THE REIGN OF HENRY II. (continued).—CAREER OF THOMAS BECKET.

Early Life of Becket—Rapid Advance in the King's Service—Magnificence of his Embassy to Paris—The King, the Chancellor, and the Beggar—Depravity of the Clergy—Becket's Reforming Zeal—Appointed Archbishop of Canterbury—Extraordinary Change in his Habits—At Frequent Issue with the King—The Council of Clarendon—Becket Defies the King—Popularity with the People—His Flight from Northampton—Arrival at St. Omer—Obtains the Support of Louis and the Pope—Henry's Edict of Banishment—Defeat of the English by the Welsh—Insurrection in Brittany—Becket Excommunicates his Opponents—Henry's Anger—The Pope's Action against Becket—Interview between Becket and the King—The Two Reconciled—Return of Becket to England—His Christmas Sermon—The King's Fury—The Vow of the Conspirators—Scene in Becket's House—Murder of the Archbishop—Henry's Grief—Review of Becket's Career.

Thomas Becket, who was born in 1118, was the son of Gilbert Becket, a native of Rouen, a merchant, and at one time port-reeve of London. The youth was ambitious, and he quickly found means to turn his talents to account. He obtained the favour of one of the Norman barons who lived near London, and he joined in all the amusements of his patron. In this position his abilities acquired him a great reputation among the courtiers, to whom his ready wit recommended him, no less than the obsequious demeanour which he sedulously cultivated.

Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury, having heard of the young Englishman, desired to see him, and having been pleased with the interview, took Becket into his service. He caused him to take deacon's orders, gave him the appointment of archdeacon of his church, and employed him in various negotiations with the Holy See. In the reign of Stephen, Becket was employed by the partisans of Matilda to procure the Pope's prohibition of the intended coronation of the king's son. The mission was attended with complete success, and on the accession of Henry II., Becket was presented to him as one who had done his cause good service. Henry extended his favour to the young archdeacon, and Theobald, the primate, who exercised the functions of first minister to the kingdom, finding his growing infirmities rendered him unfit for the duties of his office, delegated to Becket a great part of his power. A few years afterwards the archdeacon was raised to the office of Chancellor of England, or Keeper of the Seal of the Three Lions, which was the symbol of the Anglo-Norman power. The king also gave him the wardenship of the Tower of London and the castle of Berkhampstead, and placed in his hands the care and education of the heir to the throne.

These various appointments yielded large revenues, which were spent by Becket in the greatest luxury and magnificence. He kept in his house, which was furnished with great splendour, a numerous retinue; and it is related that there were in his pay 700 men-at-arms, well mounted and equipped. His tables were covered with choice viands, served upon costly plate; and the trappings of his horses were adorned with gold and silver. The haughtiest nobles of the court regarded it as an honour to visit this magnificent man; the foreigners who enjoyed his hospitality were never suffered to depart without some costly present.

It is related by Fitz-Stephen, who was Becket's secretary, that when the chancellor proceeded on his embassy to Paris, he was attended by many barons and lords, and a large body of knights, besides a great number of attendants and serving-men. His passage through France resembled a triumphal procession, and the train of sumpter-horses and wagons, the hounds and hawks, the falconers and pages, seemed worthy of some powerful king. When he entered a town 250 boys went before him singing songs; these were followed by huntsmen leading their hounds in couples; then came eight wagons, each drawn by five horses, and attended by five drivers; and these were succeeded by twelve sumpter-horses, on each of which rode a monkey with a groom behind on his knees. Next to the sumpter-horses came the esquires, each carrying the shield and leading the horse of his master; then the youths of gentle birth, who were also esquires, but were exempted from the more menial services of that office; then the knights, priests, and officers of the household; and, lastly, the chancellor himself, attended by his friends. As this procession passed through the towns, the people looked on with wonder, asking each other what manner of man the King of England must be when his chancellor travelled in such magnificence.

