Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [236]
It had been interesting to watch King Henry.
For the most part, though he had convened the council, he had asked the papal legate to take the chair, outwardly deferring to him in everything and sitting quietly to one side of the great hall where they met. Most days he dressed without ceremony in the simple green hunting tunic he favoured. His hair, which he cut short, had a faint reddish tinge, reminding one of his Viking Norman ancestors. But his face was sharp, devious, watchful; and Gilpatrick couldn’t help thinking that he was like a fox watching so many ecclesiastical chickens.
As well as the legate, there were several distinguished English churchmen present, and it was one of these, on the first day of the proceedings, who gave Gilpatrick and Lawrence O’Toole some interesting information.
“You have to understand,” he told them quietly, during a break in the proceedings, “that King Henry is very anxious to make a good impression. This business with Becket …” Here he dropped his voice. “There are bishops in England, you know, who think Becket just as much to blame as Henry. And I can tell you, for reasons of statecraft if nothing else, it is inconceivable that Henry would have ordered the murder. Howsoever that may be,” he continued, “the king is anxious to display his piety—which I assure you is genuine,” he added hastily, “and he is most determined that the Pope should see him making every effort to aid the Irish Church in the reforms we know you both wish to make. Of course,” he went on with a faint smile, “not all Irish churchmen are as dedicated to purifying the Church as you.”
The legate desired them first to compile a report on any present shortcomings of the Irish Church. As in previous councils of this kind, the bishops were generally keener to bring Irish practice closer to that of the rest of western Christendom, where power resided in bishoprics and parishes rather than in the monasteries. The hereditary abbots, not unreasonably, argued that the old monastic and tribal arrangements were still better suited to the country as it was. Gilpatrick was fascinated to hear Archbishop O’Toole, an abbot as well as a priest, and a prince like many of them, give the abbots a qualified support. “There is still room, I think, for both systems, depending on the territory.” As for the demand that there should be no more hereditary churchmen, he again was kindly. “The real issue surely,” he pointed out, “is whether a churchman is qualified for his post. If he is unsuited, then he must give it up; but the fact it has been passed down his family should not be a disqualification. In ancient Israel, all priests were hereditary. The spirit comes from God, not from the making of arbitrary rules.” He pressed them further on other matters, however: on reform within their houses; the ordering of parish priests, who were often lax; the extension of parishes; and the collection of tithes. It was wonderful to see how amongst these men, many of whom came from families as noble as his own, this saintly and unworldly man could command such respect through his spiritual authority alone. In due course they produced a report which, it was generally felt, would suit the case.
It was the English priest who took the archbishop and Gilpatrick aside.
“The report is promising,” he said, “but incomplete. It lacks,” he searched for a word, “conviction.” He looked seriously at the archbishop. “You, of course, Archbishop, are a reformer. But some of your colleagues … The report as it stands could be used by the legate, or even by King Henry were he