The Plantagenet Prelude

Roger had watched the rise of Thomas; he had gnashed his teeth over the stories of the King’s love for that man; he had heard how they had roamed the country together, behaving as some said like two schoolboys, how they shared games and jokes and behaved like brothers. It was very galling to a man of Roger’s ambition to see Thomas Becket rise so high.

He saw now a chance of contributing to his fall, for if the King had once loved Becket, he was at this time irritated by his recent behaviour.

The members of the Church met to discuss the King’s ultimatum and the three chief of them were Roger of York, Hilary of Chichester and Gilbert Foliot of London. Right or wrong, Roger had decided that he would stand against the Archbishop. He persuaded the bishops that they must do this, for the King was too strong for them.

Thomas summoned them to Canterbury.

‘You are foolish!’ he cried. ‘What means this? It is the Church’s ruling that a man ca

‘Of what use is the liberty of the Church, if the Church itself should perish?’

‘You are bewitched,’ cried Thomas. ‘Are we to add sin to sin? It is when the Church is in trouble and not merely in times of peace that a bishop should dare to do his duty. In the old days men gave their blood for the Church and now they must be prepared to die if need be in defence of the Church’s liberty. By God, I swear that it is not safe for us to leave that form which we have received from our fathers.

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Roger had to admit the power of the man and he could not persuade the others to stand out against him.

Henry plunged into another of his violent rages.

‘I will have obedience,’ he shouted. ‘I will not allow these clerics to defy me because of their cloth. I will have them swear, man by man, that they obey royal customs in all things.’

He sent for the bishops, including the one he called their master – Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury.

When they were gathered together he raged before them in such a ma

Oh Henry, he thought, how far we have grown apart. I knew it was the end of our friendship when I became your Archbishop.

Henry was saddened too. How different it used to be, Thomas! he thought. You were my friend when you were my Chancellor. Everything you did was for my good. You loved me; you served me well. And now you set yourself against me. You have another master, your Church. I’ll get you back, Thomas. I’ll force you back.

‘I will not speak to you collectively,’ declared the King, ‘but separately.’

He was gleeful. That was clever. Singly he could strike terror into their miserable hearts.

One by one the bishops gave way; Roger cynically, his eyes on future advancement at the time when Thomas was disgraced and sent into exile, or whatever fate the King had reserved for him, for then his place would be vacant and the King would give it to one who knew where his advantage lay.

Thomas could have wept with sorrow. The bishops had betrayed the Church. Of course he knew how violent Henry could be when he was fighting for his own way. He could understand what veiled threats were uttered; he knew exactly how those defaulting bishops would make peace with their consciences.

And then Thomas?

‘So you will not swear to serve your King?’ demanded Henry.

‘I will give him all earthly honour saving my order,’ answered Thomas.

The King might rave and rant but he would not swerve from that. Thomas remained adamant, and finally the King strode out in great anger.

In his private chamber he sent for his secretary.

‘Write to the Archbishop of Canterbury,’ he commanded. ‘Say that any posts, honours and land which came into his possession when he was Chancellor of this realm are to be resigned to me without delay.’

The secretary complied and the King felt a little eased.

That would show Thomas what it meant to defy his master.

Thomas loved his luxurious houses; he loved all the pomp that went with them. Very well, he should do without them.

Thomas immediately complied with the King’s demands.

‘That is settled then,’ said Henry.

The King made it clear that he had not done with this matter, but meanwhile another had arisen which gave him great cause for a

His brother Geoffrey was dead but his younger brother William still lived and Henry was eager to make provision for him. A young brother roaming the kingdom of England or the dukedom of Normandy could come to mischief.

He had often discussed this matter with his mother and they had decided that when an opportunity occurred for William to marry advantageously, he should take it.

The opportunity came. King Stephen’s son William had died in the service of Henry. His widow, the Countess of Ware

He called William to him and told him of his plans; William decided that he must first see the lady and become acquainted with her before she knew that a match had been suggested between them.

Henry was nothing loath to a little romantic behaviour and when William came to him and told him that he loved the Countess of Ware

‘The marriage should not be delayed,’ said the King, ‘for the sooner the Ware

Opposition came from a quarter from which Henry was now becoming accustomed to getting it.

The Archbishop of Canterbury pointed out that William Plantagenet and William of Blois had been second cousins; therefore the marriage of a widow of one to the other was not legal.

Henry cursed the meddlesome Archbishop but in view of the fact that his own wife had obtained a divorce on the grounds of consanguinity with Louis of France, he could not demur.

He kept the Countess’s estates in the family by marrying her off to one of his illegitimate half-brothers, but he was very angry.

So was his brother William. He declared he would no longer stay in a country which was ruled by an archbishop, and went to join his mother in Normandy.

Matilda and he agreed about the character of Thomas Becket, and Matilda whipped up William’s resentment to fury. Henry had been a fool, as she had always said, to favour the man. He should have known that to pick a Chancellor out of the gutter was folly. She had over the years exaggerated Becket’s lowly origins. It had always been a characteristic of hers to make the facts fit her case.

Thomas Becket would ruin the country she was sure. Henry should send him into exile and the sooner he appointed another Primate the better.

She would not let the matter rest. She discussed it day after day with her son until it seemed to him that he had lost everything that made life worth living. When he caught a cold his spirits were so low that he could not throw it off and it affected his chest.

In the draughty castle he grew very ill and in his delirium he talked of the Countess of Ware

When he died Matilda, wild with grief, proclaimed that Thomas Becket had killed her son.

She wrote at once to Henry. ‘Your brother is dead. Life was no longer worth living for him when he lost the woman he loved. Your Archbishop has done this.’

When the news reached Henry he was stu

And he was dead! Was it possible to die of love? His mother declared it was. ‘If he had been allowed to marry the woman he loved this would never have happened to him,’ she insisted.