I. Birth, Youth and Rise

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ON Tuesday, December 2ist, in the year of our Lord 1118, there was born in London a male-child, to a couple named Gilbert and Matilda Beket; and was baptized the same evening by the name of Thomas, in honour of the Apostle and Martyr whose feast it was that day.

Among those who were friends of the family there must have been a certain excitement when it was known that Matilda Beket had been given a son by God, for there were strange stories told among the neighbours, as to certain dreams that the mother had dreamed a short while before. For example, she had thought in her sleep one night that the river Thames had flowed into her bosom; and, again, that the child that she was expecting had been with her in Canterbury, and had prevented her from 9 entering the Cathedral; and again that twelve bright stars had fallen from heaven into her lap. These dreams too, strange to say, continued after the child's birth; for she thought one night that she went to look at him in his cradle and found him sleeping beneath a blood-red quilt so huge that all England could not hold it.

These were the stories that the neighbours whispered among themselves as they stood together in the narrow London streets, or sat in the bitter winter over the fires within the dark low-ceilinged rooms.

The years went on and Thomas went to school. He was a lusty child, and his mother's custom of weighing him and giving to the poor so many pounds of bread as her son weighed, was indeed a generous mode of charity. His parents were not wealthy, since they had had great losses by fire; but they sent their son to the Augustinians at Merton Abbey to learn letters and good behaviour. He was a high-spirited boy, with a quick temper, devoted to outdoor sports; and, no doubt, school was the best place for him. Here he would learn 10 his grammar, sitting with the rest in some great draughty hall, under the eye of a priest; here too, when school was over he would play football in the meadow, and watch the great gentlemen go jingling by, hawk on wrist, with greyhounds in leash, and long to be one of them.

Time went on, and Thomas at last was allowed to go hawking himself. It was a fierce and exciting sport, and he learned to love it. Once, at any rate, in attempting to recover his hawk he either fell or rode into a deep and swift mill-stream in the country near Ware, and narrowly escaped drowning. But it was not only hawking that he learned; cock-fighting was allowed even at school itself; and in winter he learned to sledge and to skate, tying sheeps' thigh-bones to his feet and balancing with an iron-tipped pole, over the long pools by Westminster and the City.

It was a pleasant and a noble life in London at this time. The City, as an old chronicler says, was "happy in the healthiness of the air, in the Christian Religion, in the strength of its towers, the nature of its ii site, the honour of its citizens, the modesty of its women; it was pleasant in its sports, and fruitful of high-spirited men." Thomas would take his part in looking at mystery-plays, boar-baiting in winter, tilting at a shield in boats at Easter-tide, and visiting the horse-fair at Smithfield on any Friday in the year.

Of his lessons not a great deal is known, since he certainly preferred hawking to arithmetic; yet for all that he had to learn it, with the rod never very far away; as well as grammar, Latin, rhetoric and a little theology. There were great days now and again, when a platform was erected in one of the vast churches of London, on which the boys disputed this point or that, in a kind of tournament, with their friends beneath, watching and listening, and applauding as eagerly as at the tilting on Sundays in Lent; and, more important than all in Thomas' eyes, in a chair of dignity beside the platform sat Prior Robert himself, the superior of Merton, and the boy's own head master whom he loved and reverenced with all his heart.

Then came the day when Thomas must leave school, which he did after a time in London, and go to the University; and to Paris he went, at his mother's expense. There he would find school again on a larger scale. There would be the same kind of lectures — but delivered by great men whose names were known throughout Europe — great scholars, theologians, philosophers, thundering out from their high desks upon the silent crowd of students — men who knew all that was to be known in those days of science and history and the arts. There too would be the same rough and tumble life — sleeping in crowded rooms giving and taking blows as well as sharp words — going in parties to see the sights — the sports, the executions, the ordeals by fire and water — meeting, not as before, boys of another school, but men of another country — brown-faced Italians, heavy, fair Germans, as well as the voluble Normans and silent Englishmen with whom Thomas would find himself at home. It was a rough life, with plenty of coarse temptations, but even here, according to one tradition, he was notorious 13 for his purity and simplicity. There is a hymn preserved in Rome to this day, upon the Seven Joys of Mary, which Thomas is said to have composed in Paris.1 There too he learned more than ever before of what that

1 I venture to append a rough translation in the same rhythm as the original.

Joy! Christ's Mother, who through hearing Gabriel's message, nothing fearing, As a Virgin, Christ conceived.

Joy! Who full of God, all painless Then did bear Him, pure and stainless As a lily-garland weaved.

Joy! Who whilst thy Son enfolding Saw the Wise Men coming, holding Gifts of great and precious price.

