The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [100]
“There,” said Henry, “is that not a tale of true romance?”
“It is indeed. I never heard the like.”
“It was God—making sure that we had a Thomas Becket.” Henry slapped the man on the back.
I certainly was intrigued by the story but most of all perhaps by the quick friendship Henry appeared to have formed with this man.
Later I spoke of him.
“It is not surprising that this Becket is an unusual man,” I said, “with such a father and an Eastern mother.”
“A woman of great purpose.”
“And a noble gentleman.”
“Yes, that is what produced Becket.”
“I wonder what his childhood was like in such circumstances.”
“He has told me parts. He was brought up in a very religious way. His mother was a convert to Christianity and, remember, they are often the most intense. Both his parents wanted him to go into the Church. A nobleman who had visited the house was interested in their story of the strange marriage and naturally his attention turned to Thomas. He took him to his home in Pevensey Castle and brought him up as a nobleman’s son.”
“Ah yes, there is certainly a touch of the nobleman about him. His tastes would appear to be expensive.”
“I tell him he is too fastidious for a commoner,” said Henry.
“He could scarcely accuse you of being too fastidious.”
“Becket did not want to go into the Church. He fancied business. He did well—which was to be expected. Then disaster struck. His mother died and his father’s house was burned to the ground—and soon after that Gilbert died. Becket was melancholy. His parents had meant a great deal to him. Theobald, who had become Archbishop of Canterbury and remembered playing with Gilbert as a boy, persuaded Thomas to join his household. Thomas was twenty-five then. Of course, there he was noticed immediately.”
“Yes, he is a man who would be. He is so tall . . . and those dark eyes of his, which he must have inherited from his mother, are very handsome. His very thinness makes him look taller and he seems to stand about four inches above other men.”
“He did not stay in the Archbishop’s house. There were those who were jealous of him and made his life difficult, and although Theobald was aware of Thomas’s brilliance, he let him go for the sake of the peace of the household. He sent him to his brother Walter, who was the Archdeacon of Canterbury. After Walter’s death, Becket took that post.”
“He hardly seems like a man of the Church.”
“No, he is far too amusing. I think he considered for a time which way he should go.”
“He seems to have taken your fancy.”
“I verily believe he is the most interesting man I have met since coming to these shores.”
I suppose I should not have been surprised when shortly afterward Henry told me that he had made Becket his Chancellor.
I was now heavily pregnant. Henry had left London and was traveling through the country. I missed Matilda and wished she were with me. But I had Petronilla, now a sober matron, mother and widow, quite a different person from the frivolous girl whose hasty love affair had created such consternation.
Eagerly I awaited the birth. From the palace I could look across the river to the Tower of London, that great sentinel which guarded the eastern side, and from there to the west, dominated by the spire of the cathedral, and beyond to Ludgate. I could see the strand along the river, with the wharves and the houses of the nobility with their fine gardens and their boats staked to the privy stairs which ran down to the river. I knew the strand led to Westminster Palace where we should have taken up residence, of course, if it had been fit for habitation. This would have to be remedied. There would be so much for me to do. But first I must give birth to my child.
It was not a difficult birth, and there was great rejoicing throughout the palace when it was over and I had another boy.
I said: “This one shall be called Henry after his father.”
After the birth