IV. Exile and Return

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IT is impossible to follow closely all the adventures that the Saint passed through during the next few months, and the endless plottings against him. Yet they were adventures indeed! He had travelled in disguise, both in England and France, seeking a refuge, among others, with the Gilbert-ines whose holy founder was still alive, hiding now in a cottage in the Fen country, now in a little priest's-chamber built on to a church; he had crossed to France on All Souls' Day, still disguised and known as brother Christian, making his way to Sens where the Pope was at that time. Yet in spite of his care he was recognized again and again, so well known was he, once by his perfect manners, once by his interest in a fine hawk that a falconer was carrying; sometimes he rode with a couple 83 of friends, sometimes he walked, always passing on to where safety lay.

At one place, for example, a man who was entertaining them noticed that "Brother Christian " was giving away his food to the children and the servants. He looked at him closely, noticing his immense height, his long slender hands, and his fine face. Presently the man slipped out, and returned with his wife, and the two stood looking. When supper was done Brother Christian asked his host to come and sit by him; but he refused, and sat down on the floor instead. Then he burst out.

" My lord, I thank God you are come into my house."

"Why — what is this?" cried Thomas. "Am I not just poor Brother Christian?"

" Whatever you may be called," said the man, " I know very well that you are Archbishop of Canterbury."

But it was more serious when he was within the dominions of the Count of Flanders, from whom he feared he would find opposition. He asked for a safe-conduct from the Count, but the answer was so 84 mysterious that Thomas saw that mischief was intended, so he slipped quickly across the border before any steps could be taken against him.

It was indeed dangerous in those days of furious politics and quarrellings for an ecclesiastic to incur the anger of any great ruler. England and the Continent were one in religion, and this, while in one sense it made for peace far more than all the " ententes cordiales" of our own days, in another sense rendered escape very difficult for any Churchman who was in trouble with the authorities. The visit of a Protestant archbishop to the Continent at the present time causes no disturbance, since no one knows much about him; but Thomas was a great prelate abroad as well as at home; he was a marked man everywhere. All important, therefore, was it for him to know how Louis would receive him. The Kings of England and France were nominally friends, but quarrels were frequent, and it might very well be that Louis might side with his ally.

He was therefore in extraordinary danger 85 still. The King of England, on hearing of his flight from Northampton, had done his utmost to guard every port in the kingdom, and, now that Thomas had escaped in spite of all, was sending messengers to poison, if it were possible, the minds of Louis, King of France, and of Pope Alexander against the fugitive.

These messages and Thomas' answers, when he reached safety at last, are too complicated to describe at length; but, in a word, Henry accused Thomas of villainy and treachery, and Thomas answered that he had done nothing except defend the rights of the Church. Here is one letter that Henry wrote to Louis:

"To his lord and friend Louis, the illustrious King of France, Henry, King of England, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine and Count of Anjou, Greeting and affection.

"Know that Thomas, who was Archbishop of Canterbury, has been publicly judged in my Court by a full Council of the barons of my realm, to be a wicked and perjured traitor against me, and, under the declared name of a traitor, has wrongfully 86 departed, as my messengers will tell you more fully. Wherefore I entreat you that you do not allow a man infamous for such great crimes and treasons, nor his men, to be in your kingdom. I beg you not to allow this great enemy of mine to receive from you or yours any help or advice; since I would give none, nor would my country, to any enemies of yours within my kingdom. Rather, I beseech you, give your powerful aid to avenge my dishonour on this great enemy of mine, and help me to seek my honour, as you would wish me, if there were need, to do for you.

"Witness: Robert, Earl of Leicester; at Northampton."

We see from this the furious anger of Henry at having been outwitted. It was not enough for him that his " great enemy," once his great friend, had to flee for his life; he must pursue him even in France. But his letter was of no use.

"The late Archbishop!" said Louis, questioningly. "Why, who has deposed him? Truly I am a King as much as is the

King of England; yet I could not depose the very least of the clergy in my kingdom." Louis, at least, understood, as Henry did not, the relations of Church and State, and that no earthly monarch could meddle with the constitution of Christ's Kingdom. When Herbert of Bosham and one or two others, whom Thomas had sent on in front, arrived at Compiegne, where the French King was staying, they were received with open arms; and the next day were informed by the King himself that Thomas was to fear nothing, that France was always happy to give refuge to the persecuted and, above all, to ecclesiastics, and that the Archbishop should have the royal favour and protection. Then followed the decision of the Holy Father.

