Thomas Becket - Father John S. Hogan

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furious. His brother had lost the one office that could be most useful in his claim to the throne, and now it was in the hands of the archbishop whom he had exiled and who was on the verge of going over to the young Angevin. A further complication for the king was that any power Bishop Henry might have claimed to crown and anoint Eustace was well and truly gone; now only Theobald, as both archbishop of Canterbury and papal legate, had the authority to preside over a coronation. Theobald would have argued that the power belonged to the archbishop of Canterbury alone anyway, but it was sweet to have legatine powers to reinforce his point. He was also aware that Stephen was looking for a way out of his predicament. No sooner was Thomas home from Rome than he was sent back to the pope, this time with a much more impressive entourage — the formal delegation of a papal legate — to petition Eugene for a decree forbidding Eustace’s coronation. Again, Thomas met with success: The pope agreed and issued the decree.

      As Thomas returned to Canterbury, Stephen’s own delegation arrived in Rome to plead his case; the king had appointed none other than the archdeacon of Canterbury, Roger de Pont L’Évêque, as his spokesman. Roger argued that the decree be withdrawn, but Eugene refused to rescind it, citing as one of his reasons Stephen’s breaking of his oath of fealty to Matilda. Eugene’s decision caused ripples in both England and France. The pope had called Stephen an oath breaker and had come down, at least tentatively, on Matilda’s side. This finally vindicated Matilda and gave her son Henry the political legitimacy that even a successful war could not confer. The question for the Angevin was how to use this papal pronouncement to push his cause in England.

      On a personal level, Thomas’s own rivalry with Roger had deepened. That Roger had agreed to plead for the king revealed that his ambition outweighed his loyalty to his archbishop. Perhaps he was just a canon lawyer arguing a case for a client who just happened to be a king pushing a cause contrary to that of his archbishop — and every client is entitled to be heard — but Thomas would have taken note of Roger’s attitude. This man was capable of disloyalty to further his own aims. In the years ahead, Thomas would become more than well acquainted with this streak in Roger.

      Stephen was not to be outdone. In the spring of 1152, he called a council in London to discuss the possibility of proceeding with Eustace’s coronation regardless of the papal decree. Bishops and lords attended the council to hear the king give the reasons why the ban had to be ignored. Eustace was also present in full view of all; any refusal to agree would be deemed a personal affront to the heir to the throne. Turning to the bishops, Stephen demanded that they consent to the coronation and then asked them to nominate one to do it. To a man, they looked to Theobald; he had the right as primate to preside at a coronation, and none of them was willing to usurp that right. Now sure of his brother bishops’ support, Theobald stood and faced the king. The pope had forbidden this coronation, he said, and therefore it would not happen.

      King and son were incensed. They ordered that all the bishops be incarcerated in a nearby house and provoked with threats and hardship; they would remain there until they consented. Some bishops backed down, but most held the line. Theobald, seizing a quick opportunity, fled the assembly with Thomas and others in tow and made for the River Thames with the king’s knights in hot pursuit. As providence would have it, a boat lay idle; commandeering it, the fleeing company set sail down the Thames as the king’s knights pursued them, seeking to assassinate the archbishop. They reached Dover in time to catch a boat to the continent, and Theobald and his faithful clerks sailed across the channel to Flanders, arriving on April 6, 1152. Theobald’s second exile had begun.

      This exile would prove to be short; he returned a few months later, in August. Stephen quickly repented of his rage and realized the foolishness of his actions. He had just driven the archbishop of Canterbury and papal legate into the arms of the Angevin, and with him many of his supporters in England, the hierarchy included. Stephen realized he needed to back down if he or Eustace were to have any chance of keeping the throne. Henry Angevin had gathered enough allies already, the most recent being the king of France, Louis VII, who had just formally recognized the young man as duke of Normandy, thereby depriving Stephen of those realms for good. Little did Stephen know that as Theobald was fleeing toward Flanders, ships facing toward England were already lining up in the ports of Normandy: Henry Angevin was preparing to invade. It was only the possibility of a desired marriage that distracted Henry from immediately carrying out his plans.

