Thomas Becket and his Biographers

Studies in the History of Medieval Religion VOLUME XX V I I I

THOMAS BEC K E T AND HIS BIOGRA PH E R S In the wake of his murder in December 1170 an extraordinarily large number of Lives of Thomas Becket were produced. They provide an invaluable witness to the life and death of Thomas and the dramatic events in which he was involved, but they are also works of great literary value, more complex and sophisticated than has been recognized. This book, the first to be devoted to the biographers and their works, consists of an examination of the individual Lives, followed by an analysis of the biographers’ treatment of the major themes in Thomas’s life – conversion, conflict, trial, exile and martyrdom – in the light of contemporary hagiographical, historical and theological writing and canon law. It raises points of major significance for the study of intellectual and literary life in the central middle ages and provides an important reassessment of the Becket conflict and ­Thomas Becket himself. Dr MICHAEL STAUNTON is Lecturer in Medieval History, School of History and Archives, University College Dublin.

Studies in the History of Medieval Religion ISSN: 0955–2480 General Editor Christopher Harper-Bill

Previously published volumes in the series are listed at the back of this volume

THOMAS BE C K E T AND HIS BIOGR A P H E R S

Michael Staunton

T H E B O Y D E L L P RE S S

© Michael Staunton 2006 All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner The right of Michael Staunton to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents act 1988 First published 2006 The Boydell Press, Woodbridge ISBN 1 84383 271 2

The Boydell Press is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This publication is printed on acid-free paper Typeset by David Roberts, Pershore, Worcestershire Printed in Great Britain by MPG Books Ltd, Cornwall

Contents Acknowledgements

vi

Abbreviations

vii

  1  Introduction: The Lives and their context

1

  2  The forerunner: John of Salisbury

19

  3  Telling the story: Edward Grim, Guernes and Anonymous I

28

  4 Criticism and vindication: Anonymous II and Alan of Tewkesbury

38

  5 The view from Canterbury: Benedict of Peterborough and William of Canterbury

49

  6  Observation and reflection: William Fitzstephen

56

  7  Breaking the rules of history: Herbert of Bosham

63

  8  Conversion

75

  9  Conflict

97

10  Trial

129

11  Exile

153

12  Martyrdom

184

Conclusion

216

Bibliography

220

Index

242

Acknowledgements This book has had a long gestation and I have incurred many debts of gratitude. My first thanks are to Dr Jennifer O’Reilly, University College Cork, who introduced me to the subject as an undergraduate and has continued to help me since. I am also very grateful to the help and direction given to me while researching a PhD on the Lives of Anselm and Becket at the University of Cambridge and working on the research project ‘The Acta of Henry II’, in particular Dr Gillian Evans, Professor Christopher Brooke and Professor Sir James Holt. I also benefited greatly from the assistance and knowledge of a number of people during my time working at the University of St Andrews, especially Dr Haki Antonsson, Dr Julie Kerr, Professor Robert Bartlett and Professor John Hudson. In addition, I am very grateful for the generous advice given to me by Professor Anne Duggan, King’s College, London. The main part of the book was written at University College Dublin, and there are too many people whose help should be acknowledged, but special thanks are due to Professor Seymour Phillips, Ms Kate Breslin, Dr Gillian O’Brien and Dr Michael Laffan.

Abbreviations Acta Sanctorum, ed. J. Bollandus et al. (Antwerp, Brussels etc., 1643–) ACM Acts of the Christian Martyrs, ed. and trans. H. Musurillo (Oxford, 1972) ANS Anglo-Norman Studies Augustine, Enn. Ps. Augustine, Ennarrationes in Psalmos, ed. E. Dekkers and I. Fraipont (1956), CCSL 38–40 Barlow, Becket F. Barlow, Thomas Becket (London, 1986) Bernard, Opera Bernard of Clairvaux, Sancti Bernardi Opera Omnia, ed. J. Leclercq, C. H. Talbot, H. M. Rochais, 8 vols. (Rome, 1957–77) BHL Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina, ed. Socii Bollandiani: Subsidia Hagiographica, 2 vols. (Brussels, 1898–1901) CCCM Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis CCSL Corpus Christianorum Series Latina Councils and Synods Councils and Synods with Other Documents Relating to the English Church, I, AD 871–1204, part 2: 1066–1204, ed. D. Whitelock, M. Brett, C. N. L. Brooke (Oxford, 1981) CSEL Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (Vienna, 1866–) CTB The Correspondence of Archbishop Thomas Becket, ed. A. J. Duggan, 2 vols., OMT (Oxford, 2000) Decretum Decretum Gratiani, Corpus Iuris Canonici, ed. E. Friedberg, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1879), vol. 1 Duggan, Becket A. Duggan, Thomas Becket (London, 2004) Duggan, Textual History A. Duggan, Thomas Becket: A Textual History of his Letters (Oxford, 1980) Eddius Eddius Stephanus, The Life of Bishop Wilfrid by Eddius Stephanus, ed. B. Colgrave (Cambridge, 1937) EHR English Historical Review Gregory, Mor. Gregory the Great, Moralia in Job, ed. M. Adriaen, 1985, CCSL 143–143B Guernes Guernes de Pont-Sainte Maxence, La vie de Saint Thomas Becket, ed. E. Walberg, Les classiques français du moyen age 77 (Paris, 1936) Hardy T. D. Hardy, Descriptive Catalogue of Materials Relating to the History of Great Britain and Ireland: To the End of the Reign of Henry VIII, 4 vols., RS 26 (London, 1862–71), vol. 2 HN Eadmer, Historia Novorum in Anglia, ed. M. Rule, RS 81 (1884) JMH Journal of Medieval History AASS

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The Letters of John of Salisbury, vol. 2: The Later Letters (1163– 1180), ed. and trans. W. J. Millor and C. N. L. Brooke, OMT (Oxford, 1979) Lombard Peter Lombard, Commentarii in Psalmos, Commentarii in Epistulas Pauli ed. J.-P. Migne, 1854–5, PL 192–3 MGH Monumenta Germaniae Historica, inde ab anno Christi quintesimo usque ad annum millesimum et quingentesimum (Hanover/Berlin, 1924–) MTB Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, ed. J. C. Robertson and J. B. Sheppard, 7 vols., RS 67 (London, 1875–85) Nelson’s Medieval Classics (later Texts) NMC O’Reilly, ‘Double Martyrdom’ J. O’Reilly, ‘The Double Martyrdom of Thomas Becket: Hagiography or History?’, Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History 7 (1985): 185–247 ODNB The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, ed. H. C. G. Matthew and B. Harrison (Oxford, 2004) OMT Oxford Medieval Texts Orderic Orderic Vitalis, The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, ed. and trans. M. Chibnall, 6 vols., OMT (Oxford, 1969–80) PL Patrologia cursus completus, series latina, ed. J.-P. Migne et al, 221 vols. (Paris, 1844–64) Rolls Series: Rerum Brittanicarum Medii Aevi Scriptores, Chronicles RS and Memorials of Great Britain and Ireland during the Middle Ages, 99 vols. (1858–96) Saga Thómas Saga Erkibyskups, ed. E. Magnússon, 2 vols., RS 65 (London, 1883) SC Sources Chrétiennes Sédières Thomas Becket: Actes du colloque international de Sédières 19–24 août 1973, ed. R. Foreville (Paris, 1975) Shirley Garnier’s Becket, trans. J. Shirley (1975, repr. Felinfach, 1996) Smalley, Becket Conflict B. Smalley, The Becket Conflict and the Schools (Oxford, 1973) Stud. Mon. Studia Monastica TRHS Transactions of the Royal Historical Society VA Eadmer, Life of St Anselm, ed. and trans. R. W. Southern, NMT (London, 1962); repr. OMT (Oxford, 1972) Walberg E. Walberg, La tradition hagiographique de saint Thomas Becket avant la fin du XIIe siècle (Paris, 1929; repr. Geneva, 1975) LJS

1 Introduction: The Lives and their context The first reaction to Thomas Becket’s murder on 29 December 1170 was shock, but well before the shock had faded another emotion had come to the fore: the desire to make sense of the most remarkable episode in recent history. ‘Where shall I begin?’, wrote John of Salisbury to a friend in its immediate aftermath. ‘One can hardly speak for the abundant, overflowing, tide of the theme.’ Around the same time another of Thomas’s clerks, Herbert of Bosham, began his report, ‘In writing this I stopped and hesitated, wondering what kind of expression I could use to bring before you the horrifying and savage murder of the Lord’s anointed.’ Both writers are employing a literary convention, but they also express certain truths. Thomas’s life and death presented a new theme and posed new questions: What did the murder of the archbishop of Canterbury in his own cathedral by agents of the king mean? If Thomas was a saint, as strikingly suggested by the nature of his death and his prodigious posthumous miracles, how was his controversial life to be explained? And if Thomas was the greatest saint of his time, what was his place in Christian history? This theme found expression in literary productions as remarkable for their historical and literary value as they are for their volume. An unusually large number of biographical works about Thomas were written in the twelfth century, though the exact number is difficult to gauge: some are lost, including one written by a woman; others survive in fragmentary form; a few do not easily fit any literary category. This book deals mainly with ten works: the Vitae by John of Salisbury, Edward Grim, William of Canterbury, William Fitzstephen, Guernes of Ponte-Ste-Maxence, Herbert of Bosham, Anonymous I and Anonymous II, Benedict of Peterborough’s Passio and Alan of Tewkesbury’s supplement to John’s Life. All were completed within seven years of Thomas’s death, with the exception of Herbert’s Life, which was written between 1186 and 1188.  LJS

no. 305, pp. 724–5. MTB no. 735, 7. 429 (writing to the pope in the name of Archbishop William of Sens).  See E. R. Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages (London, 1953), p. 159.  ‘I hear frequent inaccuracies in all the other narratives that have been written, whether it be by clerks or laymen, monks or a lady (dame)’, Guernes v. 161–2. 

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becket and his biographers

Thomas Becket’s name remains familiar more than 800 years after his death because his story is a fascinating one recorded well. That so many people chose to write about him in the years immediately after his murder is due not only to the explosion of popular veneration in the early 1170s but to the fact that his life and death provided such rich biographical material. The son of a London merchant, Thomas rose first to the highest administrative position in the land, and then to its highest ecclesiastical office. His rift with his former friend the king, and the progress of the dispute which led to public confrontation and prolonged exile, were keenly followed all over the Christian world. His brutal murder by men claiming to act in the king’s name set in motion an outpouring of popular veneration never seen before in England. Few will disagree that the Lives do justice to this material. While the evidence of some biographers is more valuable than others’, and periods of Thomas’s life, in particular his early career, are not covered as fully as one might wish, by examining the Lives, in combination with the Becket correspondence, we can trace its course with a precision afforded to very few other medieval lives. Though there is some error and deliberate distortion, and more exaggeration and biased interpretation, the Lives are broadly accurate and trustworthy testimonies. But the Lives of Thomas are not only exceptional witnesses to Thomas’s life and death and the events in which he was involved. They are also literary works of high quality, more complex and sophisticated than has always been recognized. The biographers aimed not only to inform those of their time and future generations about Thomas’s life and death, but to interpret the events they recorded, and for some biographers reflection was more important than record. My intention is to examine the Lives of Thomas as works of literature. We cannot read them as they were read in the twelfth century: not only have the personalities and events described lost the urgency that they had in the years following Thomas’s death, but the biographers’ habits of reading, of association and expression are impossible to recapture fully. We can, nevertheless, gain a fuller perspective on the Lives by exploring the individual character of each of the works, by reading them in the light of contemporary and earlier writing on similar subjects, and by examining more closely some of their features, particular those which have not received as much attention from scholars more interested in historical evidence. It is hoped that this will not only allow for a fuller appreciation on these works, but also throw some light on contemporary writing and thought. Nor does a focus on the literary Thomas mean ignoring his historical counterpart. Rather, the study of the literary Thomas requires an appreciation of the historical subject upon which it was founded, and it is hoped that in turn a greater appreciation of these works as literature will allow them to be used more effectively as historical records.



The Lives and their context



The historical context The most striking fact about the Lives of Thomas is that so many were written so quickly after his death. Of the ten under discussion, seven were completed within four years of the murder, two more within a further two, and the last a decade later. The number and speed can be explained by the attraction of a major and important subject, the assurance of an audience, the desire by individuals and institutions to ride the wave of Becket’s posthumous glory, attempts to tell their side of the story and mould the saint’s reputation. It also follows the twelfth-century pattern of writing about a saint within a short time of his or her death, or even within the saint’s lifetime, as in such cases as Eadmer’s Vita Anselmi and William of St Thierry’s contribution to the Vita Prima Bernardi. This historical context in which they were composed did much to shape the content and form of the Lives. Much of what the biographers write about had been witnessed first-hand, or at least second-hand, and remained fresh in their memories and in those of their audience, and this is reflected in the comprehensive, detailed and vivid reporting which characterize most of the Lives. This proximity also gives the Lives an urgency: those who wrote while the cult was in bloom give the impression that they are dealing with people, events and themes that they consider highly significant, and they expect them to be seen as such by their audience. The Lives also tell us a good deal about the developing cult, and Thomas’s shifting posthumous reputation, through direct reference to the cult’s manifestations, but also through their own perspective on Thomas and his reputation. Since the nineteenth century various attempts have been made to determine when each of the Lives was composed, and which writers were influenced by whom. E. Walberg’s research has been most influential, though one of his conclusions remains contentious. Walberg argued, on the basis of textual analysis, that John of Salisbury’s Life was influenced by the work of Anonymous II and William of Canterbury. Since the Anonymous wrote in late 1172 or 1173 and William wrote in 1172–4, this limits the date of composition of John’s Life to between 1173 and 1176 when the letter collection which it prefaces was completed. Others have seen it as inherently improbable that Thomas’s distinguished clerk, who played a central role in the direction of the cult, should have based his Life on the work of these writers, and have dated it instead to 1171–2. This gives the following order to the works discussed below with their probable date of completion:



See A. M. Kleinberg, Prophets in their own Country: Living Sainthood and the Making of Saints in the Later Middle Ages (Chicago/London, 1992).  Walberg, pp. 173–85; Barlow, Becket, p. 4; Duggan, Becket, p. 228; see below, p. 20.

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becket and his biographers

John of Salisbury Edward Grim Anonymous II Benedict of Peterborough William of Canterbury William Fitzstephen Guernes Alan of Tewkesbury Anonymous I Herbert of Bosham

1171–2 1171–2 1172–3 1173–4 1173–4 1173–4 1174 1176 1176–7 1184–6

The biographers were all contemporaries of Thomas, but some were closer to him than others. John of Salisbury, William Fitzstephen and Herbert of Bosham each served him as clerks, and had close and frequent contact with him. John acted as Thomas’s advocate and adviser, corresponded with him during his exile and wrote letters in his name, and witnessed his murder, but little of this is reflected in his Life, which is brief and lacking in intimate detail. William Fitzstephen served Thomas first when he was chancellor and then archbishop, and, though he did not accompany him in exile, he was present at his death. Fitzstephen provides unparalleled witness to Thomas’s life as chancellor and his trial at Northampton in October 1164, gives the fullest account of the goings-on in England and at the royal court during the years of Thomas’s exile, and provides some of the best testimony to Thomas’s return and murder. Herbert of Bosham, who also served the chancellor and archbishop, witnessed most of the major dramas of Becket’s career, and was the only one of his biographers to accompany him in exile, but though he also accompanied the archbishop on his return to Canterbury, he did not witness the murder. Herbert provides excellent testimony to the early years of Thomas’s archiepiscopate, and exceptional witness to his exile. He was also on more intimate terns with Thomas than any other writer, fulfilling a public role similar to John’s but also being privy to Thomas’s innermost reflections. These feature strongly in his Life as he attempts to explain ‘not just the archbishop’s deeds, but the reasons for them, not just what was done, but the mind of the doer’. Other writers had more limited personal knowledge of Thomas. Edward Grim, Benedict of Peterborough and William of Canterbury were eyewitnesses to the murder, and each provides an excellent report with unique details. William of Canterbury also provides the fullest account of the events of December 1170 when Thomas returned to Canterbury. Anonymous I tells us that he was clerk to Thomas during his stay at Pontigny from December 1164 to the autumn of 1166, but whatever personal knowledge he might have had, little is reflected in his Life. Then there are those who probably had no

 MTB

3. 248.



The Lives and their context



personal contact with Thomas: Anonymous II, Guernes and Alan of Tewkesbury. These writers depended on other sources of information, as did Grim, William of Canterbury and Anonymous II to a large extent, while even William Fitzstephen and Herbert of Bosham had to draw on the knowledge of others. The first source of this knowledge is oral tradition. Before any Life was written, people had begun to tell the story of Thomas’s life, and offer their own interpretations. This oral tradition gave many works their structure and shape, as well as individual anecdotes. Edward Grim, a celebrated figure in Canterbury on account of his bravery in shielding Thomas from the first of the knights’ blows, writing in 1171–2, gives us an especially good insight into that early tradition. Guernes approached it in a proactive manner, visiting Canterbury and interviewing those who knew Thomas. Nor was Canterbury the only source: Anonymous II and William Fitzstephen show traces of influence from London, and many writers report anecdotes about Thomas from further afield. In addition to oral testimony, many writers made use of the Becket correspondence. The definitive collection was compiled by Alan of Tewkesbury between 1174 and 1176, but this derived from a variety of sources, and people had begun collecting Thomas’s letters as far back as 1166. Grim, Guernes, William of Canterbury and William Fitzstephen make extensive use of the letters, inserting them in their Lives, often in abridged or adapted form. Most of these letters date from the years of Thomas’s exile, a period which many writers found difficult to cover, and are used to plug gaps in the narrative, or to illustrate a point. In fact, it is less easy to follow the sequence of events during these years through the letters that it is to follow the debate, as most of those included are polemics summing up positions rather than reflecting events. Alan, though he claims his work is designed to make the letters easier to follow, actually weaves the language and arguments found in the letters into his narrative. This is even more pronounced in the case of Herbert of Bosham, who uses the letters of others, but more usually lengthy passages from his own, and places them in the mouths of various individuals. Also, a number of biographers borrowed from each other. The broadly held view of filiation, based on Walberg with more recent revisions, may be summarized thus: William Fitzstephen, Alan of Tewkesbury and Herbert of Bosham wrote independent works. That is, while they all made use of correspondence and oral tradition, and had, one assumes, read other Lives of Thomas, there is no obvious evidence of borrowing (though passages from John’s Life are incorporated into later versions of Fitzstephen’s Life). The other Lives, sometimes called the ‘Canterbury group’, share more. All were influenced not only by oral tradition but by John of Salisbury. In addition, William of Canterbury may have been influenced by Anonymous II; Guernes  See

Duggan, Textual History, pp. 173–226.

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was certainly influenced by Grim, Benedict and William of Canterbury; and Anonymous I by Grim, Guernes, and possibly Benedict. At this point mention should be made of the twelfth-century works which fall outside the scope of this study, but to which reference will be made. Of these the most important are Robert of Cricklade’s lost Life, written between 1172 and 1174, and the composite Life, Quadrilogus II, compiled in 1198–9. Robert of Cricklade was prior of the Augustinian house of St Frideswide’s, Oxford from 1141 to 1174 when, it seems, he died. In 1171 he visited the shrine of St Thomas and was apparently cured of a long-standing illness, and thereby inspired to compose a Life of Thomas. Robert was already an experienced writer, with an abridgement of Pliny (dedicated to Henry II) and a number of theological works attributed to him. Though Robert’s Life is lost, efforts have been made to reconstruct it with the aid of later works which it influenced.10 It has echoes of the work of John of Salisbury, but provides some unique details about Thomas and his life, for example, that he spoke with a stammer.11 Around 1184 Beneit (or Benet, Benoit), a Benedictine monk of St Albans, wrote a French verse Life which was largely based on Robert’s work.12 Around 1200 Robert’s work was translated into Old Norse. Though this Life only survives in fragmentary form, it forms the main source for the fourteenth-century Icelandic Thómas Saga.13 Quadrilogus II was compiled by E(lias?), a monk of the Benedictine monastery of Evesham, at the instigation of Henry de Longchamp, who later became abbot of Crowland. They had an obvious model in mind, as E. writes in the preface: ‘We read that a man did a similar thing with the gospels by making one narrative for us out of the four.’14 E.’s compilation interweaves in quite skilful manner extracts from John of Salisbury, William of Canterbury,  See

Barlow, Becket, p. 5. M. Orme, ‘A Reconstruction of Robert of Cricklade’s Vita et Miracula S. Thomae Cantuariensis’, Analecta Bollandiana 84 (1966): 379–98; Saga vol. 2, pp. xcii–xcv; A. B. Emden, A Biographical Register of the University of Oxford to AD 1500 (Oxford 1957–9), vol. 1, pp. 513–14; A. Duggan, ‘Cricklade, Robert of (d. in or after 1174)’, ODNB. 11 Saga vol. 1, pp. 28–9. 12 La Vie de Thomas Becket par Beneit, ed. B. Schlyter, Études Romanes de Lund 4 (Lund, 1941); also printed, from a defective manuscript, Chronique des ducs de Normandie, ed. F. Michel, Collection des documents inédits sur l’histoire de France (Paris, 1844), vol. 3, pp. 461–509, 619–25; see Walberg, pp. 9–33; I. Short, ‘The Patronage of Beneit’s Vie de Thomas Becket’, Medium Aevum 56 (1987): 239–56. 13 See Saga, vol. 2, pp. v–lxix; P. G. Foote, ‘On the Fragmentary Text Concerning St ­Thomas in Stock. Perg. fol. nr. 2’, Saga Book of the Viking Society 15 (1957–61): 403–50; S. Karlsson, ‘Icelandic Lives of Thomas à Becket: Questions of Authorship’, Proceedings of the First International Saga Conference: University of Edinburgh 1971, ed. P. G. Foote, H. Pálsson and D. Slay (London, 1973), pp. 212–43; H. Antonsson, ‘Two Twelfth-Century Martyrs’, Sagas, Saints and Settlements, ed. P. Bibire and G. Williams (Leiden, 2004), pp. 41–64. 14 MTB 4. 425. 10 See



The Lives and their context



Alan of Tewkesbury and Herbert of Bosham, and draws on a fifth work, Benedict of Peterborough’s Passio (for which the Quadrilogus is our sole source), for the murder and its aftermath. This composite Life proved very popular. In the thirteenth century it was translated into English,15 and also into Old Norse, and this translation in turn influenced the fourteenth-century Thómas Saga.16 In addition, it was reworked in Latin at least four times. In 1213–14 it was revised by Roger, a monk of Crowland, who added extracts from the correspondence, and an anonymous compiler further augmented it with elements from Edward Grim and William Fitzstephen and further passages from Herbert of Bosham. This version was the first to be printed, in 1495, while E.’s earlier compilation was not printed until 1682: hence, confusingly, the name Quadrilogus II for the twelfth-century version and Quadrilogus I for the thirteenth-century revision.17 Numerous other short or fragmentary biographical works exist, of which the most interesting are perhaps the Summa Causae inter regem et Thomam and Anonymous III. The anonymous Summa Causae gives an account of the early phases of the dispute between the king and archbishop, from the Council of Westminster in October 1163 to Henry’s persecution of Thomas’s supporters in the early aftermath of the exile. The account of Westminster is one of the most detailed among the materials.18 Anonymous III is the name given by Robertson to three distinct fragmentary tracts found in British Library Lansdowne MS 398. The third fragment contains much original information on the aftermath to the murder and the fate of the murderers.19 Furthermore, relevant material is found in twelfth-century chronicles, notably those by Roger of Howden, Ralf of Diss (Diceto), William of Newburgh and Gervase of Canterbury.20 15 The Early English South-English Legendary, ed. C. Horstmann, Early English Text ­Society

87 (London, 1887), pp. 106–77. For the thirteenth-century translation, see Thomas Saga, ed. C. R. Unger (Christiana, 1869), pp. 1–282; see also n. 13 above. 17 Quadrilogus II (BHL 8195): MTB 4. 266–424; E.’s dedicatory letter, 425–6; Roger of Crowland’s dedicatory letter to Quadrilogus I (BHL 8200): PL 190. 259–60. On the evolution of the Quadrilogus, see A. Duggan, ‘The Lyell Version of the Quadrilogus Life of St Thomas of Canterbury’, Analecta Bollandiana 112 (1994): 105–38; Duggan, Textual History, pp. 205–23, 278–84; for manuscripts, see Hardy, pp. 342–9, corrected and augmented by Duggan, Textual History, pp. 205 n. 5, 206 n. 4. 18 MTB 4. 201–12; see xvii. 19 Fragment 1: fols. 43r–53v; 2: fols. 54r–55v; 3: fols. 56r–75v. Extracts printed, MTB 4. 145–85; see xv–xvi. 20 Roger of Howden, Chronica, ed. W. Stubbs, 4 vols., RS 51 (London, 1868–71), vol. 1, pp. 218–81, vol. 2, pp. 4–39; Ralph de Diceto, Ymagines Historiarum, Historical Works, ed. W. Stubbs, 2 vols., RS 68 (London, 1876), vol. 1, pp. 306–50; William of Newburgh, Historia Rerum Anglicarum, Chronicles of the Reigns of Stephen, Henry II and Richard I, ed. R. Howlett, 4 vols., RS 82 (London, 1884–9), vol. 1, pp. 139–43, 160–5; The Historical Works of Gervase of Canterbury, ed. W. Stubbs, 2 vols., RS 73 (London, 1879–80), vol. 1, 16

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Cult and reputation The Lives of Thomas were written against the background of the emergence and development of an extraordinarily successful and dynamic saintly cult. Before any Life was written, people were hailing Thomas as a saint, and claimed to have felt the power of his posthumous glory in visions and miraculous cures. In the first few years after his death, when the majority of the Lives were composed, hundreds of miracles were attributed to the martyr, Canterbury became one of the most popular pilgrim shrines in Europe, and Thomas achieved papal canonization. In addition, two massive volumes of miracles were recorded, and the vast collection of Becket correspondence was compiled. The cult had everything: popular acclaim on a grand scale, together with official recognition, achieved with exceptional speed. Still, even as Thomas seemed to have triumphed in death, criticism lingered, and even as his name was enrolled in the calendar of saints, his life could not be fitted so easily into accepted models of sanctity. The various Lives reflect the development of the cult and of Thomas’s reputation as they changed form, from the relative hesitancy of Edward Grim and Anonymous II to the more confident reviews of Thomas’s career by Alan of Tewkesbury and Anonymous I to the disillusion of Herbert of Bosham. They also echo the combination of the popular and official: the works of John of Salisbury, Benedict of Peterborough, William of Canterbury and Alan of Tewksbury all had a role in the appropriation and promotion of the cult, while others were more independent ventures. But the biographers also actively engaged with Thomas’s reputation, responding to it and attempting to direct it. In the beginning the cult of Thomas was spontaneous and local. It was the poor and the sick of Canterbury and the surrounding area who, in the immediate aftermath of his murder, hailed Thomas as a saint and claimed his intervention. As the months went by, the miraculous cures did not dry up but instead the cult spread to a wider geographical area and extended its social reach. Though the church remained closed until Thomas’s birthday, 21 December, access was allowed to his tomb from Easter, 2 April. As with so many cults in the middle ages, the body of the saint became its focus, with pilgrims visiting the stone tomb, and touching the coffin through holes in its wall. Soon after, the body was placed within the cathedral behind the altar of the Virgin Mary, a response to the lingering threat from those who sought to suppress the cult, and also a recognition that this was a shrine which would last. Though popular sentiment took the lead, one can see in these measures the growing willingness of the Canterbury monks to become involved in the cult. It soon proved profitable, as pilgrims visited in great numbers, buying pp. 169–233; for a comparison of the treatment of certain themes in the chronicles, the letters and the Lives, see S. Jansen, Wo ist Thomas Becket? Der ermordete Heilige zwischen Erinnerung und Erzählung (Husum, 2002).



The Lives and their context



phials of water in which a drop of Thomas’s blood had reputedly been mixed, and giving offerings to the Church.21 That we know a great deal about the development of the cult is largely due to the work of the Canterbury monks Benedict and William, who were assigned to record miracles from pilgrims who visited the shrine. The miracles which they record, the largest collection of any medieval saint, tend, following a contemporary trend, to be detailed and circumstantial, thereby providing a wealth of information about those who participated in the cult. The earliest account is by Benedict, who appears to have begun recording miracles immediately after the murder, although he did not carry out this work publicly until the opening of the shrine after Easter 1171. Benedict tells us that he wrote his account, to which he affixed his Passio, at the instruction of the other monks and following the visionary appearance to him of the saint.22 Between 1171 and 1177, when he became abbot of Peterborough, Benedict recorded around 250 miracles. From 1173 he was joined in this task by William of Canterbury who continued Benedict’s work after the latter’s departure. As one might expect from such a large collection taken over a number of years, the miracles are of various types and are associated with a wide social and geographical range of people. The international range of the miracles is striking. Becket’s fame was, of course, widespread, and the use of the ‘water of St Thomas’ also contributed to the dispersal of the cult.23 Anonymous II writes of Becket’s cult as one initiated and defined by popular acclaim: vox populi, vox Dei.24 A similar impression emerges from John of Salisbury’s letter of early 1171, Ex insperato, which was sent to the bishop of Poitiers but ultimately intended for the ears of the papal curia, in which he reports the explosion of miracles and suggests that

21 There are numerous articles on different aspects of the cult of Thomas in Sédières and in

R. Foreville, Thomas Becket dans la tradition historique et hagiographique (London, 1981). See also A. Duggan, ‘The Cult of St Thomas Becket in the Thirteenth Century’, St Thomas Cantilupe, Bishop of Hereford, Essays in his Honour, ed. M. Jancey (Hereford, 1982), pp. 21–44; W. Urry, Thomas Becket: His Last Days (Stroud, 1999), pp. 150–78; Barlow, Becket, pp. 251–70; Duggan, Becket, pp. 224–36 and further reading, p. 314. 22 MTB 2. 27–8. 23 Miracles recorded by Benedict of Peterborough, MTB 2. 21–281, and William of Canter­bury, MTB 1. 137–546, are compared and analysed by E. Abbott, St Thomas of Canterbury, his Death and Miracles, 2 vols. (London, 1898), vol. 1, pp. 223–333, and vol. 2, passim, and discussed by R. Foreville, ‘Les “miracula S. Thomae Cantuariensis” ’, Tradition, pp. 443–68; B. Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind: Theory, Record and Event, 1000–1215, 2nd edn. (Aldershot, 1987), pp. 89–109; D. Lett, ‘Deux Hagio­graphes, un saint et un roi: Conformisme et créativité dans les deux receuils de Miracula de Thomas Becket’, Auctor et Auctoritas: Invention et conformisme dans l’écriture médiévale: Actes du colloque de Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines (14–16 juin 1999), ed. M. Zimmermann (Paris, 2001), pp. 201–16. 24 MTB 4. 143.