Pope Alexander was staying at this time at Sens; and, within a few hours of one another, there arrived the three deputations, Thomas' party, Louis', and the mischief-making messengers of Henry. After~a private audience or two, a public consistory was held, at which Henry's ambassadors made their accusations against the Saint. Gilbert Foliot, now Thomas' determined enemy, opened the attack by a violent 88 assault upon Thomas' reputation. He waxed very eloquent and scriptural.

"The wicked man fleeth," he cried, "when no man pursueth."

" Have pity! " murmured the Pope, who had a sense of humour.

"Am I to spare him?" cried Gilbert, bewildered.

" No, brother, spare thyself," said Alexander, smiling.

This must have been disconcerting; but the English bishops summoned up their courage and went on. Hilary of Chichester, Roger of York, the Bishop of Exeter, and finally Lord Arundel, made their speeches, and were heard with patience. The Archbishop had been at the very least tactless, they said, if no worse. Let him be sent back to England and the cause properly tried, in the presence of a Papal Legate if necessary. The Pope suggested that since Thomas was near by, the matter might very well be examined at Sens; but the ambassadors shook their heads. It was their business, they said, to demand his return to England. Now the Pope knew very well what this 89 meant: if Henry could but get the Archbishop in his power he would probably succeed in ruining him. Alexander therefore refused, and the bishops went home again disappointed.

Meanwhile Thomas and Louis had met; and the King had shewn to the exile the greatest affection and confidence. Many other great folks hastened to pay their respects to the Archbishop; and it was finally with a great company of over three hundred horsemen that Thomas rode into Sens at the very hour that Henry's ambassadors were leaving it. Here again his triumph was complete. He had more than one interview with the Pope, at one of which he offered to resign Canterbury into the Supreme Pontiffs hands, but Alexander refused. The Archbishop had been wrong, said the Pope, in ever for one instant having yielded to the Constitutions of Clarendon; but by his stedfastness and courage he had shown himself worthy of his high office. With this the Cardinals agreed; but since, for the present, matters were disturbed in England, it would be best, thought the 90

Pope, for Thomas to remain quietly in France until some solution were brought about.

To his great joy, therefore, he was advised to settle down quietly in the Cistercian house at Pontigny. It was here that he received from the Pope the Cistercian habit which he wore at the time of his martyrdom. But the King would not even now let him be. Thomas was hardly settled in his cell at Pontigny where he was to join in all the works and prayers of the Community and give himself to study, when a pitiable procession began to arrive from England, men, women, and children, friends of his own, from his estates and palaces, driven out by Henry and compelled to come and shew their misery to their master. This was, perhaps, the meanest thing that Henry ever did, and shews plainly the way in which his character had run downhill since the time when he had called Thomas his friend. Thomas was ready enough to suffer himself, but it was hard to see others suffer for him. He did what he could for his old friends and their families, but he was a poor man himself now and could not do much.

How fierce was Henry at this time in this matter, and indeed how disloyal altogether to the Pope to whom he pretended to appeal, is shown by the orders that he issued to the sheriffs throughout England.

' ' I command you, " he wrote, ' ' that if any ecclesiastic or layman in your district shall appeal to the Roman Court, you shall take him and hold him safely till you know my will: and all the moneys and possessions of the clerks of the Archbishop you shall seize for me, as Randulf de Broc and my other officers shall inform you. And you shall take by sureties the fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces of all the clerks that are with the Archbishop, and their chattels, until you know my will upon them."

What that "will" was we have seen — namely, that they should be packed off from house and home and despatched across the sea to Thomas in order if possible to break his heart and spirit by their miseries. The rest, who were left in England, suffered no less: one, a priest, was imprisoned for six months, others were fined; all were insulted 92 and shunned by those who called themselves the King's friends.

Two years so passed away at Pontigny. It was a strange road along which God had brought His servant — school-boy, student, clerk, Archdeacon, Lord Chancellor, Archbishop, and poor monk. Yet it was what he desired. For the present the Pope told him to live as a private person until the air had cleared a little; and the peace of soul that descended on him was very welcome after the struggles and controversies of the last few years. We know how he spent his time. He lived, so far as his health would allow, the life of a monk; he sang in the choir, he scourged himself, he said mass, meditated and worked in the fields, dressed no longer as a prelate, but as a simple priest; and prepared himself, by a kind of long Retreat, for the crowning test of his life, by which he was to be sealed for ever as a Saint.

Two curious stories told of his life at Pontigny shew that he was beginning even now to see what the end would be.

