Fitz Stephen was sitting at a table in the great hall, staring vacantly off into space. It was his inactivity, so unusual in one of the most industrious of the archbishop’s clerks, that attracted the attention of Edward Grim. Although they were only recently acquainted, the two men shared much in common: an excellent education, a reluctance to demonize their foes, spiritual piety entwined with secular ambition, and an abiding faith in the rightness of the archbishop’s cause. There was concern as well as curiosity, therefore, in Grim’s quiet query.
“Will? I do not mean to intrude, but you seem sorely troubled. May I help?”
Fitz Stephen looked up dully, then gestured for Grim to join him. No sooner had the young priest seated himself than the words came pouring out, each one more alarming than the last. By the time he’d finished, Grim was staring at him, aghast.
“You talked to the archbishop about this?”
Fitz Stephen nodded. “So did John of Salisbury and Robert of Merton, his confessor. He heard us out, but paid us no heed. We are not exaggerating his danger, Ned. Either these men are plotting to murder him in the hopes of gaining royal favor or they are acting at the king’s command. Whichever is true, the outcome is likely to be the same, for I do not think Lord Thomas will allow himself to be arrested.”
Neither did Grim; even in his brief stay at Canterbury, he’d observed how mindful Lord Thomas was of his archiepiscopal dignity. “These men you named… is much known of them? Are they as ungodly and foul as the de Brocs?”
“If so, we are all doomed. Three of the four are not only known to Lord Thomas, they were his vassals whilst he was chancellor. Hugh de Morville remained for a time in his service after he became archbishop. His family is a respected one; his father was a Constable of Scotland. William de Tracy is well connected, too; his grandfather was a baseborn son of the old king, the first Henry, and he holds the barony of Bradnich. Reginald Fitz Urse’s father was Lord of Bulwick in Northamptonshire and he has lands in Somerset and Montgomery. Lord Thomas was the very one who secured for him his position at court. It defies belief, Ned, that any man of Christian faith could so reward good with evil. The fourth man is younger than the others, one Richard le Bret. I think he once served in the household of the Lord William, the king’s late brother, but I am not altogether certain of that. Richard the cellarer says that his cousin’s husband told him that they had enough men-at-arms with them to require two ships for the Channel crossing.” He paused to swallow, his mouth as parched as his hopes, and then added tonelessly, “And Saltwood Castle is just twelve miles away…”
Grim had always prided himself upon his logical thinking. He struggled now to remain calm, to subject this information to a dispassionate analysis. “So they are not lowborn rabble, but men of property, of substance. Are they of sufficient rank, though, to be dispatched to arrest the archbishop?”
Fitz Stephen pondered that for several moments. “I would think not,” he said doubtfully. “King Henry has a fearsome temper, one that has gotten worse over the years. I have witnessed several of these outbursts myself, and to hear him ranting and raving in the throes of a royal rage is to understand why men say the Angevins are of the Devil’s stock. I was told that he threw a truly terrible fit at Chinon four years ago, upon hearing that Lord Thomas had excommunicated his justiciar, Richard de Lucy, as well as Richard of Ilchester and John of Oxford. It may be that his temper caught fire at Bures, too, and these lords took him at his word-”
He broke off in midsentence, half-rising from the bench as John of Salisbury hastened toward them, his expression so stricken that they knew the news he bore was bad.
“They are here,” he panted. “They’ve just ridden into St Augustine’s!”
“The priory?” Grim was dumbfounded. “Why? Surely they could not expect aid from that quarter!”
Fitz Stephen and John looked at him in surprise, then remembered that his appointment to the benefice of Saltwood was a patronage plum and he’d probably spent little time in the parish before being ejected by the de Brocs.
“Lucifer himself could rely upon a welcome at St Augustine’s,” John said caustically. “Their prior, Clarembald, is a disgrace to the clergy and Church. He is a worldly sinner who was rewarded with an abbacy for his service to the king, a man who cares only for his carnal pleasures, feuding with his own monks, and siring so many bastards that he’s known as the stud of St Augustine’s.”
Fitz Stephen was already well acquainted with the scandalous history of Abbot Clarembald. “Let that be, John. Tell us what is happening at the priory. Does Lord Thomas know of this?”
“Yes, he knows.”
“And…?” Fitz Stephen prodded impatiently. “What did he say?”
“I told him that his enemies had arrived at St Augustine’s and were having dinner with Clarembald, and he… he said that we should make ready to dine, too.”
After dining on pheasant, Becket withdrew to his private quarters at the east end of the great hall. Once all of the monks, clerks, knights, and lay members of the household had finished their meal, it was the turn of the kitchen staff and servers to eat. By now word had spread of the arrival of the armed men at St Augustine’s Priory. William Fitz Neal, Becket’s steward, had been considering his precarious position as liegeman to both the archbishop and the king. Leaving his own dinner untouched, he followed Becket to his bedchamber and asked his permission to depart, saying candidly that “You are in such disfavor with the king and all his men that I dare not stay with you any longer, my lord.”
Becket’s clerks bristled, but he accepted the defection with surprising composure, telling his steward, “Of course you have my leave to go, William.” Fitz Neal ignored the accusing looks thrown his way and returned to the hall. It was now almost 4 P.M. and winter’s early twilight was already beginning to chase away the daylight.
While Fitz Neal was planning to abandon the archbishop’s sinking ship, a large contingent of knights and men-at-arms had left St Augustine’s and were entering the city through its Northgate. Leaving their men at a house close by the palace gateway, Hugh de Morville, Reginald Fitz Urse, William de Tracy, and Richard le Bret rode into the palace courtyard. Dismounting by the mulberry tree, they removed their swords and scabbards, then entered the great hall. Declining Fitz Neal’s polite offer of refreshments, they demanded to see the archbishop.
Thomas Becket was sitting upon his bed, conversing with one of the monks. Others of his household were seated or kneeling in the floor rushes. Fitz Neal announced the four knights, who strode into the bedchamber and sat on the floor, too. Fitz Stephen, frozen by the door, almost forgot to breathe. For what seemed forever to him, the archbishop ignored the knights and they said nothing. Finally the impasse was broken by Becket, who acknowledged their presence coolly, only to get a response so terse as to be deliberately discourteous, a growled “God help you” from Fitz Urse. Becket flushed and another silence ensued.
After exchanging glances with his companions, Fitz Urse assumed the role of spokesman and declared that they carried a message from the king. Did the archbishop want it said in private or public? To Fitz Stephen’s horror, his lord said that was for them to say, and Fitz Urse responded with a succinct “Alone, then.” As his clerks and monks started to leave the chamber, Becket suddenly changed his mind and recalled them. Still seated on the bed, he said to the knights:
“Now, my lords, you may say what you will.”
“We have been sent to escort you to the young king at Winchester, where you are to swear fealty to him and make satisfaction for the offenses you have committed against the Crown.”
“It was my dearest wish to meet with the young king at Winchester. I was prevented from doing so by his advisers, who ordered me to return to Canterbury. I will gladly swear fealty to him. But I have committed no offenses against the Crown and I will not go to Winchester to be put on trial.”