Plantagenet 1 - The Plantagenet Prelude (46 page)

The church was quiet. The monastery slumbered. Thomas rose from his bed and took off his stole. He put on his black cappa, and taking only his pallium and his archiepiscopal seal set out.

Roger with the two lay brothers, Robert and Scailman, were waiting with the horses.

They went through the unguarded gate of the town and rode on to Grantham where they rested for a while. After that they reached Lincoln.

It was a long and tortuous journey and every minute they feared discovery, for so far had they to travel that the King’s men might have caught them in any town where they paused to rest.

But Thomas had loyal supporters throughout the country. Many people knew that this was a struggle between the Church and the State and that the King sought to set himself in sole judgement over them. They knew that Thomas Becket was a good man. He had given much to the poor; he was a man of God who had dared defy the King. They were already looking upon him as a saint. There were few who would not feel honoured to give him shelter in their houses, and Thomas was determined to protect them by denying his identity whenever it was questioned. Thus he came to the fen country and finally to the village of Eastry close to Sandwich and but eight miles from Canterbury.

They stayed for a while in the house of a priest who found a boat for them and kept them in his house until the time came when it appeared they could make the crossing with safety.

The boat was small, the sea was rough, but they could wait no longer.

‘We will place ourselves in God’s hands,’ said Thomas. ‘If it is his will that we live then we shall and if the sea takes us then that is his will too.’

They set off; the little boat was tossed cruelly on the waves but miraculously it seemed to keep afloat and the very violence of the wind blew the boat across the water. They landed on the sands at Oie, not far from Gravelines.

‘Thank God,’ cried Roger, but Thomas was not sure that they were out of danger yet.

He was right because they discovered that they were in the territory which belonged to the Earl of Boulogne. This was that Matthew who had married the Abbess of Romsey, the match which Thomas had opposed. Matthew had borne him a grudge for this, for although the marriage had gone through it was only due to the King’s cunning that it had and Thomas had done all in his power to prevent it.

‘We dare not risk falling into the hands of the Earl of Boulogne,’ said Thomas. ‘He would send me back to the King.’

So it was no use hoping for comfort. They must continue their arduous journey on foot as though they were four itinerant lay brothers. Until they had left the realm of the Earl of Boulogne they would not be safe, and there were many alarms during the journey, for the news had spread that the Archbishop of Canterbury had landed and people looked out for him.

He almost betrayed himself on one occasion when the three footsore travellers came upon a party of young men out hawking. In a careless moment Thomas showed his interest and knowledge of the hawk on the wrist of the leader of the party.

‘How should a travelling lay brother know of such things?’ asked the young man. ‘By my faith, I believe you to be the Archbishop of Canterbury.’

Scailman, who was quicker witted than Roger or Robert, said quickly, ‘You must be a simpleton if you imagine the Archbishop of Canterbury would travel in this manner.’

”Tis true,’ said the young man. ‘I remember when he came here as the Chancellor of England. Never had such magnificence been seen.’

They passed on while the young man was telling his companions of the brilliantly caparisoned horses and the reputed extravagances of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

‘We must take greater care,’ said Scailman.

‘I must take heed that I do not fall into the trap of betraying myself,’ answered Thomas. ‘But for your quick wits, Brother Scailman, that could have been an awkward moment.’

How thankful he was to see the towers of Clairmarais, a monastery close to Saint Omer. There he was given a great welcome and a messenger was sent to Saint Bertin where Herbert had already arrived.

They embraced each other, delighted that they had completed the most hazardous part of their journey. But there was no time for delay. Thomas should rest awhile at Saint Bertin and then they must make their way to Soissons.

‘Once we are there,’ said Herbert, ‘we can make sure of the protection of the King of France.’

Within a few days they had reached that sanctuary.

Chapter XIV

ROSAMUND’S BOWER

T
here was a great rejoicing in France for Louis’s wife had given birth to a son. A male heir for France when it had been despaired of. Louis was delighted; all over France the bells rang out and the news was proclaimed through the streets of Paris. He had feared that he could beget only daughters.

Henry heard the news with despondency. His son Henry was married to Marguerite of France and he had hoped that on the death of Louis, since the French King had then no male heir, young Henry might take the crown. He would after all have a certain claim through his wife and with the King of England and Duke of Normandy behind him, his power would be great.

Alas, fate had decided against him.