At this period Henry lived on the most intimate terms with the chancellor, who was skilled in the sports of the field, and whose wit and vivacity fitted him for a boon companion. The chancellor was not deterred by his sacred calling from sharing in the pleasures of the king. Henry, who could well support the royal dignity when occasion required, appears, according to a story of doubtful authenticity, to have had a natural tendency to gaiety and frolic. On one occasion, when the chancellor was riding at his side through the streets of London in stormy weather, there came towards the royal party a poor old man in tattered clothes. "Would it not be well," the king asked, "to give that poor man a warm cloak?" The chancellor replied with proper gravity, "It would, sir; and you do well to turn your eyes and thoughts to such objects." The king then immediately rejoined, "You shall have the merit of this act of charity; "and turning towards the chancellor, he seized hold of the new cloak which he wore, lined with ermine, and endeavoured to pull it from his back. Becket resisted for some time, and in the struggle both had nearly fallen from their horses to the ground; but at last the chancellor wisely let go the cloak, and the king gave it to the beggar, who went on his way wondering and rejoicing.

A man entirely delivered up to ambition is necessarily, to some extent, unscrupulous; and there is no doubt that Becket was content to sacrifice principle whenever it stood in the way of his advancement. He, however, possessed many good and great qualities; and during the period of his chancellorship, his influence with the king was used in promoting reforms and instituting measures which were calculated to promote, in a high degree, the welfare of the people. To his exertions may be attributed the restoration of tranquillity throughout the country, the revival of commerce, the reforms in the administration of the law, and the decline of the power of the barons. Although himself a churchman, Becket did not hesitate to attack the extravagant privileges of the bishops. At the time of the war against the Count of Toulouse, the clergy refused to pay the tax of scutage, which, as already related, was levied by Henry, giving as their reason that the Church forbade them to shed blood.[31] Becket, however, resolved to compel them to pay the tax; and while by so doing he exasperated his own order against him, he secured the goodwill of the king.

Not long after the Conquest the Norman clergy in England began to display great moral depravity. Murders, rapes, and robberies were frequently committed by them; and, according to the laws passed by the Conqueror on the institution of episcopal courts, the offenders could only be brought to justice by men of their own order. Thus it happened that the crimes committed by licentious priests were seldom punished, and they increased to a frightful extent in consequence of this immunity. It is related that from the time of the accession of Henry II. to the year 1161, not less than 100 homicides had been committed by priests who still remained securely in possession of their benefices. To put an end to these disorders, the only course which appeared feasible was to take away from the clerical order those privileges which had been conferred by the Conqueror, and Henry determined to execute this measure. The primacy of Canterbury had long carried with it an authority second only to that of the Pope himself, and it was impossible to carry out the intended reform unless a man devoted to the royal authority, and careless of the interests of the Church, were seated in the archiepiscopal chair. It was evident that for this purpose no fitter man could be found than Becket; and on the death of Theobald, the Archbishop of Canterbury (1161), the king recommended his chancellor to the bishops as the person to succeed to the primacy.

The chancellor was ordained priest, and on the following day was consecrated archbishop, and appointed to the vacant see. Immediately a change took place in him so remarkable that those who saw him found a difficulty in recognising him as the same man. He threw off his gorgeous apparel, removed the splendid furniture from his house, gave up the intimacy with the gay nobles, who had been his friends, and became the friend of the poor, the beggars, and the English. He even affected poverty, and amidst unbounded wealth, and in the possession of power second only to that of the throne, lived the life of an anchorite. He was clothed in a coarse gown, allowed himself only herbs and water for sustenance, and assumed a deportment of the utmost gravity and humility. Thus Becket at once kicked down from him the ladder by which he had risen, and now, no longer obsequious towards his sovereign, he determined to maintain to the utmost the privileges of the Church. Never was there a change of life more sudden, or one that excited so much indignation, on the one hand, or so much admiration on the other. The new archbishop became the idol of the poor, and especially of his own countrymen, while the king and his favourites regarded him with the deepest anger and aversion.

