Текст книги "The Plantagenet Prelude "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
Chapter XVII
THE KING’S REMORSE
When the news was brought to the King he was filed with remorse and a certain terror.
‘I have done this,’ he said. ‘I am the murderer of Thomas Becket.’
He shut himself in his bedchamber and wished to see no one. There he thought of all they had been to each other in the days of their friendship and how there was no man he loved as he had loved Thomas Becket.
And he had killed him.
They were calling him a martyr. They were calling him a saint. They said that at his shrine miracles were performed.
The whole of Christendom was shocked by the murder and the whole of Christendom said: ‘Who has done this wicked deed?’
It was FitzUrse and the others. Nay, it was the King. Had he not cursed them for not ridding himself of the man?
All his life the memory of Thomas Becket would be with him. He might do a public penance but he would never forget.
Thomas lay dead, his brains had been scattered on the stones. And his body they said was inflamed with the bites of the vermin who at his will had infested his hair shirt.
Thomas, who had loved silk next to his skin and had hated the cold winds to blow on him! He was dead – killed by his one-time friend.
There was not room for the two of us in England, thought Henry, because I wanted to be supreme ruler not only of State but of Church. And because of this he lies dead and I am to blame. I am the murderer who killed the martyr.
But he was a king; he had his life to lead; his country to govern.
His son Henry, whom he had crowned, he now knew unwisely, was eager to take his place. Thomas had been against the crowning. It was never wise to set up a new king while the old one still reigned.
His wife Eleanor hated him. His son Richard had turned against him.
Where could he go for comfort? To Rosamund? She would give him solace, but he could not talk to her of his troubles. She would never understand them. She would agree with everything he said, and that was not what he wanted.
What was Eleanor doing? How long before she roused his sons against him? He was unhappy. He was afraid, for he was a lonely man and his soul was stained with the blood of one he had loved.
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