On one morning the Cistercian abbot was waiting for him in church, hidden behind 93 a pillar, while the Archbishop was making" his thanksgiving after mass at the altar of St. Stephen. All else was silent except for the murmur of prayer from the chapel. Then the abbot thought he heard a voice call a name, twice:

"Thomas, Thomas!"

11 Who art thou, Lord? " came the answer, no doubt trembling a little.

"I am Jesus Christ," sounded the voice again. "Thy Lord and thy Brother: My Church shall be glorified in thy blood, and thou shalt be glorified in me."

1 'God grant it be so, as my Lord hath said," answered the Saint.

Again; on the day that Thomas left Pontigny, the new abbot rode with him on his journey. Thomas seemed silent and cast down: but after a little questioning told what it was that touched him.

He had dreamed the night before that he was in some great church, defending his cause in the presence of Alexander and the Cardinals; and that four soldiers suddenly rushing in on him had attacked him with swords and cut off the tonsured crown of his 94 head. These stories were kept private at the Saint's command until the prophecies were fulfilled. And now the battle-lines closed.

In December, 1165, the Pope took the first great step towards vindicating Thomas' position in the eyes of the world, and declaring publicly his own regard for him. Here is the letter which he wrote: it reached Thomas in the beginning of the following year.

"Alexander, servant of the servants of God, to his well-beloved brother, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury, Health and the Apostolic Benediction.

"The Holy Roman Church is ever wont to surround with the greatest love, to crown with honour and glory those worthy persons whom she knows to be distinguished by prudence, knowledge and virtue. Also, taking account of the devotion and faithfulness, with which you, like an unbreakable pillar,, have fought for the Church of God, and considering also the virtue, the knowledge and the excellent wisdom which all see to shine in you, We have thought it Our duty to show Our love for you, distinguished as. 95 you are by so many noble qualities, by honouring you with a special privilege and a singular prerogative, and occupying Ourselves by your interests with Our accustomed goodwill and lively care. It is for this that We are pleased to appoint you legate for all England, except for the diocese of York, in order that in Our name, you may correct what you may find worthy of blame, and that you may, for the glory of God and of the Holy Roman Church, as also for the salvation of souls, establish, build or plant, as there may be need. We advise then and lay upon your Fraternity to do all those things with the wisdom and discretion which God shall give you, to root out vice, and to work for the increase of virtue in the Vineyard of the Lord."

We can imagine how Thomas was cheered by this. The support of the Vicar of Christ was the one thing he needed; and it was the one thing that his enemies feared for him.

" When the apostolic authority commands," wrote Gilbert in dismay to Henry, on hearing the news, "there is neither appeal nor remedy. It is necessary to sub- 96 mit if one would not incur the reproach of rebellion. On St. Paul's day, while I was at the altar, in London, a man of whom I know nothing handed me a letter from our Lord the Pope, granting and confirming by apostolic authority, the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury as legate of All England, excepting the diocese of York. To us, the bishops of the realm, it is enjoined by the same authority humbly to obey him as legate of the Holy See.... Wherefore, prostrate in heart at the feet of your Majesty, we beseech you to cast a look upon us, in the midst of your heavy cares, and to save us from being shamefully brought down to nothing..."

So the letter goes on, showing well the dismay that fell upon Thomas' enemies when the Vicar of Christ spoke so courageously on his behalf. It needed courage for Alexander to do this: Christendom was at this time rent by the faction of an Antipope, and it was more than possible, as we shall see presently, that Henry might be tempted in his passion even to go so far as to fall into deliberate schism. But by the mercy of God this did not happen.

Meanwhile, both during Thomas' stay at Pontigny and after his departure for Sens, whither he went in the end of 1166, and where he stayed for four years more, endless controversies and quarrels were raging over his position. Thomas' authority had been ratified emphatically by his appointment as Apostolic Legate; but it was almost impossible for him to exercise it, as his own bishops were rebellious. It is true that they were still in Henry's power and trembled for their lives, but their feebleness and selfishness are beyond all description. Gilbert of London, who had played Thomas such tricks before, was at them again, now omit-ting the Archbishop's name from the public prayers, and now putting it back again when he thought that a reconciliation would follow. The terror of the bishops was their only excuse; if they had shewn a strong front to Henry it is impossible that he could have gone to such lengths, but their weakness threw all the blame upon the Archbishop, and Henry began to think, and indeed to say, that if Thomas were dead all trouble would be at an end. 98

It is often so at times of great crisis. A handful is left on God's side, and the crowd is against it. The fire of suffering separates the gold from the dross, and behold! there is ten times as much dross as gold. Yet the speck of gold is more precious than all the rest counted a hundred times over.

