The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [150]
Henry then addressed the spectators and told them that Becket had deserted the Church, creeping out in the night. He did not drive him away. He had always been ready to allow the Church to follow its rules, but whenever what the King desired was not what Becket did, he brought in “his order” . . . or God. If Becket would act as those before him always had—and some of them saintly men—he would be satisfied.
The people cheered. The King had capitulated. He would receive Becket, providing Becket was ready to obey him.
But Becket stood out. He was not ready to return yet.
Exasperated beyond endurance by the man, Henry decided to go ahead with the coronation of his eldest son. Why should it be necessary that he be crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury? The Archbishop of York would do very well. Moreover, he was no friend of Becket.
Becket was still not in England, and on May 24 young Henry, who was then fifteen, was crowned King of England in Westminster Abbey. Henry, generally so careless of his appearance and impatient of ceremony, did know when it was necessary to put on an elaborate show, and he spared neither effort nor money. The crown was made by the leading goldsmith William Cade at a cost of 38.6.0.—a very large sum of money.
Henry could be capable of acts of great folly, and this coronation was one, perhaps the greatest he ever made. It was obvious to me, and surely to others, that young Henry was becoming more and more aware of his position and taking advantage of it. When the cub is made head of the pride—even though it is intended to be in name only—the chief lion should watch carefully. Young Henry had revealed his character more and more as honors were heaped on him. He had never been the meekest of boys, and if he had been, the step would have been unwise.
It amazed me that Henry, so shrewd in most things, so quickly aware of his advantage, should make this tremendous mistake. He should have known the way things would go. There was an indication of this even at the banquet which followed the crowning, when the King waited on his son at table.
The Archbishop of York remarked to young Henry that it was a most auspicious occasion when a prince was waited on by a king. Henry arrogantly replied that it was not in the least unfitting for the son of a king to be waited on by the son of a count.
I wondered if Henry had a qualm then. Surely any man must have asked himself what troubles lay ahead when a son could at such time make such a reply.
Looking back, I marvel at Henry’s blindness in this one matter. He had brought about a state in his dominions whereby all jurisdiction was subject to the direct authority of the Crown. The King was supreme. This made for great efficiency in the hands of such a man, but naturally there had been discords—and not only with the Church. I could not understand how he could have been so short-sighted as to name another king—even though it was his own son.
It was foolish in more ways than one, for he incurred the wrath of Louis by not crowning Marguerite with her husband. Louis declared his daughter had been humiliated. The Pope, with Thomas Becket, was incensed at the insult to Canterbury, for all kings should be crowned by the Archbishop.
In September that year the Pope sent letters of suspension and censure to Roger of York and all concerned in the ceremony, declaring that this was another example of the King’s defiance of the Church.
Henry, realizing that there would be trouble until Thomas returned to England, proposed that he and Thomas should make the journey together and on English soil exchange the kiss of peace.
Thomas accepted the invitation, but when the time came for their departure, Henry sent word that he could not be there; he was delayed, he said, by matters of state and suggested that Thomas leave France under the escort of John of Oxford, a notorious enemy of Becket, who had once accused him of contending