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becket and his biographers

it seems wise meanwhile to lend aid to God’s will, and revere as a martyr, rejoicing and weeping alike, him whom God deigns to honour as a martyr. In nearly every corner of the world God has been able, and has been used, to glorify whom He would, waiting on the authority of no man.25

This is not simply a statement of the force of the popular verdict on Thomas’s sanctity and the fact that local acclaim was once sufficient to secure official recognition of a saint as manifested in the liturgy and the practice of raising or ‘translating’ the relics of a saint to a more hallowed shrine. Here John is also acknowledging that by his time papal recognition had come to be expected, and that the scale of spontaneous acclaim for Thomas had given urgency to such recognition: the course of events demanded swift papal endorsement. Recent research has highlighted the role of the Canterbury monks in winning this recognition. In the summer of 1171 Prior Odo sent a deputation of monks to the pope with a formal petition for canonization, probably accompanied by a dossier of miracles.26 Anonymous II believed a first petition had been rejected,27 but in fact it is more likely that its acceptance was merely delayed by the implementation of a formal procedure. Two cardinals, Albert and Theodwin, were commissioned to initiate an investigation of the miracles, and to sent a written report to the pope. After the cardinals’ positive response, Thomas was canonized on 21 February 1173. This event occurred at a time when many lasting features of papal canonization were being crystallized, but Thomas’s case does not seem fully representative. In 1163 Pope Alexander had postponed considerations of petitions on behalf of Bernard of Clairvaux and Anselm of Canterbury, because of a backlog of applications for canonization. But a decade later the force of popular veneration and the urgings of Thomas’s supporters overcame any such caution.28 It was not only from the papacy that Becket’s cult gained official recognition. At Avranches on 21 May 1172 King Henry agreed to abolish ‘evil customs’ against the Church, to grant the English Church its liberty, and make amends for his indirect role in the murder by promising to go on crusade. Then, on 12 July 1174, in the midst the rebellion of his sons, Henry did public penance at Thomas’s tomb, walking barefoot through Canterbury and being whipped by the monks and bishops. King Louis VII of France, Becket’s patron and occasional critic during his exile, paid his own visit in 1179. And

25

LJS no. 305, pp. 736–9. See Duggan, Becket, pp. 217–18. 27 MTB 4. 143. 28 See E. Kemp, ‘Pope Alexander III and the Canonisation of Saints’, TRHS, 4th ser. 27 (1945): 13–28; E. Kemp, Canonization and Authority in the Western Church (1948), 86–9; A. Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, trans. J. Birrell (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 22–32; Barlow, Becket, p. 269. 26



The Lives and their context

11

the celebrations were completed with the translation of his body in 1220 by Archbishop Stephen Langton.29 The success of the cult is reflected in the number of Lives and the speed with which they were written. It provided a ready subject and a willing audience. Some of those writing did so as part of the official promotion and direction of the cult. But in another way this success appears to remove certain reasons for writing. The most obvious motive for writing a saint’s Life is to prove and promote sanctity.30 The probative aspect was particularly pertinent in the twelfth century, when saints’ Lives came to be employed as part of the application for canonization. John’s Life may have been used in this role, and both Edward Grim and Anonymous II wrote before Thomas had been canonized, but even they acknowledge the scale of popular veneration. After 1173 there would not, at first sight, seem to be any need to convince anyone that Thomas was a saint. Similarly, while John, Benedict, William and Alan were actively involved in the promotion of the cult, it did not seem to require much assistance, and the miracle collections were in any case more likely to be effective in this regard. The stated aim of most of the biographers is that Thomas’s example be followed, but this does not tell us much: edification is the stated aim of most hagiographers, and indeed the acknowledged purpose of all medieval writing. We can be sure that this was a genuine aim of all the writers, but also that there were other motives at play. Once sanctity was established it could be used for the benefit of an individual or community, for example, and such motives could co-exist with more obviously pious intentions. Some writers, notably Herbert of Bosham, play up their own role in events, but this motive is generally muted. Also, while those with a connection to Canterbury were writing in part for the benefit of that community, only William of Canterbury does much to reflect Thomas’s glory on Canterbury. It is an exaggeration to say that ‘there was no need for biographies’:31 interest alone provided a need. But still we may ask why there was a need for so many people to write about Thomas. For one explanation, we need to 29 Avranches:

MTB 4. 173–4; no. 772, 7. 516–8; Henry’s penance, MTB 2. 445–7; ­Louis’s pilgrimage: Roger of Howden, Chronica, vol. 2, pp. 192–3; translation of 1220: A. ­ Duggan, ‘The Cult of St Thomas’; R. Eales, ‘The Political Setting of the Becket Translation of 1220’, Martyrs and Martyrologies, Studies in Church History 30, ed. D. Wood (Oxford, 1993), pp. 127–39. 30 On these issues see for example, T. J. Heffernan, Sacred Biography: Saints and their Bio­ graphers in the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1988); R. Bartlett, ‘The Hagiography of Angevin England’, Thirteenth Century England, vol. 5, ed. P. R. Cross and S. D. Lloyd (Woodbridge, 1995), pp. 37–52; A. Vauchez, ‘Saints admirables et saints imitables: les functions de l’hagiographie ont-elles changés au derniers siècles du moyen âge?’, Les fonctions des saints dans la monde occidental (IIIe-XIIIe siècle), Actes du colloque organisé par ‘La Sapienza’, Rome 27–29 octobre 1988, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 149 (Rome, 1991), pp. 161–72. 31 D. Knowles, ‘Archbishop Thomas Becket – the Saint’, Canterbury Cathedral Chronicle 65 (1970): 5–21 at 7.

12 thomas

becket and his biographers

return to the question of proving Thomas’s sanctity. Just because Thomas had been hailed as a saint in spectacular manner did not mean that his sanctity was unproblematic. Indeed, in certain ways it made it more problematic. Thomas attracted much criticism during his life, and not only from his enemies. Criticism from a royalist standpoint survives in Stephen of Rouen’s poem Draco Normannicus,32 written in 1169, and in numerous reports in the Lives, but more widespread and more damaging criticism came from within the Church. Gilbert Foliot’s letter of 1166, Multiplicem nobis, is a lacerating indictment of Thomas’s deeds and character.33 Foliot claims that Thomas bought the office of chancellor and used his influence in the royal court to become archbishop of Canterbury. His background as a ‘pastor of hawks and hounds’ and his irregular intrusion into the archiepiscopate through royal pressure paved the way for the disasters which followed. In capitulating to the royal customs at Clarendon, in his subsequent flight and his censures against his enemies at Vézelay, Thomas, Gilbert claims, endangered the cause of the Church which he claimed to espouse. This is the most eloquent and damaging critique that survives, but in other letters, even from friendlier ecclesiastical sources, Thomas’s behaviour is often characterized as arrogant, headstrong and dangerous to the Church. It is clear that such criticism of Thomas survived his death. Shortly after the murder a debate occurred in Paris between the theologian Peter the Chanter and a certain Master Roger. Whereas Peter declared that Thomas was a martyr by virtue of his murder for the liberty of the Church, Roger denounced him as a damnable traitor worthy of death, ‘if not such a death’.34 And William of Newburgh, writing in 1196–8, acknowledges Thomas’s sanctity, but approves his actions only grudgingly, saying that in some cases one ought to praise the man, but not all his works.35 Many have concluded that Thomas was hailed as a saint on account of the manner of his death and the posthumous miracles, and not because the holiness of his life.36 There were no obvious signs of piety and much of his behaviour appeared far distant from that of a saint. His designation as a champion of the Church remained problematic, especially in the atmosphere of compromise which followed Henry’s reconciliation at Avranches in May 1172

32

Etienne de Rouen, Draco Normannicus, in Chronicles of the Reigns of Stephen etc., ed. Howlett, vol. 2, pp. 589–781. 33 CTB no. 109, pp. 498–537. See A. Morey and C. N. L. Brooke, Gilbert Foliot and his ­Letters (Cambridge, 1965), pp. 166–87; Smalley, Becket Conflict, pp. 182–6. 34 Caesarius of Heisterbach, Dialogus Miraculorum, ed. J. Strange (Cologne, 1851), vol. 2, pp. 139–40; see J. Baldwin, ‘A Debate at Paris over Thomas Becket between Master Roger and Master Peter the Chanter’, Studia Gratiana 11 (1967): 119–32; Smalley, Becket Conflict, pp. 201–2. 35 Historia, p. 161. 36 ‘Many have suggested that it is the martyr not the saint whom we honour’: Knowles, ‘Becket – the Saint’, p. 5.



The Lives and their context

13

and in the bulls of canonization it was played down in favour of his capacity as a miracle-worker.37 To write about Thomas as a saint was, then, to advance an argument. It was to invest his character and actions with a special significance and to reject much that had been said and written about him. It is rare that a saint is accepted as such without question, but Becket’s is an extreme case. He was not only a private individual but a public figure, and not only a wellknown figure but a controversial one. Any serious reflection on his private piety demanded a discussion of his public record, and any attempt at exalting him as a saint involved by necessity a rearguard action against his critics. A major reason, I suggest, why so many Lives were written is that Thomas’s life and death still required explanation. This is not to reduce them to clinical works of propaganda. Rather, the writers were driven by a genuine curiosity about their theme and a desire to explain it to others. We can see the biographers outdoing each other to fill in the details of Thomas’s life, but also in making sense of his life and death. For them, Thomas’s life was consummated in his death and vindicated in his posthumous glory: this set the details of his life in a new light, and led the biographers to look for patterns which gave consistency to Thomas’s whole story through life to death to his posthumous acclaim, and gave it an appropriate place within Christian history. They at once aimed to tell the story of Thomas’s life, struggle and death, to prove his personal sanctity, to defend and praise his public actions, to celebrate his life and to provide an example to the reader. The literary context None of the biographers was a professional hagiographer or historian. In fact none, as far as we know, had written a saint’s Life or a work of history before, with the exception of John of Salisbury, who wrote the Historia Pontificalis in 1163–4 and a Life of Anselm as part of Thomas’s failed bid for his predecessor’s canonization in 1163. These are relatively minor contributions to John’s corpus, but then so is his brief Life of Thomas in a literary career which encompassed the Policraticus, the Metalogicon and a prolific output of letters. Of the others, Herbert of Bosham’s is the most distinguished literary career. In addition to writing letters in Thomas’s name, he was a theologian, who completed a revision of Peter Lombard’s Magna Glosatura on the Psalms and the Epistles and an exposition of Jerome’s Hebraica after Thomas’s death. Benedict and William each compiled a volume of Thomas’s miracles and Alan compiled the Becket correspondence, but Edward Grim, Guernes, William Fitzstephen and Anonymous I and II are only known to us as biographers of Thomas. We have a better idea of John and Herbert’s literary influences than we do of the other writers’. John’s great literary output shows him as an 37 See

below, pp.21–2.

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becket and his biographers

accomplished classicist, as well as being steeped in Christian tradition, and we know of specific books which belonged to him, though little of this is reflected in his Life of Thomas.38 Herbert was a ‘master of the Holy Page’ and his writings show an intimate knowledge of patristic exegesis in particular.39 But of course we cannot be so sure of what John and Herbert had not read. Both were educated in the Continental schools (as was Alan of Tewkesbury), and were two of the most educated and well-travelled figures in a cosmopolitan era in terms of both travel and the dissemination of books and ideas. Most of the other writers were influenced by Canterbury tradition, and we know that in the twelfth century the library of Christ Church Canterbury had at its core the writings of Jerome, Ambrose, Augustine and Gregory the Great, and also included works by Isidore, Bede, Boethius, Hesychius, Angelomus, Haymo, Josephus and Solinus and an impressive collection of secular works.40 But Canterbury also had rich connections with Continental centres, and all the writers except Anonymous II and Benedict of Peterborough can be shown to have spent time outside England. If it is difficult to be specific about the writers’ literary influences, it is easier to give a general view based on internal evidence. The writers were divided between clerks – John, Grim, Guernes, Fitzstephen, Herbert and probably Anonymous I – and monks – Benedict, William, Alan and probably Anonymous II – but this division is not reflected as starkly in the Lives as one might expect. In fact all the writers show an impressive knowledge of the Bible and Christian tradition, and some show specialized knowledge. Every Life is full of biblical references, with the historical books of the Old Testament, the Psalms and the Epistles particularly prominent. After this we may find a wealth of allusions to patristic writings, especially to the exegetical works of Augustine and Gregory the Great. This especially applies to the more reflective works of Herbert of Bosham, William of Canterbury and Anonymous II. The same three writers in particular draw extensively on canon law, employing technical phraseology. A knowledge of hagiographical and historical writing is also evident in the Lives. Perhaps surprisingly, there are no obvious hagiographical models, and relatively few direct echoes of the Lives of other saints, though hagiographical conventions are found throughout the Lives, from the miracles that surround Thomas’s birth to the manner in which he faced martyrdom. William Fitzstephen displays more classical learning than others, but most of the biographers regularly cite pagan writers. But even relying on internal evidence, problems remain in pinning down a specific source. 38 See

C. C. J. Webb, ‘Note on the Books Bequeathed by John of Salisbury’, Medieval and Renaissance Studies 1 (1941): 128–9; A. Duggan, ‘Classical Quotations and Allusions in the Correspondence of Thomas Becket: An Investigation of their Sources’, Viator 32 (2001): 1–22. 39 See below, p.63–74. 40 M. R. James, The Ancient Libraries of Canterbury and Dover (Cambridge, 1903), pp. xxix– xxxiv.



The Lives and their context

15

For example, a number of writers justify Thomas’s exile by using arguments and imagery derived from a letter of Augustine, but none quotes it directly, and each writer adds and subtracts from it. This letter may be found in twelfthcentury collections of canon law, was used in ­correspondence ­during Becket’s life, and was even used in a different context by Gilbert Foliot, the most vocal critic of Thomas’s exile.41 Do the biographers rely on Augustine directly, on a canon law source, on each other or on another source? Or did such arguments and imagery which may appear obscure to us belong to the general knowledge of these highly educated churchmen? These works are multifaceted in their purpose, and display a variety of literary influences, and this is reflected in the multiplicity of genres to which they conform. All can be considered biographies, as they take as their subject an individual and tell us about the course of his life and much about his character. But Thomas was not just a famous man but a saint, and the writers’ assumption of Thomas’s sanctity imbues his actions with a special significance, and draws their attention to certain events and themes. The Lives echo the trend seen especially in Eadmer’s Life of Anselm, but also in the Lives of such saints as Ailred of Rievaulx and Hugh of Lincoln, of allowing a fuller portrayal of individual character and more detailed and vivid observation of events than may be found in most earlier works of hagiography. But, as in those other twelfth-century works, such critical representation of reality does not preclude the conformity to traditional hagiographical models. Most of these Lives include portents of Thomas’s greatness, visions which prophesied his end and posthumous wonders. In between, Thomas is seen to conform to a range of saintly models: the holy man who lived in the public eye but hid his inner sanctity; the convert who by God’s grace was inspired to put off the old man and put on the new; the sinner who rose up stronger after a fall; the exile who fled in the body, but advanced, as a pilgrim, in the spirit; the defender of Christ and the Church who spoke with authority to princes and great men; the righteous man who suffered alone; the martyr who laid down his life for his sheep. This does not represent the imposition of stock images of sanctity irrelevant to their subject; rather, they chose from a broad repertoire of available parallels those they saw as most appropriate to Thomas. The hagiographic form also aided the biographers in integrating the various periods and aspects of Thomas’s life. His childhood escape from death in a mill is seen as divine providence preserving him to work on the Church’s behalf; the theme of conversion applies not only to his change of life upon becoming archbishop but to his ‘lapse’ in conceding to the royal customs and his subsequent resurgence; his public confrontations are depicted as foreshadowings of his martyrdom and echoed in accounts of his murder. Throughout, Thomas’s life and actions are seen to echo his glorious predecessors in the Church and to reveal the work of God. 41 See

below, pp. 158–67.

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becket and his biographers

The Lives are also works of history – indeed, some of the most informative histories of any episode in the middle ages. Grim, Guernes, Fitzstephen and Herbert in particular were keen to provide a full and accurate record of events, engaging in research and including documentary evidence. Accounts of the early disputes, the Council of Northampton and the murder can be read simply as detailed, vivid and largely accurate reporting, but that is not all they are. Even apart from the hagiographical conventions which abound, they are imbued with a concept of Christian history which goes beyond immediate chronology to encompass past events and display them as a coherent whole, exposing the divine will at work through His agents.42 Thomas is portrayed as Moses or David, leading his people out of servitude into the promised land or battling for righteousness; his adversaries are in the mould of Old Testament tyrants, or the scribes, Pharisees and High Priests of the New Testament. His cause, while different in specifics, is fundamentally the same as that of the Old Testament patriarchs, of the apostles and martyrs, and the great figures of the early Church, his sacrifice comparable to Abel and Zechariah, John the Baptist and Christ. There is much in the Lives that does not fit the categories of either hagiography or history. Herbert of Bosham worries aloud that the reader will criticize his Life for containing too much theology and not enough history.43 In other Lives, too, the language of moral theology abounds, as does canon law. Furthermore, these various genres frequently overlap, not only in individual works but in individual passages. They are, then, complex and multifaceted works, but one way to approach them is to recognize that, just as a primary purpose of their work is explanation, their method is to a large degree exegetical. Clement of Alexandria and Origen devised an analysis of scripture which was disseminated by Gregory the Great and established as the basis for all teaching on the subject. As they saw it, the divine mystery was expressed in the Bible through four senses. The ‘historical’ or literal sense is complemented by three figurative senses: the ‘tropological’ or moral, the allegorical, and the ‘anagogical’ or prophetic. The literal sense is essential to an understanding of scripture, providing the foundation upon which the spiritual meanings rest. But if it is the husk of the grain, the figurative senses are the full kernel, and as the reader grows in heart, so his understanding of these meanings grow. Nor were figurative meanings thought of as interpolations or later additions, but were just as much part of the text as the literal.44 Many of the biographers, 42

On these issues, see, for example, A. Gransden, Historical Writing in England, c. 550 to c. 1307 (London, 1974), esp. pp. 296–317; N. Partner, Serious Entertainments: The Writing of History in Twelfth-Century England (Chicago, 1977); R. Morse, Truth and ­Convention in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1991). 43 MTB 3. 247–8. 44 See H. de Lubac, Exégèse médievale: les quatre senses de l’écriture, 3 vols. (Paris, 1959), esp. vol. 1, pp. 74–118; Smalley, B., The Study of the Bible in the Middle Ages, 3rd edn (Oxford, 1983); G. R. Evans, The Language and Logic of the Bible (Cambridge, 1984).



The Lives and their context

17

most notably Herbert of Bosham, drew on exegetical writing in their portrayal of Thomas. Thomas’s combination of mercy and harshness in dealing with his opponents, for example, is linked to interpretations of the Samaritan pouring on wine but later oil; the murderers’ slicing off of the top of Thomas’s head is as Job shaving his head, itself a prefiguring of Christ at Calvary. But just as important is the impression that the patterns of association imbued by this approach to the Bible had on their works. It made no sense to see biblical events as operating on multiple levels, but those of their own time on only one. Not every passage from the Lives of Thomas contains a hidden significance heretofore neglected by modern scholars, but many do. Often, by looking beyond the literal interpretation, and by comparing the treatment of similar subjects in other medieval sources, it is possible to recognize additional implied meanings. This does not detract from the literal significance of such passages: the figurative does not contradict the literal, but rather supplements it. Nor do I believe that the writers’ approach is intended primarily as a code, designed to hide further meanings from all but a small circle. Most readers, sharing the writers’ educational background, would have approached their works with a multiplicity of meanings in mind, and would have regarded a purely literal method as unusual and incomplete. The scope of this work A great amount of scholarship has been devoted to Thomas Becket, though understandably more attention has been paid to the historical Becket than to his literary counterpart. As a biography, Frank Barlow’s Thomas Becket (1986) is unlikely to be surpassed, at least in terms of its establishment of the details of Thomas’s career, though there is perhaps further room for research into Thomas’s personality, character and motives. A major development in Becket scholarship has been the publication of Anne Duggan’s The Correspondence of Archbishop Thomas Becket (2000), which complements and advances upon scholarly editions of the letters of John of Salisbury and other relevant figures. For the Lives, the most recent edition remains James Craigie Robertson’s Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, vols. 1–4 (1875–9), but much valuable research has been done on related areas. I have benefited greatly from the research of Emmanuel Walberg, Raymonde Foreville, Anne Duggan and others, but am especially indebted to the work of two particular scholars. In The Becket Conflict and the Schools (1973) Beryl Smalley focused her knowledge of twelfth-century learning on those products of the Continental schools, particularly John of Salisbury, Herbert of Bosham and Gilbert Foliot, who participated in and wrote about the Becket conflict. This study revealed the depth to which arguments expressed in the letters and the Lives were informed by contemporary theological debates. Jennifer O’Reilly’s ‘The Double Martyrdom of Thomas Becket: Hagiography or History?’, Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies 7 (1985), emphasized the role of liturgical

18 thomas

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events, language and allusions in Thomas’s life and biographies, demonstrating that not only are hagiographical conventions more extensive in the Lives than had often been acknowledged, but they are not always easily detachable from an otherwise historical narrative. These works have informed my approach in general and have also directed me towards certain individual aspects of the Lives. Each of the Lives under discussion is an individual work with its own distinctive features. In the first part of this book I examine each of the Lives in turn, assessing the present state of scholarship on the writers and their works, but focusing on the literary character of each work. These surveys will in addition allow illustration of certain issues central to my broader analysis of the Lives, for example response to criticism of Thomas, and the relationship between representation of reality and reflection. The Lives also have much in common, both in terms of borrowings from each other and shared literary influences and patterns of association and expression. In the second section, I discuss five themes which feature prominently in most or all of the Lives: conversion, conflict, trial, exile and martyrdom. In each case I seek to bring a deeper understanding to the biographers’ treatment of their theme by examining their writings in the light of earlier and contemporary discussions of the same themes. In doing so my intention is to strike a balance between looking at the Lives as a group and illustrating the distinctive approaches of individual writers, but as a work which encapsulates most of the features present in the other Lives while also standing apart from them, Herbert of Bosham’s Life requires special attention.

2 The forerunner: John of Salisbury

John of Salisbury was ideally suited as a biographer of Thomas Becket. A fellow-clerk in Archbishop Theobald’s household from 1153, he went on to serve Thomas as archbishop. Along with Herbert of Bosham, he was Thomas’s most important adviser. He wrote numerous letters in support of the archbishop, and used his extensive connections with prominent and influential ecclesiastics for private advocacy on his behalf. His own exile in France overlapped with Thomas’s, and he returned to Canterbury in late 1170 and was present in the cathedral on 29 December to witness the murder. John knew Thomas well, and if he was never as much a kindred spirit as Herbert of Bosham, he was close enough to upbraid and cajole his master on a number of occasions. He was also the only one of the biographers who was already an established scholar and author. A student of William of Chartres and Abelard, one of the principal exponents of medieval humanism, he is best known for his treatises, the Policraticus and the Metalogicon, both dedicated to Thomas. He had also, by the time of Thomas’s death, written a historical work, the Historia Pontificalis and, unusually for a biographer of Thomas, a work of hagiography, in the form of his Life of St Anselm. In this light, John’s Life of Thomas is a disappointment.  For bibliographies on John of Salisbury, see D. Luscombe, ‘John of Salisbury: A Bibliog-

raphy, 1953–82’, The World of John of Salisbury, ed. M. Wilks (Oxford, 1984), pp. 445–57, and for the previous decade, H. Hohenlentner, ‘Johannes von Salisbury in der Literatur der letzen zehn Jahren’, Historisches Jahrbuch der Görres Gesellschaft 77 (1958): 493–500. On John’s relationship with Thomas, see especially Smalley, Becket Conflict, pp. 87–108, A. Duggan, ‘John of Salisbury and Thomas Becket’, World of John of Salisbury, pp. 427– 38, and Y. Hirata, Collected Papers on John of Salisbury and His Correspondents (Tokyo, 1996). There is also much of relevance in H. Liebeschütz, Medieval Humanism in the Life and Writings of John of Salisbury, Studies of the Warburg Institute 17 (London, 1950).  See, for example his repeated rejections of Thomas’s draft letters to Cardinal ­William of Pavia, CTB, nos. 133, 138, and his attempts at restraining the archbishop moments before his murder, MTB 2. 9; Guernes v. 5371–5.  Ioannis Saresberiensis episcopi Carnotensis Policratici sive De nugis curialum et vestigiis philo­ sophorum libri VIII, ed. C. C. J. Webb, 2 vols. (London, 1909; repr. Frankfurt, 1965); Policraticus I–IV, ed. K. S. B. Keats-Rohan, CCCM 118 (1993); Metalogicon, ed. J. B. Hall with K. S. B. Keats-Rohan, CCCM 98 (1991); The Historia Pontificalis of John

20 thomas

becket and his biographers

John’s Vita et Passio was used to preface the collection of Becket correspondence, the compilation of which had been begun by John himself and completed by Alan of Tewkesbury in 1176. This gives John’s work an official cachet unmatched by any of the other Lives. John’s work also circulated widely, often independently of the letter collection, and many Continental versions have been found. However, it is very slight, being the shortest of all the Lives, in fact little more than an expanded version of a letter written shortly after the murder. Alan of Tewkesbury, in using John’s Life to preface his letter collection, felt the need to supplement it with his own narrative of certain events in Thomas’s life. Not only is John’s work slight, it has even been argued that it is derivative of the Lives of such relatively obscure figures as William of Canterbury and Anonymous II. But if John’s Life of Thomas is not everything we might hope for, it nevertheless holds an important place among the biographies. For the letter on which it is based is the earliest known literary account of Thomas’s death, the earliest posthumous assessment of his life, and the closest we have to a dossier submitted to support his canonization. This letter, Ex insperato, was written early in 1171, though opinion is divided as to how early. It is addressed to his friend John of Canterbury, bishop of Poitiers, but had a much wider circulation, and its message was aimed ultimately at the papal curia. He reports how the sorrow at the archbishop’s death had been mixed with joy at the evidence of Thomas’s sanctity evident all around him. John asks his friend if, amidst such self-evident proof of sanctity, Thomas may be celebrated as a martyr, while still awaiting word from the pope, and concludes with his own opinion: It seems wise meanwhile to lend aid to God’s will, and revere as a martyr, rejoicing and weeping alike, him whom God deigns to honour as a martyr. In nearly

of Salisbury, ed. M. Chibnall (Edinburgh, 1956); Giovanni di Salisbury (c. 1120–1180), Due Vite, ed. I. Biffi (Milan, 1990), contains an edition of John’s Lives of Anselm and Becket.  John’s Life (BHL 8187), MTB 2. 301–22; discussed MTB 2. xl–iii; Saga, vol. 2, pp. lxxx– lxxxi; Hardy, pp. 320–2; Walberg, pp. 173–85; Barlow, Becket, p. 4.  For a list of Continental manuscripts, see Duggan, ‘John of Salisbury and Thomas Becket’, p. 427 n. 4.  See above, p. 3.  Herbert of Bosham wrote to the pope in 1172, advocating Thomas’s canonization, but it does not provide any substantial review of Thomas’s life and death, MTB no. 779.  ‘Immediately after’ the murder, in the view of Barlow, Becket, p. 2; ‘probably after Easter 1171’ according to Duggan, Becket, p. 228. For a discussion of the letter, see J. P. McLaughlin, ‘John of Salisbury (c. 1120–1180): The career and attitudes of a schoolman in church politics’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, Trinity College Dublin, 1988), pp. 507–18.

john of salisbury

21

every corner of the world God has been able, and been used, to glorify whom he would, waiting on the authority of no man.

Although Lives of Thomas appeared very swiftly after his death, so too was his canonization realized with great speed, on 21 February 1173. The great majority of Thomas’s biographers were writing when Thomas had already been recognized as a saint. Therefore, while the biographers still found it necessary to defend Thomas against lingering criticism, their works did not form part of an official bid for canonization, and in the main they did not have to make the case the many other hagiographers did: that their subject ought to be venerated as a saint. When John wrote Ex insperato the situation was different. Though the voice of the people had spoken – or at least was beginning to speak – there was no certainty that it would be heard by the pope. Thomas remained a controversial figure, and Henry II, an important friend to the pope and a dangerous enemy to make, remained unrepentant. Furthermore, martyr cults in late twelfth-century England were rare and tended to attract official disapproval. The purpose of Ex insperato, then, was not only to report the veneration of Thomas as a saint, but to state why Thomas ought to be venerated as a saint. In the twelfth century martyrdom was based on three factors: the miracles (signa), the penalty (poena) and the cause (causa). In his letters of March 1173 announcing Thomas’s canonization the pope emphasized the least controversial of these: Thomas’s power as a miracle-worker. To the cardinals Albert and Theodwin he writes that he has decided to canonize Thomas on the basis of his own perusal of some of Thomas’s miracles, and on the more thorough report of those cardinals as to their veracity.10 His letter to the chapter of Canterbury begins, The whole body of the faithful should rejoice at the marvels wrought by that saintly and reverend man, Thomas your archbishop. But still greater joy and exaltation should fill the hearts of you who have again and again witnessed his miracles and whose church is especially honoured by the presence of his most sacred body.11

Writing to the clergy and people of England, he likewise begins, England is perfumed with the fragrance and excellence of miracles and signs which Almighty God performs through the merits of his holy and reverend Thomas, former archbishop of Canterbury, and all Christians everywhere rejoice with reverence that He who is marvellous and glorious in his saints, should have exalted his saint after his death.12  LJS

no. 305, pp. 736–9. no. 783, 7. 544–5. 11 MTB no. 784, 7. 545. 12 MTB no. 785, 7. 547. 10 MTB

22 thomas

becket and his biographers

In Ex insperato John refers to ‘the glorious martyr Thomas, archbishop of Canterbury, who lights up not only his own church but both English provinces with many mighty wonders’.13 His letter is the earliest report of Thomas’s veneration as a saint, and in his report that veneration is expressed in the peoples’ wonder at the martyr’s miraculous powers. Echoing Matthew’s description of Jesus’s powers, John writes, In the place where Thomas suffered, and where he lay the night through, before the high altar, awaiting burial, and where he was buried at last, the palsied are cured, the blind see, the deaf hear, the dumb speak, the lame walk, folk suffering from fevers are cured, the lepers are cleansed, those possessed of a devil are freed, and the sick are made whole from all manner of disease, blasphemers taken over by the devil are put to confusion.14