Under these circumstances it was evident that a rupture must soon take place. Becket began the struggle; he claimed a number of estates and castles, including that of Rochester, from the king, and that of Tunbridge from the Earl of Clare, on the ground that they had originally belonged to the see of Canterbury. Had such restitution been given it would have tended to overthrow the legal claim of many of the barons to their estates; great alarm was, therefore, excited, and the demand met with a determined resistance. The barons urged their prescriptive rights, but Becket replied briefly that there could be no prescription for injustice, and that the estates wrongly obtained must be restored.

The archbishop proceeded to follow up his attack by appointing a priest to a benefice on the lands of a Norman baron, named William de Eynsford. William, like the rest of the Normans, assumed the right of disposing of the churches on his manor, and he expelled the priest sent by Becket. The baron was immediately excommunicated by the archbishop in defiance of a law passed by Henry, that no vassal of the crown should be excommunicated without the royal consent. The king ordered the sentence to be remitted, and after some delay Becket yielded, though with evident reluctance. The king's animosity was rather increased than appeased by a consent so reluctantly given.

In the year 1164, Henry proceeded to mature his plans for placing the clergy under civil jurisdiction; and at a general assembly of lords, lay and spiritual, he demanded the consent of the prelates to the proposed revival of ancient customs, now called the constitutions of Clarendon, by which the criminous clerks were to be made amenable to the secular courts. The reply made by Becket and his coadjutors was that they assented, "saving the rights of their order." The king angrily broke up the council, and deprived the archbishop of the castles of Berkhampstead and Eye. A few days afterwards Becket expressed his readiness to assent to the king's demands, and a great council was convened at Clarendon in Wiltshire (March, 1164), for the purpose of receiving the assent formally. When the moment came for Becket's signature to be given, he refused it; accusing himself of folly for having promised to observe the king's laws, whatever they might be. The entreaties of the barons were without effect, and the enactments were completed without his signature.

The king now proceeded to more severe measures against his former favourite. Another council was called at Northampton, before which Becket was summoned to appear, and was charged with contempt of the king's authority. He was called upon to pay various heavy fines, and to give an account of his receipts from different benefices during his chancellorship—the balance due to the crown, which he had kept back, being stated to be 44,000 marks. Becket was now convinced that his ruin had been determined on, and for several days he was confined to his bed by illness, brought on by these anxieties, and was unable to determine on the course he ought to pursue. At length his indomitable mind recovered its ordinary tone, and he determined to resist the decision of the king and the council. Having celebrated mass, he proceeded to the court dressed in his robes, and holding in his right hand the archiepiscopal cross. As he entered the hall, the king, indignant at seeing him in the robes of authority, rose up and passed into an inner room, leaving the archbishop standing in the hall. Becket, who remained calm and undaunted, seated himself on a bench, holding his cross erect. Presently the Bishop of Exeter entered, and, in the name of his colleagues, entreated the primate to obey the king's commands. A refusal was followed by the entrance of the rest of the bishops, who renounced him as their primate, and appealed to the authority of the Pope. Becket sternly answered, "I hear;" and made no other reply.

According to one of the chroniclers, the archbishop was accused before the council of magic arts, and the Earl of Leicester advanced into the hall to read his sentence; but Becket, interrupting him, refused to recognise the authority of a lay tribunal, and himself appealed to the Pope's decision. With these words he rose from his seat, and carrying the cross in his hand, strode slowly through the crowd towards the door of the hall. A murmur arose as he passed, and some of the courtiers, whose mean spirit derived satisfaction from striking a falling man, accused him of perjury and treason, and catching up straw from the floor, threw it in his face. Becket stopped short, and facing his assailants, said, in cold and haughty tones, but with high spirit, "If the sacredness of my order did not forbid it, I would answer with arms those who call me perjurer and traitor." He then mounted his horse, and proceeded to the house where he lodged, followed by a crowd of the inferior clergy and the people, among whom he was exceedingly popular, and who received him with acclamations.

Rejected by the rich, the archbishop opened his house to the poor. That same night he caused a bountiful supper to be laid out in the hall, and in all the chambers of the house. The doors were then thrown open, and the beggar by the wayside, the outcast, and the hungry, were invited to enter freely. All who came were made welcome, so that the house was filled with guests—the archbishop himself supping with them, and presiding at the repast.