During his stay at Pontigny Thomas wrote more than one letter to the English King entreating him to make peace, and to return to his faithfulness as a son of the Holy Church.

( 'My Lord," he wrote, "the daughter of Sion is held captive in your kingdom... Oh, remember what great things God has done for you! Release her, restore her, and take away the reproach from your generation."

And again: " You are my liege-lord, and I owe you my counsel. You are my son in the Spirit, and I am bound to chasten and correct you... It is known almost to the whole world with what devotion your Majesty formerly received our Lord the Pope, and what attachment you shewed towards the See of Rome; as also what respect and re- 99 gard were shown to you in return. Forbear, then, my Lord, as you value your soul, to withdraw from that See its just rights."

But all was useless, Henry saw no more in these letters than further insults; it was intolerable, cried the King, that England's Majesty should be charged with faithlessness and schism! Yet at the very time that these letters were written Henry was actually contemplating withdrawing his allegiance from the true Vicar of Christ, and compelling his bishops to pay their homage instead to the usurper who was claiming the Throne of Peter. Further than this, in discussing the Archbishop's letters publicly, he declared that Thomas would be the ruin of him, body and soul, and complained that none of his servants had sufficient loyalty to rid him of his enemy.

Here, too, is another letter written by Thomas to the King about this time. It is perfectly courteous in expression and substance, and it is also perfectly firm.

" Will my lord be pleased to hear the advice of his friend, the admonition of his bishop, and the reproach of his father? I 100 entreat my lord in future to have neither company nor business with schismatics, and to bind himself by no alliances with them. All the world knows with what honour and respect you have borne yourself towards the Pope, how you have reverenced and protected the Roman Church, how the Pope and the Church of Rome have had regards and affection for you, and have done their utmost to grant your demands except when they were impossible. Have a fear then, Sir, if you care for your own salvation, that you do not rob that Church, without any pretext, of what belongs to her, and that you do her no injustice. Rather allow to her in your realm the liberty which is hers in all other kingdoms. Remember that at West-minster, when our predecessor gave to you unction and royal consecration, you took and placed upon the altar a written oath to maintain ecclesiastical liberties. Give particularly to the Church of Canterbury which consecrated you, the prosperity and honour which she enjoyed under your predecessors and ours; give back to her entire the lands, the castles, and the possessions which belong 101 either to the Church or to ourselves, and all that you have distributed to others at your will — in a word, all that has been robbed from our folk, clerks and laics. Allow us to return to our flock in peace and safety, and to fulfil those functions to her which are our right and our duty. So far as we are concerned, we are ready to serve you as our very dear Lord and King, with faithfulness and devotion, with all our power, and in all matters, saving the honour of God, of the Roman Church and of our own Order. If you will not accept these conditions, know that you will not escape the rigours of the Divine Vengeance."

This letter threw the King once more into a furious rage. Thomas spoke no more than the naked truth, and Henry knew it.

Meanwhile the Pope was doing his utmost to bring about peace, supporting Thomas strongly on the one hand, and trying to bring Henry to reason on the other. It was with his approval that the Archbishop, after receiving Legatine powers, published an excommunication against certain notorious enemies of the Church — Randulf de Broc 1 02 and Richard de Luci among them — as well as against those who should injure the rights of Canterbury; while for the present he kept back the excommunication of Henry himself.

And so the controversy roared on. Messengers passed to and fro with threatening or conciliatory letters from England to France and back again. Henry stormed and plotted; Thomas prayed and held fast; the Pope and Cardinals attempted to mediate; and bishops and officials did their utmost to keep in with both sides, or threw themselves on the side of Church or King as worldly prudence advised. If Thomas even now had yielded; if he had chosen even to be silent, Henry's anger would no doubt have passed. The Archbishop could have patched up some sort of a reconciliation and gone back to his throne and dignities; but he preferred another throne and a greater dignity.

In November, 1 167, another attempt was made to come to terms. The Pope was by now gone back to Italy, but had sent Legates to Sens, who arrived there in this month, to see what could be done. The attempt came 103 to nothing. One of the Cardinal Legates was an utterly unworthy person, who thought more of peace than of justice, and Thomas soon understood that he could put no trust in him. This Cardinal, William of Pavia, impressed King Louis in the same way. He was one of those courtiers, elegant and polite, who would have been better fitted to serve Henry than the Vicar of Christ. Once more there were consultations. On one side stood Thomas and the King of France; on the other Henry's messengers and the weak bishops; and between them two anxious faced incompetent Cardinals. The attempt ended in a postponement. Henry's party appealed to the Pope; Thomas assented, and the Legates went off. One great man only remained who was faithful to the Archbishop— John of Salisbury, who has left an account of all these negotiations; but of the rest there was scarcely one who was not cowed by the King or set upon his own advancement.