Thomas’s miracles were so numerous and comprehensive that they could not be ignored. Their prominence in Alexander’s letters and in John’s is testimony to the enduring role of the miraculous in the establishment of sanctity. In the twelfth century popular veneration and evidence of miracles were still a fundamental aspect of any proof of sanctity – it was primarily a failure in this respect which hindered the official recognition as a saint of Becket’s episcopal model, Anselm, despite his patent fulfilment of the demands of conventional piety.15 Nevertheless, while miracles remained an important part of a saintly cult, they were increasingly taking on a more defined place, in particular as part of the canonization brief, while the trend was turning in favour of an emphasis on the saint’s life. This can be explained as part of the Church’s growing suspicion of local cults,16 but also to broader trends towards an appreciation of the individual and a more scientific scepticism. And whereas it might have suited the pope’s purpose to play up this least contentious reason for venerating Thomas, others felt compelled to emphasize other aspects of Thomas’s sanctity. To some of those who advocated ­Thomas’s sanctity, the miracles were more a distraction from it than its defining feature. Herbert of Bosham, writing to the pope in 1172, claimed that although Thomas’s miracles were plenty, he should be revered as a saint even without any visible signs, and Edward Grim, writing his Life around the same 13 LJS

no. 305, pp. 726–7. no. 305, pp. 736–7; see Matt. 11:5. 15 On miracles in the twelfth century, see Ward, Miracles; P.-A. Sigal, L’Homme et le miracle dans La France mediévale: XI–XIIe siècles (Paris, 1985); H. Mayr-Harting, ‘Functions of a Twelfth-Century Shrine: The Miracles of St Frideswide’, Studies Presented to R. H. C. Davis, ed. H. Mayr-Harting and R. I. Moore (London, 1985), pp. 193–206. On ­Thomas’s failed attempt to have Anselm canonized, see Councils and Synods, pp. 845– 7, 850; R. Somerville, Alexander III and the Council of Tours (1163) (London, 1977), pp. 59–60; Barlow, Becket, p. 86; R. W. Southern, Saint Anselm and his Biographer (Cambridge, 1963), pp. 339–44. 16 See Vauchez, Sainthood, pp. 499, 536, 504. 14 LJS,

john of salisbury

23

time, also suggested that their importance ought to be played down.17 Indeed, in announcing Thomas’s canonization to the bishop of Aversa, Alexander placed less emphasis on the miracles than he had in his other letters of the same time, stating that Thomas had ‘fought to the death for the justice of God and the Church, and founded on a firm rock, did not fear the words of the impious’.18 And it is this sense of Thomas that dominates Ex insperato. At the core of the letter is the earliest surviving account of Thomas’s murder.19 Though slighter and less circumstantial than later descriptions, John’s approach is essentially the same as that of later biographers. He describes Thomas’s altercation with the knights in the cathedral and his steadfast resolve; his charge to spare his followers; his last words in which he commended himself and his cause to God, the Virgin Mary, St Denis and the patrons of Canterbury; the savagery of the onslaught and the martyr’s courageous demeanour as the blows were struck. He goes on to recount how the knights plundered the archbishop’s palace of its furnishings, ornaments and documents, and how, as the monks prepared the body for burial, they discovered that Thomas had worn a rough hair shirt against his skin. As in later accounts all this is interspersed with commentary. ‘The martyr stood in the cathedral, before Christ’s altar’, he writes, ‘ready to suffer; the hour of slaughter was at hand.’ Thomas did not, in fact, die before the great altar, as suggested here, but John’s implication is echoed by some other writers, and in the common iconography of Thomas as simultaneously priest and victim, murdered before the altar. Thomas’s addressed his executioners ‘with steady countenance’, as the early Christian martyrs did, but, in John’s opinion, no martyr was ever as steadfast as he. His instruction to spare his people recalled Christ’s declaration, ‘If you seek me, let these men go.’20 The knights’ plunder of the palace ‘was in imitation of the act of those who divided Christ’s raiment amongst themselves’.21 The discovery of the hair shirt underneath his archiepiscopal garb recalled Seneca’s injunction, ‘Let your exterior conform, while all within is at variance with the populace.’22 But in certain respects, he claims, the outrage against Thomas surpassed Christ’s Passion: Thomas was killed by Christians; he did not even have the chance to defend himself at trial; the crime occurred not only within the city but within his own church.23 Thus John sought to establish that Thomas had willingly embraced a martyr’s death for the liberty of the Church, echoing features of Christ’s sacrifice and those of the early martyrs, but gives it a special place. 17 MTB

no. 779, 7. 532–3; MTB 2. 354. no. 786, 7. 549. 19 LJS no. 305, pp. 730–5. 20 John 18:8. 21 See John 19:23–4. 22 Seneca, Lettere a Lucilio, ed. G. Scarpat (Brescia, 1975), vol. 1, no. 5, p. 100. 23 LJS no. 305, pp. 728–9. 18 MTB

24 thomas

becket and his biographers

As one might expect of a letter written as the shock of the murder still reverberated and the martyr’s cult was just gaining pace, Ex insperato is striking to the modern reader as a report of fresh and current events. But that only occupies half of the letter. The first half relates neither to Thomas’s murder nor his posthumous miracles but to the virtuous life that went before. ‘If the case (causa) makes the martyr’,24 he writes, ‘as every wise man must think, what could be juster and more holy than his?’ And he sets out a summary of that virtuous life: He scorned riches and all the world’s glory, set Christ’s love before affectionate intercourse with friends and his whole family, submitted to exile, laid himself and his followers open to peril and poverty; he fought to the death to preserve his God’s laws and to make nought abuses which came from ancient tyrants; nor – after a single fall when he was trapped by his enemies’ guile – could he be induced by any compromise to pledge himself against any of the demands made to him without adding in every case ‘saving God’s honour and the Church’s good name’. He did not suffer disaster like one who believes for a time, for a little hour, and falls off in the moment of temptation; he extended his exile and merciless outlawry into a seventh year, following the royal road in the footsteps of Christ and the apostles with such virtuous constancy that his unconquered spirit could not be broken by raging fortune’s onslaught or weakened by charm or flattery.25

These are not just pious platitudes; rather, in this short passage, John provides a precise summary of the case in Thomas’s favour which later writers would echo. The riches and glory of his early life are acknowledged, but it is his rejection of them in his ‘conversion’ upon becoming archbishop which are stressed. His flight to England, criticized at the time as a violation of the law, and of his pastoral duty, is characterized as a voluntary submission to poverty. The manner of his opposition to King Henry’s royal customs, which attracted equal criticism at the time, is depicted as righteous resistance to tyranny. He acknowledges Thomas’s lapse in accepting the royal customs at Clarendon in 1164 but blames it on others, and praises his stance on insisting on the clause ‘saving God’s honour’ at the conference at Montmirail in 1169, a position which won little praise at the time. And it is Thomas’s constancy, interpreted by many before his death as stubbornness, with which John sums up the virtues of his life. Equally characteristic of the biographers as a whole is John’s suggestion that no line can be drawn between Thomas’s life and death, as one echoed the other: He had shown himself long since a living sacrifice, holy, pleasing to God; he

24

A commonplace derived from Augustine, Epistulae, ed. A. Goldbacher (1895–23), nos. 89, 204, CSEL 34. 2.419; 57. 319. 25 LJS no. 305, pp. 726–9.

john of salisbury

25

had crucified his flesh, its vices and desires in prayers, in vigils and fasting, in constant wearing of the harsh hair shirt; he had laid bare his back to the whip, as his intimate, holy attendants knew, as a child of Christ’s school; he had been used to offer Christ’s body and blood upon the altar: and now, prostrate at the altar’s foot, he offered his own blood shed by the hands of evil men.

A further link is the fact that the death now celebrated was brought about by those who had consistently persecuted him in life. John writes, He had lived in innocence and holiness, and it was utterly right and fitting that his festive birth into God’s glory should follow the birthday of the Holy Innocents. Indeed it is believed that his murder was arranged by the disciples who betrayed him, and planned by the chief priests; they outbid Annas and Caiaphas, Pilate and Herod.26

This is an implicit reference to the role of King Henry (i.e. Herod, killer of the Holy Innocents) and the leading ecclesiastics who had been his most vocal opponents, in particular Roger of York, Gilbert of London and Jocelin of Salisbury, whose complaint to the king had triggered the murder. Here, in the early months of 1171, John had set out in condensed form an argument in favour of Thomas’s recognition as a saint. We do not know if John’s expanded Life was used as a dossier in any bid for papal canonization. It would not be surprising if had been, especially considering that it was John’s newly composed Life of Anselm, rather than Eadmer’s original Life, which was presented as part of the bid on that saint’s behalf in 1162. Even if it were not, in Ex insperato we already have something similar to such a dossier. Its clear intention was to achieve papal recognition. John concludes by asking whether it is safe, without papal authority, to address [Thomas] in celebration of mass and other public prayers among the catalogue of martyrs, as one with control over salvation … We would have already consulted the pope on this, but permission to cross the sea is quite forbidden without written leave from the king. It seems wise meanwhile to lend aid to God’s will, and revere as a martyr, rejoicing and weeping alike, him whom God deigns to honour as a martyr. In nearly every corner of the world God has been able, and has been used, to glorify whom He would, waiting on the authority of no man.27

Alexander III’s pontificate occupies an important place in the establishment of papal regulation over the cult of the saints. Before the eleventh century local acclaim was enough to secure official recognition of a saint, as manifested in the liturgy and the practice of raising or ‘translating’ the relics of a saint to a more hallowed shrine, although bishops and abbots came to place an increasing role. Papal involvement in saintly cults paralleled the 26 LJS no. 305, pp. 728–9. For the biographers’ use of such imagery and its significance, see

below, pp.133–4, 139. no. 305, pp. 736–9.

27 LJS

26 thomas

becket and his biographers

spread of canon law and papal jurisdiction, in particular from the pontificate of Gregory VII onwards, so that by the middle of the twelfth century the recognition of the curia came to be increasingly sought. By the thirteenth century papal recognition was essential to the official establishment of any cult.28 It is difficult to draw conclusions from this exceptional case about the role of papal canonization under Alexander III, but John’s letter seems to imply the view that papal recognition was expected, but in this case at least the course of events had given the pope no option. Popular acclaim for Becket was so great and so immediate that the curia was bound to follow rather than lead. That canonization came so soon is less to do with an enthusiastic pope abandoning his usual cautious procedures, and more to do with his bending to the force of popular veneration and the urgings of Becket’s supporters. With the papal curia as his intended audience, John was making the point that papal canonization should be forthcoming, and swiftly, as the power of such popular acclaim as was being witnessed in Canterbury would wait for the authority of no man. And John backed up his bid with a statement of Thomas’s qualities as precise and well structured as a legal brief. Exactly when John’s letter was expanded into the Vita et Passio is unclear. Walberg’s comparison of passages from the Lives concluded that John’s work had been influenced by those of William of Canterbury, which was composed between June 1172 and autumn 1174, and Anonymous II, composed between late 1172 and spring 1173. Considering that the letter collection which it prefaces was put together in 1176, this gives us a date of 1173–6.29 Though this thesis has been followed by many historians, Barlow rejects it on the grounds of ‘inherent improbability’, and suggests that it was probably composed shortly after Ex insperato;30 Duggan suggests it was composed ‘perhaps in 1171–72’.31 It is possible, though very unlikely, that he was influenced by William of Canterbury and Anonymous II, rather than the other way round. It is also possible that John and other writers drew on common written sources, and it is inevitable that John’s words were influenced to some extent by the discussions about Thomas which followed his murder. What we do know, is that Ex insperato is the earliest surviving piece of commemorative writing about Thomas, even if it does not in itself constitute a Life. At a very early stage it maps out the form that most later Lives would take, with its acknowledgement of the posthumous miracles and its reflective description of Thomas’s death, but its emphasis on his life. And it is in this direction that John expanded Ex insperato to produce his Life, with the letter occupying its second part. 28 See

Vauchez, Sainthood, pp. 22–32; M. Goodich, Vita Perfecta: The Ideal of Sainthood in the Thirteenth Century (Stuttgart, 1982), pp. 21–3. 29 Walberg, pp. 173–85. 30 Barlow, Becket, p. 4. 31 Duggan, Becket, p. 228.

john of salisbury

27

After a brief preface he gives a cursory description of Thomas’s birth and parentage, how the young Thomas gave up his studies to give himself to trivial things, his entrance into Theobald’s court, his advancement to the chancellorship, and his appointment as archbishop. Here appears the most substantial and influential portion of John’s Life not found in the earlier letter: a description of Thomas’s qualities as archbishop.32 He continues with a brief account of Westminster, Clarendon and Northampton, the exile and the young king’s coronation before turning to what he calls ‘the passion of the confessor’ – in other words, the violent death of one who had experienced a martyrdom in life. Of all John of Salisbury’s achievements – as a humanist, a historian, a political philosopher – his most lasting legacy is perhaps as a correspondent. John’s collection of letters formed the core of Alan of Tewkesbury’s definitive collection of the Becket correspondence. Of course, the correspondence must be approached by the historian in a different way from the Lives: one concerns a flawed and embattled archbishop, whereas the others concern an accepted saint whose works were seen to have been vindicated. Nonetheless, there is much continuity between the letters and the Lives. From 1166 many of the letters were in fact manifestos, circulated widely and read aloud, and in them we see the earliest form of Thomas’s saintly image. Here, for the first time, he begins to be depicted as a defender of the Church in the mould of biblical and saintly forbears, and his enemies as traditional tyrants and evil counsellors. Thomas’s murder and popular acclaim transformed the earlier image of Thomas but it did not wipe it away. Many Lives include earlier ­letters, while others reflect or develop arguments found in them. Ex insperato marks a pivotal point between the Thomas of the letters and the Thomas of the Lives. It is entirely appropriate that this letter should form part of what is probably the earliest Life of Thomas, which in turn was used to preface the definitive collection of Thomas’s correspondence.

32 MTB

2. 306–9.

3 Telling the story: Edward Grim, Guernes and Anonymous I

Edward Grim had fame thrust upon him. He was a visitor to Canterbury who found himself present in the cathedral on 29 December 1170. As the murderers bore down on Thomas nearly all his monks and clerks, including a number of his future biographers, fled in fear, but this visiting clerk stood by him. In attempting to block the first of the knights’ blows he almost had his arm severed, and this act of bravery earned Grim a special place in the recounting of Thomas’s martyrdom, and features in many pictorial representations of it. But Grim also made his own fame. His Vita S. Thomae, while neither the most valuable as a historical record nor as a work of literature, is one of the most important. It was written early, its first recension being completed by 1171 or 1172. Since Grim witnessed only the end of Thomas’s life and depended on others for most of his information, his Life gives us a sense of how Thomas’s life and death were being recounted in the immediate aftermath of the murder. Furthermore, Grim’s Life was very influential, finding echoes in many of the Lives under discussion and providing the framework for those by Guernes of Pont-St-Maxence and Anonymous I. Neither of these writers knew Thomas well either, but both built on Grim’s narrative to produce works which are in some ways superior: in Guernes’s case by employing research and adding his own opinions, and in the case of Anonymous I by making Grim’s narrative more fluent and polished. If these three works lack the original insight and literary skill of William Fitzstephen and Herbert of Bosham, they nonetheless tell us much about how Thomas’s story came to be told. In her 1923 review of Walberg, C. I. Wilson wrote, These Becket Lives, prose and verse, Latin and French, which we now see as so many individual productions, are merely the remains of a great collective tradition, the legend of Becket, the vibrations that stirred the air of Canterbury and England and Christendom, pulsing out from the central horror of the murder on the steps of the sanctuary. In that atmosphere, echoing with the crime and the struggle that preceded it, among the friends and followers of the martyr, oral transmission, discussion, exchange of anecdotes, sermons, miracles



E dward G rim, Guernes and A nonymous I

29

attested, must have bulked as large as – possibly larger than – the written word, more permanent, but less pliant.

This emphasis on the importance of oral tradition in the formation of the Lives of Thomas is appropriate, though it should also be noted it was a twoway process: successive writers were able to adapt oral tradition to their own ends, being selective in their appropriation of it, challenging and correcting it, and through their own works, shaping that continuing tradition. Edward Grim was a clerk born in Cambridge, and he may have been based there when he visited Canterbury in December 1170. It seems he had been rector of Saltwood, Essex, but was ejected from that position in April 1163 when Henry of Essex lost an ordeal by battle and had his lands confiscated by the king. He was dead by the time Herbert of Bosham, writing between 1184 and 1186, accorded him a place among Thomas’s learned companions. The earliest manuscripts include a description of Henry’s penance in July 1174 and his reconciliation to Benedict, prior of Canterbury, and later copies include the legend that Thomas’s mother was a Saracen, but there is ­little doubt that in its original form the Life concluded where Grim, having reported Thomas’s burial and early miracles, wrote, ‘Here ends the passion of the holy martyr Thomas.’ Walberg concludes that Grim’s work in its original form was composed between 1171 and 1172, and leans towards 1172 for its completion, citing his declaration of Henry’s innocence for the murder as unlikely before his reconciliation at Avranches in May 1172, but also noting its influence on Guernes, who began to write that same year. Grim’s Life survives in numerous medieval manuscripts, though in complete form in only three. Though it does not form part of Quadrilogus II, extracts were used in the later compilation, Quadrilogus I. In his prologue Grim emphasizes that his subject is Thomas’s life, writing, ‘I do not propose that you imitate his martyrdom or miracles, but consider his entire life up to his martyrdom.’ How he structured his narrative of that life is determined to a large degree by what he and his Canterbury informants knew.

 C.

I. Wilson, Review of Walberg, Modern Language Review 18 (1923): 491–99 at 492. Edward Grim’s Life (BHL 8182), MTB 2. 353–458; discussed MTB 2. xlv–xlvii; Saga, vol. 2, pp. lxxxi–lxxxii; Hardy, pp. 333–7; Walberg, pp. 105–7; Duggan, Textual History, pp. 175–82; Barlow, Becket, p. 4.  Barlow, Becket, pp. 4, 280 n. 3.  MTB 3. 529–30.  MTB 2. 443.  MTB 2. 443–50; Walberg, pp. 105–7.  London, British Library, MS Arundel 27 (s. xiii), fols. 1r–46v; MS Cotton Vespasian E.x. (s. xiv), fols. 200r–254r; MS Cotton Vitellius C. xii (s. xv), fols. 255r–278v; see Hardy, pp. 333–4; Duggan, Textual History, p. 178 n. 7.  MTB 2. 354. 

30 thomas

becket and his biographers

Therefore it is not surprising that the eight and a half years which followed Thomas’s elevation to Canterbury receive more attention than the forty-four years or so which preceded it, or that within that period the events in England of 1162–4 and December 1170 are better reported than the intervening years of exile. More difficult to gauge is the extent to which Grim, or those around him, chose to focus on or neglect particular episodes in Thomas’s life. Why, for example, does Grim does not refer to Thomas’s issuing of censures against ecclesiastics and royal servants at Vézelay at 1166? It could be that he saw this as a blemish on Thomas’s record – few other biographers dwell on it either. Or it could be due to ignorance: Grim’s grasp of detail, even of major events, is often shaky – his placement of the coronation of the young king suggests that it occurred in 1166 rather than four years later. Another factor is that, while many of the Lives of Thomas, Grim’s included, appear unorthodox in certain ways, they still conform to many of the conventions of sacred biography. In writing about Thomas, Grim and the other biographers had in mind, both consciously and unconsciously, notions of what a saint’s life should be. Therefore, while Thomas’s story was in many ways unusual, it was still seen to echo the lives of earlier saints, and the description of his life was made to echo earlier descriptions. We can see this latter consideration most clearly in Grim’s depiction of Thomas’s birth and parentage, where he follows the hagiographical convention that a saint’s birth is surrounded by omens. Various visions are attributed to his mother and interpreted as signifying Thomas’s greatness, and he is also reported as escaping death in a mill, an event put down to divine intervention. Over the following pages Thomas’s advance towards the archbishopric of Canterbury is traced. In describing his progress from the city of London to the court of Archbishop Theobald to the royal chancellorship little circumstantial detail is provided. Rather, with the exception of such details as the enmity shown towards Thomas by Roger of Pont-l’Evêque, who later became archbishop of York and played a remote role in his murder, it is presented impressionistically as a preface to Thomas’s accession to Canterbury, with Grim interweaving descriptions of Thomas’s rise through the ranks with descriptions of his emerging qualities.10 The first incident to be discussed in any detail is Thomas’s accession to Canterbury. Grim gives a substantial account of his election, and then describes his change of life upon consecration. The beginning of the dispute is also covered in some depth, as Grim describes the deepening divisions emerging between archbishop and king. He gives an outline of the case of Philip de Broi, a clerk who had been tried for a crime in an ecclesiastical court and given, in the king’s eyes, too lenient a sentence, thereby coming to symbolize the problem of ‘criminous clerks’, followed by an account of the  MTB 10 MTB

2. 407. 2. 361–5.



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council of Westminster of October 1163 where Thomas and his episcopal colleagues refused to give their assent to the king’s customs. Then he gives a full account of how Thomas was persuaded to capitulate at Clarendon in January 1164. The aftermath of that council is also given a good deal of attention, with Thomas’s desertion by the bishops described, and his failed attempt to flee England. Next Grim describes the council of Northampton of October 1164, focusing particularly on the dealings of the final day. While not quite as detailed as the later accounts by eyewitnesses William Fitzstephen or Herbert of Bosham, this is nonetheless a thorough report, comprising nine pages in the Rolls Series edition. Grim goes on to describe how Thomas fled in secret from Northampton and made his way to France. Grim’s treatment of the exile is uneven and confused, but some useful information is provided. The confusion is in part due to the vagueness of detail, but also to the fact that Grim’s narrative switches between three different types of report. On the one hand, he relates some of the major developments of the years 1164–70: Henry’s embassies to the king of France and the pope; Thomas’s resignation of his office before the pope at Sens, his restoration and commendation to Pontigny; oppressive measures by the king; the coronation of the young king; Thomas’s removal from Pontigny to Sens; attempts at reconciliation; and the settlement at Fréteval in July 1170. These he intersperses with descriptions of Thomas’s life at Pontigny and later St Columbe’s Sens, where he emphasizes the archbishop’s asceticism. And he further intersperses transcripts of Thomas’s letters, or extracts from them. Most of the letters he includes date from 1166, a year which witnessed some of the most developed argument in the dispute, and also the beginning of the letter collection. Though not especially informative about the sequence of events, they are illustrative of the rhetoric of these years.11 With Thomas’s return to England, Grim’s work undergoes another change of character. He relates, briefly, the main events of December 1170 and then describes the murder which he witnessed and in which he played a supporting role. As an exhaustive account of Thomas’s death, it surpasses all others, with the possible exception of William Fitzstephen’s. But, like Fitzstephen’s, it combines detail with reflection, linking Thomas’s death to aspects of his life, to the sacrifices of earlier martyrs and to Christ’s passion. Grim (in the first recension) concludes with the monks’ discovery of Thomas’s hair shirt, and the revelation of his sanctity through miracles. The structure of Grim’s Life of Thomas is not strictly followed by all biographers. William Fitzstephen devotes much more attention to Thomas’s life as chancellor; he and William of Canterbury provide the fullest account of the run-up to the murder; Herbert of Bosham is idiosyncratically expansive on a variety of topics, notably Thomas’s way of life on becoming archbishop, and the attempts at reconciliation during the exile. Each of these deviations 11 See

Duggan, Textual History, pp. 176–82.

32 thomas

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reflects the writer’s personal knowledge of Thomas. But in most respects Grim’s model applies, with greatest attention devoted to Thomas’s election, the councils of Westminster, Clarendon and Northampton, and the murder. Where later writers differ from Grim’s model, it is usually to add their own information or interpretation, rather than changing the narrative framework which had emerged shortly after Thomas’s death. We can see this in the work of Guernes and Anonymous I, who often follow him closely, but also showed their concern to improve on earlier attempts to tell Thomas’s story. Guernes, or Garnier, was a clerk born in Pont Sainte-Maxence in Picardy.12 Though no other works of his are known, he presents himself as a travelling poet: ‘If anyone says to me, “Garnier, where are you going?” – all the world is mine!’13 He did not know Thomas personally, but he tells us that he saw the chancellor several times riding against the French.14 In his introduction he describes the process by which his Life of Thomas came into being: I know how to bear the burden of crossing out and writing it again. At first I worked by hearsay, and made many mistakes; then I went to Canterbury and heard the truth – I collected the truth from St Thomas’s friends and from those who had served him since childhood. I worked hard, taking out and putting in.

An earlier version was stolen by scribes before he had corrected it. In his conclusion he writes, I began this account the second year after the saint was killed in his church, and I have worked hard at it; I learned the true facts from those who were close to Saint Thomas, and I have often taken out parts I had already written, in order to avoid inaccuracy. And in the fourth year I finished it.

This suggests that the first version was written by 1172, and the second, definitive version was begun in 1172 and completed in 1174.15 Walberg’s analysis concludes that Guernes drew primarily on Edward Grim and also William of Canterbury, and consulted Benedict of Peterborough and William Fitz­ stephen.16 He describes six manuscripts, all Anglo-Norman, none older than the thirteenth century,17 but more recently I. Short has examined a fragment of Guernes’s first draft which Walberg assumed lost. Comparing passages from

12

Guernes v. 5877; he uses the name Guernes here and at v. 6156, but also Garnier, appendix, v. 13. Guernes’s work discussed: Walberg, pp. 75–172; Saga, vol. 2, pp. lxxxvii– lxxxviii; Hardy, pp. 337–40; Duggan, Textual History, pp. 203–4; Barlow, Becket, p. 6. 13 Guernes appendix, v. 14. 14 Guernes v. 359. 15 Guernes v. 145–50, 6166–70; Shirley, pp. 4, 164; see Walberg, pp. 85–92. 16 Walberg, pp. 75–172; Guernes p. xi. 17 Guernes pp. xiii–xv.



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the two drafts, he notes that the first is more strongly influenced by Grim, for example adopting a less critical view of Henry.18 Guernes’s work is notable for a number of reasons. It is the earliest-known Life of Thomas written in French, and the earliest-known verse Life. Scholars have drawn attention to Guernes’s adoption of the tradition of the chansons de geste, and to his employment of canon law.19 Although he draws substantially on Grim’s Life, retaining a similar structure, he complements it with information from William of Canterbury’s Life. For example, he includes the story of how as chancellor Thomas was wrongly suspected of having an affair with a woman of Stafford, but upon investigation was discovered to spend his evenings in prayer instead,20 and he describes how the pallium was obtained from the pope upon Thomas’s elevation to Canterbury.21 But his is by no means a slavish translation. Instead he adapts his material, adds to it, and contributes his own opinions on such issues as clerical immunity, or King Henry’s faults as a ruler. One of its most striking features is his reflection on his methods and his concern for accuracy. Acknowledging how his first draft contained many flaws, he insists, I have finished and perfected this one in every way. I hear frequent inaccuracies in all the other narratives that have been written about the martyr, whether by clerks or laymen, monks or a lady; they are neither accurate not complete. But here you can listen to the truth, the complete truth; I shall not stray from the truth, not if I were to die for it.22

At the conclusion he returns to the theme: No story as good as this has ever been composed; it was made and corrected at Canterbury and contains nothing but the exact truth … Let all those who shall hear this Life know that they will hear pure truth throughout; let all those who have written about the saint, in the romance tongue or in Latin, and who do not go this way, know that where they differ from me, they are wrong.23 18 I.

Short, ‘An Early Draft of Guernes’ Vie de Saint Thomas Becket’, Medium Aevum 46 (1977): 20–34. 19 T. Peters, ‘Elements of the Chanson de Geste in an Old French Life of Becket: Guernes’s Vie de Saint Thomas le Martyr’, Olifant 18 (1994): 278–88; T. Peters, ‘An Ecclesiastical Epic: Garnier de Pont-Ste-Maxence’s Vie de Saint Thomas le Martyr’, Mediaevistik 7 (1996): 181–202; L. Löfstedt, ‘La Loi canonique, les Plantagenêt et S. Thomas Becket’, Medioevo Romanzo 15 (1990): 3–16; L. Löfstedt, ‘Guernes et son reportage sur la vie de S. Thomas Becket’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 93 (1992): 359–62; L. Löfstedt, ‘La Traduction de Gratien en ancien français et le monde des Plantagenêts’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 93 (1992): 325–36. 20 Guernes v. 301–40. 21 Guernes v. 596–640. 22 Guernes v. 160–5; Shirley, p. 5. 23 Guernes v. 6161–3, 6171–5; Shirley, p. 164. See similar protests by Eddius pp. 2–3; see

34 thomas

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Similar sentiments may be found in the work of Anonymous I.24 In his prologue he writes that it disturbs the souls of many that no full history of [Thomas’s] life and deeds is to be found … For on account of ignorance of the truth we understand that some have believed different, and even contrary things about the blessed man.

His purpose, he writes, is to correct ignorance, and prevent error from lasting to posterity. Mentioning John’s Life but complaining that it is too short, he commits himself to ‘include nothing at all except what we ourselves have seen and heard, or have learned by the most certain and faithful report of those who were present’.25 This writer claims that he was consecrated by the archbishop and ‘ministered to the blessed man in the time of his exile’.26 Giles identified him as the monk Roger who is named as Thomas’s servant at Pontigny in a composite Life by Thomas of Froimont, and so he has often been given the name ‘Roger of Pontigny’.27 This identification has been challenged on the grounds that Thomas’s stay at Pontigny and the subsequent events of the exile are dealt with very briefly. Also puzzling is his assertion that it was during his stay at Pontigny that Thomas received the monastic habit, rather than directly after his consecration, and as a gift from a non-monastic pope at that.28 However, omission of detail about Pontigny could possibly be explained by the knowledge of a Pontigny audience about this period of Thomas’s life. His reference to ‘Master John of Salisbury, who was later bishop of Chartres’29 places the work after July 1176 and that to ‘Benedict prior of the church of Canterbury’ places it before Benedict’s election as abbot of Peterborough in May 1177.30 Walberg noted the influence of Guernes on Anonymous I,31 but Short’s research on the first draft of Guernes has led him to conclude that it was to that version that Anonymous I had access – that is, the draft more strongly influenced by Edward Grim.32 Indeed Anonymous I’s Life is much A. Gransden on declarations of historical accuracy by contemporary writers, ‘Prologues in the Historiography of Twelfth-Century England’, England in the Twelfth Century, Proceedings of the 1988 Harlaxton Symposium, ed. D. Williams (Woodbridge, 1990), pp. 55–81 at p. 76. 24 Anonymous I (BHL 8183), MTB 4. 1–79; discussed, MTB 4. xi–xiii; Saga, vol. 2, pp. lxxxii–lxxxv; Hardy, p. 349–52; Walberg, pp. 103–5; Barlow, Becket, p. 7. 25 MTB 4. 1–3. 26 MTB 4. 2. 27 MTB 4. xi. 28 MTB 4. xii; Barlow, Becket, p. 7. 29 MTB 4. 68. 30 MTB 4. 2; Walberg, pp. 103–5. 31 Walberg, pp. 103–5, 134, 136. 32 Short, ‘Early Draft’, pp. 31–2.



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closer in character to Grim’s than it is to Guernes’s second draft, and this may have contributed to some scholars erroneously placing it in sequence before Guernes. It survives solely in one fifteenth-century manuscript.33 The Anonymous adds little to our knowledge of Thomas, but does report a few incidents not found elsewhere. One such is a discussion between the archbishop and the king, both mounted on their horses in a field near Northampton, shortly after the Council of Westminster in October 1163. The king asks Thomas, ‘Did I not raise you from a humble and poor rank to the highest peak of honour and distinction?’ Why, then, he wonders, has Thomas shown himself so ungrateful and hostile. Thomas, on the contrary, asserts his gratitude and loyalty to the king, but reminds him of the necessity to serve God: ‘Yes, you are my lord, but He is my Lord and yours, and to neglect His will so that I comply with yours would not be good for you or me. For in his terrible examining we will both be judged as servants of one Lord, neither of us will be able to answer for the other, but each of us will, without excuses, receive according to his deeds. For worldly lords ought to be obeyed, but not against God, as St Peter said, “We must obey God rather than men.” ’34 To this the king said, ‘I do not want a sermon from you. Were you not the son of one of my villeins?’ The archbishop answered, ‘True, I was not “sprung from royal ancestors”, nor was St Peter prince of the apostles, to whom the Lord deigned to confer the keys of the kingdom of heaven and command of the entire church.’35 ‘Yes’, said the king, ‘but he died for his Lord.’ But the venerable archbishop answered, ‘I too will die for my Lord when the time comes.’ ‘You adhere and rely too much on your manner of ascent’, said the king. ‘I have confidence and trust in the Lord’, replied the archbishop, ‘because cursed is he who puts his trust in man.’36

This exchange has none of the spontaneity found in the dialogue reported by such a writer as William Fitzstephen, or its believability. But what the Anonymous succeeds in doing is presenting with great economy the divisions between king and archbishop which were developing at this stage in the dispute. And this is the main characteristic and quality of the work: that it tells the story with a pithiness and precision not found in any of the other Lives. Though there is no suggestion that he witnessed these events, his account of the complex process by which Thomas was brought from a position of outright opposition to the royal customs at Westminster in October 1163 to his capitulation at Clarendon three months later is clearer than any other, and his description of how the knights killed Thomas is difficult to match for its concision.37 33

Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, MS 5615. A note at the end states that the copy was made at Coblentz in 1464. 34 Acts 5:29. 35 See CTB no. 95, pp. 402–5; Horace, Carmina i, 1. 36 MTB 4. 27–8. 37 MTB 4. 29–37, 77.

