Beloved Enemy (83 page)
Authors: Ellen Jones
In truth, he had been rather dismayed at the expression of devotion just witnessed. Only rarely had the populace of England shown such affection to their king. Henry knew he had the good of the people in mind far more often than Thomas did, yet, seemingly, they preferred the primate. He repressed a strong surge of jealousy and hardened his heart. Thomas was now more than an adversary; he had become a rival.
“Take a seat at the back of the chamber,” he told Eleanor, “you will be less noticeable. Most of these dry old sticks don’t approve of a woman being present.”
When all the magnates and prelates were assembled around the long table in the council chamber, Henry rose to his feet. In a deliberately low and calm voice he addressed the assembly: “As you all know, it has long been my desire to establish tranquility and peace in my dominions.” From the corner of his eye he glimpsed Thomas’s unreadable face. “I feel sure it is yours, too?”
The prelates glanced at one another, then at their king.
“Indeed, Sire,” several voices rang out.
“You can imagine, then, my shock and surprise to discover that the clergy—of all people—are guilty of disorder and lawlessness.”
From the look of shock on their faces Henry knew it was the last thing they’d expected him to say. He went on to explain that he had consulted his legal advisors and had himself looked through the records of his reign. He declared his shock at the number of murders and other criminal acts committed by the clergy, and at the church courts’ failure to impose harsh enough penalties to deter further acts of lawlessness.
“Sanctuary has become a mockery,” Henry said, rocking back on his heels, thumbs tucked into his black belt. “Taking advantage of the rule that no man may be removed by the law for forty days while in the bounds of a church, every robber, knave, and villain with blood on his hands seeks such protection. It is common knowledge that relatives support and victual such rogues. Some even venture out at night to commit other heinous crimes then slink back into the safety of Holy Church.”
The bishops looked down and would not meet his eye. None could deny what he had said.
“Such an intolerable condition is like a hair shirt on the back of all clergy,” said the bishop of London, “one which we do not condone, but to which we are committed by tradition.”
“This is but another excuse, my lord bishop. I struggle daily to act in the interests of justice. This violation of sanctuary is like a thorn in my side.”
“What is the relevance of this sermon, majesty?” Thomas asked. “I understood we were called to resolve a dispute between the archbishop of York and myself.”
“Did you?” Henry looked Thomas straight in the eye, pausing long enough to savor what he would say next. “The dispute between myself and Holy Church is more important. I request, my lord of Canterbury, that you and your fellow bishops consent to the following proposal: All clerics caught committing crimes or confessing to them should be deprived of church protection and be handed over to the royal courts for punishment.”
Although quickly masked, the brief look of livid disbelief on the assembled faces before him was actually comical.
“There is nothing new in what I propose,” Henry added, his voice still low and reasonable. “Nor does it violate either canon or civil law. After all, I only wish to return to the customs of my grandfather, whose reign was prosperous and peaceful.”
Thomas’s face had paled to the color of death. He rose slowly to his feet. “I beg leave for the bishops and me to consult among ourselves first. We did not expect this—attack.”
Henry affected an expression of surprise. “Attack? Attack? I have asked reasonable men in a reasonable manner to look into obvious abuses—which I have just detailed. But of course you may take what time you need.”
While he waited, Henry sat down in the wooden chair at the head of the table. Idly, he drummed his fingers against the polished oak, sipped Gascon wine from a pewter goblet, nibbled at a honey cake. From the corner of his eye he saw Leicester and de Lucy look at him askance while they exchanged a few brief words. Eleanor gave him an approving smile. His proposal had come as much of a surprise to his co-justiciars and to Eleanor as it had to the prelates.
“My lord king, we have your answer.” Thomas’s voice cut through Henry’s thoughts.
The bishops and Thomas huddled together as one black-clad body, which did not bode well, Henry decided, for his proposal.
“To begin with, let me quote from Saint Jerome,” Thomas began. “
‘Nec enim Deus judicat bis in idipsum.’