Joy! Who in thy search unwitting Found thy Son mid doctors sitting In the House of Sacrifice.

Joy! Who after dereliction In thy great Son's resurrection Saw the light of victory.

Joy! Who thy pure eyes upbending Saw thy Son to heaven ascending Mid all hallows' company.

Joy! Who after Him in splendour

Did ascend; to whom all render

Praise in heaven and jubilee.

Catholic Church was of whom he was a child — he would see for himself, as St. Paul had said more than a thousand years before, how that in her there was neither Jew nor Greek — nor Frenchman nor Englishman either — but that all were one in faith and hope; he would begin to understand here, for perhaps the first time in his life, that there is an obedience greater even than that due to king or country — an obedience to God as well as, and infinitely greater than, the obedience due to Caesar. And so he grew to manhood.

When Thomas was twenty-one years old he came back to London, and in the same year his mother died.

His twenty-second year he spent at home; and in 1 141 he went to learn business habits in the house of Osbern Witdeniers his kinsman, where he remained for three years, working, it seems, to some extent in the offices of the city sheriffs of whom Osbern was one.

Now it is known well enough what Thomas looked like at this time. He was a tall, long-limbed lad — far above the average in height 15

— with an aquiline nose and very bright, large eyes. He had, too, extraordinarily quick senses; he could hear and see and smell at great distances. He was not in the least like the kind of colourless dummy oi which foolish people think that a Catholic Saint and hero is made. On the contrary he was extremely fond of outdoor sports, and extremely competent at them. He loved too to dress well, and make a fine appearance. Of the kind of dress that he would wear we know quite enough to say that it would suit him. On his head he would wear a tight-fitting cap with a peak turned back; on his body a. tunic of some brilliant colour; with a short full cloak or "curt-mantle" hanging from shoulder to below the waist; on his legs tight-fitting hose, and on his feet soft leather shoes, yellow or brown, turned up at the toes. Thomas would not, probably, be content with this; he would put a plume in his cap fixed by a jewel, another jewel on the clasp of his cloak, and a ring or two on his long sinewy fingers. He would take care too that the horse on which he went hawking and hunting should be as trim and 16 brilliant as himself; that the bells of his birds were polished and their leashes of good red leather. Men would turn round in the London streets smiling with pleasure to see this gallant boy a head taller than themselves on the ground, ride by over the country by Westminster or over the wooden bridge to the Southwark meadows where the wild duck lived. And God too, we know, looked on him with pleasure; for this boy in the midst of a roistering, careless society lived a life as pure as on the day he was born. It was true that he loved the lovely things that God had made, that he delighted to feel the wind in his face and his horse between his knees, and to watch the long swoop of the towering bird, and to hear the mart of the stag blown on the hunting-horn — this was natural enough; but for Thomas a life of clean pleasure was the life to which God called him; there was no need to defile these things with sin.

Yet, so far, this was all. There were no further signs yet that those old dreams of his mother twenty-five years before were more than any other dreams. Once, it is

17 c true, when he was yet a boy at Merton Abbey, his father, as if under the sudden spell of prophecy, had saluted him as one would salute a saint, telling the horrified Prior that "this boy will be great before the Lord "; yet no more had happened than that; and Thomas did his accounts in Osbern's office, and rode abroad, laughing, in scarlet and blue, without one thought, so far as is known, that God had any plan for him other than that which was the life of the rest who rode and laughed with him.

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At the end of his three years, wishing to devote himself more to the cause of the Church, Thomas (or his father for him) applied for and obtained a post in the Court of Archbishop Theobald; and he found the life there at first a little difficult. It was not only that he was compelled day after day to sit through long ecclesiastical causes — of that kind of life he had had three years — but he found now that his education had been not of the best, and that his new companions despised him for his burgher birth 18 and were jealous of his powers. They gave him nicknames, they plotted against him; twice even they succeeded in getting him dismissed; and especially active among these enemies of his was a clerk named Roger of whom we shall hear again. But Thomas persevered; he set himself to learn his work, to be patient and painstaking, and in a short while the Archbishop began to notice him.