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One reason for this is that the Anonymous tends more than other writers to omit biblical parallelism and exegetical reflection. For example, in his description of the murder, he mentions how Thomas instructed the knights to spare his people, and how after his death they plundered his palace, but makes no attempt to link them, as virtually every other biographer does, to Christ’s instruction to let his people go, or to Christ’s killers dividing their clothes between them.38 A comparison with Grim and Guernes is instructive in this respect. Grim relates how, following the Council of Clarendon, Thomas realized that almost all the bishops had conspired against him, that the king’s indignation could not be placated, and that no sign of peace was apparent. He believed that, having fuelled the disturbance by not tolerating royal usurpations, the king might take pity on the Church if he removed himself, and also that the pope might give assistance. Boarding the ship, the winds at first blew favourably, but when they reached the open seas, the sailors expressed their concern that they would be punished for aiding his escape, and also told Thomas that the winds made landing difficult: He very placidly answered, ‘If it is true that the winds are against our objective, let God’s will be done, and keep to the port which God assigns’, and immediately they were carried back to England. But the holy man later recognized and confessed to his men that it had not been God’s wish that he cross then, as yet the painful battle and the trials through which he would pass so that he appear more proven were still before him, as indeed it turned out.39

Guernes reports the incident in a very similar way, but adds two details: that Thomas sailed from the port of Romney, and that the sailors addressed their concerns to Adam of Charing, a baron of Kent.40 These details do not derive from William of Canterbury, who reports the attempted flight in a similar, if briefer, manner to Grim, but presumably from his own research.41 The Anonymous reports this incident in around half the number of words that Grim uses: And when each day the vexations and intolerable grievances multiplied around the church of God, and there was no longer any hope of quiet and peace, the venerable pontiff judged it necessary to consult the lord pope, at that time in France. Unknown to almost everyone, he prepared to sail, and embarked at Romney. And when a great part of the sea had been crossed, the sailors spoke to each other, saying, ‘What are we doing? We are transporting from his hands an enemy of the king, whom he has hated and persecuted unto death. Do you think this can escape the king? By no means – he is sure to take action against our souls for this.’ So they came to the archbishop, saying that navigation was 38 See

below, pp. 193–4, 199. 2. 389–90. 40 Guernes v. 1356–75. 41 MTB 1. 29. 39 MTB



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very difficult, the wind contrary, that it was not possible without danger to life to reach land as he wished. But the archbishop, hearing that danger was imminent, and not grasping their deceit, ordered to put back to the shore he had left.42

While omitting the miraculous and prophetic element, the Anonymous explains it clearly and, unlike Grim, mentions the port from which he sailed. This quite typical passage indicates how for anyone wishing to read Thomas’s story with clarity, the Anonymous Life, though one of the last to be written, is not a bad place to start.

42 MTB

4. 40.

4 Criticism and vindication: Anonymous II and Alan of Tewkesbury

Two of the more obscure, and unusual, contributions to the corpus of Becket hagiography are those by Anonymous II and Alan of Tewkesbury. The anonymous Life follows a chronological narrative, but is almost entirely devoid of circumstantial detail, consisting largely of reflection upon Thomas and the dispute. The depiction of the Council of Clarendon, for example, mentions no name, date or place, even Clarendon. Alan of Tewkesbury is known as the compiler of the Becket letter collection, but very little attention has been paid to him as a hagiographer. His work is a supplement to John of Salisbury’s brief Vita et Passio, and together they form a prologue to the letter collection. He calls it a work of explanation, intended to fill in various points of the story not adequately covered in the letters. Beginning with the aftermath of the Council of Clarendon in January 1164, and ending with the aftermath of the Council of Montmirail in January 1169, it provides a good deal of detail, much of it in the form of reported speech, but it is seldom convincing as a historical record. Neither of these works adds much to our knowledge of the historical Thomas, but they do cast light on Thomas’s posthumous reputation. Though the background to their production was very different – the Anonymous wrote between 1172 and 1173, apparently from a London perspective, while Alan wrote between 1174 and 1176 as part of the official Canterbury cult – they are similar in one important way: both are strongly concerned with lingering criticism of Thomas, and how to respond to it. As we have seen, Thomas attracted much criticism during his life, and it lingered after his death. Gilbert Foliot’s letter to Thomas of 1166, Multiplicem nobis, not only represents the fullest exposition of the case against Becket, but puts it with unrivalled forcefulness and skill. A Cluniac monk from a distinguished family, a product of the Continental schools and an intellectual match for John of Salisbury and Herbert of Bosham, Gilbert Foliot was everything Thomas was not. Never an ultra-royalist, he shared many of the archbishop’s principles but not his policies: while criticizing the royal customs, he was equally opposed to Becket’s methods of resistance. His opposition to Thomas was coloured by his resentment at being passed over for the position of archbishop of Canterbury and, as is clear from his letters and from



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his reported speech, a deep personal antipathy. Multiplicem is at the same time a damning critique of Thomas’s policies and an indictment of the man himself. His first charge relates to Thomas’s life as chancellor and his manner of obtaining the archbishopric. ‘It is difficult’, he writes, ‘for things begun with bad beginnings to be carried through to a good conclusion.’ As Gilbert claims, Becket began his career by buying the office of chancellor, and then progressed to Canterbury uncanonically, entering not through the sheepfold of Christ, but by means of royal patronage. He goes on to review Thomas’s capitulation to the king’s customs at the Council of Clarendon in 1163. He presents a picture of a united clergy, standing firm against any encroachment upon episcopal rights and abandoned by their leader: ‘Let the Lord judge between us … let him judge who fled, who was a deserter in the battle … The captain of the army himself turned tail; the leader of the camp fled; the lord of Canterbury withdrew from the association and advice of his brethren.’ Gilbert also criticizes Thomas for submitting himself to the king’s judgement at Northampton. And he recalls how, after that trial, he escaped to France secretly and by night, with no one in pursuit, thereby abandoning his flock. He characterizes this as a fruitless and cowardly act, leaving his brother bishops to die, and saving himself by flight. These are the principal charges, but Foliot’s critique is more than the sum of its parts. It is not just a debater’s riposte to Becket, nor simply a legal brief. He reminds Becket of the prognostic taken at his election, ‘And [Jesus] said to it, “May no fruit ever come from you ever again!” And the fig-tree withered at once’, and proceeds to offer an all-encompassing picture of an archbishop flawed not only in deed but in character. His case is not just that Thomas acted badly but, as he is supposed to have said of Thomas at Northampton, that ‘He was always a fool and always will be.’ Anonymous II, sometimes called ‘the Lambeth Anonymous’, survives in a



See Morey and Brooke, Gilbert Foliot and his Letters, esp. pp. 52–72, 147–87; ­Smalley, Becket Conflict, pp. 167–86; D. Knowles, The Episcopal Colleagues of Thomas Becket (Cambridge, 1951), pp. 37–49, 115–7.  CTB no. 109, pp. 502–3.  See John 10:1ff.  CTB no. 109, pp. 509–13.  CTB no. 109, pp. 510–11.  CTB no. 109, pp. 524–7.  CTB no. 109, pp. 504–7; Matt. 21:19; see G. Henderson, ‘ “Sortes Biblicae” in TwelfthCentury England: The List of Episcopal Prognostics in Cambridge, Trinity College MS R. 75’, England in the Twelfth Century (1988): 113–15 at 118. This seems to be the only record of Thomas’s prognostic.  MTB 3. 57.

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single manuscript in Lambeth Palace. In the preface the writer claims that he was a witness to the murder, but this assertion is not reiterated, and further doubt is cast upon it by the fact that the preface is affixed to a different work in another manuscript.10 The writer appears to have had links with the diocese of London, and it is possible that he later became a monk at Christ Church, Canterbury. That he mentions the reconciliation at Avranches but does not mention Henry’s pilgrimage suggests a date between May 1172 and July 1174. The Life tells the basic story and appears to be influenced by John of Salisbury, but Anonymous II includes less circumstantial detail than any other biographer. For example, the account of Becket’s life before his elevation to Canterbury only mentions the names of Thomas’s parents, Archbishop Theobald and Kings Stephen and Henry, contains no reported speech, nor any anecdotal evidence apart from Thomas’s mother’s vision at birth. The objective seems to be to explain rather than to inform, as the important episodes are treated with much reflection. His work is notable for the extensive use of canon law, sometimes directly, as in his defence of Becket’s ecclesiastical censures, but also more obliquely, as in his reflections on Thomas’s acceptance of the royal customs at Clarendon, or his flight from England.11 The most intriguing aspect of the work is that while the author states his purpose as one of edification,12 Thomas is not always presented as an example of sanctity and righteousness. He gives long reports of contemporary criticisms, and although they are usually followed by justifications of the archbishop’s actions, the depth of the criticisms reported and the comparative weakness of the defence leaves some charges unanswered, and serves to damn Thomas with faint praise. One example is his response to contemporary objections to Becket’s promotion to the archbishopric on the grounds that the election had been at the instigation of the king rather than the clergy. He cites models of virtuous reluctance to accept high office from scripture and from the Lives of Ambrose, Martin and Gregory the Great, adding that many believed Thomas should have followed their example and excused himself as unworthy and unsuitable.13 He then relates how Thomas pondered on the dangers but at last took the burden of high office, virtuously reacting to the perilous state of the Church.14 Although the author has here repudiated the charges against Thomas of cupidity and uncanonical election, the image which lingers is the reluctance of the great figures of the early Church, not that of Thomas. He discusses criticism most fully at the end of his Life, where he focuses 

London, Lambeth Palace, MS 135, fols. 1r–26r. (BHL 8187–8), MTB 4. 80–144; discussed xiii–xv; Hardy, p. 357–9; Barlow, Becket, p. 4. 10 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc. 114. 11 MTB 4. 116–17; 104; 106. 12 MTB 4. 80. 13 MTB 4. 84–5. 14 MTB 4. 85–7.



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directly on the controversial nature of Thomas’s reputation. He describes the murder, miraculous proofs of Thomas’s sanctity, and claims that he ought to be considered a martyr. But, he adds, There were those who presumed to say that he had laboured more according to vainglorious desire, more by zeal for his own vindication; that he had battled not without the tumour of pride, however much under the shadow of righteousness. For it is written that ‘The cause, not the penalty, makes the martyr’, because Truth said ‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake’.15

And, just as it is not the penalty, nor is it the cause alone that makes the martyr. Zeal for justice is foolish when it is not enlightened,16 and Paul taught everyone not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; but to think with sober judgement.17 Solomon said, ‘Be not righteous over much: there is a righteous man that perisheth in his righteousness.’18 A martyr’s penalty is of no benefit if it is not accompanied by charity: as Paul said, ‘If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but I have not love, I gain nothing.’19 Indeed, love of God cannot co-exist with hatred of one’s neighbour, for he who does not love his neighbour whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen.20 And without love of God one is destined for hell. There is nothing in between: as Jesus said, ‘He who is not with me is against me.’21 Many people, writes the Anonymous, have the simulation of virtue, but not the reality, and he quotes Gregory the Great: ‘Vices show themselves as virtues, so that meanness wishes to be seen as thrift, extravagance as generosity, cruelty as zeal for justice, slackness as piety.’22 Therefore, he writes, many have argued that since the archbishop often appeared pompous, arrogant, grasping, cruel and terrible, such a man could not have had true virtue or deserved the reward of martyrdom: For where such an array of vices is present, one cannot have accompanying virtue. For virtue and vice cannot coexist. As Augustine says, since the root of all evil is greed, and the root of all good charity, both cannot go together. Unless one root is taken up, the other cannot be planted. Where pride reigns, humility does not have a place; where there is cruelty, there is no rectitude of justice;

15 Cause:

see Augustine, Epp. 89, 204, CSEL 34. 2.419, 57. 319; blessed: Matt. 5:10. Rom. 10:2. 17 See Rom. 12:3. 18 Eccles. 7:15–16. 19 1 Cor. 13:3. 20 See 1 John 4:20. 21 Matt. 12:30. 22 Registrum epistularum, 1. 24, ed. D. Norberg, CCSL 140 (1982), 30; Decretum D. 41 c. 6. 16 See

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where vainglory is found, the hope of reward is abandoned. Therefore, as they suggested, upon such a foundation the building of a martyr could not rise up.23

Under the heading ‘The more accurate judgement’ he counters this position, arguing that ‘after the days of initial penance no work of cruelty or cupidity in him could be reproved except mendaciously; but we ought to believe that he had removed all blame for the extravagant times, if there was any’. Maintaining an inner humility, many of the good things in which Thomas flourished were, he claims, concealed. Drawing on Augustine’s reflections on the reading ‘Judge not, that you be not judged’,24 the Anonymous writes that where the intention of a man’s deeds is unclear, he should be given the benefit of the doubt: For it is written, ‘You will know them by their fruits’, regarding manifest things which cannot be done with a good intention, such as debauchery, theft, and blasphemy. But there are those in the middle, which of themselves are good, as works of virtues, because they can be done with both good and evil intention, such as clothing the poor and feeding the naked; concerning which it is rash to judge, especially in order to condemn.25

There are many such actions to be seen in Thomas’s life, and, the Anonymous considers, these should be regarded favourably. If he had chosen to ignore the canons and please men more, he could have remained master and governor of the king and of all things which belonged to him. But as if recalling the words of the tempter, ‘All these I will give you if you will fall down and worship me’, he instead followed the words of God, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve.’26 Observing that the archbishop’s death and that of the apostle Thomas were each five days from Christmas Day, the Anonymous asks, ‘But who presumes to compare him to the apostle?’, and quotes Augustine: I think that without any insult Bishop Cyprian may be compared to Peter, as much as pertains to the crown of martyrdom. Rather I ought to be afraid lest I am showing disrespect to Peter. For who can be ignorant that the primacy of his apostleship is to be preferred to any episcopate whatever? But if the favour of see is different, the glory of the martyrdom is the same.27

Both Cyprian and Peter are examples of flawed individuals who nonetheless

23

See Augustine, Sermones Suppositi 270, PL 39. 2247–8; De Gratia Christi et de peccato originali 20, ed C. F. Urba, J. Zycha CSEL 42 (1902), 141; see Decretum DP D. 2 c. 13. 24 Matt. 7:1. 25 MTB 4. 137–8; Matt. 7:16, 20; see Augustine, De sermone Domini in monte ii. 18, ed. A. Mutzenbecher, CCSL 35 (1967), 154–5. 26 See Matt. 4:8–10; Deut. 6:13–14. 27 De Baptismo Contra Donatistas ii. 1, PL 43. 127; see Decretum C. 2 c. ii qu. 7 c. 35.



A nonymous I I and Alan of Tewkesbury

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were recognized as martyrs. Cyprian falsely decreed that heretics and schismatics must be rebaptized, while Peter was corrected by Paul for compelling the Gentiles to live after manner of Jews. Similarly, the Anonymous concludes regarding Thomas, Since nothing evil was evident around him, surely the things which appeared good should be given a better construction: certainly his commendable cause, his praiseworthy life and his marvellous end. And if there was blame in his entrance to honour, clearly nevertheless the glory of so singular an exit excused it and should have been considered to have atoned for it.28

Finally, he reports, Thomas’s sanctity was proved even to the incredulous by virtue of his miracles: How different are human and heavenly judgements! And we indeed considered his life madness, when he was not content with the limit of predecessors, when contrary to custom and against the advice of his men he was zealous for the law of the church, when he was not turned by favour or fear, when he feared neither damnation nor death, when he stood up against the king.29

To say that ‘we considered his life madness’ seems an extraordinary admission by a hagiographer about his subject unless one recognizes the context. In Wisdom 4–5 it is prophesied that ‘The righteous man who has died will stand in the presence of those who afflicted him.’ When they see him, they will be shaken with fear and say to each other, This is the man whom we once held in derision and made a byword of reproach – we fools! We thought that his life was madness and that his end was without honour. Why has he been numbered among the sons of God? And why is his lot among the saints?30

The traces of prejudice against Thomas have been attributed to a London bias.31 This is possible, but they could equally be addressing that bias. Writing before his canonization, in an environment in which doubts about Thomas’s sanctity continued to be voiced, the Anonymous acknowledges the controversial nature of Thomas’s life, and the problematic nature of his sanctity. His message seems to be that, yes, Thomas had evident and well-known faults, but that this does not deny his sanctity, and should not prevent observers from praising and imitating his virtues.

28

MTB 4. 139. The examples of Peter and Paul also evoke the sees of Canterbury and London respectively. 29 MTB 4. 140. 30 Wisd. of Sol. 5:1–5. 31 Barlow, Becket, p. 4.

44 thomas

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Alan of Tewkesbury was an Englishman who had studied in the Continental schools and was a canon at Benevento before he entered Christ Church, Canterbury, as a novice in 1174.32 At some point between then and 1176 he took over from John of Salisbury in assembling and editing the Becket correspondence. His own verdict, that if anyone could do better in this difficult task no one will begrudge him,33 stands true. In 1179 Alan became prior at Christ Church, and in 1186, after a dispute with Archbishop Baldwin, he became abbot of St Mary’s, Tewkesbury. His own letters, many of which survive, suggest a familiarity with canon law and theology, and recently an old theory that Alan of Tewkesbury and the scholastic philosopher Alan of Lille are one and the same, has been revived.34 Alan died in 1202. The collection of Becket correspondence was designed to be prefaced by the following material: Alan’s prologue, followed by John’s Life, followed by Alan’s work of explanation. In later manuscripts, however, Alan’s work is sometimes taken out of this context. (Just as John’s Life often appears without Alan’s supplement.) It was also used in the Quadrilogus II and I. Alan’s supplement to John’s Vita et Passio begins by acknowledging that John had to omit certain matters on account of brevity, and determining, for the purpose of edification, and the explanation of the letters which follow, to briefly set out what happened from the Council of Clarendon in January 1164 to the pope’s departure from France in April 1165.35 He begins with the divided opinions within his household over Thomas’s recognition of the royal customs, with some arguing that the archbishop was right to do so on account of the urgency of the times, but others being indignant that the Church’s freedom should have been forfeited by one man’s consent. He describes how Thomas was confronted by his cross-bearer, Alexander Llewelyn: The civil power disturbs everything. Iniquity rages against Christ himself. The synagogue of Satan profanes the sanctuary of God. Princes have gathered together against the Lord’s anointed. No man is safe who loves equity. In the world’s judgement they alone are wise and to be respected who obey the prince to the uppermost. This tempest has shaken even the pillars of the church, and when the shepherd has fled the sheep are scattered before the wolf. From henceforth what place will there be for innocence; who will stand against 32

Alan’s supplement to John of Salisbury (BHL 8179, 8181), MTB 2. 299–301, 323– 52; discussed MTB 2. xliii–xliv; Saga, vol. 2, pp. lxxxix–xc; Hardy, pp. 322–5; Barlow, Becket, p. 7. On Alan’s career, see A. Duggan, ‘Tewkesbury, Alan of (b. before 1150 d. 1202)’, ODNB; M. A. Harris, ‘Alan of Tewkesbury and his Letters, I–II’, Stud. Mon. 18 (1976): 77–108, 299–351; M. A. Harris, ‘Influences on the Thought of Alan of Tewkesbury’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 33 (1982): 1–14. His own letters are printed in PL 190. 1477–88. 33 MTB 2. 300. 34 Alain de Lille, Règles de Théologie suivi de sermon sur la sphère intelligible, ed. F. Hudry, Sargesses Chrétiennes (Paris, 1995), pp. 24–5. 35 MTB 2. 323.



A nonymous I I and Alan of Tewkesbury

45

the ­adversary or who will triumph in the battle when the leader is vanquished? … What virtue is left to him who has betrayed his conscience and his reputation?

When the archbishop asks Alexander whom his words are aimed at, the cross-bearer confirms that they are directed against him, ‘for you have today wholly betrayed both your conscience and your fame, and having left to posterity an example hateful to God and contrary to honour, you have now stretched forth your hands to observe impious customs and have joined with the wicked servants of Satan to the confusion of the church’s freedom’. Thomas accepts Alexander’s verdict, offers his repentance and suspends himself for a time from ministry at the altar.36 We have seen how John of Salisbury, in assessing his record, conceded that Thomas had been guilty of a lapse in conceding to the royal customs.37 Here Alan goes further in accepting Thomas’s failure to stand up for the Church’s rights, implicitly recognizing the truth of the cross-bearer’s words. The two most substantial sections of Alan’s supplement are his accounts of Thomas’s trial at Northampton in October 1164 and the king’s envoys’, and then Thomas’s, audience with the pope at Sens the following month, both of which contain much reported criticism of Thomas. He describes the archbishop in conclave with his bishops at Northampton, discussing his best course of action. Gilbert of London tells him that if he were to reflect on how the king had raised him from a lowly position and what he had conferred on him, ‘and consider the evil of the time, and what ruin you will cause to the catholic church and us all if you insist on resisting the king in these matters’, he would immediately resign his office. Though Henry of Winchester declares that such a resignation at the desire and threat of a prince would set a pernicious precedent to the Church, and Roger of Worcester, while refusing to declare on the matter, suggests that he was not swayed by Gilbert’s proposal, others are more favourable towards it, and critical of Thomas’s stance. The eloquent Hilary of Chichester suggests that Thomas concede to the will of the king for the time being, rather than provoke harsher retaliation by acting rashly, while the less sophisticated Robert of Lincoln says that it would be better for Thomas to give up his office than his life. Bartholomew of Exeter’s opinion is that, the days being evil, they should take care to pass through the tempest safely: ‘Therefore it is better for one head to be endangered in part than to expose the whole church of England to inevitable danger.’38 The reference to the ‘evil of the times’ by Bartholomew and by Gilbert Foliot recalls frequent admonitions by ecclesiastics to Thomas in the letters not to endanger the Church in time of schism, and Bartholomew’s conclusion echoes the

36 MTB

2. 323–5. no. 305, pp. 726–7. 38 MTB 2. 326–8. 37 LJS

46 thomas

becket and his biographers

reference of the high priest Caiaphas to Christ: ‘It is expedient for you that one man should die for the people, and that the whole of the nation should not perish.’39 A month later at Sens, Gilbert Foliot accused Thomas before the pope of disturbing the concord of brothers, the peace of the Church and the devotion of the king. Succinctly echoing the case made in Multiplicem, Alan has Gilbert say that recently, for a trivial and unimportant reason, a conflict has arisen in England between the crown and the priesthood which could have been avoided had a restrained approach been taken. The lord of Canterbury, following his own individual counsel in this business, and not ours, took too vigorous a stand, not considering the evil of the time, or the danger that could result from such an impulse, and laid traps for himself and his brethren. And had we given our assent to his proposal, matters would have turned out even worse. But because, rightly, he could not have our connivance in his plans, he attempted to turn the blame for his own recklessness around on the lord king and us, and indeed the whole realm. For which reason, in order to discredit our mutual brotherhood, with no one using force or even making threats he took to flight, as is written, ‘The wicked man flees when no one is pursuing.’40

Foliot’s speech was interrupted by the pope and he lost his train of thought, but he was followed by Hilary of Chichester, who warned against the immoderate obstinacy of one man being allowed to wreak havoc on many, and bring schism to the Church. He accused the archbishop of abandoning more mature counsel and relying solely on his own, thereby bringing hardship and trouble to himself and his men, to the king and the realm, and to the clergy and people. Normally fluent, Hilary stumbled over his words, and Roger of York took up the thread, telling the pope that Thomas’s obstinacy resulted from his habitual unreliability, and that the only option was for the pope to take strong measures against him.41 A few days later Thomas resigned his office to the pope, acknowledging how his canonical election had made his failure at Clarendon inevitable. Also echoing Foliot’s words in Multiplicem, he says, Willingly, but also with sighs, I confess that my wretched fault brought these troubles upon the English church. I ascended to the sheepfold of Christ not through Him who is the door, as one called by canonical election, but as one intruded by pressure of public power. And although I took on this burden unwillingly, nevertheless human and not divine will induced me. What wonder then, if it turned out badly for me?  42

39 John

11:50. 28:1. 41 MTB 2. 337–9. See CTB no. 109, pp. 524–5. 42 MTB 2. 343; see John 10:1–2; CTB no. 109, pp. 504–5. 40 Prov.



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But, he adds, had he renounced his office at the king’s command, it would have left a pernicious example, and he decided instead to wait until he had reached the pope’s presence. Though some cardinals, ‘pharisees’ in Alan’s words, saw this as an opportunity to allay the king’s anger, others urged his reinstatement. And so it happened, with the pope praising his zeal for the Church, his sincere stance against adversity and his pure life since his accession, acknowledging that his resignation had wiped away any blame, and restoring him in full.43 Telling is the fact that, although he states his intention as filling in the story from Clarendon to the pope’s departure from France, Alan concludes with the peace conference at Montmirail in January 1169 and its immediate aftermath. This conference collapsed when Thomas insisted that he would only commit himself to the king’s judgement ‘saving God’s honour’, a position which had even angered some of his household, and caused King Louis of France, also present, to ask him if he wished to be more than a saint. Alan gives a fairly brief account of the conference, and then describes how Thomas and his men travelled back to Sens in the company of Louis. Whereas usually the king was generous with his patronage, this time the exiles received nothing from him, nor did he visit them. But one day, when Thomas and his household were debating what to do or where to turn, now that they had apparently been abandoned by the French king, the archbishop was summoned to Louis’s presence. To the astonishment of all, the king burst into tears and flung himself down at the archbishop’s feet, saying, Truly, my lord of Canterbury, you alone could see. We were all blind, we who against God advised you in your cause, or rather God’s, to yield God’s honour at the command of a man. I repent, father, gravely I repent. Forgive and absolve me, I pray, from this blame. And I lay myself and my kingdom open to God and to you, and from this hour I promise that I will not fail you or your people, as long as with God’s favour I live.44

Louis’s words express a theme which runs through Alan’s work: that there were blemishes on Thomas’s record, notably the manner of his elevation to Canterbury and his capitulation at Clarendon, but that in his subsequent defence of the Church his critics, whose voices were to be heard in the accompanying letters, were blind. The argument is similar to that of the Anonymous, but, writing in 1176, with Thomas’s glory fully apparent and his sanctity well established, it is put with greater confidence. That criticism of Becket existed during his lifetime is not surprising. That it was preserved after his death by those who sought to promote his sanctity requires explanation. The cult was built and the Lives written while criticisms of Becket were still in people’s memory. The inclusion of Multiplicem 43 MTB 44 MTB

2. 343–4. 2. 347–51.

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becket and his biographers

nobis in the letter collection suggests that it, or at least its arguments, were widely known.45 The case against the archbishop could not be erased, and it required answers. Furthermore, the survival of such criticism could be of benefit to Thomas’s legacy. Foliot gave a number of hostages to fortune. His letter repeatedly accuses Thomas of physical cowardice – the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep – and mocks his posturing as a martyr.46 During his life, especially amidst the flurry of letter-writing of 1166, Becket’s camp responded to the charges made against the archbishop, but the murder set Foliot’s criticisms in a new light. He who had risen from the royal court was now a martyr of the Church; the archbishop who capitulated to the king’s customs had now died for ecclesiastical liberty; the exile who had deserted his flock had now laid down his life for his sheep. The ‘barren tree’ on which no fruit would grow had blossomed.

45 The reason for its survival has been questioned by Morey and Brooke, Gilbert Foliot and

his Letters, p. 169. no. 109, pp. 526–7.

46 CTB

5 The view from Canterbury: Benedict of Peterborough and William of Canterbury

When Thomas lay dead on the floor of Canterbury Cathedral he was less a focus of veneration than of fear. The monks of Christ Church had never warmed towards this non-monastic archbishop who had been intruded by the royal power. His conflict with the king and his six-year absence had brought them uncertainty, poverty and repression. Now it seemed that he who in life had undermined that ancient and celebrated community would destroy it in death. Fearing reprisals from the murderers, the monks buried their archbishop in haste, without the usual ceremony. But as they stripped the body for burial they found beneath his pontifical vestments a monastic habit, and beneath that again a hair shirt. One of their number, Benedict, tells us that at this ‘The monks looked at each other, and were astonished at this view of hidden religion beyond what could have been believed, and with their sorrow thus multiplied, so were their tears.’ In the months that followed, people from Canterbury and beyond came to Thomas’s shrine reporting further revelations of a sanctity which had been hidden to many. And as the numbers became ever greater, it was this monk, Benedict, who was assigned to the task of recording the miracles reported by visitors to the shrine. From June 1172 Benedict was joined in this task by William, another monk of Canterbury. Both monks made their own compilation of miracles which together stand as a striking testimony to Thomas’s popular veneration. But they also wrote testimonies to the wonder of Thomas’s life, in Benedict’s case a Passio, in William’s a full-scale Vita et Passio. In these works we can see one of the most neglected features of Thomas’s life and cult, the perspective of the Canterbury monks. As chancellor and archbishop, Thomas was a figure of international renown, and few saintly cults had such an extensive geographical reach. ­ Thomas  

MTB 2. 17. An exception is R. W. Southern, The Monks of Canterbury and the Murder of Archbishop Becket (Canterbury, 1985).

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fought for the cause of the universal Church, on an international stage. Saint Thomas was claimed by England and France, and recognized throughout Christendom. Even as a clerk in Theobald’s household, he had never seemed fully at ease with the environment of Canterbury; during his exile his contacts with the monks of Canterbury were limited and brusque; and even on his return to England in December 1170 his immediate inclination was to travel outside his see. But Canterbury played a central role in Thomas’s life and death. The earliest recorded disputes in which Thomas was involved as archbishop relate to his attempts to retrieve Canterbury properties; it was the usurpation of Canterbury’s right to crown the young king that led first to the settlement at Fréteval and the excommunication and suspension of the bishops involved; this in turn led to their complaint to the king, which prompted Thomas’s murder by men under the overall command of those who had taken Canterbury lands during the archbishop’s exile. Furthermore, while Thomas often appears as the most worldly of ecclesiastics, more at home in the city than in the cloisters, the biographers are unanimous in stressing that ‘within, all was different’: literally so, with the monastic garb and the hair shirt underneath his vestments symbolizing an ascetic, contemplative purpose which he hid from all but a few. This is the most difficult claim to verify, but the fact that it was made at least suggests a drive to associate Thomas with a type of sanctity closer to the ideal of his Canterbury predecessors. Benedict was among the monks of Christ Church who witnessed the murder and its aftermath. He became prior in 1175 and abbot of Peterborough in 1177 but frequently returned to Canterbury. He died in 1193. Benedict tells us that he was prompted to write by his fellow monks and by the visionary apparition of Thomas. His collection of miracles, in its original form, was completed in 1173 or 1174. This comprises three books of miracles, all concerning England, presented in chronological order. A fourth book was completed in 1179 at the earliest. Benedict’s description of the miracles is written in a simple and unaffected style, and has been praised for its lack of exaggeration and its punctiliousness as to sources and proof. Though William’s became the official collection, Benedict’s was more favoured by monks  



See below, pp. 90–4. Benedict’s Passio (BHL 8170), MTB 2. 1–19. On Benedict’s life and work MTB 2. xi– xxvii; Saga, vol. 2, pp. lxxi–lxxviii; Hardy, pp. 340–1; Walberg, pp. 55–61; ­ Duggan, ­Textual History, pp. 192–5; Barlow, Becket, p. 4; E. King, ‘Benedict of Peterborough and the Cult of Thomas Becket’, Northamptonshire Past and Present 9 (1996–7): 213–20; I. Pânzaru, ‘Caput mystice: Fonctions symboliques de la tête chez les exegetes de la ­seconde moitié du XIIe siècle’, Le Moyen Age 107 (2001): 439–53; A. Duggan, ‘The ­Lorvão Transcription of Benedict of Peterborough’s Liber Miraculorum beati Thome: ­Lisbon, Cod. Alcobaça CCXC/143’, Scriptorium 51 (1997): 51–68; A. Duggan, ‘The Santa Cruz Transcription of Benedict of Peterborough’s Liber miraculorum beati Thome: Porto, BPM, cod. Santa Cruz 60, Mediaevalia – Textos e Estudos 20 (2002): 27–55; and p. 9 n. 23 above. MTB 2. 27–8.



