The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [122]
Shortly after the controversy about Sheriff’s Aid, there arose the case of Philip de Brois.
When Henry had taken over England after Stephen’s death, he had been appalled by the anarchy which prevailed throughout the country and he had immediately begun to reform the laws and the administration of justice. He had instituted judges who traveled around the countryside trying the cases against criminals so that these were not left to local courts. It had had an undoubted effect, and the country was considerably safer for law-abiding people than it had been in Stephen’s reign. But if a member of the Church was accused of a crime, he was not tried by the King’s court of law but by that of the Church. It seemed to Henry that, if these particular criminals had enough influence in high places, they escaped very lightly.
It was another example of the Church’s taking precedence over the State.
Thus the case of Philip de Brois.
The man was a canon who was accused of murdering a knight. I think it was some trouble over the knight’s daughter, whom the canon was said to have seduced. When the canon was threatened by the girl’s father and realized that his villainy was revealed, he promptly killed him. De Brois had been taken before an ecclesiastical court, presided over by the Bishop of Lincoln, where all he had been required to do was swear to his innocence—and having done so, he was released.
Henry, seeking ammunition with which to attack the Church, thought he might have it here.
“All this man did,” he pointed out, “was to swear he was innocent. Any criminal could do that. There was no submission of evidence, no witnesses called . . . and he goes free. Why? Because he is a canon of the Church, and the Church protects its own. Well, I am going to protect my people.”
In this battle with Becket he turned more to me. He knew that from the first I had resented his friendship with the man and he supposed that I would certainly not be ready to support Becket against him. I was not entirely in agreement with him because I felt he was doing harm to the people’s image of him as a wise king by taking up the battle against Becket. By making Becket Archbishop, he had also made him a holy man in the eyes of the people. Chancellor Becket had been the worldly sophisticate; as an Archbishop he had made a complete turnabout; his tall, spare figure and his ascetic, pale face were an indication of his abstinence; the rich garments he wore were only a concession to his former tastes, and under them was the hairshirt.
My fortunes were bound up with those of Henry, and although I liked to score over him in private, I did not want his position to be shaken in the smallest way.
I said: “The man is said to be innocent because he swears before God that he is, and it is said that any churchman would prefer to take his punishment on Earth, rather than suffer eternal damnation.”
“That’s all very well,” said Henry, “but a great many of these churchmen are rogues and they should be seen as such. Philip de Brois is going to come before one of my judges and he can plead innocence there, but if he is found guilty, he shall suffer a just punishment. How can I keep order in my land if the crimes which are forbidden to some are allowed to go free in priests?”
“You are fighting against the Church,” I said.
“The Church must obey the laws of the land like anyone else. And if I wish to fight against the Church, I will.”
But, of course, he was fighting against Becket.
He had ordered the judges to bring him a list of the priests who had recently been accused and released after swearing their innocence before a Church tribunal. It was one of these justices, Simon Fitz-Peter, who had brought up the case of Philip de Brois.
He said that he felt there was a strong case against the man and, acting on the King’s order, when he was holding his assizes at Dunstable, he ordered Philip de Brois to appear before him to stand trial. Philip de Brois promptly refused and, moreover, was insulting to Fitz-Peter who reported