So the months went on; and all Christian Europe was still in a ferment. Messengers went to and from the Pope continually; the 104

Kings of England and France met in conference after conference; the friends of Thomas more than once went to Henry; but all was useless. Henry, it seems, was willing to give up one or two of the evil old " Constitutions of Clarendon," about which the storm chiefly raged; but this was not enough. It was plain enough to Thomas then, as it is to us now, that Henry was set upon getting the Church under his hand; there were other "customs " which he would not yield, there were Church revenues in his hands which he refused to part with; and it would have been worse than useless for Thomas to return to England on the one hand, or to resign his see on the other. God had raised him up to defend the liberties of the Church, and he could neither yield them nor retire from their defence.

This then, in a few words, was the cause for which Thomas lived and died; it was that the Church of Christ in England might be free from earthly tyranny, and subject only, in matters that concern her life and work, to that authority which Christ Himself placed over her. History has shewn us since, in 105

England under Henry VIII, in France at the present time, that the powers of the world understand well enough that in this freedom lies the secret of her effectiveness; and that if she can but be separated from Rome, she can be turned this way or that as King and Council shall desire. It was not that Henry II ever seriously imagined for an instant that a Church could remain Catholic apart from unity with the Vicar of Christ; the utmost that he threatened at any time was that he would give his allegiance to the "Antipope" of that day; certainly he had no deliberate programme, as had his namesake four centuries later, of constituting himself Head in the Pope's place — yet it was in that direction that he was moving by his acts and demands; and it was this blind movement that Thomas so clear-sightedly resisted. They seem little things at first sight — these affairs of appeals and taxes and permissions to leave England; it is perfectly easy for a clever and bigoted historian to make them out as trifles about which no " loyal Englishman " need trouble his head; yet to those who understand, as 1 06

Thomas understood, that Christ's Church must bow her head to none save Divine Authority in matters that concern her life, years of exile, tears, disappointments, and sorrows, and even life itself, are a small price to pay in such a cause.

But then there fell on him the hardest blow of all. Henry's plots and bribes had reached even the Court of the Pope; his agents had been busy at slander and misrepresentation, and Alexander at last, in despair at getting at the facts, provisionally suspended the Archbishop.

It nearly broke Thomas' heart altogether.

"Oh my father," he wrote, "my soul is in bitterness. The letters by which your Holiness was pleased to suspend me have made me and my unhappy fellow-exiles a very scorn of men and outcasts of the people; and, what grieves me worse, have delivered up God's Church to the will of its enemies. " He went on to state his case once more. Indeed it was true, he said, that he desired nothing better than peace: it was not he who had plotted against it, but others.

" We shall soon stand all of us before the 107 tribunal of Christ, and, by His Majesty and terrible Judgement, I conjure your Holiness, as my father and lord, and as the supreme judge on earth, to do justice to His Church and to myself, against those who seek my life to take it away."

Yet we must not judge Alexander hardly. It was plain that he did not blame Thomas or decide against him: he thought only that to suspend him for a while would give opportunity for wounds to heal and for Henry to recover his balance. He had said, too, to the King that the suspension should only last until the reconciliation was complete; and had named the following Lent to Thomas as the time when this would surely be so.

Then once more an attempt was made to bring it about.

At the beginning of 1169 a conference was held between the two Kings at Mpntmirail at which Thomas was present; and here, for the first time, Louis seems to have wavered. Hitherto he had been strongly on the Archbishop's side; but the apparent reasonableness of Henry began to shake 1 08 him. There was a very moving scene, Thomas came in to the Kings and threw himself at the feet of Henry, worn out with sorrow, yet utterly indomitable.

"Sir," he cried, "have mercy on me! I throw myself on God and your Majesty, for His honour and yours."

Now Henry had been in trouble with Louis on other matters, and for this reason had pretended to be conciliatory towards Thomas, but since these had been now arranged he no longer cared how he behaved. He lifted the kneeling Archbishop with an air of courtesy, and at once began to insult him delicately and shrewdly. How foolish it was, he cried to Louis at his side, that this man should pose as a martyr and a champion of the Church! Indeed he was nothing of the kind; he was only asked to promise to obey the old customs that his predecessors had obeyed; and so on and so forth.