”
“I hardly need to be reminded that God does not judge twice for the same offense.” Henry’s lips curled. “No one disputes the sainted Jerome, heaven forefend. I am not asking that. If a cleric accused of a crime is found innocent by a church court I will, however unwillingly, accept that. But if found guilty, then the cleric must be handed over to the secular authorities to suffer the same punishment as a layperson for a similar crime.” Henry spread out his hands. “My lord bishops, once again, all I require is that you follow the customs observed in my grandfather’s day, and to which Holy Church raised no objection.”
The archbishop flushed. “In truth, no one here knows to what ‘customs’ you refer. But if former prelates were so misguided as to act contrary to the laws laid down in the canons, they did so out of fear. If former kings practiced customs contrary to canon law, those were, in fact, gross abuses which will no longer be tolerated.” He raised his voice and his eyes glittered like wildfire. “The clergy accept Our Lord Christ alone as their leader and obey only that law expounded in his canons. Surely to try a man twice for the same offense is to bring the Christ again before Pontius Pilate.” He lifted his arms up to the ceiling and in a voice of thunder cried, “Touch not mine anointed. We are not subordinate to kings!”
There was a horrified silence. Several prelates pulled at Thomas’s arms and spoke to him in agitated whispers. Henry could hear fragments: “…do not antagonize …” Then they put their heads together in a hurried conference.
It was another public throwing down of the gauntlet, another attempt to humiliate him. Henry felt the blood rush to his head but kept a tight rein on himself until Thomas faced him again. Before he could speak, Henry held up his hand.
“Can I have heard correctly? Do you tell me that men of God refuse to honor the ancient customs and laws of this realm so that its safety may be ensured? Am I to believe that you object to common law being upheld? For that is all I mean when I demand that clerks and priests be given the same punishment as lay offenders.”
Thomas bent his head and conferred again with the prelates before addressing him.
“On the contrary, my lord king, you will find each of us agreeable and ready to accord with your will in all that we can possibly consent to, saving the privileges of our order.”
Henry felt himself losing control. “By God’s eyes, what is that supposed to mean? You will obey my customs absolutely!”
He strode menacingly through the group of bishops who, like a flock of frightened sheep, scattered at his approach. In a loud voice he asked each bishop in turn if they would obey the customs of the realm and all answered as Thomas had done: They would do so, saving their order. Henry bounded back to the table and began shouting.
“This is not good enough.” He pounded the table with his fist. “You must swear an oath to observe the customs in good faith without any reservation. Thus I will have it.”
They looked terrified; even Thomas appeared alarmed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Eleanor had risen to her feet.
“My lord king,” Thomas began in what Henry recognized as his “pacifying” voice, “we have already sworn fealty to you—”
If he remained one more moment Henry knew he would lose any semblance of reason. “Leicester, de Lucy, come with me!” Without another word, he raced furiously out of the chamber, followed by his astonished justiciars and Eleanor.
He left behind him a hush like death.
T
HE VERSE BY BERNART
de Ventadour, that appears in the page of epigraphs preceding the prologue, is translated from the
langue d’oc
by Claude Marks and appears in his book,
Pilgrims, Heretics, and Lovers, A Medieval Journey,
Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. New York, 1975.
The verse from the cansos by William IX, Duke of Aquitaine, is also translated by Claude Marks and appears in the same book as mentioned above.
The lines by William IX, Duke of Aquitaine, that appear on pages
63-64
and
563
are from
Songs Of The Troubadours,
edited and translated by Anthony Bonner, Schocken Books, New York, 1972.
The lines on pages
261
and
277
by Bernard de Ventadour are also translated by Anthony Bonner and Claude Marks, respectively, and appear in the books mentioned above.
I would like to gratefully acknowledge my supportive agent, Jean Naggar; the unfailingly brilliant Susanne Jaffe, editor extraordinaire; Prof. Marie Ann Mayeski, Professor of Theology at Loyola Marymount College, for her historical expertise; Lyn Stimer for her invaluable help, patience, support, and incisive suggestions; Lisa Rojany for her eagle eye and validation. Lastly, and always, to Mark, who made it all possible.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1994 by Ellen Jones
cover design by Heidi North
978-1-4532-8910-5
This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
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