The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [131]
Thomas stood calm as though waiting for the blow.
Henry was clenching and unclenching his hands. What would the assembled nobles think, all those dignified churchmen . . . to see their King rolling on the floor like an animal?
But Henry controlled himself sufficiently to stride from the room.
There was a long silence. I felt for my son’s hand and held it reassuringly.
The meeting was broken up for that day.
Henry went into the court next day with documents setting out the laws which had been in existence in his grandfather’s day. All had agreed, had they not, that his grandfather had administered the law to the utmost satisfaction of all. Had he not been known throughout the country as “The Lion of Justice”? All he wanted was a return to those laws and a peaceful country in which it was safe for men to travel unmolested. The laws had lapsed since his grandfather’s time. All he wanted was to return to them.
“And to prevent trouble rising in the future,” he said, “I wish the Archbishop of Canterbury to put his seal to them.”
There stood that strange man, stirring us all—even myself—with a sense of awe. There was something quite spiritual about him. I wondered what it was. Perhaps the contrast to all we knew of his earlier life, his love of comfort, which showed even now in the fine material of his robes. I reminded myself again of the hairshirt. He was a mass of contradictions, that man.
Now he spoke in ringing tones. “By Almighty God, never as long as I live will I put my seal to them.”
Then he took an unprecedented action: he strode from the hall.
We were all aghast. Roger of York could not hide his satisfaction. Henry was too shocked for rage. That would come later. My son looked shocked and bewildered. For a moment I thought he was going to burst into tears.
There could be no turning back now. My rival for Henry’s affections was completely destroyed. This must be the end of Becket. But in my heart I knew that, whatever happened, Becket would always be there in Henry’s thoughts. He would never escape from him.
Henry had recovered a little from the shock Becket had given him by his abrupt departure from the hall. He was debating what his next action would be.
I wondered whether he would have Becket arrested as a traitor. That was possible. Becket had refused allegiance to the crown . . . had openly done so. There was tension. Everyone was waiting for Becket’s arrest. I thought he might welcome it. It would all be part of what I called his “hairshirt mentality.”
There was a little trouble between the two Henrys. The King asked his son what he thought of the proceedings.
Young Henry said he thought the Archbishop very noble.
“Noble!” screamed his father. “To defy me?”
“He did it for the Church . . . because he thought it was right.”
“Well, my son, he must be a fool then if he thinks it is right to go against his King.”
“The Archbishop is not a fool.”
“What then? I could have his head for this.”
“He does not care for his head. He cares for what is right.”
“Right!” cried the King. “Right to defy me! Fine words from the heir to the throne.”
“The Archbishop always said we must tell the truth . . . no matter how hard it is. The great Christians did . . . even though it cost them their lives.”
“What has he been stuffing your head with?” demanded Henry.
“With truth,” said the boy, defiant in his loyalty to Becket.
I could see that Henry was still smarting from insults from Becket and was in no mood to listen to his defense from his own son.
I went to the boy and ruffled his hair.
I said to Henry: “He is a boy, you know. It is right that he should respect truth. He is not yet ready for politics.”
The King was scowling. I had to pull Henry away. He would have stood there and faced his father; but I wanted no trouble for the boy and I knew how fierce the King could be.
He was staring at us as we left. I knew because