The Plantagenet Prelude - Plaidy Jean (книги серия книги читать бесплатно полностью .TXT) 📗
‘Thomas the Saint and Martyr.’
The monks collected his scattered brains and put them in a basin as holy relics, and they found that beneath his robes he wore a long hair shirt, which was alive with vermin and which must have tormented him sorely.
All night they knelt beside him, and in the morning because they had heard that his enemies were coming to take his body and give it to the dogs, they took him to the crypt and they buried him before the altars of Saint John the Baptist and Saint Augustine the Apostle of England; and from that day it was said miracles were performed at the shrine of Thomas Becket.
Chapter XVII
THE KING’S REMORSE
When the news was brought to the King he was filed with remorse and a certain terror.
‘I have done this,’ he said. ‘I am the murderer of Thomas Becket.’
He shut himself in his bedchamber and wished to see no one. There he thought of all they had been to each other in the days of their friendship and how there was no man he loved as he had loved Thomas Becket.
And he had killed him.
They were calling him a martyr. They were calling him a saint. They said that at his shrine miracles were performed.
The whole of Christendom was shocked by the murder and the whole of Christendom said: ‘Who has done this wicked deed?’
It was FitzUrse and the others. Nay, it was the King. Had he not cursed them for not ridding himself of the man?
All his life the memory of Thomas Becket would be with him. He might do a public penance but he would never forget.
Thomas lay dead, his brains had been scattered on the stones. And his body they said was inflamed with the bites of the vermin who at his will had infested his hair shirt.
Thomas, who had loved silk next to his skin and had hated the cold winds to blow on him! He was dead – killed by his one-time friend.
There was not room for the two of us in England, thought Henry, because I wanted to be supreme ruler not only of State but of Church. And because of this he lies dead and I am to blame. I am the murderer who killed the martyr.
But he was a king; he had his life to lead; his country to govern.
His son Henry, whom he had crowned, he now knew unwisely, was eager to take his place. Thomas had been against the crowning. It was never wise to set up a new king while the old one still reigned.
His wife Eleanor hated him. His son Richard had turned against him.
Where could he go for comfort? To Rosamund? She would give him solace, but he could not talk to her of his troubles. She would never understand them. She would agree with everything he said, and that was not what he wanted.
What was Eleanor doing? How long before she roused his sons against him? He was unhappy. He was afraid, for he was a lonely man and his soul was stained with the blood of one he had loved.
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