Eleanor shared his chagrin and she herself very shortly afterwards gave birth to a daughter. They called her Joanna.

The birth of his son seemed to add a new dimension to Louis’s character. He cast off much of his meekness. He had a son to plan for now. This showed immediately in his reception of Thomas Becket to whom he accorded a very warm welcome.

‘It is one of the royal dignities of France to protect fugitives, especially men of the Church, from their persecutors,’ he said. He would do everything in his power to help Thomas reach the Pope.

Henry’s feelings were incomprehensible even to himself. He was half pleased that Thomas had escaped. He could have arrested him in the council chamber. Why had he not done so? he asked himself many times. Because he did not want Thomas’s blood on his hands. The man exasperated him beyond endurance; he set the hot blood rushing to his head; and yet at the same time he could not entirely suppress a tenderness for him. Often memories of the old days would come crowding into his mind. What fun they had had! No one had ever amused him quite as much as Thomas. What a fool the man was! If only he had been ready to do what the King wished, their friendship would have gone on and on to enrich both their lives.

He sent his envoys to the court of France with gifts for Louis and congratulations, which Louis knew were false, on the birth of his son.

They had come, they said, to speak of the late Archbishop of Canterbury.

Louis with surprising spirit answered that he had not known that Thomas Becket was the
late
Archbishop of Canterbury. ‘I am a King even as the King of England is,’ he went on, ‘yet I have not the power to depose the least of my clerics.’

They realised then that Louis was not going to be helpful and that Thomas had indeed found a sanctuary with him.

They asked him if he would write to the Pope putting the King of England’s grievances to him. They reminded him that during the conflict between England and France the Archbishop had worked assiduously against France.

‘It was his duty,’ said Louis. ‘Had he been my subject he would have worked so for me.’

There was nothing Henry could do now to prevent the case of Thomas Becket being put before the Pope, and he made sure that his side of the case should be well represented; that old enemy of Thomas’s, Roger, Archbishop of York, was among his emissaries.

The friends Thomas could send, headed by Herbert, were humble in comparison; they had no rich gifts to bring to the Pope. The Pope in his Papal Court at Sens received them with affection however and was deeply moved when he heard of the suffering of Thomas Becket.

‘He is alive still,’ he said. ‘Then I rejoice. He can still, while in the flesh, claim the privilege of martyrdom.’

The next day the Pope called a meeting and the King’s embassy and those who came from Thomas were present.

Carefully the Pope listened to both sides of the story and later sent for Thomas.

When he was received by the Pope and his cardinals, Thomas showed them the constitutions he had brought from Clarendon. The Pope read them with horror and Thomas confessed his sin in that he had promised to obey the King and that only when he had been called to make the promise in public had he realised that the King had no intention of keeping his word. After that he had determined to stand out against Henry no matter what happened.

‘Your fault was great,’ said the Pope, ‘but you have done your best to atone for it. You have fallen from grace, but my son, you have risen stronger than you were before. I will not give you a penance. You have already expiated your sin in all that you have suffered.’

Thomas was determined that they should know the complete truth.

‘Much evil has fallen on the Church on my account,’ he said. ‘I was thrust into my post by the King’s favour, by the design of men, not God. I give into your hands, Holy Father, the burden which I no longer have the strength to bear.’

He tried to put the archiepiscopal ring into the Pope’s hands, but the Pope would not take it.

‘Your work for the Holy Church has atoned for all that has happened to you,’ he said. ‘You will receive the See of Canterbury fresh from my hands. Rest assured that we here shall maintain you in your cause because it is the Church’s cause. You should retire, my son, to some refuge where you can meditate and regain your strength. I will send you to a monastery where you must learn to subdue the flesh. You have lived in great comfort and luxury and I wish you to learn to live with privation and poverty.’

Thomas declared his burning desire to do so and it was arranged that he should for a while live at the Cistercian monastery of Pontigny which was in Burgundy.

Eleanor was once more pregnant and a few days after Christmas in the year 1166 another son was born to her. They called him John.

Soon after the birth of this son Eleanor began to wonder why the King’s visits to Woodstock always raised his spirits. There was a lilt in his voice when he mentioned the place.

What, she asked herself, was so special about Woodstock? A pleasant enough place it was true, but the King had many pleasant castles and palaces. She determined to find out.