In the dead of night, when the visitors at this strange banquet had taken their fill, and departed, Becket disguised himself in the dress of a monk, and, accompanied by two friars, escaped from the town of Northampton. A hasty journey of three days brought him to the fens of Lincolnshire, where he remained a little while concealed in a hermit's hut. On resuming his journey he passed without suspicion to the coast. It was at the end of November, and the weather was cold and stormy; but the archbishop preferred the risks of the sea to those which awaited him on shore, and, embarking in a small boat, reached the harbour of Gravelines in safety. Thence he resumed his journey, as before, on foot. After encountering many privations, the primate and his companions at length reached the monastery of St. Bertin, in the town of St. Omer.

Here Becket waited the result of the applications he had made to Louis of France, and to Pope Alexander III. It was not long before replies were returned entirely in his favour. Louis was glad of an opportunity of annoying and injuring Henry by extending protection to the archbishop, and Alexander supported his cause, as being that of the Church and of justice. He was desired to retain the archiepiscopal dignity, which he had resigned into the hands of the Pope, and the abbey of Pontigny, in Burgundy, was given to him as a place of residence.

On the news of Becket's flight, the king immediately proclaimed a sentence of banishment against all the kindred of the archbishop, young and old, women and children. It is even said that these unhappy exiles were made to swear they would present themselves before Becket, so that he might see the misery of which he had been the cause. Thus it happened that his retirement at Pontigny was disturbed by the visits of these poor people, who vainly implored him to obtain the remission of their sentence. Becket relieved their wants as far as he could and obtained for many of them the protection of the Pope and the King of France.

The banished prelate appears to have supported with contentment his sudden loss of power and return to the condition of poverty. His life at this period was, however, far from being an idle one. Much of his time was occupied in writing; and he received frequent letters both from friends and enemies. The English bishops sent him epistles full of reproaches, for no other reason than to add to the weight of misfortune and humiliation which pressed heavily upon him. The lower ranks of the people, however, retained their attachment to him, and secret prayers were offered up for his success in his undertakings, and for his safe return.

Meanwhile Henry had conducted an expedition into Wales, which resulted in a complete defeat of the royal forces. In 1164, a young man, nephew of Rees-ap-Gryffith, King of South Wales, was found dead under suspicious circumstances; and it was believed that he had been murdered by persons in the employ of a Norman baron of the neighbourhood. To avenge his death, Rees-ap-Gryffith collected troops from all parts of the Welsh mountains, and made successful inroads upon the neighbouring counties. The king, quitting for a time his quarrel with Becket, gathered a considerable army, and in 1165 passed into Wales. The rebels gave way before him, retreating, as their custom was, to the shelter of the mountains. Henry, however, overtook them before they had gained their fastnesses, and defeated them in an engagement. Pursuing them still farther, the English troops reached Corwen, where they pitched their encampment. A violent storm arose, and the streams which poured down from the hills deluged the camp and flooded the valley. The mountaineers took advantage of this circumstance, and, collecting on the ridges near Corwen, attacked the disordered forces of the king, and defeated them with considerable loss. Henry, who on ordinary occasions was less addicted to acts of cruelty than had been the case with his ancestors, was subject to fits of ungovernable passion; and he now determined to revenge himself upon the persons of the hostages who had been placed in his hands in 1158 by the Welsh chiefs. The men had their eyes torn out, and the faces of the women were mutilated by having their noses and ears cut off. It is related that the unhappy victims of these barbarities were the sons and daughters of the noblest families in Wales.

Soon after the return of Henry from this expedition, an insurrection broke out in 1166 in Brittany, which compelled his presence in that province. The government of Conan dissatisfied the people, who were oppressed by the Breton nobles, and could obtain no redress from their prince. Henry entered Brittany with a large body of troops, and was met by a deputation of the priests and the people, who placed the redress of their grievances in his hands. Conan was compelled to resign his authority, and the government passed into the hands of Henry, under the name of his son Geoffrey, who, as we have seen, was married to the daughter of Conan. The country, however, was not restored to tranquillity. Other disturbances took place in various places, and were put down one after the other by Henry, who at length succeeded in overcoming all opposition to his government. He instituted various reforms, and encouraged trade, and, under his rule, the land once more enjoyed prosperity.