His speech produced a great effect on Louis, who had begun already to wonder whether perhaps he himself had not been wrong in taking Thomas' side. He looked from one to the other. 109

" My lord," he said, after a pause, to the Archbishop, "do you wish to be more than a saint? "

Then Thomas once more, for the twentieth time, wearily made his answer, showing how Caesar must not encroach upon God's rights; and went out. Henry, fearing perhaps that he had gone too far, once more swore that he meant no harm to the rights of the Church, and that he would gladly reform the Constitutions if they needed it; only, meantime, to save the royal dignity, Thomas must swear to them.

And so once more it went on, Henry professing reasonableness, Thomas appearing unreasonable. It was all useless; and now even among the Archbishop's own friends disloyalty began to show itself. They said they were sick of the phrase "saving the Church's honour"; here was an unequalled opportunity for making peace. Even Louis showed signs of hostility. Yet Thomas stood firm.

And now relief was at hand. Envoys arrived from the Pope at last, restoring the Archbishop's powers, and, after no

Thomas' return to Sens, at last Louis came to himself. A messenger summoned the Archbishop to the King, and as, still ignorant of what was intended, Thomas appeared in his presence, pale and disappointed, Louis threw himself on his knees before him.

" Forgive me, my father," he said. " You alone had clear sight; and we were blind. I offer myself and my kingdom to God and to you, and henceforth, as long as I live, I will not fail you or yours."

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And now Thomas was free at last to act as he wished; and he acted, as we should expect, with extraordinary courage. Tenderness was of no use; Henry would have mistaken it for weakness. So the Archbishop struck with all his power, using the spiritual sword that the Pope had put into his hands.

On Palm Sunday, 1169, he excommunicated Gilbert of London, Jocelin of Salisbury, and about half-a-dozen more enemies of the Church; and this was followed later by further censures. The excommunicated in behaved as we should expect; they disregarded it, they stormed against it, they appealed to the Pope; they broke out into fury against Thomas. The King was as wild as any of them, for under the censures were included many of his own friends, and even in his chapel, it was said, there was hardly a man who was not in some way under the ban. Even the Pope was doubtful as to whether Thomas' act was wise; but he did not know Henry, and Thomas did.

Matters grew worse and worse. Henry attempted by bribery of officials to bring about the deposition of Thomas. The Pope answered by sending fresh envoys. Henry met these at Domfront, but could prevail nothing. This seems to have sobered him a little, but again he broke out, and nothing in the direction of peace was really accomplished. Then Thomas, with amazing courage, struck again. In September he issued an interdict against all England, to take effect in the following February, unless the King yielded. This interdict was an appalling sentence, forbidding all rites of religion except those practically necessary for salva- 112 tion; every church-bell in England would be silenced, and the Divine Office recited within closed doors. The King struck back fiercely; he threatened furious punishments against all who brought the Archbishop's letters into England; he forced an oath to refuse them upon all officials and great people. Thomas absolved from the oath all who took it; and so the miserable controversy went on. Once a reconciliation seemed probable; Thomas actually met Henry in France, at the King's own express desire, who was now beginning to fear that he had gone too far. The meeting took place at Montmartre, but Henry's behaviour was so shifty and insincere that nothing was finally accomplished. Thomas' own attitude is best shown by the tale that he refused to hurry to the meeting on being told that the two Kings were awaiting him, saying that a priest should always shew a dignified gravity.

This then came to nothing, though Thomas' friends were more than hopeful; and in March, 1 170, the King went back, greatly encouraged by the fact that about the same time, owing probably to some misunder- 113 i standing, Gilbert of London succeeded in persuading the Pope to absolve him from Thomas' excommunication.

And now a new matter came up. Henry was anxious that his young son should be crowned before his own death, and seems to have succeeded in winning from the Pope permission that this should be done. But it was the right of the Archbishop of Canterbury to perform the ceremony; and Henry accordingly leapt at this opportunity of humiliating Thomas. In spite of Thomas' protests the coronation took place at West-minster in June, and, instead of the oath always administered to the prince that he should maintain the liberties of the Church, another was used to the effect that the "royal customs" — those very injustices against which Thomas was struggling — must be observed instead. The Archbishop of York, Roger Pont 1'Eveque, Thomas' old rival in Theobald's Court, performed the ceremony, justifying himself by the fact that years before, while Canterbury was vacant, the King had obtained the Pope's leave to have his son crowned by any bishop he should 114 select. A further sign of Roger's defiant attitude was that he availed himself of this old permission, though knowing perfectly well that letters from the Pope revoking it were actually on their way to England, though, owing to the King's attempt to prevent them from arriving in time, they were not delivered until a day or two before the ceremony. There seems to have been a further possible reason for all this haste besides Thomas' humiliation, which the King had in view, and that no less than his intention to get rid of Thomas by violent means. If Henry's son were crowned, the boy would, in a way, be responsible for any crime that his father committed. If Thomas were murdered, that is to say, by Henry, England could not be punished, since Henry was no longer technically its sovereign and representative. Now it is not certain whether Henry did deliberately intend Thomas' murder at this time; his anger came and went like fits of madness; but it is a suspicious fact that at a previous conference with the Pope's envoys Henry had nearly consented to all the terms that were de- "5 manded of him, but had been resolute in refusing the Kiss of Peace to Thomas — and that, according to the custom of those days, was a very significant thing indeed. This, however, is by the way: for an astonishing thing happened.