When Henry was at Woodstock she joined him there and she noticed that he disappeared for long spells at a time, and that when she asked any of her servants where he might be, she could get no satisfactory answer.

She decided she would watch him very closely herself and all the time they were at Woodstock she did this. One afternoon she was rewarded for her diligence. Looking from her window she saw the King emerging from the palace, and hastening from her room she left by a door other than the one which he had used, and so before he had gone very far she came face to face with him.

‘A pleasant day,’ she said, ‘on which to take a walk.’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ he answered somewhat shiftily she thought, and was about to say that she would accompany him when she noticed attached to his spur a ball of silk.

She was about to ask him how he had come by this when she changed her mind.

She said that she was going into the palace and would see him later. He seemed relieved and kissed her hand and as she passed him facing towards the palace she contrived to bend swiftly and pick up the ball of silk.

He passed on and she saw to her amazement that a piece of the silk was still caught in his spur and that the ball unravelled as he went.

She was very amused because if she could follow the King at some distance she would know exactly which turn he had taken in the maze of trees by following the thread.

It was an amusing incident and if he discovered her they would laugh about her shadowing him through the maze of trees.

Then it suddenly occurred to her. He had been visiting someone earlier. It must be a woman. From whom else should he have picked up a ball of silk.

A sudden anger filled her. Another light of love. He should not have them so near the royal palaces. She would tell him so if she discovered who his new mistress was.

He was deep in the thicket, and still he was going purposefully on. She realised suddenly that the end attached to his spur had come off and he was no longer leading her. Carefully she let the end of her silk fall to the ground and followed the trail it had left. There was no sign of Henry.

She would leave the silk where it lay and retrace her steps to the Palace. When the opportunity arose she would explore the maze and see if she could discover where Henry had gone.

She was very thoughtful when he returned to the palace for there was about him a look of contentment which she had noticed before.

The next day Henry was called away to Westminster and she declared her intention of staying behind at Woodstock for a while. Immediately she decided to explore the maze. This she did and found that the thread of silk was still there. She followed it through the paths so that she knew she was going the way the King had gone. Then the silk stopped but she could see that the trees were thinning.

It did not take her long to find the dwelling-house.

It was beautiful - a miniature palace. In the garden sat a woman; she was embroidering and in a little basket beside her lay balls of silk of the same size and colour as that which had attached itself to the King’s spur.

Two young boys were playing a ball game on the grass and every now and then the woman would look at them.

There was something about the appearance of those boys which made Eleanor tremble with anger.

The woman suddenly seemed to be aware that she was watched for she looked up and encountered the intent eyes of the Queen fixed on her. She rose to her feet. Her embroidery fell to the floor. The two boys stopped playing and watched.

Eleanor went to the woman and said:

‘Who are you?’

The woman answered: ‘Should I not ask that of you who come to my house?’

‘Ask if you will. I am the Queen.’

The woman turned pale. She stepped back a pace or two and glanced furtively to right and left as if looking for a way of escape.

Eleanor took her by the arm. ‘You had better tell me,’ she said.

‘I am Rosamund Clifford.’

The elder of the boys came up and said in a high-pitched voice: ‘Don’t hurt my mother, please.’

‘You are the King’s mistress,’ said Eleanor.

Rosamund answered, ‘Please … not before the children.’ Then she turned to the boys and said: ‘Go into the house.’

‘Mother, we cannot leave you with this woman.’

Eleanor burst out laughing. ‘I am your Queen. You must obey me. Go into the house. I have something to say to your mother.’

‘Yes, go,’ said Rosamund.

They went and the two women faced each other.

‘How long has it been going on?’ demanded Eleanor.

‘For … for some time.’

‘And both of those boys are his?’

Rosamund nodded.

‘I will kill him,’ said Eleanor. ‘I will kill you both. So it was to see you … and it has been going on for years, and that is why he comes so much to Woodstock.’ She took Rosamund by the shoulders and shook her. ‘You insignificant creature. What does he see in you? Is it simply that you do his bidding? You would never say no to him, never disagree, never be anything but what he wanted!’ She continued to shake Rosamund. ‘You little fool. How long do you think it will last …’

She stopped. It had lasted for years. There might be other women but he kept Rosamund. He would not have kept Eleanor if it had not been necessary for him to do so. She was jealous; she was furiously jealous of this pink and white beauty, mild as milk and sweet as honey.