      Louis VII of France had just obtained an annulment from his consort, Eleanor of Aquitaine, one of the most extraordinary women of the medieval period, and Henry was very interested in a match with her. Henry was not interested so much in Eleanor’s abilities and strength, which he would come to despise in time, but in her vast fortune and estates as the only heir to her father’s duchy. She was also a direct descendant of Charlemagne; marriage to such a woman brought prestige to any royal house. Henry was nineteen, and Eleanor thirty; she was the mother of two children for the French king — both daughters, to Louis’s disappointment. She was feisty and ultimately unconquerable. She had had a number of public arguments with Louis, and the relationship was so strained that at one point even the pope had had to intervene to seek reconciliation. Louis and Eleanor were also related within the forbidden degrees of consanguinity, so a marriage should never have been permitted — hence the decree of nullity.

      Henry was enamored of her, though probably not for the reasons one contracts a modern marriage. Eleanor was also taken with Henry, though again probably not out of love. In this young and ambitious duke and possible king, Eleanor saw the means of restoring the glories of her duchy, which had declined since the death of her father, William X. Her grandfather, William IX, had been an effective ruler, a man who loved life and women — he had a reputation as a lecher. He was as daring on the battlefield as he was in his affairs, but he also fostered a love of learning and literature; he was, it seems, a competent lyric poet. Eleanor’s father, William X, nicknamed “the Saint,” was not as gregarious as his father, though he had been involved in a number of campaigns, notably against Normandy. Initially a supporter of Antipope Anacletus II, he was converted by Saint Bernard of Clairvaux to orthodox Catholicism. Upon his death in 1137 on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, William X left his eldest daughter and heir in the care of King Louis VI of France, who married her off to his son and heir.

      Sizing Henry up, Eleanor may have thought he could help her restore the honor of her house; in this, her wits had abandoned her.4 Any notions she may have harbored of being able to dominate Henry Angevin were seriously deluded, but it was an effective delusion that saw them march up the aisle together on May 18, 1152, eight weeks after the annulment had been granted and not long after two attempts by ambitious suitors to kidnap the bride and marry her themselves.

      As the couple honeymooned, King Louis fumed — not only had Henry married his former wife, and in unseemly haste, but as Duke of Normandy and a subject of the king of France, Henry had not honored the custom of seeking permission to marry from his feudal lord. In revenge, Louis attempted to scuttle Henry’s plans, backing the cause of Louis’s sister’s husband, none other than Eustace, Count of Boulogne and prince of England. Eustace had married Constance of France in 1140. Louis invited Eustace to come to Normandy and preempt Henry’s invasion of England. Eustace duly arrived and joined Louis in a campaign against the Angevin, laying siege near Dieppe. However, despite the distractions of a new wife, Henry was well able to meet the challenge and ran Eustace out of Normandy to Paris. Six weeks after he started his campaign, the young count went back to England with his tail between his legs.

      The initial pleasures of marriage honored, Henry realized the time was ripe for his invasion. His ships were waiting, and his knights were tired of twiddling their thumbs; it was time to begin his campaign. In the second week of January 1153, his fleet left Barfleur for England.5 The boats faced a cold winter gale, but the army of 140 knights and 3,000 infantry landed safely at Wareham and made for Malmesbury, seizing the town and laying siege to its castle. In the meantime, Henry made his way around England, arriving in Gloucester, where, on April 19, he held court for Easter and proclaimed himself by his new title, Duke of Aquitaine. He then began his campaign in the midlands — laying siege to castles, capturing them, and forcing their occupants to surrender to him — all the while looking to that moment when he could claim another, loftier title.

      Thomas was facing battles of his own in Canterbury as an

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