In July, after Henry's return to France, another meeting between the Kings was arranged, to see if no reconciliation could be made. The place where they met was afterwards known as Traitor's Meadow, since it was here that Henry succeeded, probably with the design of murder in his heart, in obtaining Thomas' return to England. There was an immense gathering of the two royal courts; and to this gathering came Thomas himself with the Archbishop of Sens. Here an extraordinary scene took place; of which we shall never know in this world the full explanation.

As the Archbishops rode up, with their trains behind them, the King of England leapt off his horse, bared his head, and ran forward as Thomas dismounted, taking his hand warmly and almost kissing him. They talked together fora long while; and later 116 in the day Thomas in his turn sprang off his horse and knelt before the King. Very tenderly the King bent forward, then himself dismounted, and helped the Archbishop to his horse again.

" My lord," he cried, " what need we say more? Let us renew our old friendship. Only, I entreat you, give me honour before those who look on."

Now it is impossible ever to know whether Henry was sincere. We know that Thomas was, and that he longed with all his heart to be again the friend of his King. It is, at any rate, pleasant to think that even for a few minutes Henry remembered the old friendship, and loved once more this man who had been so faithful both to God and himself.

However that was, the reconciliation seemed complete. Henry solemnly declared that he restored to Thomas all the possessions and rights of which he had deprived him, that all the Archbishop's exiled friends should be allowed to return home; and some sort of amends were made even for the coronation of the Prince. The conference 117 ended by the King's asking for the Saint's blessing. Yet the Kiss of Peace had not been given.

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Things now went forward quickly. There were several further meetings between the King and the Archbishop, and, on the whole, matters seemed satisfactory enough, even though the Kiss was still refused. But it seemed that Thomas had no outward cause to complain: the King showed himself very friendly, and allowed him without difficulty to reinstate the clergy and officials of Canterbury in their old positions. Yet the Archbishop was not perfectly happy; nor was the King of France.

"If you will take my advice, my lord," he said to Thomas, " you will not trust yourself in England till you have received the Kiss of Peace."

The Archbishop made a gesture.

" God's Will be done! " he said.

Again, his last words to the Bishop of Paris were that "he was going to England to die"; and to Henry himself he said as much. 118

"Go in peace," said the King, "I will see you again as soon as I can."

"Sir," said the Archbishop, "my heart tells me we shall never meet again."

The King flushed.

" What! Do you take me for a traitor? "

" No, Sir," said the Saint, quietly.

Then he began to prepare for his final return, to which both the Pope and the King were now urging him.

It is plain what opinion he had by now formed of the King.

"There is no rest," he wrote to William of Sens, "for the soul of the sinner, since the needle of conscience torments him always, and makes him afraid at each moment that the hour of punishment is come. Thus a perpetual anxiety wearies him out; he cherishes suspicions against all the world, even against his best friends, since he thinks he sees in others the traitorousness of which he knows himself to be guilty. Such is the King of England!"

This is severe, but it is perfectly just. It is piteous that Thomas should have been forced to think these things of the man who 119 had once been his friend, yet later events shewed plainly enough that he was right. And it was with this knowledge of the King's restlessness, of his jealousy, his suspicion, his passionateness, and his tremendous power, that the Archbishop quietly set about preparing for a return to the country where Henry was supreme! If ever any man walked fearlessly and open-eyed to death it was Thomas. Others hoped even while they feared; Thomas neither hoped nor feared.

A little later he wrote to the King as follows:

" He who reads hearts, who judges consciences, and avenges crime, Jesus Christ — He knows with what uprightness of heart and sincere love we have made peace, with the thought that others were treating us in simplicity and good faith.... Yet your acts do not witness to this sincerity and good faith. For the restitution which you commanded has been (again) deferred.... Who are these counsellors? How have they acted, and in what kind of faith? You could know it very well if you wished to do so. 1 20

For our part we think that they have desired to insult the Church, and that they have injured your honour and well-being, except you take swift remedy.... And you know, your Majesty, that he who tolerates a fault shares in the guilt of it.... Yet, whether we live or die, we are yours always, before God; and, whatever may befall, we beseech Him to pour His blessings upon you and your children."