For eleven years this life went on. There are not enough records of his life, nor, even if there were, have we time to follow him closely in every detail. This at least is known, that although the Archbishop's Court held the most brilliant men in England, yet Thomas' name stood high among them, and that every year saw the increase of his importance. We know well enough the kind of life that he would have lived. He would have counted as an ecclesiastic, though it was not for many years that he actually received the greater orders. To a large extent he would have passed his days in court, reporting, examining and interviewing those who came for justice; he 19 would have drawn up deeds, consulted precedents, pleaded the cause of this man or that; but besides this, part of his duties would have lain in accompanying the Archbishop now and then in the journeys that were necessary, staying here and there in Kent at the palaces of his patron, talking with him, riding by his side, and even hunting with him. The life would be a strange one to our ideas, yet full of opportunities for intimacy between master and servant. Each great official of State from the King downwards possessed half-a-dozen houses or more — great fortified draughty buildings — scattered over the country; and to these in turn the household would go, clerks, servants, ecclesiastics, men at arms, with their luggage, furniture, provisions, and stuffs borne on beasts' backs; and there, in each house by turn, the company would encamp as best they could; and the master would do his work in each centre, try causes if he were possessed of judicial powers, grant interviews, pay and return visits from other great houses round about, and finally, after a week or more, move on again with all his 20 train to his next house, leaving indescribable litter behind him.

So it was, we know, with the Archbishop. Kent is still sprinkled between London and Canterbury, with the crumbling walls of these old palaces where Theobald and Thomas lived and talked together. Little by little the Archbishop began to understand what kind of man he was; he saw that this tall young man, who loved fine dress and outdoor sports, who had such a quick temper, who rode so well, with the eye of a hawk and the ear of a stag — he saw that these things were only part of his powers; and that beneath them there lay an astonishing discretion, shrewdness and capability. He began to trust him more and more, to talk to him more openly, to ask his opinion and toconfide to him secrets that he kept from others. Finally he began to employ him in more serious business than ever. / For example, the Archbishop had taken Thomas in his train to Rome almost immediately after his entrance into his service; and five years later he took him with him again to Rheims. This was a very serious 21 matter. Stephen, King of England, had forbidden his Archbishop to go; but Theobald, choosing to obey God rather than man, had escaped the watch set upon him, and presented himself to the Holy Father as he had been ordered. Here was a lesson for Thomas; he saw plainly enough that there were certain cases when a man's duty to his King must take second place.

A little later Thomas was sent on his own account to the Pope on a matter of the royal succession itself. Stephen, in defiance of a previous agreement, had attempted to cause his son to be crowned during his own lifetime, to prevent the succession of Henry Plantagenet; and it was through Thomas' skill and courage that the Pope was persuaded to enforce the old arrangement. We do not know the whole history of how Thomas succeeded; but at least it is certain that he came back to England with his reputation for discretion and strength higher than ever.

And now honours began to rain upon him.

It was the custom in those days — not altogether a good custom, though it had its 22 advantages — to confer a number of ecclesiastical offices upon one man. It was of course impossible for one man to discharge the affairs of them all; but it would be his duty to appoint suitable men to each place, and himself to pay them out of the stipends and supervise their work. It is true that Thomas was not a priest, he was not even yet actually a deacon, though he became one almost immediately; so it was in any case impossible for him to do the work of a parish-priest; but at least he knew the inner affairs of Church and State, and it was not altogether unfortunate that such a man as he should have control of a large number of important positions. For example, he held two churches, one in Kent and one in London — Otford and St. Mary-le-Strand — and two Cathedral stalls, one in St. Paul's and one in Lincoln. The custom has to some extent lasted on even into our own times, though it is thought better on the whole that one man should not hold more than one office; but at least there is nothing whatever actually wrong in the system, so long as the work is done. It speaks well for 23

Thomas' zeal that about this time he obtained leave from the Archbishop to go for one year to Bologna in order to study under the best authorities the science of Canon Law — the law, that is, by which the affairs of the Church are administered. Then once more he returned to England.

Now the Archbishop's Court, as has been said, held the most brilliant men in England. It was difficult enough to obtain a position there at all, it was still more difficult to rise when it had been obtained. It was from those who succeeded in this that men were selected-to fill great positions. In this way Roger, Thomas' great enemy, called Pont 1'Eveque, had been appointed Archdeacon or Canterbury in 1 147, and in 1 154 he rose yet higher and became Archbishop of York. This left the Archdeaconry vacant, and Theobald's choice fell upon Thomas to fill it, as well as to become Provost of Beverley. Thomas, then, now stood in the most important place next to the bishops and abbots. He had the great diocese of Canterbury under his charge, under the Archbishop himself; there were numerous appointments at his disposal; 24 he had become practically the chief advisei of the first subject of the realm.

It is wonderful to see how this young man had risen under God's Providence. He was still in the prime of life; he had had no special advantages that others had not, yet in less than twenty years he had become, from being an unknown student in Paris, a man on whom the eyes of all were fixed — one to whom great affairs had been entrusted, and who had discharged them well. Yet this position was only the first stage of greatness. For two years he administered the Archdeaconry. In 1154 Henry II was crowned King; and in 1155, at the age of thirty-eight, Thomas was appointed Lord Chancellor of England.