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outside Canterbury. It appears that the Passio was written after Books 1–3 of the Miracles, as Benedict makes no reference to it there, whereas he twice mentions it in the later Book 4. Since Guernes shows some knowledge of the Passio, this places the date of its completion before autumn 1174. It is only known to us from the passages from it which were used in the Quadrilogus. In some cases we can observe obvious gaps, but it is likely that most of Benedict’s work has been preserved. Benedict shows a knowledge of Ex insperato, and resemblances to Grim’s Life. Benedict’s work begins with the knights’ interview with Thomas in his chamber, and continues with a vivid portrayal of the martyrdom. Though broadly similar to the testimony of other eyewitnesses, Benedict includes a few unique details, for example that as the door of the Church was about to be barred against the approaching knights, Thomas dragged some of his men inside; and also much biblical parallelism, with Benedict comparing Thomas’s last moments to those of Jesus in a more explicit way than any other writer does. Thomas’s last moments are compared to those of Jesus with more directness than most other writers. He goes on to detail the plunder of the archbishop’s palace, the discovery of the hair shirt and Thomas’s burial, and concludes with a brief reflection on the death of the martyr. Little is known of William of Canterbury apart from what he tells us himself. He became a monk at Christ Church while Becket was in exile and on the archbishop’s return he vested him and ordained him as a deacon. D. Lett asserts that William’s Norman origin is without doubt, but Magnusson noted his unusual interest in Irish affairs.10 William tells us that he was inspired to write by three visions of Thomas. He began to record them in June 1172, and had completed the first five books probably by 1174, or at least before late October 1175, with a sixth book added in 1178 or 1179. Eschewing Benedict’s chronological approach, William groups his miracles thematically. Including a higher proportion of nobles, clergy and foreigners, William’s collection is more discursive and florid in style. Begun immediately after King Henry’s submission at Avranches, William’s collection has been seen as a work aimed at the rehabilitation of the king, and of national reconciliation.11 Whereas



MTB 2. 209, 220. For example, see below, p. 194.  Walberg, p. 132.  William’s Life of Thomas (BHL 8184), MTB 1. 1–136. On William’s life and work see MTB 1. xxvi–xxxiii; Saga, vol. 2, pp. lxxxv–lxxxvii; Hardy, pp. 329–30; Walberg, pp. 61–73, 113–34; S. K. Langebahn, ‘Die wiederentdeckten Himmerorder, Mira­ cula S. Thomae Cantuarensis (1175): Zugänge zur frühesten narrativen Quelle zur ­Geschichte von St Thomas/Eifel’, Kurtreirisches Jahrbuch 41 (2001): 121–64; and p. 9 n. 23 above. 10 Lett, ‘Deux Hagiographes’, p. 203; Saga, vol. 2, pp. lxxvi–lxxvii. 11 Lett, ‘Deux Hagiographes’. 

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becket and his biographers

Benedict’s account provides a relatively unadorned reflection of the popular cult, William’s collection shows the community of Christ Church taking the initiative in analysing, interpreting and shaping the cult. William’s Life survives in full in only one manuscript, but extracts were used in Quadrilogus II and I.12 Itself showing debts to Grim’s Life and bearing some resemblances to Anonymous II, William’s work influenced Guernes’s Life, thereby placing the date of its completion at 1174 at the latest. It is divided into two books, the first covering events up to Thomas’s return to Canterbury, the second featuring more detailed observation of the events of December 1170, many of which William himself witnessed. As a historical record William’s Life is usually accurate but less circumstantial, at least in dealing with the events before December 1170, than many of the other writers. Explanation was evidently an important function of his work, and in many ways it resembles a sharper and more informative version of Anonymous II. It is distinguished by its use of canon law and letters. The use of canon law is particularly notable in his discussion of the issue of criminous clerks, but it is also notable, for example in his description of Thomas’s revival after the ‘lapse’ at Clarendon, and in his account of the exile.13 William is also the only source for the a series of customs, additional to the Constitutions of Clarendon, which the king is claimed to have introduced during the exile.14 A characteristic of William’s Life which one might expect, but which nonetheless has not attracted much comment, is that he pays more attention than most to matters concerning the see of Canterbury and the monastic community of Christ Church. Such attention is not always evident where one might expect it: little is said about Thomas’s period as a clerk in Archbishop Theobald’s court, or about the role of the monks of Canterbury in his election as archbishop, and he even identifies the issue of knights’ fees as marking the beginning of the conflict with the king, whereas some other writers point to Thomas’s reclaiming of Canterbury estates.15 But he does discuss some issues which might have had a special significance to the Canterbury community: the receipt of the pallium from the pope; how it was the monks of Canterbury who urged him to adopt the monastic habit; and the failed attempt by King Henry to have the papal legation bestowed on the archbishop of York against the traditional rights of Canterbury.16 Such concerns are more prominent in the second book. In reporting Thomas’s reception at Canterbury he relates how the archbishop absolved certain monks who had communicated with 12

Winchester College, Warden and Fellows’ Library, Mediaeval MS 4 (s. xii–xiii), fols. 1r–52r. 13 MTB 1. 25–9; 17–18; 40–1. 14 MTB 1. 53–4; see D. Knowles, A. Duggan, C. N. L. Brooke, ‘Henry II’s Supplement to the Constitutions of Clarendon’, EHR 87 (1972): 757–71. 15 MTB 1. 4; 8–9; 12. 16 MTB 1. 9–10; 10–11; 25.



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53

excommunicates.17 He describes how Thomas’s ordained clergy at Christmas, including William himself as deacon, but ordered the temporary exclusion of other monks who had entered Christ Church during his exile.18 In the second book Thomas is repeatedly described as primas, and the primacy of the see of Canterbury is frequently asserted. William describes how a group of churchmen, including the censured prelates, assembled at the young king’s court at Winchester to consider elections to vacant bishoprics without consulting Thomas. Citing relevant canons, he comments that ‘This abrogation of the dignity of the church of Canterbury was devised by York, who while he obeyed more diligently his new lord, did not remember his old friend and foster-mother.’19 Thomas’s envoy, Richard of Dover, prior of Christ Church and later Thomas’s successor as archbishop, read a letter from the archbishop in which he asserted that as dukes, consuls and governors are subject to kings, so metropolitans, bishops and archdeacons are subject to primates … Surely the king would not suffer a soldier to sit upon the throne and promulgate an edict? Surely a metropolitan would not bear it with equanimity if a co-bishop put on the pallium and dispatched letters? Surely the primate is treated with indignity, if the metropolitan places the crown on the king, and presumes to consecrate him when he does not have the right?20

Soon after, Prior Richard and Abbot Simon brought five complaints to the young king’s court at Fordingbridge. The first related to secular treatment of criminous clerks and the last to the prevention of clerks from crossing the sea, but three specifically relate to Canterbury: the non-restoration of episcopal estates, the seizure of wine by Ranulf de Broc and the detention of churches in the archbishop’s patronage.21 Upon returning to Canterbury, Thomas had intended to visit the young king in person, but was ordered to remain in Canterbury. William compares the archbishop’s confinement to that of Semey, whom Solomon had executed when he disobeyed his orders to remain in Jerusalem. Thomas was killed though he innocently obeyed the royal mandate: ‘Though they looked for an aggressive traitor, they found a hidden monk.’22 There are further suggestions that Thomas, though ostensibly a secular clerk, was in fact secretly a monk. This is not only present in the description of his concealed clothing, but in his way of life as archbishop, which combined the active with the less obvious contemplative. William describes how, upon becoming archbishop, Tho17 18 19 20 21 22

MTB 1. 102. MTB 1. 119–20. MTB 1. 106. MTB 1. 106–11. MTB 1. 115–118. MTB 1. 113–14; see 1 Kings 2:36–44.

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mas secretly adopted the hair shirt and monastic habit. He informs us that Thomas adopted the latter when told that the Lord had appeared to a monk in a vision and told him that Thomas would receive His favour and aid if he were to do so. He then mentions the ignominious examples of Thomas’s nonmonastic predecessors at Canterbury, Stigand and Aelfsige, before describing his new life: Sitting with Mary at the feet of Jesus he was refreshed with this banquet. Refreshed with the bread of the angels23 at this table of the rich Master of the Feast, delighted by the melody of heavenly Sion, and breathed on by the breeze of roses and lilies, inhaling the odour of life into life,24 he renewed the old starvation of his destitution. Hence amidst the celebration of mass he flowed in the miracle of tears, so that he was thought of as the possessor of upper and lower springs. Hence in sorrow because his soul had composed a more disagreeable lodging with his flesh, he would sing with the prophet, ‘How lovely is thy dwelling-place, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, yea, faints for the courts of the Lord!’25 But also knowing that charity does not seek what is its own, he began to seek the reward not only in himself but in his neighbour, balancing the rest of contemplation with the burden of solicitous action. And as much as he was attracted solely by the sight of Rachel, and rejoiced in her embrace, nevertheless compelled to be compliant to the things of the people, he was assigned to the offspring of the weak-eyed one.26

The biblical sisters Mary and Martha and Rachel and Leah are the standard symbols of the contemplative and active lives respectively. When Jesus visited the two sisters, Mary sat at his feet and listened to his teaching while Martha busied herself serving him. Of Jacob’s two wives, Rachel was beautiful but barren, while her sister Leah was fruitful but had weak eyes.27 Gregory the Great interprets the upper and lower springs which Caleb gave to Achsa as the two types of compunction, desire for heaven and fear of hell, in a letter to the patrician Theoctista, the theme of which is her ability to walk through the tumult of life with solitude of soul.28 The roses and the lilies represent respectively the martyrs and the confessors, those who shed their blood for

23

Ps. 78 (77):24–5. 2 Cor. 2:16. 25 Ps. 84 (83):1. 26 MTB 1. 10–11. Compare 1. 49, and Fitzstephen, 3. 39. 27 See Luke 10. 38–42; Gen. 29–31. On the two lives, see C. Butler, Western Mysticism (London, 1926), pp. 227–87; J. Leclerq, ‘Otia monastica’: Études sur le vocabulaire de la contemplation au Moyen Age, Studia Anselmiana 51 (Rome, 1963), and D. A. Csanyi, ‘ “Optima Pars”: Die Auglegugesgeschischte von Lk 10, 38–42 bei den Kirchenvatern der ersten vier Jahrhunderte’, Stud. Mon. 2 (1960): 5–78. 28 Josh. 15:19; Judg. 1:15; Gregory, Epp. 7. 23, CCSL 140. 476; see Dialogues 3. 34, ed. A. de Vogüé, SC 260 (1979), p. 400–5. 24



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the faith and those who suffered a living martyrdom.29 William’s words are very close to those found in a letter by Hildebert of Tours to a monk called William, who was mourning the loss of contemplation, having recently been made abbot of St Vincent’s, a suburb of Le Mans. At the feet of the Lord Jesus you sat with Mary, and behold you are ordered to serve with Martha. The appearance of Rachel seduced you, and now you are compelled to gratify Leah, whose offspring you are devoted to, but whose deformed eyes you flinch from. You recall how soothing it was in the joy of Rachel, how harsh under her sister. You recall, I say, the banquet which Christ would serve to you embracing his feet, with which delights of the soul he would drive away starvation. You acknowledge the tastier dishes, which Mary sitting and hearing received, rather than what Martha busied herself to serve. For one is the bread of men, the other the bread of angels. In this table of the rich man, there is nothing that offered might be scorned, that sated might not be desired. At this, each of your sould’s senses, as though they were sitting down to a meal, were satiated by the variety of spiritual dishes, tasting hence what is appropriate for each, what is sufficient for all. There, by the hearing of the mind, you imbibed the celestial melody of the canticles, and in the streets of heavenly Sion the Alleluia of the angels resounded to you. There the odour of life to life breathed on your nostrils, and the breeze, the flowers of the roses and the lilies breathing enclosed announced the eternal spring. There indeed as a man you ate the bread of angels, which falls from the sky and gives life to the world.30

Hildebert’s recommendation is that the new abbot alternate the active and the contemplative, and he condemns those who do not attempt to fulfil either. This is in line too with the message of much Cistercian writing of the time, particularly that of Bernard of Clairvaux, who frequently addresses those who have been brought from the cloister into a position of rule over others, and are burdened with cares. Bernard’s advice to retain the contemplative in the midst of an active life is not just a recommendation, but a statement that such a combination is possible.31 This is the import of Thomas’s characterization here: though he led an active and public life, he managed to retain the contemplative life of Canterbury’s traditional monk-archbishops.

29

See Song of Sol. 2:2; the origins of this image, and its application to Becket’s murder, are discussed by J. O’Reilly, ‘ “Candidus et Rubicundus”: An Image of Martyrdom in the “Lives” of Thomas Becket’, Analecta Bollandiana 99 (1981): 303–14. See below, p. 198. 30 Epistolae 22, PL 171. 197. See also Hildebert, Sermones de tempore 30, PL 171. 481–3. 31 Most nobably in De Consideratione, Opera 3. 393–493.

6 Observation and reflection: William Fitzstephen

William Fitzstephen’s is the most appealing of the Lives of Thomas to the modern reader. Like Herbert of Bosham’s, it stands apart from the other Lives, being based largely on the author’s own observations or on information not found in other Lives. It tells us a great deal about Thomas and about the dispute which we would not otherwise know, most notably in his account of Thomas’s life as chancellor, which is treated cursorily by all other writers, but also in his reports from the royal court from the time of Thomas’s flight to France onwards. Fitzstephen’s eye for detail is unrivalled by any of Thomas’s other biographers, and his descriptions of the Council of Northampton and Thomas’s murder, both of which he witnessed, are both highly informative and graphically evocative. His work is also packed with anecdotes and penpictures of individuals passed over by others. Fitzstephen is an elegant and erudite writer who peppers his prose, as most of the biographers do, with allusions to Christian writings, but he makes equally frequent use of classical sources. As an observant chronicler of the secular world, interested in the everyday, quoting pagan writers, Fitzstephen seems less a hagiographer than a biographer or historian. His world-view appears closer to ours than do those of the other writers, and his seems to stand as the best representative among the Lives of ‘medieval humanism’ or ‘the twelfth-century renaissance’. All this is true, but the revival of classical learning and the increasing concern with non-religious themes which characterizes much twelfth-century writing did not exclude a simultaneous enthusiasm for and development of more traditional themes and modes of expression, and both are present in this multi­ faceted work. Many mysteries surround William Fitzstephen. First there is the fact that, 

Fitzstephen’s Life (BHL 8176–7), MTB 3. 1–154; discussed xiii–xvii; Saga, vol. 2, pp. lxxviii–lxxx; Hardy, pp. 330–3; Duggan, Textual History, pp. 187–200; Barlow, Becket, p. 6; M. Cheney, ‘William Fitzstephen and his Life of Thomas Becket’, Church and Government in the Middle Ages: Essays Presented to C. R. Cheney, ed. C. N. L. Brooke, D. E. Luscombe, G. H. Martin and D. Owen (Cambridge, 1976), pp. 139–56; A. Duggan, ‘The Salem Fitz­stephen: Heidelberg Universitätsbibliothek cod. Salem IX. 30’, Mediaevalia Christiana XIe–XIIIe siècles: Hommage a Raymonde Foreville de ses amis, ses colleges et ses anciens élèves, ed. C. E. Viola (Paris, 1989), pp. 51–86.



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despite his proximity to Thomas and the quality of his work, he is not mentioned by any contemporary. Therefore all we know of him is from what he tells us and inferences from his Life. In his prologue he writes, I was the fellow-citizen of my lord, his chaplain and a member of his household, called by his own mouth to serve his business. I was his remembrancer in his chancery; in chapel, when he celebrated, I was his subdeacon; when he sat to hear cases, I was the reader of the letters and documents put forward and, at his command, sometimes the advocate in certain cases. I was present with him at Northampton, where matters of great moment were debated; I was a witness of his passion at Canterbury, and many other things which are here written I saw with my eyes and heard with my ears; others I learned from the relation of those who knew about them.

Fitzstephen then, like Herbert of Bosham, served Thomas as both chancellor and archbishop. But whereas after 1162 Herbert became the most reviled of Thomas’s men in the royal court, Fitzstephen appears to have retained links to it. After Thomas’s flight he made his peace with the king by presenting him with a prayer at his court at Brill, which, while critical of Henry in many regards, says little of his dealings with the Church. That he was present at the royal court on other occasions, or at the very least that he remained on good terms with some courtiers thereafter, is suggested by his numerous reports from that source. Fitzstephen evidently returned to Thomas’s service, for he was in Canterbury Cathedral to witness the murder. It is uncertain what position he held after the murder, or when he died, but a William Fitzstephen was sheriff of Gloucester 1171–89 and itinerant justice 1175–88. Another curiosity is the fact that Fitzstephen uses documents from Gilbert Foliot’s archives – indeed the earliest manuscript of his Life introduces a collection of Foliot’s correspondence – while at the same time directing more criticism towards the bishop of London than any other writer does. That no other writer mentions Fitzstephen could be because his associations with the royal court and the diocese of London caused him to be shunned after the murder, but even though there are many similarities between their works, the biographers did not constitute a coherent group, and contemporary chroniclers were even less likely to engage in a conspiracy of silence. Walberg concludes, on the basis of a number of references that Fitzstephen makes to individuals, that his work was written in 1173 or 1174. Fitzstephen’s Life also has a complex textual history. No obvious echoes are found in the work of any other writers, except in Ralph of Diss’s Chronicle. It was not used for E. of Evesham’s Quadrilogus II, but passages were incorporated, differently, in thirteenth-century reworkings. Furthermore, the Life exists in two versions, with Version A including 38 passages which do not  MTB

3. 1–2. p. 58 n. 2.

 Walberg,

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appear in Version B. Though it is not certain, it is likely that A, which is found in the earliest manuscript, is the earlier version, and if so, it is more likely that passages were removed by someone else rather than by Fitzstephen himself. Many of these additional passages are critical of the king, and many do not reflect particular well on Thomas’s sanctity, but they do not have a single unifying characteristic. In fact, some seem on the surface quite contrary in purpose. One such additional passage is Fitzstephen’s description of Thomas’s embassy to the court of King Louis of France to mark the betrothal of King Henry’s son Henry to Louis’s daughter Margaret. He describes how the chancellor ‘prepared to display and lavish the opulence of England’s luxury, so that before all men and in all things the person of the sender might be honoured in the one sent, and the person of the one sent in himself’. He had, he tells us, about two hundred of his household on horseback with him, each in their appropriate order, not counting their attendants, all dressed in glittering new clothes. Thomas himself had twenty-four changes of clothing, of silk and gris, as well as cloths and tapestries, dogs and birds of all kinds with him, ‘as kings and nobles have’: He also had in his retinue eight waggons, each drawn by five horses, in frame and strength like warhorses. To each horse was assigned a strong youth, dressed in a new tunic, walking beside the waggon, and each waggon had a post-horse and a guard of its own. Two waggons carried just ale, made by boiling away water from the tissue of corn, kept in iron-bound barrels. This was to be given to the French, who admire this type of liquid concoction, a healthy drink indeed, refined, the colour of wine, but better tasting. The chancellor’s chapel had its own waggon, as did the chamber, bursary and kitchen. Others carried various kinds of food and drink, others cushions, sacks with nightgowns, bags and baggage. He had twelve cart-horses and eight cases which contained the chancellor’s furnishings: gold and silver, vessels, cups, bowls, goblets, casks, jugs, basins, salt cellars, spoons, dishes and fruit-bowls. Other of the chancellor’s chests and packing-cases contained money, more than enough for his everyday expenses and gifts, and also clothes, books, and suchlike. One cart-horse, walking before the others, carried the sacred vessels of the chapel, and the ornaments and books of the altar. Each of his cart-horses had a groom, equipped as was fitting. Also each waggon had chained to it, either above or below, a great, strong and fierce dog, which looked a match for a bear or lion. And on top of each horse was either a long-tailed monkey or ‘an ape, man’s imitator’.

As they passed through the French villages and towns, people would run out of their houses to watch, and when they were told that it was the chancellor  Version

A exists only in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Douce 287 (s. xii), fols. 1–36v, and London, British Library, MS Lansdowne 398 (s. xv), fols. 1r–42v. See in particular A. Duggan, ‘The Lyell Version of the Quadrilogus’, p. 113; also, ‘Salem Fitzstephen’; Textual History, pp. 196–7; Cheney, ‘William Fitzstephen’, pp. 147–52.  Claudian, In Eutropium i, 303.



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of the king of England on a mission to the king of France, they said, ‘If this is how the chancellor proceeds, how great must the king be!’ In this passage, Fitzstephen displays his characteristic pleasure in the description of something he had observed. It is certainly likely that a major motive for his inclusion of Thomas’s embassy in his Life is because he had witnessed it and believed it ought to be recorded, but it surely also has a rhetorical purpose. Here, and in the subsequent passages where he recounts Thomas’s military exploits at the siege of Toulouse and in the campaign in La Marche, where he marshalled an army and unseated a distinguished French knight in battle, Fitzstephen is building up the image of Thomas in the secular world so as to heighten the dramatic charge of his change of life upon becoming archbishop. This deliberate contrast is most evident in Fitzstephen’s stylistic change when he reaches Thomas’s consecration: at this point he introduces a flood of biblical images whereas previously he had only included references to pagan writers. This theme is present also in Fitzstephen’s description of London which opens his book, but is not present in all manuscripts. Self-consciously based on classical encomia of Rome, this description, while showcasing Fitzstephen’s interest in observation and skill in description, is also a rhetorical exercise, favourably comparing London to Rome, portraying it as echoing many features of classical Rome but surpassing them on account of its Christianity. The implication, as I suggest below, is that while Thomas the chancellor was, like Rome, unquestionably great, he was far surpassed by Thomas the archbishop, on account of his consecration. Such subtleties, if that is what they are, might have been lost on a later redactor, who might have seen such passages as distracting from the image of the saint and the champion of the Church. Other passages seem to have been omitted for a different reason, in that they present a critical picture of the king. One of the longer omissions occurs in the account of the seventh and last day of Thomas’s trial at Northampton in November 1164. A momentous day in the archbishop’s life, it began with Becket rising from his sick-bed to perform the mass of St Stephen, the first Christian martyr, and returning to the council chamber with renewed strength, carrying his cross before him. It ended with Thomas refusing to hear the judgement of his fellow-bishops on him and leaving the chamber to begin his exile. Before coming to the debates, Fitzstephen addresses Henry. ‘What are you doing, Christian king’, he writes, ‘It is more important that you are a Christian, that you are God’s sheep, that you are His adopted son, than that you are a king.’ He continues by outlining the case for clerical immunity from royal judgement, insisting  MTB

3. 29–31. 3. 33–5.  MTB 3. 2–13; see below, pp. 82–3.  E.g. MTB 3. 107, 114.

 MTB

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that ­‘Judgement of the archbishop is reserved for the pope alone; of the pope to God alone.’ He then turns more directly to Thomas’s plight, reporting how Robert, bishop of Hereford, who previously taught dialectic and the holy page at Paris, one day posed a question to a gathering of bishops. ‘If it happens’, the bishop asked, ‘that the lord archbishop in this cause for the liberty of the church were to be killed, surely we would consider him a martyr? To die for the mother church is to be a martyr.’ To which another answered, ‘Undoubtedly if – which far be it! – it should happen thus, it will be said that he has taken the most glorious crown of the martyr. Faith is not the only cause of martyrdom. There are many causes: truth, liberty of the church, love of country or neighbours, all are sufficient cause, since God is in the cause.’ This anonymous bishop goes on to give a number of examples of such martyrdom. The first is John the Baptist, who died for truth because he would not allow Herod to commit adultery. Similarly, Thomas said, ‘It is not allowed for you, king, to press the church into servitude.’ Those who refuse to observe the king’s evil customs are compared to the Maccabees who were martyred because they would not abandon God’s prohibition on eating pig’s flesh. Fitzstephen then adapts the well-known passage from Eadmer’s Life of Anselm in which the saint reassures Lanfranc that his Canterbury predecessor Aelfeah died a martyr’s death because ‘He died for the liberty and safety of his nearest.’ Fitzstephen concludes with two ancient examples of fratricide, Cain’s murder of Abel, and Remus’s death at the hands of Romulus.10 This reflection on the requirements of martyrdom, appearing as it does in the middle of an account of Becket’s trial at Northampton, has obvious implications regarding his opposition to Henry’s ecclesiastical policy. But especially pointed are the examples used. John the Baptist’s killer Herod is a common archetype of tyrannical kingship to whom Henry is often compared by the biographers. Henry’s persecution of Becket’s kindred was compared at the time to Herod’s slaughter of the Innocents, and the biographers make much mileage out of the fact that Thomas was killed on the day after their feast-day. The references to former archbishops of Canterbury Aelfeah, Lanfranc and Anselm reinforce the impression that Becket was fighting for the rights of his Church as his predecessors had in their time, defending his ‘children and nearest’. The final examples might appear irrelevant, were it not for their context, directly preceding as they do the account of Becket’s judgement by his fellow bishops, some of whom later played a role in precipitating his murder. The implication is that this was comparable to an act of fratricide, echoing the murders of Abel and Remus. To highlight these passages which show a different side to Fitzstephen’s work to that usually appreciated by modern readers is not to suggest that they represent the true nature of his work more than do his skilful and detailed

10 MTB

3. 59–61.



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observation of reality. Rather, what is most characteristic of Fitzstephen’s Life is the combination of the two: vivid description of events intertwined with reflection upon it. We can see this, for example, in his description of an exchange which occurred when the chancellor was recovering from illness at St Gervase, Rouen: After at time he began to recover, and one day he was sitting playing chess, wearing a cape with long sleeves. Asketil, prior of Leicester, came to visit him on his way back from the king’s court which at that time was in Gascony. Addressing him frankly, with a bold familiarity, he said, ‘Why are you wearing a cape with long sleeves? This dress is more fitting to a falconer, but you are an ecclesiastic with one person but many dignities – archdeacon of Canterbury, dean of Hastings, provost of Beverley, canon of this place and that, proctor to the archbishopric and, as is the repeated rumour in court, a future archbishop.’ To this last statement the archbishop said, ‘Truly I know three poor priests in England, any of whom I would choose for promotion to the archiepiscopate before me. For if I happened to be promoted, inevitably I would either lose the king’s favour or (far be it!) neglect the lord God’s service, for I know my lord king inside out.’ And that is how it later turned out.11

It is the details which make the most immediate impression: the image of Thomas playing chess, wearing a falconer’s cape with long sleeves, conjures up the worldly chancellor in the space of a few words. But equally succinctly Fitzstephen encompasses the dilemma of divided loyalties that Thomas surely did consider before his elevation to Canterbury. Such a combination is also present in his description of Thomas’s last moments: The archbishop wiping away the blood flowing from his head with his arm and seeing it, gave thanks to God, saying, ‘Into your hand, Lord, I commend my spirit.’ He was struck with a second blow on the head, whereat he fell on his face after falling on his knees, with hands joined and extended to God, before the altar of St Benedict which was there. And he took care and grace to fall honourably, covered by his pallium up to the ankles, as if to be worshipped and prayed to. He fell on his right side, to go to the right hand of God. Richard le Bret struck him prone with such great force that his sword was broken on his head and the pavement of the church; and he said, ‘Take that for the love of my lord William, the king’s brother.’ For this William had wanted to marry the countess of Warenne; but the archbishop had spoken out against it, because they were children of cousins, his mother being the Empress Matilda, that earl of Warenne William’s father being King Stephen. Hence William, the brother of King Henry was inconsolably sad; and all his men were made hostile to the archbishop. The holy archbishop had four blows in all, all in the head; and the crown of his head had been totally cut off. Then one could see how the body served the spirit. For as not in mind, so not by objection or dejection of the

11 MTB

3. 25–6.

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members was seen to resist death; since he accepted voluntary death more from love of God, than from violence of the knights’ swords.12

The last words which Fitzstephen attributes to Thomas echo those of Christ on the cross and Stephen in his martyrdom.13 In making sure that he fell with his ankles covered, Thomas recalls the martyr Perpetua who, when tossed by a heifer fell on her back, but ‘pulled down the tunic that was ripped along the side so that it covered her thighs, thinking more of her modesty than of her pain’.14 Fitzstephen’s reflections on how Thomas’s physical appearance in death mirrored an inner determination to accept martyrdom echoes a motif found in many accounts of the early Christian martyrs. But in the midst of this, he takes the opportunity to inform us of a personal grudge, not mentioned by the other biographers, which contributed to Thomas’s murder. Though the contrast might appear stark to us, it is unlikely that Fitzstephen himself reflected much on his juxtaposition of informative historical detail and more traditionally hagiographical inference. To someone familiar with both the secular and ecclesiastical worlds, and who saw in Thomas’s life and death both the mundane and the transcendent, such an approach must have seemed natural.

12 MTB

3. 141–2. 23:46; Acts 7:59; see Ps 31 (30):5; O’Reilly, ‘Double Martyrdom’, p. 194. 14 ACM pp. 128–9. 13 Luke

7 Breaking the rules of history: Herbert of Bosham

Herbert of Bosham’s is the ultimate Life of Thomas. Completed between 1184 and 1186, it is the last Life to be written by someone who knew Thomas well, and the last original contribution to the twelfth-century corpus of Becket Lives. At around 80,000 words, it is by far the longest, and while it echoes many features of the earlier Lives – for example the combination of observation with reflection, and response to criticism of Thomas – it is far more ambitious than any other. Herbert clearly believed he had written a great and important work, but worried that others might not see it in the same way. Towards the end of his book he makes fevered pleas against its abridgement. If you are incapable of writing you own Life, he asks, what makes you qualified to abridge mine? And if you are qualified to write a Life of Thomas, write your own! Herbert’s concerns were fully justified. Within little over a decade, his work was abridged as part of the composite Life, the Quadrilogus, and it is in this form that it gained most currency, with his original composition only surviving in two manuscripts. In the nineteenth century Robertson printed it in full in his Rolls Series edition, but his introductory comments suggest that he did so grudgingly: Nothing could well be more utterly worthless than the matter with which (in order to edification, as he supposes) his narrative is diluted, as it appears in its separate form. Herbert is, indeed, one of the most provoking of authors. Instead of being content to tell an intelligible story, (as in the passages which alone are given in the Quadrilogus), he continually digresses into long discourses which are quite beside the subject, and in themselves are mere nothingness.

In a similar vein Magnusson wrote that ‘for bad literary taste, irrelevancy and vanity, [Herbert’s Life] stands perhaps unrivalled in English literature, and yet  MTB

3. 534. Arras, Bibliothèque de la Ville, MS 649, and Oxford, Corpus Christi College, MS D. 5, 5. The former has undergone mutilation though many of these gaps may be filled in with the aid of transcripts by Sir Thomas Phillipps, printed T. Craib, ‘The Arras MS. of Herbert of Bosham’, EHR 35 (1920): 218–24. The Corpus Christi MS lacks the first three books. See MTB 3. xxvi–xxviii.  MTB 3. xxiii–xxiv. 

