The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [126]
Perhaps Becket was hurt even more than he was by the loss of Berkhampsted and Eye when Henry took our son out of his care.
Young Henry came to me bewildered and sad. I greeted him warmly and told him how I had missed him.
He said he missed me too. “But why do I have to leave Thomas?” he asked. “Is it just for a while or for always?”
“It will depend. At the moment your father is not very well pleased with the Archbishop.”
“I hope I may go back.”
“You were happy there, were you not?”
Henry nodded and I saw the faraway look in his eyes.
“He was not in the least like an archbishop,” he said.
“I can believe that.”
“He was so merry. There was always fun. He was so kind. He always explained everything . . . he made it interesting. Has he offended my father?”
“I think you could say that.”
“But Thomas would never offend anyone. He is so kind and so good.”
I could see that young Henry loved the man as his father once had.
Henry questioned young Henry about the time he had spent in the Archbishop’s household, but he was rather impatient with the boy when he saw that he had put Becket on a pedestal.
“He has his good points,” said Henry, “but he is obstinate and he wants to put the Church above the State.”
Young Henry said: “He is a churchman. That is why.”
“He is first of all one of my subjects . . . as you all are.”
“But . . .”
“Don’t argue with me,” snapped Henry.
I saw the look in my son’s eyes, and it was by no means one of affection. It occurred to me that he was comparing his father with Thomas, and it was the King who suffered from the comparison.
Becket obsessed Henry. Before we left Northampton he decided that he would meet the Archbishop alone. There should be just the two of them. They could meet in a meadow, and perhaps without any lookers-on they could settle their differences.
During this time Henry and I had grown a little closer to each other. I think he felt the need of my support. I was rather pleased at this and felt gratified because I had always viewed his friendship with Becket with suspicion. It was as though I was being proved right. He did not mention this, but the fact that he confided in me showed me his feelings, especially as he was growing affectionate again. He could share his thoughts with me, so I knew very well how much Becket was affecting him; and he did tell me in detail about that meeting in the meadow.
“I thought,” he said, “if we got right away from our retinues, if he could forget for a while that he was the Archbishop of Canterbury and I the King, we might get on terms we enjoyed during our old friendship. I told him to dismount and I would do the same. We would walk together . . . nothing about us but the grass and the sky. We could both feel free to talk as we willed without an audience.
“He obeyed me and I took his arm. I noticed how thin he had grown. He takes his religion seriously. He really does see himself as God’s servant. He used to see himself as mine. I said that he opposed me at every turn—we used to be such good friends—and he replied that he did no such thing. It just happened that my wishes clashed with his duty.
“Then I said that he was ungrateful. He seemed to forget how I had raised him up. Who was he? Thomas Becket! Was his father not some merchant . . . his mother a Saracen? I told him to consider what he had now. I had lifted him from nothing to be my Chancellor. He said, ‘That is what I should have remained.’ ‘And now,’ I went on, ‘you are my Archbishop.’ ‘I did not want the post,’ he replied. ‘You insisted that I take it. I knew it would mean strife between us, for the Church and the State cannot always march together.’”
“It is what your mother implied. Do you remember?”
He nodded grimly. “I grew angry with him. ‘Why not?’ I demanded. ‘It is for this reason that I made you my Archbishop. We worked together when you were Chancellor. Why the change of heart