The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [152]
It was about four o’clock. Thomas had already dined but the servants were at the table.
Thomas greeted the knights but they were terse in their response. Fitzurse was their spokesman. He said the King had sent them to order the Archbishop to absolve the bishops and restore those suspended from office. They accused him of attempting to deprive the young King of his crown and said he should stand judgment in Court.
Thomas’s reply was to censure the bishops and in particular the Archbishop of York. He said he had not sought to deprive the young King of his crown. He had set out to visit him and was grieved not to have been allowed to do so.
Reginald Fitzurse asked him from whom he held the archbishopric, to which Thomas replied that he held his spiritual authority from God and his temporal and material possession from the King.
“Do you not recognize that you hold everything from the King?” asked Fitzurse.
“I do not,” was the answer. “We must render unto the King the things which are the King’s and unto God the things that are God’s.”
Members of the Archbishop’s household, hearing the commotion, had come down to see what was afoot. Fitzurse commanded them, in the King’s name, to retire, but this they refused to do.
“Stop your threats and brawling,” said Thomas. “I have not come back to flee again, I wish to go into the cathedral to pray.”
He left the palace and walked to the cathedral. I could picture him clearly, calm, serene, perhaps contented, for I often thought he was seeking a martyr’s death. He entered the cathedral by the north transept and moved toward the altar as the four knights came in crying: “Where is the traitor?”
“Here am I,” replied Thomas. “No traitor but a priest of God. I do not fear your swords. I welcome death for the sake of our Lord and the freedom of the Church.”
“You cannot live a moment longer,” said Fitzurse.
“I submit to death,” replied Thomas, “in the name of the Lord, and I commend my soul and the cause of the Church to God, St. Mary and the patron saints of the Church. It is not my wish to fly from your swords.”
One of the men struck him between the shoulders. Another cried: “You are our prisoner. Come with us.”
“I will not go hence,” said Thomas. “Here shall you work your will and obey the orders of the one who sent you.”
De Tracy lifted his sword and hit the Archbishop on the head. As the blood streamed down his face he fell to the ground murmuring: “Into Thy hands, oh Lord, I commend my spirit.”
There was another blow.
He received four wounds, all on his head, and there he lay . . . dead . . . the Archbishop of Canterbury, Henry’s beloved and turbulent priest.
Revolt in the Family
WHEN THE NEWS WAS brought to me, my first reaction was: What will this mean to Henry?
He was still in my thoughts a great deal, and I still smarted with humiliation when I thought of him; in my heart I longed for the day when I should see him brought low.
I found a great joy in having my children with me. Young Henry was in England at this time, playing the King, but Richard was here with Geoffrey, and there was Marguerite, Henry’s young wife, who had been sent to me before Henry was crowned, presumably to get her out of the way. I could see no reason for Henry’s refusing her the honor of crowning. It could only anger Louis.
By this time I had come to a new serenity. I loved this land; I was where I belonged; I loved the people and the easy way of life and appreciation of fine things, the gracious style of living. There was no unrest now. The people knew, I was sure, of my estrangement from Henry, and applauded it. I was their Duchess. They wanted no other.
When the day was drawing to an end, I liked to go up to the ramparts of the castle and look down on my city, touched as it was by the golden light of the setting sun. I had seen it thus so many times, and it had lived on in my childhood memories—Poitiers, my city, built on the slopes of a gentle hill with the Cain and the Boivre flowing