The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [120]
“Thomas is too honest a man to deny what he thinks right.”
“I hope he is as honest in all his dealings. He did manage to accumulate a great deal of wealth. I wonder how.”
“He would have been a fool if he hadn’t, and Thomas is no fool.”
“I can see,” I said, “that you are looking forward to the reunion. I myself look forward with equal pleasure to seeing my son again.”
It was not until the end of January that the weather allowed us to sail. When we landed at Southampton, Becket was among the delegation waiting to welcome us; and, to my delight, with him was Henry.
My son and I embraced. I held him at arm’s length and looked into his handsome face. How I loved those fair Plantagenet looks which came from his paternal grandfather. It was a pity Geoffrey le Bel had not passed on his good looks to his son, but at least they were there in my children, having slipped a generation.
“You have been happy, I see, my son,” I cried. “How we have all missed you.”
“I missed you,” said Henry.
“And you have been happy?”
“Oh yes.” I saw him look at Becket, and there was something like adoration in his eyes. I felt a twinge of annoyance, but my maternal feelings were stronger than petty jealousy. I was glad he had found a good home and affection with Becket.
Thomas himself had changed. He was thinner. His features, which had always been of an ascetic nature, were more so. There was a look of serenity about him. He was still splendidly attired, but I learned later that under his fine garments he wore a hairshirt. I was surprised. I had always felt a certain contempt for those people who tortured their bodies. Why? I asked myself. What good were they doing to humanity? What satisfaction could such acts bring to God? And what sort of god would be impressed by such folly? The wearing of hairshirts seemed to me a form of self-righteousness which I despised. I was surprised that Thomas could have indulged in such self-torture.
I warmed to him a little because he had been good to my son. I was deeply conscious of the greeting between him and the King.
Thomas knelt before Henry and I saw the softness in the King’s face. “Get up,” he said roughly, and then they were clasping hands, Henry was laughing.
“Well Archbishop-now and Chancellor-that-is-no-more, how fare you? By the eyes of God, you look like an Archbishop. What have you done to yourself? Come, we shall ride side by side.”
And they did. I heard their laughter and some of their conversation, in which Henry referred to Thomas’s rejection of the Great Seal.
“Thomas, I could have killed you.”
“I guessed you would be displeased.”
“Displeased! I was murderous. It was a mercy for you, Thomas, that you did not bring the Seal yourself. How dared you provoke me so?”
“Because, my lord King, I knew I could not remain Chancellor and be Archbishop at the same time. The Church is apart from the State.”
“Why should they not march together?”
“They cannot always see through the same eyes.”
“Why shouldn’t we make them do so?”
“It may not always be possible.”
“Then there will be trouble between us.”
“I feared that if I took the post it would impair our friendship, and that is very dear to me.”
“To me also, Thomas. We will work together.”
“There may be battles between us.”
“Good. I like a battle. I’d rather do battle with you, Thomas, than live in peace with others.”
Besotted as ever, I thought.
But that was not quite true. I sensed that Thomas knew it and saw trouble ahead.
And how right he proved to be.
Looking back, it seems to me that for a long period after our return to England our lives were dominated by Thomas Becket.
I believe that, of all his possessions, Henry loved England best. If he had been content to be King of England only, his reign would have been completely rewarding. The people were of a less fiery nature than those across the Channel. They wanted a peaceful existence