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is a very valuable contribution to the Thomas cycle of writings for the historical matter it contains’. While expressing it in less stark terms, more recent commentators have reflected these views, and that implicit in the editorial decision of the compilers of the Quadrilogus: that Herbert’s is a work of great historical value, marred by long, tedious and self-indulgent passages. To any student of Thomas Becket’s life and death, Herbert is a prominent figure, but even among scholars of twelfth-century England, much of his Life of Thomas remains obscure. To read it in full can be a frustrating experience, but to read it in a selective way is to read a different book from that which Herbert wrote, and to receive a different picture of Thomas from that intended. The two greatest influences on Herbert’s life were theology and Thomas Becket. Had Herbert never met Thomas, he would still merit at least a few lines in any survey of twelfth-century theology, and thanks to Smalley’s work, his contribution in this field has gained proper recognition. Herbert’s formative years were spent at Paris, where he studied under Peter Lombard and almost certainly under Andrew of St Victor, gaining an orthodox training as a ‘master of the Holy Page’. Although he is not known to have taught in the Continental schools, Herbert became an accomplished theologian, his most important writings coming after Thomas’s death. Shortly after 1170 he completed his revision of Peter Lombard’s Magna Glosatura on the Psalms and Epistles, which he had begun around 1165 at Thomas’s request. Unusually among his contemporaries, Herbert was a Hebraist, and towards the end of his days (he died in the mid-1190s) he produced an original exposition of Jerome’s Hebrew Psalter. But Herbert was far from an other-worldly scholar. He served Thomas as a clerk during the chancellorship, and remained in his service when his master became archbishop. He witnessed the major dramas of Thomas’s

 Saga,

vol. 2, p. xci. Herbert’s Life (BHL 8190–1), MTB 3. 155–534; discussed xvii–xxviii; Saga, vol. 2, pp. xci–xcii; Hardy, pp. 325–9; Duggan, Textual History, pp. 200–3; Barlow, Becket, pp. 7–8.  See Smalley, Becket Conflict, pp. 59–86. Smalley discusses Herbert’s scholarship in ‘A Commentary on the Hebraica by Herbert of Bosham’, Recherches de théologie ancienne at médiévale 18 (1851): 29–65, summarized in Study of the Bible, 3rd edn only, pp. 186–95. Peter Lombard, Commentaria in Psalmos, PL 191. 31–1296, Commentaria in Epistulas, 191. 1297–1696, 192. 9–520. Herbert’s revision is in Cambridge, Trinity College, MS B 5. 4, 6, 7, and Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. E, inf. 6. The prefaces are printed in H. H. Glunz, History of the Vulgate in England (Cambridge, 1933), pp. 341–50. and discussed, pp. 218–21. Herbert’s commentary on the Hebrew Psalter is in London, St Paul’s Cathedral, MS 2. Three excerpts are printed in R. Loewe, ‘Herbert of Bosham’s Commentary on Jerome’s Hebrew Psalter’, Biblica 34 (1953): 44–77, 159–92, 275–98. See D. L. Goodwin, ‘Herbert of Bosham and the Horizons of Twelfth-Century Exegesis’, Traditio 58 (2003): 133–73; H. Vollrath, ‘ “Gewissenmoral” und Konflictverständnis: Thomas Becket in der Darstellung seiner Biographen’, Historisches Jahrbuch 109 (1989): 24–55; C. S. Jaeger, The Envy of Angels: Cathedral Schools and Social Ideas in Medieval Europe, 950–1200 (Philadelphia, 1994), pp. 297–309. 



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a­ rchiepiscopate, from Westminster and Northampton to Vézelay and Fréteval, and uniquely amongst the biographers, he was at his master’s side throughout the exile. But, to his everlasting regret, he was sent away on business at Christmas 1170, thereby missing the martyrdom. Not only was Herbert a witness to Thomas’s life, he was also a close friend and confidant, and had an undoubted influence on the archbishop’s development. He tells us that, travelling from London to Canterbury for Becket’s consecration, the archbishop elect asked him to act as his monitor in his perilous life ahead. This he did, as he reports in his Life, by listening to Becket’s thoughts and responding with advice at critical moments, a claim corroborated by other writers. Herbert’s personality is more vividly apparent to us than that of any of the other biographers, through his own self-referential writings, and through the descriptions of others. William Fitzstephen describes an interview with the king in 1166. ‘See, here comes a proud one’, remarked Henry to his men as Herbert entered ‘in very splendid dress, wearing a tunic and cloak of green cloth of Auxerre, hanging from his shoulders in the German style and falling to his ankles, with suitable adornments.’ Herbert soon began to harangue the king about his promulgation of ‘evil customs’. ‘For shame’, cried the exasperated king. ‘Why should my kingdom be disturbed and my peace unsettled by the son of a priest!’ ‘Far be it from me’, replied Herbert. ‘But nor am I the son of a priest, although later my father became a priest. Just as someone is not a king’s son, if he was not born to a king.’ Henry’s father was, of course, Geoffrey, count of Anjou. ‘Well whoever’s son he is’, interjected a baron sitting nearby, ‘I would give half my land for him to be mine!’10 Not only was Herbert hated by the king11 but also by many within the Church, and one can see why. He is frequently pictured, in his own account and in those of others, urging Thomas to resist the king, refuse compromise, and take severe action against the ‘enemies of the Church’. After Thomas’s death, Herbert was equally uncompromising, and his Life stands not only as a memorial to Thomas but, more than any of the other Lives, to his cause as well. While most of the biographies were written in the immediate aftermath of Thomas’s glorious martyrdom, Herbert wrote his Life between 1184 and 1186. By this time, he writes, most of those who had witnessed Becket’s life were dead, and it was incumbent on him to preserve a record for posterity.12 Often bitter in tone, Herbert gives the impression of a life shattered by the  MTB

3. 485­–6, 502. 3. 186.  E.g. MTB 3. 58. 10 MTB. 3. 99–101. 11 Thomas is said to have told Herbert that ‘the king sees you as more troublesome than others in the cause of the Church’, MTB 3. 486. 12 MTB 3. 156, 497.  MTB

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loss of his master and the failure of others to take his place in fighting for the Church. In the preface, a letter to Archbishop Baldwin of Canterbury (1184–91) and his canonical successors, he writes that his Life is intended as an immortal literary monument to Thomas as a model to Thomas’s successors, ‘For this man most certainly provides an example of a model, so that whatever he did, you ought to do the same.’ It is not Thomas’s miracles which provide a model – they are only for the unfaithful – but his works, and in particular his zeal for the Church.13 Appended to the Life is the Liber Melorum, a pious celebration of Thomas’s virtues which expands on many of the themes covered in the Life.14 Although Herbert served Thomas as chancellor, he, like most other writers, has little to say about Thomas’s life before his consecration. But from 1162 onwards, Herbert provides probably the fullest and most detailed account of Thomas’s life. His description of Thomas’s appointment to Canterbury is followed by a very lengthy description of Thomas’s day as archbishop: his ministrations to the poor, his manner of celebrating mass, his demeanour as judge and at table, and so on. His telling of how the dispute unfolded is also valuable, especially in the descriptions of the councils of Westminster, Clarendon and Northampton, at which he was present. But Herbert’s greatest contribution to the historical record is in his account of the exile. Whereas most other writers skim over these six years or insert letters at this point, it occupies roughly half of Herbert’s book. Herbert returned to Canterbury with Thomas, and although he did not witness the murder, he provides a full account. There the narrative ends, with little discussion of the miracles or the political aftermath, which is left to the Liber Melorum. As someone who was close to Thomas, and who wrote at such length and in such detail, Herbert’s Life is an invaluable historical resource, but it is much more than that. Becket’s life and death allowed Herbert an opportunity to use his skills as a theologian to the utmost. When Thomas was alive Herbert acted as his adviser and his instructor in the Scriptures,15 and wrote letters on his behalf, filled with theological analyses of the dispute. These arguments remained as fresh and relevant to Herbert two decades after he had included them in his heated polemics or whispered them in Thomas’s ear. In his Life, Herbert the theologian expresses himself primarily through the lengthy digressions mentioned above. For those who read Herbert’s Life as a historical record – as most do – these digressions can prove quite an irritation, for not only are they usually lengthy and obscure, they often interrupt the narrative at precisely the most dramatic moments: for example, just as the knights are about to rain down blows on Thomas’s head. Such passages were not included in the Quadrilogus and have usually been passed over by modern 13 MTB

3. 155–6. Melorum, PL 190. 1294–1404. 15 MTB 3. 204–6, 379. 14 Liber



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writers. Yet they encapsulate almost everything of Herbert’s interpretation of Thomas’s life and deeds. There are different types of digressions, but the most frequently found consists of speeches attributed to various individuals, usually Thomas, Herbert or ‘Thomas’s learned men’ in general. As Robertson writes, Herbert is not content with indulging in such digressions, or with reporting speeches in the same style as having be made by himself; but he puts similar orations, long, dull and unmeaning, into the mouths of others … which, we may be very sure, were never made by the persons to which they were assigned.16

Herbert never claims that his reported speeches are exact reflections of words spoken two decades earlier. When he attributes a speech to Thomas at the Council of Westminster, he adds, This is the disciple is bearing witness to these things and heard and wrote these things. He wrote, I say, and if these were not the exact words said, these words written nevertheless express the spirit and substance (virtus et materia) of those spoken.17

The idea that such reported speeches should reflect the sense rather than the exact words has a long tradition, going back to Thucydides and beyond.18 Indeed, Herbert’s comments echo Augustine’s remark that the Spirit was with the translators of the Septuagint as it was in the prophets, ‘so that, although the words were not the same, yet the same meaning should shine forth to those of good understanding’.19 Many of the other biographers attribute similar speeches to Thomas, though none of them makes such use of them as Herbert does. Herbert’s words above also directly recall those of John the Evangelist at the end of his gospel: ‘This is the disciple who is bearing witness to these things, and who has written these things; and we know that his testimony is true.’20 Herbert considered himself to be, like John, the most dearly loved of his master’s disciples, and his Life, like John’s gospel, stood apart from the others as the last and most reflective. The speeches which Herbert 16 MTB

3. xxiv. 3. 272. 18 ‘With reference to the speeches in this history, some were delivered before the war began, others while it was going on; some I heard myself, others I got from various quarters; it was in all cases difficult to carry them word for word in one’s memory, so my habit has been to make the speeches say what was in my opinion demanded of them by the various occasions, of course adhering as closely as possible to the general sense of what they really said’, Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War 1. 22, trans R. Crawley; see The Speeches in Thucydides, ed. P. A. Stadtler (Charlotte, NC, 1973). 19 Augustine, De Civitate Dei 18. 43, ed. B. Dombart and A. Kalb, CCSL 48 (1939; repr. 1955), 639. 20 John 21:24. 17 MTB

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attributes to Thomas combine and conflate actual events with extracts from contemporary letters and Christian tradition, and Herbert’s own thoughts, to present a reflection on Thomas and the events in which he was involved. To take one example, in early November 1164 Thomas fled from England and made his way to the papal court, then in exile at Sens. There, as many of the biographers tell us, the pope condemned the Constitutions and encouraged Thomas in his defence of the Church’s liberty, while balancing this by dispatching him to the Cistercian monastery of Pontigny. Herbert, uniquely among the twelfth-century writers, reports a discussion between Thomas and certain cardinals and other members of the curia who criticized him for rising up against the king in time of schism and danger to the Church.21 In this time of darkness, they argued, the sword of Peter – that is, vigorous action on the Church’s behalf, or more specifically ecclesiastical censure22 – ought to be sheathed, and they cite two readings in support of their case: ‘Redeeming the time, for the days are evil’23 and ‘The prudent man in that time will be silent, for the days are evil’.24 It is likely that this passage accurately reflects the views of many in the curia, and there are references in other Lives to mixed opinions, and the hostility of some. For example, Alan of Tewkesbury reports that while some said that Thomas was justly acting in defence of his Church, others argued that he was a disturber of the peace who ought to be reined in rather than supported.25 But it also specifically echoes the words of the pope himself to Thomas a few months after this discussion is said to have taken place. In the summer of 1165 Alexander wrote, Since these are evil times, and much must be borne because of the temper of the times, we ask, advise, counsel and exhort your discretion to act with caution, prudence, and circumspection in everything concerning your own and the Church’s affairs; do nothing hurriedly or precipitately, but only soberly and maturely, and labour and strive to recover the grace and goodwill of the illustrious English king by all possible means, as far as you can, while preserving the Church’s freedom and the honour of your office.26

In Herbert’s Life, Thomas’s reply runs to more than 3,000 words of dense scriptural, theological and canonical disputation,27 of which the following is very much a summary. 21

MTB 3. 343–4. The cardinals’ speech is also described in the brief Life of Thomas which Henry and Roger of Crowland dedicated to Stephen Langton, PL 190. 261. 22 See below, pp. 104–6. 23 Eph. 5:16. 24 Amos 5:13. 25 MTB 2. 337. 26 CTB no. 54, pp. 224–5. The image is also used by Bishop John of Poitiers in a letter to Thomas from around the same time: CTB no. 51, pp. 216–7. 27 MTB 3. 344–56.



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Thomas begins by acknowledging that in time of schism the sword ought to remain sheathed. But, he asserts, following a time of darkness there may be a time of cloudiness when the sword ought to be alternately drawn and put away, ‘For first there is a time of forbearance, the time of mercy, and later of justice.’28 In time of schism, princes often strike the sides and shake out the insides of the mother Church, and often the evangelical sword has been drawn against them. Paul wrote, when the Church was young and fragile, ‘If your brother is a fornicator, or avaricious, or serves idols, or a drunkard, or rapacious, do not eat with him’,29 and, ‘You bear it if a man makes slaves of you, or prays upon you, or takes advantage of you, or puts on airs, or strikes you in the face.’30 And if such slavery should not have been borne when the Church was young, all the less should it be borne now, ‘for unless he draws the sword freely against the violators of ecclesiastical peace, the ecclesiastical judge carries the sword without cause. And the ecclesiastical peace is not only disturbed by schismatics or heretics, but often by tyrants, sons of the Church.’ In such a case, even in time of schism and heresy, ecclesiastical censure ought to be exercised; otherwise the vicar of Christ bears the sword without cause,31 and absconds in time of war. Such a vigorous defence may bring persecution, but will also bring strength, and ‘When the time demands, we will not be slaves of worldly fear but ministers of justice. Justice and peace kiss: these two love each other, so that he who practices justice finds peace, and not otherwise.’32 The cardinals’ approach would, he asserts, turn strong pillars of the Church into reeds, and kings into tyrants. This summary does not give a full sense of the dazzling array of scriptural, patristic and classical allusions which Herbert puts in Thomas’s mouth, and what lies behind them. But it should be obvious that this is an exercise in disputatio. The narrow theme is the virtue and efficacy of opposing tyranny in a time of schism, and as such it is a response to the pleadings of many in the papal court. But more broadly, it is justification of Thomas’s stance in general; indeed, it is one of the fullest statements in the entire Becket materials of Thomas’s position: that there is a time to stand up against temporal authority, even when the Church is in danger. 28 See

Lombard, PL 191. 901. Cor. 5:11. 30 2 Cor. 11:20. 31 See Rom. 13:14. 32 Ps. 85:10 (84:11). See Augustine, Enn. Ps., CCSL 39. 1172; Lombard, PL 191. 797–8. Thomas employs this image in a letter of 1167 to all the cardinals in which he outlines the ills done to the church every day, and asserts that ‘he who does not oppose manifest crime is considered to give secret approval to it’. He concludes with an exhortation to ‘unsheathe the sword of St Peter’: CTB no. 125, pp. 596–99, 604–5. He also employs it in a letter of 1170 to Cardinal priest John of Naples, warning him that the curia ought to be wary of Gilbert Foliot on his proposed visit: CTB no. 263, pp. 1134–5. See also Liber Melorum, PL 190. 1376 bis. 29 1

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In the second part of the speech Thomas moves away from an abstract discussion of resistance to authority and turns to his own situation. He expresses astonishment that the cardinals have sought to rebuke him for not ‘redeeming the time’. A true interpretation of St Paul’s words, following Church tradition, would, he claims, show that he has indeed redeemed the time, ‘For the master did not teach that time ought to be redeemed in exchange for ecclesiastical liberty.’ The meaning of redeeming the time is, he claims, the forfeiture of worldly things in exchange for the time to serve God and the opportunity to leave oneself free for heavenly things. ‘See then brothers if you please’, he says, ‘and tell me whether or not I have redeemed the time, I who gave up worldly things in exchange for time, I who abandoned the riches and honour of the church of Canterbury, the most distinguished church of the western world, and the favour and glory of my lord king, for my peace and liberty, and for that of the clerks entrusted to me.’33 The phrase ‘redeeming the time’ has a particular significance in Becket’s case. In May 1169 the pope wrote to Thomas, announcing the mission of Cardinals Gratian and Vivian, and urging him not to issue any sentence against the king or the realm, at least for the present: Therefore we ask and admonish you, brother, carefully to bear in mind the difficulties and evils of the time, and remembering how our predecessors redeemed their times because of the evil of the day, to strive by every means possible to recover the grace and love of the king, as far as can be done, saving your order and your office, and seek to soften his heart, showing him patience, mildness, and kindness, so that it cannot fairly be said by anyone that it was you who continued to prevent the fuller acquisition of his grace and goodwill.34

Smalley pointed out a sting in the tail of Alexander’s words, in that Peter Lombard’s gloss on this passage mentions that one ought to serve God and pray, rather than engaging in legal disputes.35 The Lombard does say this, but it is only one line in a broader commentary that is largely consistent with Herbert’s case. Furthermore, his inclusion of additional material indicates that Herbert used not Peter Lombard’s gloss but the fuller commentary by Augustine on which it is based, and which backs up Herbert’s interpretation even more. Thomas continues, in Herbert’s account, by elaborating his reasons for leaving England. No apology is necessary, he says, since staying in England would have been fruitless, or even fatal, whereas exile might allow him to act efficiently on behalf of his Church. He does not, he says, propose by his example that his successors should flee, unless it should prove necessary. And 33

MTB 3. 354. Edward Grim and William of Canterbury also employ this image with reference to Thomas’s ‘conversion’: MTB 2. 369; 1. 10. 34 CTB no. 204, pp. 890–1. 35 Smalley, Becket Conflict, pp. 158–9.



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he concludes by recalling how, in 1148, he accompanied Archbishop Theobald in furtively crossing the sea in a tiny boat against King Stephen’s orders to present himself before the pope.36 This section of Herbert’s Life has received hardly any attention from modern scholars. Barlow simply comments that it ‘would seem to owe more to Herbert than to the tyro scholar [i.e. Thomas]’, while Smalley, apart from her comments on ‘Redeeming the time’, sums it up as ‘an exercise in gloss-punching’.37 Both are correct: it is unlikely that Thomas either spoke or thought like this, whereas Herbert did, and it is one of his most extravagant exercises in exegetical debate, but this should not diminish its importance. Herbert was present at Sens, and had indeed arrived before Thomas and mingled with the cardinals. It is likely that some discussion on these themes was made, if not so eruditely. Its central placing here, in such lengthy form, suggests that Herbert believed the issues were of prime importance to the dispute, and they are echoed throughout his work. Unusually for a medieval writer, Herbert devotes much attention to explaining his own method. This may be illustrated with reference to a second type of digression identified by Robertson. Referring to the story’s dilution with ‘irrelevant and wearisome commentary’ and ‘dreary inanities’, he complains that ‘When [Herbert] has tried the reader’s patience with tedious superfluities of this kind, he often spends a further space in vindicating his diffuseness, and that telling us that we ought to be thankful for it.’38 Herbert can certainly be long-winded, but his self-justification is convincing, and essential for an understanding of the purpose of his work. After his lengthy description of Becket’s change of life upon his elevation to Canterbury, and before he turns to its consequences for the archbishop’s ecclesiastical policy, Herbert writes that in following the works of the archbishop, ‘Perhaps I seem too wayward, and in the commendation of these works too tedious a wordsmith, and to apply myself more to theological edification than the historical articulation of the man’s deeds, and in this way to smack too much of a theologian and too little of a historian.’ But, he protests, the reader ought not to blame him for this, ‘but look to me not only to explain the archbishop’s deeds but the reason for them, not only what was done but the mind of the doer’.39 He admits that ‘Perhaps I break the law of history and come across more as a theologian; but without theology, without the language of God, the quality of God’s works neither can nor ought be declared.’ As Thomas’s life reveals divine work, one should know the cause and value of such work. The psalmist called on God, ‘Give me understanding’ 36

John of Salisbury, Hist. Pont., pp. 7, 41–2, 48; MTB 3. 356; see A. Saltman, Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury (London, 1956), pp. 25–30. 37 Barlow, Becket, p. 123; Smalley, Becket Conflict, p. 158. 38 MTB 3. xxiii–xxiv. 39 MTB 3. 247–8.

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so that it might be revealed to him not only what he ought to do, but why he ought to do it. And although ‘It is better to do the command of God than to understand it, nevertheless understanding comes before doing.’40 At the end of his book he goes over these points again, explaining why his work ought not to be abridged. He claims that to omit his lengthy digressions would constitute an offence to the many who asked him to describe not only Thomas’s deeds but the reasons for them. If perhaps some should misinterpret this as breaking the law of history, if it please, let him make allowance, and bear in mind that it has been done not for the sake of longwindedness but in accordance to my friends’ wish. Nor in fact, if you properly scrutinize the form of histories, is this contrary to the law of history but in fact fully consistent with it. But that is for another time.41

The sense that Thomas was not any saint but one of extraordinary significance is present throughout Herbert’s work, not least in his apologies for prolixity. These passages not only offer an explanation of his purpose, but also punctuate the text with an analysis of style and method. Immediately after the account of Becket’s consecration, and before describing his change of habits, Herbert expresses his hesitation in continuing. Up to this point, he writes, Becket sailed in the peaceful waters of the secular world, but now he directs the ship42 into the depths of the sea, between Scylla and Charybdis. His life as chancellor could be represented in a worldly style, but this method of expression is insufficient to describe the new heavenly image of the man: how then ‘can I adequately portray the heavenly image of Christ’s great new pontiff as distinct from the worldly image of the secular man?’ Moses was allowed to contemplate the exemplar of divine law on the mount, but when Herbert undertook to write this book, ‘The exemplar was shown to me, not on the mount, but in this valley of tears.’ This, he concludes, should be his starting-point. As one who accompanied Thomas to the end, he should be able to learn from what he saw and heard. By the secret disposition of God, he believes, he has been allowed to live long after other witnesses have died so that he could record not only the details of Thomas’s life, but his triumph after death.43 Therefore, the heavenly image of Thomas may be portrayed by reporting what he saw and heard in the light of Thomas’s posthumous glory. Having proceeded with the story which he learned in the valley of tears,

40

MTB 3. 248–50. See Jerome, Scripta supposita, Ep. 1, PL 30. 24 (also attributed to Augustine, PL 33. 1105). 41 MTB 3. 532–4. 42 Navis institoris: see Prov. 31:14. Bede interprets this merchant-ship in terms of the holy soul which sails through the waves of the present world, thinking only of heaven, Super Parabolas Salamonis Allegorica Expositio 3. 31, PL 91. 1032, and De Muliere Forti, PL 91. 1043. 43 MTB 3. 189–92.



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Herbert comes to the climactic martyrdom, and reflects again on his method.44 The reader, he writes, should not complain of the writer’s prolixity, nor should it be boring, considering the singularity of the subject-matter. He should not hasten straight to the point,45 for just as the soul has various feelings, so voices vary in their expression: love has a sweet tone, fear a measured one, joy a happy voice but compassion one filled with sighs.46 ‘In writing this I mourn alone, and in mourning I write alone.’ After the death of others it has fallen to him to write fully what he saw and heard of Thomas and if he failed to do so he would condemn himself with the words of the prophet, ‘Alas, for I was silent.’47 But whereas up to now he had described the man whom he had seen with his own eyes, the disciple is left naked without his master’s cloak, and does not know where to find him. Thomas flies like Elijah, where ‘no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived’.48 Finally, as he approaches the moment when Thomas is struck by the knights’ swords, he reflects again on the difficulty of describing a subject so far from his comprehension, and calls on his only remaining resource – divine inspiration: ‘May the Lord open my lips so that my mouth be worthy in announcing to his glory the praise of his new martyr.’49 It is not surprising that Herbert’s Life of Thomas has not been appreciated as he intended it. It is often self-indulgent, and allows few concessions to the reader. Though other biographers exalt Thomas as the greatest saint of their age, and do not flinch from direct comparisons to Christ, Herbert’s presentation of Thomas as surpassing all saints in Christian history would have been too much for most readers, even in the twelfth century. A greater difficulty is the depth of Herbert’s knowledge and his will to display it. Unlike William Fitzstephen, whose Life can be read on different levels, Herbert’s Life tends to move directly from clear historical narrative to complex theological discourse which even those with a good grounding in theology might struggle to penetrate. What, then, is the value of Herbert’s Life, and in particular, the value of taking it as a whole? First, I suggest, is its worth as a learned, ambitious and original literary work. It comes at a time when others – Walter Map and Gerald of Wales, for example – also appeared to be ‘breaking the rules of history’. Herbert believed that Thomas was a new type of saint, and as such required a new type of literary monument. His Life can be frustrating for those who approach it solely for evidence of the life and death of the historical Thomas Becket, but can be rewarding when read as an impassioned distillation of a 44

MTB 3. 495–7. See Horace, De Arte Poet. 148. 46 See Bernard, Sermones super Cantica Canticorum, Opera 2. 190. 47 Isa. 6:5. 48 1 Cor. 2:9. 49 MTB 3. 504–5. 45

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life’s learning focused on a subject of which he knew intimately and believed was of great importance. But a full consideration of Herbert’s Life also contributes to our understanding of the historical Thomas. Thanks to the letters and the Lives, we know a great deal about the details of Thomas’s life and it is unlikely that we will learn much more. But there is still much to be done in terms of what Herbert sought to provide: explanation and understanding. Herbert’s presentation of Thomas must be approached critically. Though in large measure he eschewed the hagiographical form, his adulation of Thomas is more hagiographical in the colloquial sense of the word than that of any other biographer. Nonetheless, as someone who was perhaps closer to Thomas than any other person outside his family, and who deliberately set out to make people understand Thomas, he deserves attention from the historian.

8 Conversion

Thomas Becket’s personality and character have proved notoriously resistant to interpretation, despite the vast amount of testimony to his life and death. There are two particular questions about Thomas which no amount of historical evidence has been able to resolve. One concerns his murder: did Thomas, as his biographers suggest, foresee his death and willingly embrace it? The other, the subject of this chapter, is: how do we explain the change from Thomas the worldly chancellor and friend of the king to Thomas the archbishop, champion of the Church? While this question has exercised many scholars, little attention has been paid to what the biographers say about it. This seems especially remiss in that the interpretation of Thomas’s behaviour most frequently discussed – conversion – originates with the posthumous biographers. Nowhere in contemporary letters is it advanced, not even in John of Salisbury’s assessment of Thomas’s sanctity of early 1171, Ex insperato. The notion of conversion is central to most of the Lives, not only in relation to 1162, but running throughout their portrayal of Thomas from birth until death. Therefore it is all the more important to ask: What do the biographers mean when they say that Thomas underwent a conversion? Becket’s biographers agree that something extraordinary happened when he became archbishop of Canterbury in 1162. Transformed, they write, into a new man, he immediately embarked upon a more religious life and began with new zeal to champion the cause of the Church. A review of Thomas’s career suggests that 1162 was at the very least a watershed: who would have predicted that such a close friend of Henry II would enter into bitter conflict with the Crown, that the proud and worldly chancellor would endure exile and martyrdom in defence of ecclesiastical liberties, or that one of inconspicuous holiness would become one of England’s most revered saints? But, while noting the contrast between Becket’s early life and his archiepiscopate, many modern writers have been sceptical about ‘the miracle of sudden conversion’ as an explanation of subsequent actions, regarding it as an exaggerated hagiographical claim inconsistent with the evidence. Though  This chapter is a development from my article, ‘Thomas Becket’s Conversion’, ANS 21

(1999): 193–211.

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the change was startling and real, it is argued, Becket’s was not ‘in the deepest sense a conversion’, nor ‘a transformation or rebirth of character’. He did not ‘pass at a definite moment with Paul, with Augustine, with Francis, into a new world of the spirit from the world of other men’. The biographers’ own evidence shows that Becket had never been a rogue or an unbeliever, and that a deep religious purpose was apparent even during his controversial spell as royal chancellor. Furthermore, Becket’s elevation to Canterbury was not ‘the clear-cut beginning of a mystical or heroic existence’. In personal matters the new archbishop continued on his predictable worldly path, and a decisive change in political policy did not emerge until two years later. Clearly Becket’s experience did not mirror that of Paul on the road to Damascus, nor did it mark an irretrievable break with the past or open up a flawless path to sanctity. But do these qualifications necessarily contradict the biographers’ claim of conversion? On the surface, this claim does appear as an isolated and unsubstantiated hagiographical flourish, but a fuller examination of the Lives reveals the theme of conversion integrated into the narrative of Becket’s earlier and later life, providing an internally consistent picture of sanctity from birth to death. Also, while Becket’s case may appear inconsistent with the most familiar paradigm of conversion, an investigation of the understanding of conversion in the twelfth century exposes its narrow conception as a sudden and definite passing from an evidently imperfect early life to a ‘mystical or heroic existence’ as inappropriate to the literary and intellectual context of Becket and his biographers. Indeed, though an unlikely example, Becket’s case provides a valuable illustration of many aspects of the discussion of conversion in the central middle ages.

 D.

Knowles, ‘Thomas Becket: A Character Study’, The Historian and Character, and Other Essays (Cambridge, 1963), pp. 98–128 at p. 110.  Knowles, Thomas Becket (London, 1970), p. 54.  Knowles, ‘Character Study’, p. 100.  Knowles, Becket, p. 54; Knowles, ‘Character Study’, p. 106. Z. N. Brooke sees his appointment as chancellor as a more crucial change than his appointment to Canterbury, The English Church and the Papacy (Cambridge, 1931), p. 194.  Knowles, ‘Character Study’, p. 100.  Barlow, Becket, p. 83.  Knowles, ‘Character Study’, pp. 112–13.  For a discussion of Thomas’s conversion as a topos see O’Reilly, ‘Double Martyrdom’, pp. 199–201, 208. For the fullest analysis of Becket’s early life see L. B. Radford, Thomas of London before his Consecration (Cambridge, 1894). The classic work on the meaning of conversion is A. D. Nock, Conversion (Oxford, 1933). For a discussion of its meaning in the central middle ages, see K. F. Morrison, Understanding Conversion (Charlottesville, VA, 1990 and Conversion and Text (London, 1992). For a bibliography on the subject, see L. Rambo, ‘Current Research on Religious Conversion’, Religious Studies Review 8 (1982): 146–59.



