henry is already trying to set York over Canterbury. This must not be. I am going to get away to France...if it is God’s will. The King of France will be my friend and I can reach the Pope.’
‘What would you have me do, my lord?’
‘Tell Robert de Cave and Scailman to be ready to leave with me. I can trust them as I trust you. Then saddle four horses and have them ready. These horses must not come from my stables. Take them to the monastery gate and the three of you wait there as though holding the horses for someone who is visiting the monastery. I will join you there.’
‘It is a rough night, my lord.’
‘I know it. I can hear the wind and rain, Roger. But it is tonight or not at all.’
Roger went away to do his bidding and Thomas went to his bed behind the high altar. He was conducted there by Herbert his Archdeacon, and when they were alone Thomas embraced him and told him what he had planned.
‘It is the only way,’ agreed Herbert. ‘You must attempt to escape tonight. Tomorrow might be too late. The King’s mood is very ugly. I wondered you were not arrested in the council chamber.’
‘I know Henry. His courage deserted him at the last moment. He wants control of the Church but he is afraid of God’s wrath. That mood will not last for before anything is his determination to have his own way. My dear good friend, I wish you to lose no time in going to Canterbury.
Collect what valuables you can carry and then cross the sea. Wait for me there if you should arrive first, which may well be. Go to the monastery of Saint Bertin near Saint Omer. I trust ere long that we shall meet there. Now be gone. We must lose no time.’
The Archdeacon kissed the hands of his Archbishop, asked for his blessing and was gone.
The church was quiet. The monastery slumbered. Thomas rose from his bed and took off his stole. He put on his black cappa, and taking only his pallium and his archiepiscopal seal set out.
Roger with the two lay brothers, Robert and Scailman, were waiting with the horses.
They went through the unguarded gate of the town and rode on to Grantham where they rested for a while. After that they reached Lincoln.
It was a long and tortuous journey and every minute they feared discovery, for so far had they to travel that the King’s men might have caught them in any town where they paused to rest.
But Thomas had loyal supporters throughout the country.
Many people knew that this was a struggle between the Church and the State and that the King sought to set himself in sole judgement over them. They knew that Thomas Becket was a good man. He had given much to the poor; he was a man of God who had dared defy the King. They were already looking upon him as a saint. There were few who would not feel honoured to give him shelter in their houses, and Thomas was determined to protect them by denying his identity whenever it was questioned. Thus he came to the fen country and finally to the village of Eastry close to Sandwich and but eight miles from Canterbury.
They stayed for a while in the house of a priest who found a boat for them and kept them in his house until the time came when it appeared they could make the crossing with safety.
The boat was small, the sea was rough, but they could wait no longer.
‘We will place ourselves in God’s hands,’ said Thomas.
‘If it is his will that we live then we shall and if the sea takes us then that is his will too.’
They set off; the little boat was tossed cruelly on the waves but miraculously it seemed to keep afloat and the very violence of the wind blew the boat across the water.
They landed on the sands at Oie, not far from Gravelines.
‘Thank God,’ cried Roger, but Thomas was not sure that they were out of danger yet.
He was right because they discovered that they were in the territory which belonged to the Earl of Boulogne. This was that Matthew who had married the Abbess of Romsey, the match which Thomas had opposed. Matthew had borne him a grudge for this, for although the marriage had gone through it was only due to the King’s cunning that it had and Thomas had done all in his power to prevent it.
‘We dare not risk falling into the hands of the Earl of Boulogne,’ said Thomas. ‘He would send me back to the King.’
So it was no use hoping for comfort. They must continue their arduous journey on foot as though they were four itinerant lay brothers. Until they had left the realm of the Earl of Boulogne they would not be safe, and there were many alarms during the journey, for the news had spread that the Archbishop of Canterbury had landed and people looked out for him.
He almost betrayed himself on one occasion when the three footsore travellers came upon a party of young men out hawking. In a careless moment Thomas showed his interest and knowledge of the hawk on the wrist of the leader of the party.
‘How should a traveling lay brother know of such things?’
asked the young man. ‘By my faith, I believe you to be the Archbishop of Canterbury.’
Scailman, who was quicker witted than Roger or Robert, said quickly, ‘You must be a simpleton if you imagine the Archbishop of Canterbury would travel in this manner.’
‘’Tis true,’ said the young man. ‘I remember when he came here as the Chancellor of England. Never had such magnificence been seen.’
They passed on while the young man was telling his companions of the brilliantly caparisoned horses and the reputed extravagances of the Archbishop of Canterbury.
‘We must take greater care,’ said Scailman.
‘I must take heed that I do not fall into the trap of betraying myself,’ answered Thomas. ‘But for your quick wits, Brother Scailman, that could have been an awkward moment.’
How thankful he was to see the towers of Clairmarais, a monastery close to Saint Omer. There he was given a great welcome and a messenger was sent to Saint Bertin where Herbert had already arrived.
They embraced each other, delighted that they had completed the most hazardous part of their journey. But there was no time for delay. Thomas should rest awhile at Saint Bertin and then they must make their way to Soissons.
‘Once we are there,’ said Herbert, ‘we can make sure of the protection of the King of France.’
Within a few days they had reached that sanctuary.