When the news of the king's arrival on the Continent reached Thomas Becket, he left Pontigny, and proceeded to Vezelay, near Auxerre. At the festival of the Ascension, Becket addressed the crowd assembled in the great church, and while the bells were solemnly tolled, and the candles burnt at the altar, the archbishop pronounced sentence of excommunication against all who held to the Constitutions of Clarendon, or kept possession of the property of the see of Canterbury. He mentioned by name several of the Norman favourites of the king, and among others Richard de Lucy, Ranulph de Broc, and Jocelyn of Balliol.

When Henry heard of this new act of hostility on the part of Becket, he was at Chinon, in Anjou. Allusion has already been made to the fits of passion with which he was sometimes seized, and on this occasion his fury was altogether ungovernable. He exclaimed that it was attempted to kill him body and soul; that he was surrounded by none but traitors, who would not attempt to relieve him from the persecutions inflicted upon him by one man. He threw his cap from his head, flung off his clothes, and rolling himself in the coverlet of his bed, began to tear it to pieces with his teeth. When his passion had in some degree subsided, he wrote letters to the King of France and to the Pope, demanding that the sentences of excommunication should be annulled, and threatening that if Becket continued to receive shelter from the Cistercians at Pontigny, all the estates in the king's dominions belonging to that order should be confiscated. The Pope promised the king the satisfaction he required, and Becket, driven from his asylum at Pontigny, removed to Sens, where he remained under the protection of the King of France.

A series of petty wars now took place between Louis and Henry, and were concluded by a peace in 1169. The matrimonial alliance previously agreed upon between Louis and the King of Aragon was broken off, and the Princess Alice of France was betrothed to Richard, second son of Henry. At the time when this treaty was concluded, efforts were made by the Pope and the King of France to effect a reconciliation between Henry and Becket. A meeting took place between the two kings at Montmirail, and thither Becket, having consented to give in his submission to his sovereign, was conducted. When the archbishop arrived in the king's presence, he expressed his willingness to submit to him in all things; but he introduced the qualifying clause which he had formerly used—"saving our order." The king angrily rejected such obedience, saying that whatever displeased Becket would be declared to be contrary to the honour of God, and that these few words would take away all the royal authority. The archbishop insisting on such a reservation, the nobles present accused him of inordinate pride, and the two kings rode away from the spot without giving him any salutation.

Another conference which took place was also broken off suddenly, and resulted in a quarrel between Louis and Henry. Peace was, however, once more established between them, and Henry, fearing that the Pope might sanction Becket's proceedings, and permit him to lay all England under interdict, reluctantly promised to conclude final terms of reconciliation with the archbishop. On the 22nd of July, 1170, a solemn congress was held in a meadow between Freteval and La Ferte-Bernard, in Touraine. After terms of peace had been arranged between the two kings, a private conference took place between Henry and Becket. They rode together to a distant part of the field, and conversed with something of their old familiarity. The king promised to redress the grievances of which Becket complained, and the usual forms of reconciliation took place, with the exception of the kiss of peace, which the king now, as on a previous occasion, refused to give. "We shall meet in our own country," said the king, "and then we will embrace." Becket undertook to render to the king all due and loyal service, while Henry promised to restore the privileges and estates of the see of Canterbury. It is related that, to the astonishment of all present, when Becket bended the knee on parting from his sovereign, the king returned the courtesy by holding the stirrups of the man whom he had refused to kiss.

Some delay took place on the king's part in the fulfilment of these conditions, and Becket, who was compelled to borrow money to make the journey, remained for awhile on the coast of France. Sinister rumours reached him there; he was told that enemies were lying in wait for him in England, and that if he again set foot in that country it would be at the risk of his life. The lands of the Church could be restored only by driving out the possessors, who were haughty barons, not unlikely to seek vengeance on the man to whom they owed their ruin. Deadly enemies of Becket were found also among men of his own order. He carried with him the Pope's letter of excommunication against the Archbishop of York and the Bishop of London, who would probably accept any means of escaping the impending disgrace. Considerations such as these, however, had never deterred Becket in the execution of his plans, and did not in the least affect him now. With a spirit untamed by reverses he declared that he would go back to England though he were sure of losing his life on touching the shore. The letters of excommunication he forwarded before him by a trusty messenger, who delivered them in public to the prelates whom they concerned.