One of the first things he did was to send on the Pope's excommunication against Gilbert of London and Jocelyn of Salisbury, which had been lifted and then re-enforced by Alexander, sending these letters ahead of him into England for that purpose. He wrote a very touching letter to a nun to whose care he entrusted his message to the Archbishop of York, thinking that a woman would be more likely to convey it in safety through the spies that were set to hinder his correspondence:

1 'My daughter, a great prize is offered for your labour, remission of sins, a fruit that perisheth not, a crown of glory....

The Lady of Mercies will attend upon you, and will beg her Son, whom she bore for the sins of the world, God and Man, to be the guide, the guard and the companion of your journey. He who burst the bonds of death and curbed the violence of devils is able to check the impious hands that will be raised against you. Farewell, bride of Christ, and ever think upon His Presence that goes with you."

Before Thomas set out for England he received news that the letters had arrived safely. The bishops, with the Archbishop of York, who had been suspended for his crowning of the Prince and the administering of the Constitutions of Clarendon, were on the point of leaving England when these letters arrived.

Thomas then sent on the news that he himself was coming, and, with a great train of horsemen and ecclesiastics, made his way to the coast.

Robert, the Treasurer of Canterbury Cathedral, was sent over first. As a warning of what would follow, he was instantly seized upon landing; charged with having no pass-port from the King, and compelled to 122 swear that he would return to France immediately.

Everywhere he was welcomed, yet everywhere there was a strange suspiciousness as to what the end would be. There were rumours that the King's soldiers were actually waiting in the port to seize Thomas, if not worse, as soon as he landed. He himself shared in that foreboding. He spoke of his burial-place among his monks; he begged that his body might lie in his own Cathedral church; he hinted that forty days hence some great and terrible event should have happened.

Yet he sailed; and on the afternoon of Tuesday, December ist, 1170, he landed at Sandwich, his sails filled, as was said, "with the Breath of God," that same harbour where, six years before, he had set out upon his exile.

An extraordinary scene took place on his arrival. As his great boat, with his tall cross in the prow, moved in towards the shore, from all sides the waiting crowds ran down upon the beach.

" Blessed is he that cometh! " went up the 123 great shout. " Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord! "

Blessing them as he went, the Saint passed on into the village; and here, in great haste, there met him a troop of soldiers, sent in speed from Dover by the excommunicated bishops, to demand an explanation. He put them aside, saying that the King knew all. There was another demand or two, and even a threat of violence, but Thomas put these aside also, and, mounting his horse, followed by his train, he rode on towards Canterbury.

From every parish along the six miles that he rode streamed out the people with their priests; from Canterbury itself poured out more crowds, until on all sides of the Archbishop tramped a vast multitude, and from all went up that shout that once welcomed our Lord Himself as He rode to His death in Jerusalem.

" Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord!"

As they drew near the city the air was full of sound from the pealing bells; and as the procession came in through the gate and 124 went along the streets, from every open church-door poured music. The windows were hung with stuffs and banners; the children danced and shouted, the dogs barked; and the poor, who were more to him than all kings and prelates, since they are the friends of Christ, wept and sang to see their father come back. His hair must surely have been streaked with gray, as he rode in, smiling and blessing, on his tall horse, after his six years of exile and pain; but his face, it was said, was alight with joy. From the Cathedral gates came out his monks to meet him, those old faces which had seen him so many years before, attentive and devout in choir, fatherly and authoritative at throne and altar and pulpit — and the faces, too, of young men and novices who had heard his fame, but had never looked upon him in the flesh. Never was there such a home-coming. He had triumphed at last, it seemed, by his indomitable courage and clear insight, and, as Herbert said to him, "the Church, the spouse of Christ, had triumphed in him.*' But his greatest triumph was yet to come. 125

He passed barefooted up the last streets that led to the Cathedral, towering even then above those who walked beside him, passed into those great grey buildings and into the chapter-house, leaving behind him the praying, weeping multitude, that he might be alone with those who knew God as he knew Him. And there, in a hush of silence, he made them a sermon, speaking in that beautiful voice that those who listened had not heard for so long; and, with his ears still ringing with the shouts of the citizens, and his eyes swimming with the sight of that lovely city, he took as his text:

" We have here no abiding city, but we seek one to come."