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The old man When his mother was pregnant with Thomas, she is said to have dreamed that she approached the door of Christ Church Canterbury, but was prevented from entering by the greatness of the swelling in her belly. On other occasions she saw that she was carrying the whole church of Canterbury in her womb, or that the River Thames flowed within her, or that twelve stars fell from heaven onto her lap. On the day that Thomas was born, a fire is reported to have spread from his parents’ house, consuming a large part of the city. And when, in his infancy, Thomas’s mother and a nurse tried to unfold a cloth in which the baby had been wrapped, it was found to be larger than all of England. These wonders are interpreted as signifying variously Thomas’s greatness as archbishop, the extent of his fame and his glory after death.10 Such stories, though colourful, are by no means unusual in hagiography: the birth of even the most obscure saint tended to be accompanied by visions and miracles. But what is noteworthy about the omens of Becket’s greatness is that they refer to his eight years as archbishop rather than the forty-four or so which preceded his appointment. Most hagiographers present their subjects advancing conspicuously and consistently towards holiness from an early age. Alcuin, for example, after reporting portents of greatness at the birth of St Willibrord, relates how the child was instructed by the monks of Ripon, and ‘From his earliest years divine grace allowed him to grow in strength and character, at least as far as it is possible at such an age, so that it seemed as if in our day there had been another Samuel, of whom it was said: “The boy grew up and advanced in favour both with God and men.” ’11 The late eleventh-century Life of Robert, abbot of Casa Dei, also relates wonders surrounding the saint’s birth, and remarks that the young man ‘added virtue to virtue, and incessantly built a tower, whose foundations he laid in boyhood’.12 Such a model may not have been easily applicable to Becket. As D. Knowles writes, his is ‘not an example of that type of sanctity which recurs throughout the ages, where the predestined spirit seems to walk from childhood with unseen reality’.13 But nor, on the other hand, does Becket’s early life compare to that of Saul before he became Paul. Thomas was born into the family of Gilbert Becket, a London merchant, and his wife Matilda, whose Christian devotion and interest in learning is said to have had a profound influence upon her son. His earliest employment was

10 MTB

2. 356–8; 3. 13–14; 4. 3–5, 81–2; Guernes v. 171–200. Vita Willibrordi, MGH Scriptorum rerum merovingicarum 7, ed. B. Krusch and W. Levison (Hanover, 1920), p. 118; see 1 Sam. 2:26. 12 Mardobus, Vita S. Roberti Abbatis Casae Dei, PL 171. 1507–8. 13 Knowles, ‘Character Study’, p. 100. 11 Alcuin,

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as a clerk in the City of London where he became acquainted with the secular worlds of finance and politics. At the age of twenty-five Thomas took his first step on the road to an ecclesiastical career when he entered the household of Theobald, archbishop of Canterbury. There he endured the enmity of some of the other ambitious young clerks, but also enjoyed the patronage of the archbishop, who appointed Thomas archdeacon of Canterbury in 1154, an office which he continued to hold until he became archbishop. A few months later the new king, Henry II, appointed Thomas royal chancellor, one of the most important administrative positions in the land. Our picture of Thomas as chancellor depends to a large extent on the colourful account of William Fitzstephen,14 but he is echoed by other writers. Fitzstephen gives the impression of a close friendship and highly successful partnership between king and archbishop in reasserting royal authority and bringing peace and prosperity to the realm. Thomas is presented as an enthusiastic conscript to the world of the court, its luxuries and pastimes. Fitzstephen dwells on two episodes which show how much Thomas had adapted to his role. First, he describes his magnificent embassy to the French king in 1158, savouring the details of its retinue and trappings.15 Next, he describes Thomas’s role in the siege of Toulouse of 1159 and how two years later he successfully led a military campaign at La Marche, at one point personally unseating a distinguished French knight and seizing his charger.16 At first sight this appears to be an inauspicious preparation for the office of archbishop. Indeed, most biographers strike a balance between Becket’s virtues and the limits of his achievements: although he embraced the vanities of court early in life ‘nothing shamefully notorious was found to have been done’;17 he led a cheerful life without becoming dissolute;18 even if he seemed less cautious as a youth, he was still a lover of charity; even if proud and vain or strayed to the things of the world, he remained chaste.19 However, theirs is not a picture of an ordinary young man, clerk and royal official whose unremarkable life was changed utterly by his elevation to Canterbury. Rather, they consistently claim that the roots of his later greatness lay in his earlier life. To many writers Thomas’s combination of the worldly and the spiritual could be explained in terms of inner virtue concealed by outward appearance. Anonymous I relates how, as a clerk in London, the adolescent Thomas joined in the somewhat vulgar conversation of his companions while retaining his purity of heart within, outwardly ‘pretending not to be different from 14 MTB

3. 17–35. 3. 29–31; see above, pp. 58–9. 16 MTB 3. 33–5. 17 MTB 4. 82–3. 18 MTB 2. 303. 19 MTB 3. 164–8. 15 MTB



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others, while within all was indeed different’.20 In the same vein, William of Canterbury describes how some years later Becket came to be suspected of adultery with a woman of Stafford, a suspicion strengthened by his apparent absence from his bed late at night. However, upon further investigation, Thomas was discovered prostrate on the floor, exhausted after late hours in prayer. ‘Easily we may judge a man’, William concludes, ‘not knowing what is within him.’21 This defence was especially appropriate to Becket’s time as chancellor. ‘It is difficult for things begun with bad beginnings to be carried through to a good conclusion’, wrote Gilbert Foliot in 1166, recalling how, as he alleges, Becket bought the office of chancellor from the king, and attained to the office of archbishop in a similar way.22 According to Herbert of Bosham, many among the clergy doubted that a pastor of hounds and hawks could ever become a shepherd, and he also attributes speeches to Thomas in which the archbishop accepted that he had entered ‘the sheepfold of Christ’ through the door of the secular life, a proud and vain attendant of Caesar.23 The biographers do not hide the sumptuousness and pomp of Becket’s life as chancellor. William Fitzstephen, for example, describes how ‘His board was resplendent with gold and silver vessels and abounded in dainty dishes and precious wines, so that whatever food or drink was commended by its rarity, no price was too high to deter his agents from purchasing it.’24 But this picture is balanced with evidence of inward spirituality. Edward Grim writes that in the office of chancellor Thomas was second in importance only to the king in matters of the realm, and describes his luxuries and worldly glories. But despite such sumptuousness, he retained a chaste body and a humble heart, hidden to the powerful.25 Fitzstephen writes that amidst the secular pomp Thomas often received discipline in private, baring his back to the lash.26 Guernes asserts that the apparently arrogant chancellor was humble at heart, a leopard outwardly but inwardly a lamb.27 Some writers face up to Becket’s divided political loyalties, Anonymous I admitting the difficulty in explaining ‘how he bore the double man, the ecclesiastical and the curial’. Here again concealment is used as an explanation. However much Thomas was occupied in secular business, he did not forget the things of God, and amidst the splendour of his retinue he was

20 MTB

4. 8; see Seneca, Lettere a Lucilio no. 5, p. 100. 1. 6. 22 CTB no. 109, pp. 502–3. 23 MTB 3. 183, 289–30; see John 10:1. 24 MTB 3. 21. See also 3. 29–33, 176. 25 MTB 2. 363–5. 26 MTB 3. 22. 27 Guernes v. 291–2. 21 MTB

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fervent in his zeal for ecclesiastical liberty. Although the king’s design against the Church was already in his mind, Henry was thwarted by his chancellor’s secret manœuvres.28 Herbert of Bosham praises the chancellor’s discretion, by which, in the tradition of Timothy, David and Judith he acted for charity, law and piety, while appearing to act otherwise.29 Although accounts of Becket’s early life do not follow the traditional hagiographical pattern of rapid accumulation of virtue mentioned above, there is nonetheless a sense of progression. Herbert of Bosham admits that Thomas initially grew more in favour with man than with God, becoming urbane rather than benign. He goes on to reflect on how urbanity, though a false and vain grace, nevertheless derives from God, and that it may be a good and pleasant quality if goodness is added.30 Thomas, another Joseph, first drew in modesty and other graces, and only later the odour of virtue.31 He had not yet been inspired, but had nevertheless the potential for greater things. God, Herbert writes, tends to inspire as, where and when he wishes, ‘and those who come more recently are equal to those who came earlier’.32 William of Canterbury goes further, claiming that ‘The divine dispensation which called to the older [Thomas] instructed and engaged the younger, as if in preparation for the future.’33 Some writers claim that Thomas’s emerging virtues prepared him, and to some extent even allowed him, to act in the Church’s interest, even while restricted by secular life. Fitzstephen writes that Becket’s time as a clerk in London provided him with such a knowledge of the world ‘that in later life he had no difficulty in managing with caution and prudence the common interests of the Church in England and the public affairs of the kingdom’.34 According to John of Salisbury, Thomas’s decision to enter Archbishop Theobald’s household had been prompted by his concern for injuries done to the clerical order by magnates. He comments on Becket’s necessary and expedient labours for the Church during that time, including his attendance at the Council of Rheims in 1148,35 and adds the commonly stated claim that Theobald agreed to Becket’s elevation to the chancellorship believing that his clerk would act as a moderating influence on the king.36 In that office, William of Canterbury argues, Thomas ‘fought against the beasts of the court, 28 MTB

4. 12–13. 3. 173–4. 30 MTB 3. 163–4. See Ps. 85 (84):12; Augustine, Enn. Ps., CCSL 39. 1174–5; Lombard, PL 191. 798. 31 MTB 3. 171. 32 MTB 3. 165. 33 MTB 1. 4. 34 MTB 3. 14–15. 35 MTB 2. 303; see 4. 10. 36 MTB 2. 304. 29 MTB



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bearing the necessities of the Church, and, wherever royal severity and reverence allowed, contending against the king, as if by a certain presaging of the future in a time of peace he fought in the battle’.37 This progression is most skilfully demonstrated by Anonymous I in a technique developed from Edward Grim.38 Here he intersperses the narrative of Becket’s rise from London clerk to archdeacon to chancellor with passages which comment on his emerging qualities. As he climbed the career ladder towards archbishop, Thomas is seen to have simultaneously grown in chastity, generosity, prudence, wisdom and humility. To summarize, Becket’s biographers claim first that his early secular life concealed a more spiritual purpose, and second, that there may be discerned in his early life a gradual progression which laid the basis of his life as archbishop. Hagiographic parallels with the first point may be seen in depictions of St Martin before his baptism and St Wulfstan before his entry into the monastic life. Sulpicius Severus writes that as a youth Martin enrolled in the imperial guard although from an early age he aspired to the service of God. There he remained free from vice for nearly three years before baptism. In his kindness, patience, humility and self-denial he presented himself more as a monk than a soldier, and although ‘not yet regenerated in Christ’ he, by his good works, acted the part of a candidate for baptism.39 Similarly, William of Malmesbury describes how Wulfstan’s parents took the monastic habit while he ‘continued for a time in the world, outwardly but not in heart, with his body not with his soul’. He entered the service of the bishop of Worcester, where, by his asceticism and virtues, ‘He was already living the religious life in a secular habit.’40 Becket’s case also echoes the example of Germanus of Auxerre who before his elevation to the episcopacy advanced in the secular world from legal training to marriage to the governorship of a province. His fifth-century biographer, Constantius of Lyons, rather than criticizing this early life of worldly success, claims that it laid the basis of his future life in the Church: his eloquence prepared him for preaching, the doctrine of law for that of justice, and the society of his wife as testimony to his chastity.41 Knowles has perceptively noted that an over-emphasis on Becket the archbishop has obscured the success – on the evidence of the Lives – of his earlier career.42 However, the argument that the biographers’ claims for the clerk and chancellor invalidate their claim that Becket subsequently experienced a conversion can only be based on a narrow view of conversion as an abrupt 37 MTB

1. 5. 4. 8–14; 2. 361–5. 39 Sulpicius Severus, Vie de S. Martin, ed. J. Fontaine, SC 133 (Paris, 1967), pp. 254–7. 40 William of Malmesbury, Vita Wulfstani, ed. R. R. Darlington, Camden Society (London, 1928), pp. 7–8. 41 Constantius, Vie de S. Germain d’Auxerre, ed. R. Borius, SC 112 (Paris, 1965), pp. 122–5. 42 Knowles, ‘Character Study’, p. 106. 38 MTB

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about-turn from evil to good. In fact, even when a convert professes a sudden change there tends to be a background of concepts to which a stimulus can give life.43 A case in point is Augustine, whose full embracing of Christianity at the age of thirty-three was, as he presents it in the Confessions, the culmination of a long journey in that direction. His was not ‘a conversion from indifference’ but ‘a progress in a continuous line … like a chemical process in which the addition of a catalytic agent produces a reaction for which all the elements were already present’.44 This is the type of conversion claimed for Thomas. As Herbert writes, the new man had been obscured but not oppressed by the old man.45 The election and consecration of 1162 provided the catalyst which allowed the new man to emerge fully. Election and consecration One of the best known and most puzzling sections of the Lives is William Fitzstephen’s description of London. Fitzstephen opens his Life not with praise of Becket’s qualities or an account of his childhood, but with a description of the topography, character and way of life of the city in which Becket and his biographer were born. Although its worth as historical evidence for the study of London is undoubted, the inclusion of such a lengthy and detailed account in a saint’s Life may appear odd. Becket is no more closely identified with his city of birth than many other saints; nor is Fitzstephen, a careful and elegant writer, given to including extraneous material which would find a more appropriate setting elsewhere. However, recent research, viewed in the light of the present discussion, reveals a surprising purpose to this famous passage: as a skilful and significant illustration of the relationship between Thomas’s early life and that which followed his consecration. J. Scattergood has convincingly demonstrated how Fitzstephen’s description of London echoes classical encomia of Rome in order to draw a comparison between the secular greatness of Rome and the similar but superior achievements of London. Passages from Virgil, Persius, Juvenal and Horace are subtly adapted, thereby repeatedly characterizing London as a city which had succeeded in fulfilling the legacy of Roman achievement while proving itself immeasurably greater on account of its Christian ethos.46 The full significance of this section of Fitzstephen’s work falls into relief when one becomes aware of a stylistic device peculiar to this Life. As he describes Becket’s city, his birth and childhood, his apprenticeship in the City, his service 43 Nock,

Conversion, p. 8. Conversion, p. 266. 45 MTB 3. 185. 46 J. Scattergood, ‘Misrepresenting the City: Genre, Intertextuality and William Fitz­ Stephen’s Description of London (c. 1173)’, Reading the Past: Essays on Medieval and ­Renaissance Literature (Dublin, 1996), pp. 15–36. 44 Nock,



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in Theobald’s household and his life as royal chancellor, Fitzstephen’s prose bristles with erudite classical allusions, but contains no citations from Christian sources. But as soon as Becket’s consecration as archbishop is announced, Fitzstephen introduces a flood of biblical references. The implication is clear: just as London fulfilled the legacy of Rome but towered over its achievements by virtue of the Christian faith, so too was Thomas allowed to build upon the foundations laid by his early life, and indeed dramatically surpass them on account of his advancement as archbishop. Apart from minor differences in sequence and emphasis, the various accounts of Becket’s elevation are very similar in structure. They begin by relating how after the death of Archbishop Theobald, Henry looked to his chancellor and intimate to succeed him. Becket, however, at first hesitated to accept promotion to the archiepiscopate, citing his unworthiness and the danger of conflict with the king, but overcame his reluctance after the intervention of the cardinal legate. There are grounds for believing that Becket might have had serious reservations about taking on this new office, particularly the year-long delay between Theobald’s death and the appointment of a successor, and the conflict which followed Becket’s elevation. Nevertheless, this account should not be taken at face value. The topos of initial resistance to promotion followed by obedient capitulation to duty was an essential part of almost every account of ecclesiastical promotion, and its inclusion here may also reflect the accusations of cupidity which followed his appointment.47 Most biographers go on to provide a description, often detailed, of Becket’s formal election by the monks of Canterbury and its confirmation by the clergy and magnates of the realm. Many refer to the mixed views about his suitability as a candidate, and most note the opposition of Gilbert Foliot. Then they describe how Becket was released from secular obligations, although they disagree as to exactly what this meant.48 Becket’s consecration is not described in any great detail in any account. This is perhaps explained by the only significant detail we have of the occasion: Gilbert Foliot’s recollection that all were aghast at the inauspicious prognostic which fell to the new archbishop: ‘And [Jesus] said to it, “May no fruit ever come from you ever again!” And the fig-tree withered at once.’49 Nevertheless, though slight in detail, all biographers pinpoint this as the critical moment of change. They describe how the Holy Spirit, through the agency of the anointing unction, wrought a transformation in Becket in which he put off the old man and put on the new.

47 For

the background to this convention see M. Staunton, ‘Eadmer’s Vita Anselmi: A Reinterpretation’ JMH 23 (1997): 1–14 at 4–5. 48 See Barlow, Becket, pp. 71–2, 82–3. 49 CTB no. 109, pp. 504–7; Matt. 21:19.

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The biographers also share ideas about what Becket’s conversion meant. For them, the transformation of 1162 was twofold: it involved first his own will in conforming to his new office after the election, and second the inspiration of the Holy Spirit in his consecration which helped to bring this about. According to Anonymous II, Thomas knew that on his elevation he would have to reject the luxuries to which he had become accustomed and put off the old man entirely if he wished to advance on the required path of office. Therefore, when elected, he threw in his thoughts to God, committing himself to His mercy.50 Herbert of Bosham writes of Thomas’s earlier move from his apprenticeship in London to Archbishop Theobald’s household, that he was aware that ‘where there is a different profession, there tends to be a different habit of life (conversatio)’, and adapted his behaviour accordingly.51 Here he describes how, in moving from chancellor to archbishop, Becket again prepared himself for a new rank. Roused by his election, ‘As a man waking from a deep sleep, he considered in his heart what he had become at last, and what he might be thereafter.’ From this meditation, ‘His heart kindled, and gradually a fire began to blaze, by which the new man, who had been thought extinct, began little by little to grow warm and ignite.’ The new man, so long overshadowed by the old, ‘hungered to be revealed, and would not allow himself to be hidden any longer’.52 Herbert illustrates this process in characteristic style by relating how, on the road from London to Canterbury, between election and consecration, Becket asked his future biographer to act as his monitor during his life as archbishop, watching his conduct and also what others say about him. And he praises Thomas for adapting to the new role although not yet consecrated archbishop: ‘Behold the image of a bishop in this man not yet a bishop … our elect, not yet a bishop, nevertheless adopting the episcopal form.’53 Becket’s efforts to adapt to his new role is also emphasized by contemporary writers outside his circle of biographers. The Chronicle of Battle Abbey reports how, raised to the heights of honour, Thomas began to think more of the duty of pastoral care than worldly privilege: In him, as the common proverb has it, ‘honours changed conduct’,54 but not, as with the conduct of nearly all men, for the worse, but day to day for the better. For he put off the old man who is according to the world, and strove to put on the new man who is created according to God.55

50

MTB 4. 86–7. MTB 3. 167. 52 MTB 3. 185. 53 MTB 3. 186–7. 54 H. Walther, Proverbia sententiaequae latinitatis medii, 6 vols., Gottingen 1963–9, no. 11125, honores mutant mores, sed raro in meliores. 55 The Chronicle of Battle Abbey, ed and trans. E. Searle, OMT (Oxford, 1980), pp. 272–3. 51



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Even William of Newburgh, one of Becket’s least sympathetic commentators, writes that Soon weighing up by pious and wise consideration what the burden of such a great honour might be, he was thus immediately changed in habit and manner, as one might say ‘This is the hand of God’ and ‘This is the transformation of the hand of the Almighty.’56

A number of saints’ Lives describe a sudden change on assumption of high office. Constantius describes how Germanus of Auxerre was constrained to receive office against his will, ‘But suddenly he was changed totally. He abandoned the service of the world and assumed that of the heavens, spurning secular pomps for a humble life.’57 William of Malmesbury writes of Bishop Wulfstan’s elevation to Worcester that ‘Raised to the episcopacy, he immediately directed his mind to the duty of piety.’58 Similarly Adam of Eynsham writes that when Hugh of Lincoln was promoted to the priesthood, ‘His devotion increased to correspond with his rank … he did not ascend the ladder of perfection slowly day by day, but soon attained to the highest degree of sanctity, and was worthy of any office, however pre-eminent.’59 These passages suggest an expectation that a newcomer to the episcopate would strive to alter his life. Z. N. Brooke interpreted Becket’s actions as those of an unconscious actor adapting to whatever role presented itself.60 On the evidence of the Lives this success in fitting into different roles was far from unconscious, being rather a deliberate response to the burden imposed by his election. But neither, on the other hand was it realized entirely by Becket’s own efforts. Instead, as accounts of his consecration show, divine inspiration was instrumental in Becket’s transformation. The same language is repeatedly employed to describe the change which accompanied Becket’s elevation. He is said to have ‘put off the old man and put on Jesus Christ’,61 an experience characterized as ‘the transformation of the hand of the Almighty’.62 This is clearly the language of conversion, but beyond that, what do these images imply? Just as the implied meaning of Becket’s conversion has seldom been analysed, the implied meaning of these two scriptural references has gone unquestioned. A brief survey of their application in the twelfth century and earlier reveals important considerations for understanding the experience attributed to Becket. 56 Historia,

in Chronicles of the Reigns of Stephen etc., ed. Howlett, vol. 1, p. 140. Vie de S. Germain, pp. 124–5. 58 William of Malmesbury, Vita Wulfstani, p. 20. 59 Magna Vita Sancti Hugonis: The Life of St Hugh of Lincoln, ed. and trans. D. L. Douie and D. H. Farmer, 2 vols., NMC (London, 1961–2); repr. OMT (1985), vol. 1, pp. 36–8. 60 Brooke, English Church, pp. 193–4. 61 MTB 1. 10; 2. 306; 3. 37, 185, 193; 4. 19. 62 MTB 2. 368; 3. 41, 194; 4. 90. 57

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Early in the fifth century Paulinus of Nola wrote to his friend Severus, May [God] kill in me the old man and his deeds so that my flesh may take new vigour in Christ and my youth be renewed like the eagle’s. For this is the transformation of the right hand of the Almighty, when we shall be transformed into the new man who is created according to God and whose image is the heavenly one, and shall put off the old man who is corrupted according to the desire for error.63

These images are frequently employed by other contemporary and later writers in the same way, as a call for a personal renewal in Christ. But in some cases these readings are cited with reference to specific types of transformation: most commonly, those brought about by baptism, entry into monastic life and to high office. Like the notion of conversion itself, these images have been taken to mean different things in different contexts, while retaining the essential sense of a change of heart inspired by God. The image of the old and the new man derives from Paul’s letters to the Gentiles64 in which he urges a rejection of earthly sinfulness, a renewal of the spirit and an adoption of a new life in God’s image. While this exhortation may be applied to any type of personal reformation, it is set against the specific background of an emerging Church and directed at recently baptized congregations. Similarly, Ambrose and Augustine manage in the same work to employ Paul’s image to describe the move to a more Christian life, and also with specific reference to baptism.65 On another occasion Augustine describes the taking of the monastic tonsure as the putting off of the old man and the putting on of the new. The latter application is particular common in twelfth-century writing. Peter the Venerable and Hugh of Rouen use these terms to describe the adoption of the monastic life by SS Odo and Adiutorus respectively, and Peter of Celle applies the reading to the physical act of a novice entering the cloister for the first time.66 In his Sentences Bernard discusses the anointing of priests and kings, referring to ‘the oil of effusion, that is the word of God, by which they might begin to put off the old man in order to grow as young girls in the love of the bridegroom’.67 A parallel development is evident in the meaning of ‘the ­transformation

63 Epistolae,

PL 61. 324. 4:20–4; Col. 3:9. 65 Ambrose, Expositio Evangeli Secundum Lucam, 7. 192, 5. 23, ed. M. Adriaen, CCSL 14 (1957), 313, 143; Augustine, De Trinitate, 14. 22, 12. 7, ed. W. J. Mountain, 1967–8, CCSL 50A. 451–4, 50. 366–7. 66 Augustine, De Opere Monachorum, ed. J. Zycha, CSEL 41 (1900), 491. Peter the ­Venerable, Ad libros sex epistolarum … supplementum, PL 189. 479; Hugh of Rouen, Vita S. Adiutoris, PL 192. 1348; Peter of Celle, De Disciplina Claustrali, ed. G. de Martes, SC 240 (1977), pp. 192–4. 67 Opera 6B, pp. 30–1. 64 Eph.



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of the right hand of the Most High’.68 Early in the sixth century, for example, Fulgentius of Ruspe employs it in celebration of a Roman senator’s acceptance of baptism.69 But by the twelfth century the word mutatio was increasingly used to denote a movement from the secular to the monastic life. Orderic Vitalis, for example, describes how William count of Aquitaine, after a successful military career under Charlemagne, revealed that he wished to become a monk. He refers to this as a mutatio, and adds that ‘Count William became a monk and was suddenly changed (immutatus), becoming a new man in Jesus Christ.’70 It also came to be applied to the assumption of high office, as illustrated by Bernard of Clairvaux’s description of the initiation of Hugh, count of Champagne, into the Knights of the Temple,71 and the election of Eugenius to the episcopacy,72 as ‘the transformation of the right hand of the Almighty’. The connection between conversion and the adoption of a specific way of life is also reflected in the contemporary use of the terms conversio and conversatio, or ‘manner of life’. In the Rule of St Benedict the terms are interchangeable.73 D. P. Delatte comments that The conversion spoken of is simply the religious life, so called from being a turning towards God. The phraseology accords with the ecclesiastical language of the time … Conversion of manners meant the religious life itself, considered in the elements without which it cannot exist, especially in chastity and poverty.74

The language employed by Becket’s biographers to describe the experience of 1162 has its roots in early Church notions of conversion to Christianity expressed in baptism. Well before the twelfth century, however, these images had taken on the additional connotation of the adoption by a Christian of a new type of life, specifically that of a religious order or pastoral office.75 These two applications differ in what they say about the convert’s circumstances, but describe what is basically the same phenomenon, a personal 68 Ps.

77 (76):10. Epistolae 6. 4, ed. J. Fraiport, CCSL 91 (1968), 241. 70 Orderic vol. 3, pp. 220–3; see similar use in Cartulaire de S.-Jean-en-Vallee de Chartres, ed. R. Merlet (Chartres, 1906), 51 (c. 1140), p. 31; The Registrum antiquissum of the cathedral church of Lincoln, ed. C. W. Foster and K. Major (Hereford, 1931–68), 4 (1234), 14, p. 111. 71 Ep. 31, Opera 7, p. 85. 72 Ep. 238, Opera 8, p. 116. 73 S. Benedicti Regula Monachorum, ed. C. Butler (Frieburg, 1912), pp. 140–1. 74 D. P. Delatte, The Rule of St Benedict: A Commentary (London, 1921), pp. 367, 389. Compare Bernard, Vita Malachi 3. 5, Opera 3. 314. 75 On the monastic life as conversion, see G. B. Ladner, The Idea of Reform (Cambridge, MA, 1959), p. 4; Morrison, Understanding Conversion, pp. 14, 133. 69 Fulgentius,

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t­ ransformation inspired by God. Again, if we examine conversion narratives from throughout this period we may see differences of context but unity of meaning. To reject the notion of conversion as a single event which occurs once and for all in favour of the idea of a continuous transformation is not to deny a critical and often dramatic element within conversion – Paul on the road to Damascus, for example – which forms the core of the conversion narrative. This is the element of divine inspiration central to any conversion.76 Becket’s inspiration seems far removed from that of Paul, but is in fact the same in essence and related in form. All the biographers, while noting Becket’s own efforts to conform to the conversatio of the archbishop, agree that the decisive moment of change came with the infusion of the Holy Spirit in the consecration. Edward Grim writes that ‘No sooner was the holy unction tasted in the sacrament, his soul entirely intoxicated by the substance and quality of the sacrament – that is the multiple graces of the Holy Spirit – than he changed in spirit if not in habit.’77 William Fitzstephen describes how ‘In his ordination, filled with the unction of God’s visible and invisible mercy, he put off the secular man, and put on Jesus Christ’, and as mentioned above, introduces a flood of Biblical imagery, where previously he had only drawn on classical writers. Herbert of Bosham also marks the consecration stylistically by introducing what is in effect a second preface. The style which he had used to portray the ‘worldly man’ is, he admits, inadequate when it comes to representing the ‘celestial man’, and a new approach must be taken.78 He then describes how Thomas, no longer an official of the court nor archbishop-elect, but now the consecrated archbishop, beyond the hope of all, immediately put off the chancellor. As he was filled with the Holy Spirit, ‘suddenly with the vehemence of its advent from the sky’, he cast out the old man entirely. The new man, who had been more hidden in the habit of the old man than oppressed by it, was uncovered, and receiving strength from the Holy Spirit made himself ready for the new work of a pontiff. He who as archbishop elect had approached his new responsibilities by meditating in his heart was now enabled by his consecration to seek counsel from the spirit of the anointing unction.79 The unction provided Thomas with the pastor’s necessary tools, gifts of the Spirit rather than human attributes.80 In the best-known accounts of conversion to Christianity, God’s inspiration is often expressed as a dramatic event: Paul hears a voice from heaven on 76 See

B. R. Gaventa, From Darkness to Light: Aspects of Conversion in the New Testament (Philadelphia, 1986), p. 92; Morrison, Understanding Conversion, p. xv. 77 MTB 2. 368. 78 1 Cor. 15:49; Augustine links this image to baptism, Contra Iulianum, 6. 26, PL 44. 838. On Herbert’s change of style see above, p. 72. 79 MTB 3. 192–3. 80 MTB 3. 225; 4. 90.



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the road to Damascus;81 Augustine hears a child’s voice urging him to take up the Bible;82 Hubert sees the image of the crucified Christ between the antlers of a stag.83 However, while in these cases the dramatic event is expressed as an outward phenomenon, it is only the manifestation of an inward occurrence. In Felix’s Life, for example, Guthlac undergoes essentially the same dramatic experience as Paul, but inwardly rather than outwardly. Living as a soldier, his thoughts on mortal affairs, ‘Suddenly, marvellous to tell, a ­spiritual flame, as though it had pierced his breast, began to burn in this man’s heart.’84 In twelfth-century narratives we can find numerous examples of dramatic inspiration which bring about conversions by Christians to a new life, rather than conversion to Christianity. Norbert of Magdeburg, later to found the Premonstratensian order, became a subdeacon at a young age, but for some years led a lax and worldly life at court. But in his thirties he was caught in a dangerous storm, whereupon he heard a voice from heaven which urged him to reconsider his life, causing him to ‘awake as if from a deep sleep’, to meditate within his heart and to begin to say, ‘God, what do you wish to do with me?’85 This account, with its deliberate echoes of Paul on the road to Damascus, is an example of outward manifestation of God’s inspiration, but there are also contemporary accounts of a change of life prompted by decisive inward inspiration akin to that of Guthlac, especially those involving entry into one of the new religious orders. A close parallel may be observed with the descriptions of Becket’s consecration. William of St Thierry introduces Bernard’s conversion to the Cistercian way of life by describing how he, considering entering Cîteaux, turned into a wayside church to pray, and there experienced ‘the flame of God’s call and inspiration’, which once kindled began to blaze.86 Walter Daniel uses similar language in describing Ailred’s approach to Rievaulx, describing how the heat of his desire for the cloister burned more and more until, reaching this Cistercian house, he was ‘aflame with the Holy Spirit’.87 Adam of Eynsham relates how Hugh of Lincoln, a canon at the age of twenty-five, was already regarded as having attained to the heights of perfection. But when he came to visit the Chartreuse, His heart was almost immediately inflamed with so great a love of their holy

81 Acts

9:4–6.

