Thomas Becket. Father John S. Hogan

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СКАЧАТЬ in England, was almost on a par with bishops and abbots. The office came with an income of more than one hundred pounds a year, which was a serious sum of money in 1154 and, ironically, was more than the archbishop of York would receive — Roger had to take a cut in salary with his move to the higher office. While the office brought great prestige, it was usually seen as a “suggestive” appointment — the one appointed to the office was marked out for even higher office. Thomas knew without a doubt that unless some disaster should fall upon him, he would in time become a bishop. As his predecessor had become an archbishop, that too was a real possibility. Thomas brought a wealth of experience to the office and, by now quite adept at meeting whatever challenges arose, was quick to gain even more experience in the daily exercise of this high ecclesiastical position.

      Like every deacon, Thomas had a role to play in the sacramental life of the Church. While he could not offer Mass, hear confession, or administer the Sacrament of the Sick, he could baptize, marry, preach, and preside at various ceremonies. While historians correctly plot Thom as’s progress in status and wealth, his spiritual response to these steps in his elevation is not usually highlighted. For all his ambition and love of mammon, Thomas never lost the simple piety his mother had taught him or forgot his duties to the poor as his lot in life improved. His resolve to stay true to his promise of celibacy when many others in his position were happy to forget it in the throes of passion and opportunity reveals that his simple piety was made of stern stuff and could steer this young man in the right direction morally. As an archdeacon, Thomas was not merely an ecclesiastical official and an administrator; he was also an ordained minister, with duties and responsibilities that were as much spiritual as they were political and administrative. The key to understanding the complexities of Thomas Becket’s character lies in realizing that his Christian faith mattered to him even when his adherence to some of its tenets may not have been ideal.

      On October 25, 1154, around the time of Thomas’s ordination, King Stephen died. His peaceful reign was short, just ten months; he contracted what appears to have been dysentery while staying at Dover Priory. He was buried at Faversham Abbey with his wife and son Eustace. The king’s death would prove to be an advantage for Henry; his position in Normandy was not as secure as he would have hoped, and any number of events could have weakened his position. A long, peaceful reign for Stephen could well have seen a reversal of fortune for the beleaguered king and his young son William.

      When Stephen died, Henry was in France assisting Louis VII, who was now pacified after his rant over Henry and Eleanor’s hasty marriage. As a feudal subject of France, Henry was fulfilling his duty to stand with his king in a war with some of Louis’s unruly vassals. When news came to him that Stephen had died, he immediately proclaimed himself Henry II of England and enjoyed the victory not only for himself but for his mother, still living her life in the monastery; she was finally vindicated in her claim, though she would never wear the crown herself. Despite his pleasure at his succession, Henry was in no hurry to get to England. He tarried in France and made arrangements to sail back in early December. In the meantime, Theobald took the reins and governed as regent until Henry condescended to gift England with his presence.

      King Henry and Queen Eleanor arrived in England on December 7, 1154, landing near Southampton and making their way to London, where preparations for the coronation were already advanced.⁴ On December 19, Henry and Eleanor were anointed and crowned by Theobald at Westminster Abbey;⁵ Henry was twenty-one years old, his queen thirty-two. They already had a son and heir, William, Count of Poitiers, just over a year old, and Eleanor was pregnant again — a second son was due in February. It seemed a new dynasty was about to be founded and secured. Flush with victory, Henry was confident in his ability to rule with skill and security. He sought peace and unity, and assured his new subjects that he would restore England to her former glory after almost two decades of war, strife, and death. A new age had begun; he hoped the days of tyranny were over.

      Such too were the hopes of the people of England, who were worn out after civil war and the tense reign of the usurper. They were sure that they now had a great prince, and Henry was keen to confirm that impression. He wanted peace and stability, and he planned to deliver them. In his coronation charter, the new king made his subjects no promises, but he assured them that he would grant them all the concessions, liberties, and freedoms that his grandfather, Henry I, had allowed them.⁶ That in itself should have rung warning bells — Henry I had been more an autocrat than a generous libertarian. The new young king looked back on his grandfather’s reign as halcyon days when the iron fist, neatly nestled in a velvet glove, ensured that the crown jealously guarded its rights, liberties, and assets — with an uncanny ability to dip into the assets of others when the need arose.

      Among those serving at the coronation was the new archdeacon of Canterbury, assisting the archbishop in the various liturgical actions of the ceremony. Henry would have noticed Thomas, now dressed splendidly in the dalmatic and no doubt as professional in his liturgical role as he was in the vital role he had played in the tense negotiations of 1153. Did Henry muse on the fact that he in large part owed the crown he was wearing to the deacon now standing before him in the abbey? He may well have done so, perhaps even speculating that this servant of the archbishop might prove an effective servant of the crown. Henry would need help to usher in this new age and to bring about that restoration of royal power and privilege he desired; he needed formidable and able counselors and advisors, and he saw before him the newly ordained archdeacon of Canterbury, who had been so deft in the negotiations for peace.

      As the palace at Westminster was deemed uninhabitable, having suffered damage during the Anarchy, Henry and Eleanor spent Christmas at the Cluniac Bermondsey Priory on the southern bank of the River Thames, holding court there for the first few months of their reign. The priory provided accommodation for the royal family and their servants until a suitable residence was ready; it was close enough to London, and it provided some peace and quiet, which the new queen appreciated for the last days of her pregnancy. On February 28, 1155, Eleanor gave birth to the couple’s second son, Henry. The succession now seemed secure.

      Meanwhile, in January 1155, Thomas received a summons from the royal court — he was to present himself at Bermondsey for an audience with the king. Henry had made up his mind. He had seen Thomas at work, and now he wanted him for royal service. This competent and dutiful man would be at Henry’s side — if the king got his way, not as clerk but as royal chancellor.

Part II

       11

       Henry

      The first thing to note about Henry II is that he was a restless man.¹ Never content to stay in one place, he had to be on the move, preferring his saddle to his throne; perhaps he saw the two as one and the same, given who was astride them both. This restlessness revealed his personality. Happiest on the back of a horse, he lived, like many a warrior, on the edge; he was a man who wanted to be in control, a man of action, a man for whom tolerance might be a sign of weakness. There is always the temptation, among Catholics in particular, to see Henry Angevin as a wicked man, a precursor to Henry VIII who sought to bring the Church under his control and was prepared to liquidate whoever he needed to — even the archbishop of Canterbury — in order to achieve that aim. That would not be the whole truth any more than is the narrative that, rough as he was, he was put upon by an ambitious and angry Catholic cleric and backed into a corner out of which he had to come fighting to preserve his kingdom and his just plans for renewal and stability.

      Henry was a complicated man with a lot of baggage, a king who knew what he wanted and was prepared to make tough decisions to achieve his aims. He had had to fight for his crown, a crown he should have inherited from his mother; and once he had it, he had to fight for his rights as monarch of England and Normandy. He inherited a worldview very different from ours; he failed to understand the developments in the Church as she sought to free herself from secular control. СКАЧАТЬ