A vessel having been sent by Henry to convey him to England, he landed at Sandwich, December 1, 1170, and was received with great rejoicings by the people, who flocked from all parts of the neighbourhood to meet him. The nobles, however, held aloof, and the few whom he saw did not attempt to conceal their hostility. Three barons, who met him on his way to Canterbury, are said to have drawn their swords and threatened his life, and were only restrained from violence by the entreaties of John of Oxford, the king's chaplain, who had accompanied Becket from France.

Proceeding on his way, the archbishop passed through Canterbury to Woodstock, where he endeavoured to obtain an interview with Prince Henry, the eldest son of the king. The interview was forbidden by the royal command, and Becket was ordered to proceed at once to his diocese, and there to remain. The time of Christmas was approaching, and the archbishop retraced his steps, escorted on the way by the poor people, armed with such coarse weapons as they could obtain. Various insults were offered to the prelate by persons of the opposite party, who were anxious to provoke his followers to a quarrel, which would afford a pretext for attacking and murdering him. His faithful guard, however, contented themselves with protecting the person of the archbishop, and received these insults with imperturbable coolness.

The royal order which confined the primate to his diocese was published in the towns, and with it another edict was made known, which declared that whoever looked upon him with favour should be regarded as an enemy of the king and the country. Signs like these were not to be mistaken; and it scarcely needed the acute intellect and foresight of Becket to perceive that his end was approaching. On Christmas day he preached to the assembled crowd in Canterbury Cathedral, choosing as his text the solemn words, "I have come to die among you." He told the people that whereas one of their archbishops had already been a martyr, another would soon be so also; but he declared that before he died he would avenge some of the wrongs which had been inflicted upon the Church. He then proceeded to excommunicate several of those persons from whom he had received insults since his return to England.

The prediction of Becket was soon followed by its fulfilment. The three bishops who had been excommunicated by the Pope's letters immediately hastened to cross the Channel, and presenting themselves before Henry in Normandy, demanded redress. "We entreat you," they said, "in the name of your kingdom and its prelates. This man is setting England in flames. He marches with a number of armed men, both horse and foot, going about the fortresses, and endeavouring to obtain admission into them." Henry heard this statement, and burst out into a violent fit of rage. "What!" he cried; "a man who has eaten my bread—a beggar who first came to my court riding a lame pack-horse, with his baggage at his back—shall he insult the king, the royal family, and the whole kingdom, and not one of the cowards who eat at my table will deliver me from such a turbulent priest?"

These words proved to be the death-warrant of the archbishop. Four knights who were present, Richard Brito, Hugh de Morville, William Tracy, and Reginald Fitzurse, bound themselves by an oath to support each other to the death, and suddenly departed from the palace. There is no evidence that the king was acquainted with their design, or anticipated that his hasty words would be so speedily acted upon. On the contrary, it is recorded that, while the knights were hastening towards the coast, a council of the barons of Normandy, assembled by the king, was engaged in appointing three commissioners to seize the person of Thomas Becket, and place him in prison on a charge of high treason.

The conspirators had departed, and, if their absence was perceived, its cause was not suspected. On the 29th of December they arrived in the neighbourhood of Canterbury, and having collected a number of armed men, to overcome any resistance that might be offered, they first summoned the mayor, and called upon him to march the citizens who were armed for the king's service to the house of the archbishop. On his refusal they proceeded thither without more delay, and the four conspirators, with twelve men, abruptly entered the archbishop's apartment. Becket was at the dinner-table, with his servants in attendance. He saluted the Normans, and desired to know what they wanted. They made no reply, but sat down gazing at him intently for some minutes. At length Reginald Fitzurse rose up and said that they were come from the king to demand that the persons excommunicated should be absolved, the suspended bishops restored to their benefices, and that Becket himself should answer the charge of treason against the throne. The archbishop replied that not he, but the Pope, had excommunicated the bishops, and that he only could absolve them. "From whom, then, do you hold your bishopric?" Fitzurse demanded. "The spiritual rights I hold from God and the Pope, and the temporal rights from the king." "What, then, the king did not give you all?" "By no means." This reply was received with murmurs by the knights, who twirled their gauntlets impatiently. "I perceive that you threaten me," the archbishop said; "but it is in vain. If all the swords in England were hanging over my head, they would not alter my determination." "We do indeed dare to threaten," said Fitzurse; "and we will do more." With these words he moved to the door, followed by the others, and gave the call to arms.

The door of the room was instantly closed, and the attendants of Becket entreated him to take refuge in the church, which communicated with the house by a cloister. He, however, retained his place, although the blows of an axe, which Fitzurse had obtained outside, resounded against the door. At this moment the sound of the vesper bell was heard, and Becket then rose up, and said that, since the hour of his duty had arrived, he would go into the church. Directing his cross to be carried before him, he passed slowly through the cloisters, and advanced to the choir, which was enclosed by a railing. While he was ascending the steps leading to the choir, Reginald Fitzurse entered the door of the church clad in complete armour, and, waving his sword, cried, "Come hither, servants of the king!" The other conspirators immediately followed him armed to the teeth, and brandishing their swords.

It was already twilight, which, within the walls of the dimly-lighted church, had deepened into blackest obscurity. Becket's attendants entreated him to fly to the winding staircase which led to the roof of the building, or to seek refuge in the vaults underground. He rejected both of these expedients, and stood still to meet his assailants. "Where is the traitor?" cried a voice. There was no answer. "Where is the archbishop?" "Here I am," Becket replied; "but here is no traitor. What do ye in the house of God in warlike equipment?" One of the knights seized him by the sleeve, telling him that he was a prisoner. He pulled back his arm violently. It is related that they then advised him to fly or to go with them, as though they repented of their evil design. The time and the scene, the sacred office of Becket, and his calm courage, were well calculated to make an impression upon men peculiarly susceptible to such influences, and if they hesitated we must attribute it to these causes rather than doubt the ruthless intention with which they came.

Once more they called upon him to absolve the bishops; once more he refused, and Fitzurse, drawing his sword, struck at his head. The blow was intercepted by the arm of one of the prelate's servants, who stepped forward to protect his master, but in vain. A second blow descended, and while the blood was streaming from his face, some one of his assailants whispered him to fly and save himself. Becket paid no heed to the speaker, but clasped his hands and bowed his head, commending his soul to God and the saints. The conspirators now fell upon him with their swords, and quickly despatched him. One of them is said to have kicked the prostrate body, saying, "So perishes a traitor."

The deed thus accomplished, the conspirators passed out of the town without hindrance, but no sooner had they done so than the news spread throughout the town, and the inhabitants, in the utmost excitement and indignation, assembled in crowds in the streets, and ran towards the cathedral. Seeing the body of their archbishop stretched before the altar, men and women began to weep, and while some kissed his feet and hands, others dipped linen in the blood with which the pavement was covered. It was declared by the people that Becket was a martyr, and though a royal edict was published forbidding any one to express such an opinion, the popular feeling still manifested itself. The Archbishop of York returned to his pulpit, and announced the violent death of the archbishop to be a judgment from heaven, and that he had perished in his pride, like Pharaoh. It was preached by other bishops that the body of the traitor ought not to be laid in holy ground, but that it should be left to rot on the highway, or hung from a gibbet. It was even attempted by some soldiers to seize the corpse; but the monks, who had received an intimation of the design, buried it hastily in the crypt of the cathedral.

Louis, King of France, seconded the feeling of the English people with regard to this cowardly murder. He wrote to the Pope, entreating him to punish with all the power of the Church that persecutor of God; a Nero in cruelty, a Julian in apostacy, and a Judas in treachery.

THE DEATH OF BECKET.