82 Confessionum

libri tredecim, ed. L. Verheijen (1981), 8. 29, CCSL 27. 131. Huberti, AASS Nov I (1887), pp. 779–81. 84 Felix’s Life of Saint Guthlac, ed. and trans. B. Colgrave (Cambridge, 1956), pp. 80–1. 85 Vita Norberti, 1, PL 170. 1260; see Acts 9:6; P. Lefevre, ‘L’Episode de la conversion de S. Norbert et la tradition hagiographique du Vita Norberti’, Revue d’Histoire Ecclesiastique 56 (1961): 813–26. 86 Vita Prima, 11. 9, 10, PL 185. 232. 87 The Life of Ailred of Rievaulx, ed. and trans. M. Powicke, NMC (London, 1950); OMT (Oxford, 1978), pp. 10, 14–15. 83 Vita

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way of life, that he could hardly keep his passion to himself. In the happiness of his love, he understood the truth of the words of one who had loved unhappily, ‘The hidden fire burns the more fiercely, the more it is hidden.’88

Paul’s conversion was one from Judaism to Christianity, depicted through an image of dramatic outward inspiration. Becket’s conversion, in common with many found in contemporary writing, effected a move to a new conversatio rather than a new religion, and its inspiration was inward, but it retains the essence of Paul’s experience on the road to Damascus – the dramatic realization by divine will of a potential which had previously existed. The new man How was Becket changed by his appointment and consecration? The most succinct commentary is that of Anonymous I: Once consecrated he took care to show zeal and diligence, how he might conform his life and form to such a rank; and soon, with the aid of divine grace he was transformed into another man, he put off the old man with his acts, and put on the new man in righteousness and sanctity, nevertheless still hiding his purpose from men in his accustomed habit.89

This assessment is echoed by others: Thomas’s will, and divine inspiration in his consecration, allowed him to enter upon a new life characterized by growth in inward sanctity, and outward righteousness; but while this transformation was profound, it remained hidden to others. Another important feature of Becket’s change of life, which has been noticed less often, is that of reform. As William of Canterbury writes, when Thomas was consecrated he set out to renew the old man, and considering how he had neglected himself while chancellor, set out to redeem his time.90 Herbert describes Becket’s efforts at changing his life, so that the old be cast out, ‘and a new pontifical image be reformed in a new pontiff’.91 This reformation, as the biographers describe it, is evident throughout Becket’s life after 1162: his was an experience of continuous conversion and renewal which culminated in his acceptance of martyrdom. Almost all the Lives follow their brief accounts of the consecration with descriptions of Becket’s new way of life as archbishop. John of Salisbury, in an account followed by most writers, refers to such new aspects of his life as Bible study and preaching, the saying of mass, almsgiving and visits to the poor, and also virtues such as hospitality, temperance at meals, prudence in counsel, 88 Vita

Magna Hugonis, vol. 1, p. 22; see Ovid, Metamorphoses 4. 64. 4. 19–20. 90 MTB 1. 10. 91 MTB 3. 204. 89 MTB



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and fervour in justice.92 Herbert of Bosham takes a somewhat different ‘day in the life’ approach, in which he describes, for example, Becket’s celebration of the daily office, duties as judge and conduct at table. He also discusses his own role as the new archbishop’s tutor in scripture.93 If we examine the Lives of other converts, monks and bishops we find that such descriptions of daily life and conduct tend to appear in a similar context. After describing the moment of Guthlac’s conversion, and how he renounced the pomps of the world, Felix describes his newly apparent qualities, his monastic discipline and Church routine.94 Orderic Vitalis relates how Count William underwent a mutatio, declaring his wish to become a monk, and, spurning worldly wealth, took to wearing a hair shirt. Then he immediately describes the ascetic regime of the new ‘pilgrim of Christ’ and his daily growth in holiness and piety.95 Walter Daniel follows Ailred’s profession with a description of the new monk in meditation, in prayer and in manual work, concluding with a summary of his qualities.96 The descriptions of Becket’s new life also find echoes in Ruotger’s twelfth-century description of the qualities and way of life of Bruno, archbishop of Cologne, which in turn recalls passages from Claudian, Sulpicius Severus, Prudentius and the Benedictine Rule.97 Most of Becket’s biographers also discuss the change brought about in his outer life. Edward Grim writes of how, from the beginning of his ordination, Thomas took himself to such holy devotion, and such zeal for justice that he would make allowances for no person who presumed against the law of divine justice, no matter what his dignity.98 Herbert too recognized that Thomas’s change of life made a conflict with the king likely.99 Anonymous II discusses how, as chancellor, Thomas tended to follow a prudent middle path lest he offend the king, but with the grace of promotion his duty to deal with the king more righteously and freely became apparent, and ‘As if a seraph had flown to him’, he would not be silent about ecclesiastical liberties.100 As Anonymous I puts it, ‘What a venerable pontiff should do, and how he should bear himself, he could hide from the king no longer.’101 The conversion is not identified 92 MTB

2. 306. 3. 198–238. 94 Felix’s Life of Saint Guthlac, pp. 84–5. 95 Orderic, vol. 3, pp. 218–23. 96 Life of Ailred, pp. 18–23. 97 Ruotger, Vita Brunonis, MGH Scriptores rerum germanicarum ns 10, ed. I. Ott (Weimar, 1955), pp. 30–1; see E. Auerbach, Literary Language and its Public in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, trans. R. Manheim (London, 1965), pp. 159–64. 98 MTB 2. 370. 99 MTB 3. 237. 100 MTB 4. 88; see Isa. 6.2. 101 MTB 4. 22. 93 MTB

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as the sole cause of the conflict with the king – in particular the role of evil counsellors in leading Henry astray is prominent in all the Lives102 – but it did, in the biographers’ view, mean that Thomas opposed royal encroachment upon ecclesiastical rights with greater vigour and ability. Thomas’s change in inner and outer life are seen to be inextricably linked. After discussing Thomas’s early difficulties with Henry, and the increasing derogation of ecclesiastical liberties, Anonymous II writes, The more he strove to go against these, and to seek the reformation of others, the more was his zeal. On account of this he advanced on an even harsher path of holy life, to which endeavour divine grace directed him the better, and acted as greater guidance towards achieving.103

This is in line with patristic and contemporary teaching on the dynamic relationship between action and contemplation:104 an increase in inner virtue and a greater zeal for one’s neighbour are indivisible parts of a pastor’s spiritual growth, the one acting to strengthen the other. Becket’s new conversatio made a change in public policy inevitable, and also strengthened him in his defence of the Church. Thomas’s putting off of the old man and putting on of the new was symbolized by his change of dress on becoming archbishop, a matter to which the biographers devote considerable attention. Some, principally the monastic writers, claim that he was urged by the Christ Church community to conform to the Canterbury tradition that archbishops should be monks, and mention the ignominious non-monastic examples of Stigand and Aelfsige.105 William of Canterbury reports that the same had been urged on Becket’s predecessor Oda, who was promoted in similar circumstances and eventually took the monastic habit at Fleury.106 But Thomas not only put on the monastic layer, but also mortified his flesh with a hair shirt underneath, constituting three layers of clothing, each with its own meaning, as described by William of Canterbury: in his threefold dress he bore three persons; on the outside he displayed the clerk, beneath he concealed the monk, and within he suffered the hardships of the desert though away from the desert, happy because on the outside he deceived the world, beneath he conformed to his brothers, and within he restrained the illicit urges of the flesh; on the outside he exposed the canon, beneath he hid the hermit, and within he fulfilled the mandate of the Lord.107 102 See

below, pp. 114–20. 4. 91. 104 See above, pp. 54–5. 105 MTB 1. 11. 106 William of Malmesbury, De Gestis Pontificum Anglorum, ed. N. E. S. A. Hamilton, RS 52 (London, 1870), pp. 21–2. 107 MTB 1. 10. 103 MTB



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These claims, which became a central part of Becket’s posthumous legend, have been dismissed as a projection back of the garments worn at his death, or as total fantasy.108 But little attention has been paid to the symbolism of the three layers of dress: Becket’s turning away from secular life, his concealed asceticism and his championing of the Church. Herbert writes that ‘Having rejected purple as the garb of the old man, [Thomas] left the court as it were in body and mind; he put off the purple and put on the hair shirt, the new habit of the new man, the new garb, but strange for courtiers and alien to the court.’109 Just as important as the rejection of his old life and the acceptance of an ascetic life is the concealment involved. Alan of Tewkesbury claims that the hair shirt was unknown even to Becket’s closest companions,110 and many attest to the astonishment by the monks of Christ Church on its discovery after his death.111 According to Herbert, Becket’s murderers were also astounded, ‘beholding such a clear proof of hidden religion’.112 Fitzstephen claims that Becket took as his model SS Sebastian and Cecilia, ‘the former of whom under cover of a warrior’s cloak conducted himself as a soldier of Christ, while the latter, mortifying the flesh with sackcloth, appeared outwardly adorned with vesture of gold’.113 Thus the new archbishop, while conforming to the ecclesiastical ministry, constantly took care to build up religious merit in his conscience before God alone.114 Herbert offers another interpretation of the hair shirt as a sign of Becket’s new commitment to the rights of the Church. On becoming archbishop, he writes, Thomas put on the hair shirt, the sign of the soldier of Christ.115 At the appropriate time, then, Thomas adopted the uniform of the new recruit of Christ, having hidden it for so long,116 and began to serve a new king, follow a new law and guide a new flock.117 In his narrative, Herbert writes, we may see How great Thomas was in court, and how great he was after he had begun to be in the Church, having adapted to the rank of pontiff; how vigorously he first served Henry, illustrious king of England, and how gloriously thereafter he began to serve Christ, the supreme King of the angels; in the court rendering

108 E.g.

Barlow, Becket, p. 75. 3. 193; see Isa. 28:21. 110 MTB 2. 346. 111 MTB 2. 16; 3. 148, 513. 112 MTB 3. 513. 113 MTB 3. 37. 114 MTB 4. 21. 115 MTB 3. 196; see 193, 201. 116 MTB 3. 198. 117 MTB 3. 194. 109 MTB

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to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and in the Church to God the things that are God’s.118

It was a common criticism of sinful monks that they had changed their dress but not their life.119 Thomas, on the other hand, recalls the virtuous example of Othloh of St Emmeram, who kept his conversion to the monastic life secret,120 and his Canterbury predecessor Aelfeah who led a life of secret asceticism as bishop.121 Becket’s adoption of the hair shirt, and the arguments surrounding it, develop the theme of concealed purpose found in the accounts of his early life. Here again they act to reject general and specific criticisms of the archbishop. As the biographers argued, his life and deeds could not be interpreted on the basis of their outward expression, since in precious clothes he maintained the spirit of a pauper, and with a happy countenance he retained a contrite heart.122 The change wrought inwardly and outwardly by Becket’s consecration was dramatic and substantial, but his adoption of the new man did not begin and end in 1162. Instead, as his biographers present it, Becket’s entire archiepiscopate was an ongoing endeavour to realize and perfect the change of life demanded of the convert. Herbert of Bosham criticizes those who change and then tire, the fervour of their conversion cooling until it is extinguished. Thomas, though, as a ‘watchful animal’, took to wearing the archbishop’s stole at all times to remind himself of the change which had experienced.123 This is not to say that Becket’s elevation to Canterbury opened up a straight path to goodness: lapses occurred thereafter, but the biographers presented them as part of a process of renewal which maintained and strengthened his conversion. Earlier Herbert had reflected upon Thomas’s youthful misdemeanours, noting that God often allows the predestined to fall but never to collapse deeply. This, as well as being a comforting thought to the guardians of Becket’s reputation, was an established part of contemporary hagiography and theology. It may be seen, for example, throughout the ninth-century Life of Anskar, who as a child neglected learning for a time until a vision of the Virgin precipitated an astonishing transformation in his life. Later, after he had entered a monastery, his resolve began to weaken until, shocked by the death of his emperor, he returned to prayer and abstinence. Thereafter he

118

MTB 3. 247; Matt. 22:21. Osbern, Vita Elphegi, PL 149. 377; Orderic vol. 2, p. 45. 120 Othloh, Liber Visionum, PL 146. 29–30, 347; Morrison, Understanding Conversion, p. 73. 121 Osbern, Vita Elphegi, PL 149. 379. 122 MTB 2. 308. 123 MTB 3. 195–6; see Rev 4:6. Compare 3. 186–7, and Fundatio Ecclesiae Hildensemensis, ed. A. Hofmeister, MGH Scriptores 30. 2 (1926), p. 945. 119



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was periodically strengthened by visions which drew him back to the path.124 Similarly, the twelfth-century Wulfric of Haselbury, though a priest, continued to enjoy hunting and hawking until a chance conversation with a beggar returned him to a more austere life. In fact, in a dedication to Archbishop Baldwin, his biographer John of Ford makes an explicit comparison between Wulfric and Thomas.125 Becket’s most obvious lapse as archbishop came less than two years after his appointment, when he capitulated to the king’s demand to accept a series of royal customs at the Council of Clarendon in January 1164. His weakness in defending ecclesiastical liberties later led Gilbert Foliot to recall how the other bishops stood firm, but Thomas abandoned their common counsel.126 Harsh criticism came from Becket’s supporters too. Alan of Tewkesbury reports how, in the immediate aftermath of the Council, the archbishop was upbraided by his cross-bearer for the cowardly example he had given to posterity: ‘What virtue’, he demanded, ‘is left to him who has betrayed his conscience and reputation?’127 Herbert, in a different account, describes how, walking back from Clarendon, he consoled the archbishop, reminding him that even saints stray from the path. By God’s grace, he said, such a diversion might turn out to be a short-cut to the truth. ‘If’, he said, ‘you fell disgracefully, revive more strongly and more decently, and examine yourself.’128 He encouraged Thomas with the examples of Peter who denied Christ, David, who was once a traitor and an adulterer, and added a comparison seldom employed in the Lives: ‘You were at one time, as it seemed then, and was said thus, Saul; but now if you wish to be Paul, having removed the scales from your eyes, Jesus will show you by his work how much you ought to suffer for his sake.’129 In response, Thomas conceded his culpability and suspended himself from the altar as penance until he received absolution from the pope.130 As Herbert puts it, the archbishop exposed his wound and sought medicine.131 Anonymous II identifies this as the point at which Thomas adopted the hair shirt and began to work against royal presumption.132 Although he is alone in this, the other biographers concur with the idea of a recurring ­conversion, with 124 Rimbert,

Vita Anskarii, ed. B. Krusch, MGH Scriptores ns 10 (1910), pp. 20–5. of Ford’s Wulfric of Haselbury, ed. M. Bell, Somerset Record Society 47 (Frome, 1933), pp. 11–12. 126 CTB no. 109, pp. 508–11. 127 MTB 2. 324. 128 MTB 3. 290–1. 129 MTB 3. 292; compare 1. 17–18. Both writers draw on Augustine, Enn. Ps. 51 (50):1–2, CCSL 38. 600. 130 MTB 2. 324–5. 131 MTB 3. 292. 132 MTB 4. 104. 125 John

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many stages of renewal and progression. As we shall see, Thomas’s sojourn at the Cistercian monastery of Pontigny from 1164 to 1166 is described in terms of atonement and purgation, but also of rest and preparation for the future.133 Indeed, the entire exile is characterized as a journey of spiritual development. And, as the biographers describe it, the realization of Thomas’s full spiritual potential, the consummation of his conversion, reform and renewal, was the martyrdom of 1170. Conclusion On the surface, the biographers’ claim that Becket experienced a conversion seems inconsistent with the framework in which it is placed. First, it does not appear to accord with the facts as laid out by the biographers themselves, who acknowledge both the inauspicious aspects of Thomas’s early life, and the failings of his later years. Second, it does not match our accepted notions of conversion, as typified by Paul and others. But this interpretation reveals a misunderstanding of the biographers’ frame of reference, and of the claim which they advance. Conversion is in no sense an isolated topos introduced solely to gloss a watershed in Becket’s career and to bolster the evidence of his sanctity. Instead, it is a central aspect in the depiction of Becket’s life and death, his character and cause, featuring not only in the accounts of his election and consecration but interwoven throughout the narrative. Nor does it mark a departure from the standard concept of conversion, at least not that which applied in the twelfth century. To contemporary writers, Becket’s experience on becoming archbishop constituted a transformation of the hand of God just as much as the experience of the famous converts of the early Church did. Once these points are grasped, the biographers’ depiction of Becket’s life, and especially that which preceded his elevation to Canterbury, appear in a new light: as part of an integrated and consistent, if idiosyncratic, path to sanctity. When medieval writers described a miraculous event – the healing of the terminally ill, or the dramatic change in a natural phenomenon – they discussed it in terms of surprise and awe. But at the same time they did not see it as a contradiction of nature, but as a revelation of a previously hidden facet of God’s creation. The same may be said of Becket’s conversion. While it was wonderful for all to see, and difficult for witnesses to understand, it did not stand outside the broader picture of his life and death. And, as Christians expected the mysterious workings of divine power to be revealed to them as part of God’s plan, Becket’s biographers saw in the light of his posthumous glory a transformation which was both remarkable and explicable.

133 MTB

1. 49; 3. 358, 379; 4. 109–10.

9 Conflict

Undergraduate students of the Becket conflict will be familiar with an examination question of this kind: ‘ “The Becket conflict was primarily a clash of personalities”. Discuss.’ The word ‘personalities’ may be replaced by ‘jurisdictions’ or even ‘ideologies’, but the question remains essentially the same: What was the Becket dispute about? A thoughtful answer will usually acknowledge the participation of all these elements in the dispute to varying degrees, and might also discuss the role of Canterbury rights. Such a question recurs because no matter how many times it is asked, a definitive answer will never be given. But a question much less frequently asked is: What did the participants in the Becket dispute think it was about? That this question is not asked more often is surprising, first, in that there is a wealth of material to draw on from letters written in the thick of it, and from posthumous reflection on the dispute in the Lives, but also in that a central feature of the dispute was the very fact that its participants disagreed as to what the dispute was about. In many ways, of course, the twelfth-century perspective is more limited than ours. It was less easy for contemporaries to place the dispute within the context of the legal and administrative developments of the Angevin era, or the simultaneous expansion of papal power. The king’s refusal of the kiss of peace to his archbishop or his usurpation of Canterbury’s right to crown a king seem more trivial to us. Also, the twelfth-century discussions of the Constitutions of Clarendon or Thomas’s murder can seem to overinflate their importance when we consider that their consequences for relations between the Church and the Crown turned out to be more modest than might have been expected. Still, a modern perspective can be limited too. A tendency to see it as a dispute between archbishop and king, or between Church and Crown may obscure the fact that the debate was carried out primarily among churchmen, and that the greatest bitterness was between those ostensibly on the same side. The fact that Henry’s attempt to reform Church–Crown relations ended in failure can unfairly diminish the significance of his introduction of the ancestral customs. Some biographers, notably John of Salisbury and Herbert of Bosham, were actively involved in the dispute, but the issues involved were of great concern to all writers, and this is reflected in their work.

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The dispute Though the dispute between Pope Gregory VII and Emperor Henry IV and that between Thomas Becket and Henry II were in many ways very different, there are some interesting parallels. Both involved a headstrong and controversial churchman pitted against a monarch determined to reassert royal authority after a childhood dominated by the perception of its loss. Both conflicts expressed the explosion of long-simmering tensions, prompted in large part by the personalities involved, especially the personalities of the ecclesiastics in question. In both cases, the dispute began as a show of strength between the two parties, and became more involved as it progressed and resisted resolution. But also, both disputes had a central point of issue at stake: in one, lay investiture; in the other, the Constitutions of Clarendon. In the former case, the central issue gave historians a name for the dispute, and although this is not so in the case of Thomas and Henry, the Constitutions played at least as strong a role in their conflict. All Thomas’s biographers saw it as such. Many writers insert the text of the Constitutions, or at least the contentious clauses, into their works, and most give them prominence. Herbert of Bosham, with uncharacteristic succinctness, calls them ‘the full cause of dissension … the reason for exile and martyrdom’. To the biographers, and those after them who have sought to understand the Becket dispute, the Constitutions mark a point of clarity, a statement of clear difference between the parties, before the forces that it unleashed gave the dispute such complexity. But behind the Constitutions were deeper questions about the shifting nature of jurisdictional authority, the respective positions of royal and ecclesiastical power, and the formalization of relationships. More narrowly, they were part of Henry II’s general reform of government, and more narrowly again they were a consequence of his increasingly fraught relationship with Thomas. This is acknowledged by Thomas’s biographers: Henry’s insistence on the Constitutions was the central issue in the dissension between king and archbishop, but it was founded on a pre-existing ‘plot against the Church’, and deteriorating relations reflected in early skirmishes. The breakdown of relations happened gradually, marked by a sequence of increasingly divisive encounters. Most modern observers identify Thomas’s resignation of the office of chancellor as the first cause of dissension between him and his king. It seems likely that Henry intended his new archbishop to continue in his earlier role, a combination of duties which was not unusual in twelfth-century Europe, and his unexpected abandonment of his place in the king’s household must have given a worrying signal to the king. Oddly, only William of Canterbury and Guernes mention it. Guernes, identifying it as the first quarrel, tells us that Thomas sent his seal-bearer, Master Ernulf, to the king, telling him that he was giving up his office because of the burden  MTB

3. 286, 287, 341.

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of his own work. The king, furious, declared, ‘He doesn’t care about serving me! That’s very clear.’ It is likely that this occurred shortly after the receipt from the pope of the pallium in autumn 1162, almost a year before any other dispute mentioned by the other biographers. The limited attention paid to this episode could be because the king remained in France until January 1163, and his reaction to the resignation of office may not have been known to the biographers. A number of writers identify the first quarrel as happening in July 1163 at the king’s lodge at Woodstock, when Henry attempted to claim for the exchequer revenues traditionally paid by the Church for the support of his local officials. When Thomas refused to accept this new practice, the king backed down, but not without great resentment. William Fitzstephen, uniquely, mentions an early clash over another issue. Thomas had, without informing the king, excommunicated a powerful landlord, William of Eynsford, who had expelled some clerks who had recently been intruded into his parish church. This time Henry prevailed, and Thomas absolved William of censure. But for almost all the biographers, the most important early point of conflict was the issue of ‘criminous clerks’: how to try and punish churchmen guilty of serious offences. Henry had increasingly become concerned with what he saw as undue leniency meted out by ecclesiastical courts to those in holy orders. Herbert of Bosham gives one, and William Fitzstephen two, early examples of clerks punished but protected by the archbishop from harsher justice by the king, but the case most prominent in the Lives is that of Philip de Broi, a canon of Bedford who had been accused of killing a certain knight. He was freed by an ecclesiastical court, and when a lay justice attempted to reopen the case, Philip verbally abused him. The justice complained to the king, and Philip was brought before a group of bishops and nobles, who imposed a mild sentence for his insult to the judge, but did not convict him on the charge of murder. It was this case in particular that prompted Henry to gather together the bishops of the realm at Westminster in October 1164 and demand that clerks convicted of serious crimes be deprived of the Church’s protection and handed over to the secular power. When the bishops, led by Thomas, rejected Henry’s demand, citing the distinctive nature of the clergy, the king adopted a different approach, demanding a general observance of his royal customs, that is, the rights which he believed his predecessors had held. The bishops answered that they would only observe the customs ‘saving their  Guernes

v. 741–50; see MTB 1. 12. Becket, p. 82.  MTB 1. 12; 2. 373–4; 4. 23–4; Guernes v. 751–70.  MTB 3. 43.  MTB 3. 264–5, 45–6.  MTB 1. 12–13, 2. 374–6; 3. 45, 265–6; 4. 24–5; Guernes v. 771–825.  MTB 1. 13; 2. 310; 3. 261, 266–75; 4. 25–7, 95–7, 201–5; Guernes v. 826–920.  Barlow,

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order’, that is, where they did not conflict with the law of the Church. This led Henry to convene in January 1164 a council of the realm at Clarendon, where he demanded a full public acknowledgement of the customs, to which Thomas and the other bishops were eventually persuaded. Then, to the surprise of the clergy, the king had the specific customs of the realm as regards the mutual rights of Church and Crown enunciated by his senior magnates and written down in a document. The contentious clauses of the Constitutions of Clarendon dealt with the controversies mentioned by the biographers – royal and ecclesiastical jurisdiction (1, 3, 7, 9, 15) and excommunication (5, 7, 10) – but also with relations with the pope (4, 8) and vacancies and elections (12). Thomas at first refused to acknowledge the Constitutions, but was then constrained to give a verbal recognition, though he did not affix his seal to the document as required. There are, then, some differences about the early disputes, but broad consensus about the shape that the dissension took: early disputes emerged over various issues, the most important being criminous clerks. This led the king to demand the recognition of his ancestral customs, first in general form, and then in specific written detail. The biographers also tend to approach the king’s customs from both a specific and general perspective. Though many writers insert all or part of the text of the Constitutions into their Lives, only Guernes and Herbert of Bosham provide a gloss upon them.10 Guernes’s comments are the briefer. For example, to the prohibition on beneficed clergy leaving the realm without the king’s permission (3), he simply comments, ‘If this were put into operation, no powerless man would ever be able to obtain his rights. King Henry would hold St Peter’s powers.’ Herbert, claiming to represent the stated arguments of the archbishop, objects that, first, this could prevent pilgrimages to holy places, and second, that it would make England a prison for many distinguished men. What, he asks, if a dispute between king and pope should arise, and an ecclesiastic is prevented from attending a council or travelling on other necessary business? Surely he ought to obey the vicar of the Church more than a worldly king? But it is the issue of criminous clerks which attracted by far the greatest and most detailed analysis.11 Two writers in particular outline the case made by the king and his  MTB

1. 15–23; 2. 311–12, 379–83; 3. 46–9, 278–92; 4. 99–103; Guernes v. 921–1035. v. 2396–2545; MTB 3. 280–5. 11 See in particular Smalley, Becket Conflict, pp. 123–33; C. Duggan, ‘The Becket Dispute and Criminous Clerks’, Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research 35 (1962): 1–28, repr. Canon Law in Medieval England: The Becket Dispute and Decretal Collections, Variorum (London, 1982); C. Duggan, ‘The Reception of Canon Law in England in the Later-Twelfth Century’, Proceedings of the Second International Congress of Medieval Canon Law, ed. S. Kuttner and J. J. Ryan=Monumenta Iuris Canonici, Series C: Subsidia 1 (Vatican City, 1965), repr. Canon Law in Medieval England, 359–90; Councils and Synods, pp. 855–77. 10 Guernes

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s­ upporters. Herbert, in describing the Council of Westminster, relates how the king, relying on those ‘expert in both laws’ – that is, customary and canon law – made his case on two bases. First, referring to the canon Tradatur curiae,12 he argued that the Church sanctioned the handing over of the clergy to secular courts upon their deposition; secondly, he drew attention to the fact that the Mosaic law allowed no exemption for priests or Levites.13 The Summa Causae has Thomas’s fellow-bishops also referring to the treatment of the Levites, saying that since they had a greater dignity on account of their order, they should be judged more harshly for their offence, and being judged more harshly, they should be punished more severely.14 The fullest and most incisive presentation of the contrary case is provided by William of Canterbury in words he attributes to the archbishop.15 The first argument is that contrary to the claim attributed by Herbert to Henry, ecclesiastical law prohibited the handing over of clergy to secular judgement, a case which he backs up with a long list of canons linked by commentary. Here William very closely follows the relevant canons of both Rufinus and Gratian. In C. Duggan’s view, of all the Becket materials, this passage ‘preserves the most professional canonical argument, complete with texts and expounded in technical phraseology’.16 The second argument, more briefly stated, is that where clergy are convicted of a crime and stripped of their office they ought not to suffer a further punishment of mutilation, according to the reading from the Old Latin Nahum 1:9, ‘God does not judge twice for the same thing.’17 Though he acknowledged that if they should commit a similar crime after their degradation, they may be punished by a secular judge according to public law.18 No other writer has as developed a canonical case as William of Canterbury, but others expand on his rejection of double punishment. Edward Grim, Guernes and Anonymous II refer to Solomon’s punishment of his priest Abiathar for supporting the succession of Adonia to David’s throne, which involved stripping him of the functions and privileges of his order, but not subjecting him to death or mutilation. Guernes adds cases of a similar kind, for example that Adam was expelled from the Garden of Eden but not executed.19 12 Decretum

C. 11 qu. 1 cc. 18, 31. 3. 266–7. 14 MTB 4. 202. 15 MTB 1. 25–9. 16 Duggan, ‘Reception of Canon Law’, p. 361. 17 Double punishment is condemned in similar terms by Gratian, Decretum DP. 3 cc. 39– 44; John of Salisbury, Policraticus, ed. Webb, vol. 1, p. 238; Bernard, Ep. 126, Opera 7. 318; see Councils and Synods p. 855; Barlow, Becket, p. 103. 18 Edward Grim and Herbert attribute similar sentiments to Thomas, MTB 2. 386, 3. 270, but Guernes argues that Thomas ought not to have conceded this, v. 46–50. 19 MTB 2. 388; 4. 96; Guernes v. 1146–75, 1274–1355; see 1 Kings 2:26. This reading is 13 MTB

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These are the technical legal arguments as stated in the Lives. It is interesting that the biographers do not, in their own or Thomas’s words, challenge Henry’s assertion that this and the other customs were ancestral. Little mention is made either of perhaps the most significant aspect of the Council of Clarendon: the fact that royal customs were not only recalled but written down.20 But some biographers suggest that Thomas addressed the issue on another level, by challenging the general validity of royal custom as against ecclesiastical right. Two laws In his account of Westminster, Anonymous I reports that Thomas claimed, ‘Holy church, from the beginning of the Christian faith established and instructed by the holy apostles and apostolic fathers, has in the canons and decrees of the same holy fathers customs of the Christian life and discipline fully expressed; besides which it is not useful, rather it is not permitted, for you to demand anything new, nor for us to concede. Since we who have been raised, albeit unworthily, to the place of the fathers, have not been appointed to establish new institutions, but to humbly and reverendly obey the old.’ The king said, ‘I do not demand this. I only wish that those customs which are known to have been observed in the realm in the times of my predecessors also be conceded to me and observed in my time. There were also in those times better and more saintly archbishops than you, who saw this and allowed it, and had no difficulty or controversy with their kings.’ To this the archbishop said, ‘If such were presumed by former kings against the rule of ecclesiastical custom, and some time violently observed by fear of kings, they should not be called customs but abuses, and we are taught by the testimony of Scripture that their depraved use should be abolished rather than propagated.’21

William Fitzstephen advances a similar argument in his own words and with reference to traditional arguments: The king in affirming these spurious statutes ought to have taken note that the Lord said, ‘Keep my laws.’22 He also said, ‘Woe to those who decree iniquitous cited in a similar context by John of Salisbury in 1166, LJS no. 187, pp. 236–7. See also Herbert of Bosham, MTB 3. 281, and Summa Causae, 4. 202–3 on double punishment. 20 Fitzstephen writes that ‘these constitutions were never written down, nor indeed had existed at all in the realm of England’, MTB 3. 47. He also describes Herbert of Bosham saying to Henry in 1165 that it seemed amazing to him that the king had put them in writing, ‘For there are also in other realms other evil customs inimical to God’s church but they are not written down. And because they are not written down, there is a better chance that by God’s grace they will be annulled by kings’, MTB 3. 100. See also the Empress Matilda’s reported comments of 1164 to Nicholas, prior of Mont-aux-Malades, CTB no. 41, pp. 166–7. 21 MTB 4. 26; see 2. 387–8, Guernes v. 3571–5. 22 Lev. 20:22.

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decrees.’23 Also, the Lord is never found to have said, ‘I am custom’; but he said, ‘I am truth.’24 Also, authority of custom or longstanding use is not so great that it, as the pagan emperor said, overcomes either reason or law.25 Rather, as the holy fathers write in the decrees, when equity and truth have been revealed, custom yields to reason.26

We do not know if Thomas himself presented such arguments either at Westminster or Clarendon, but he did employ them in two letters of 1166 to the king. First, in Desiderio desideravi, he wrote that, God’s Church consists of two orders, the clergy and the people. One has the ability to conduct ecclesiastical affairs, the other secular affairs. And since it is certain that kings receive their power from the Church, and the Church receives hers not from them but from Christ, if you allow me to say so, you do not have the power to command bishops to absolve or excommunicate anyone, or draw clergy to secular judgements, to pass judgement concerning churches and tithes, to forbid bishops to hear cases concerning breach of faith or oaths, and many other things of this kind, which are written down among your customs, which you call ‘ancestral’. For the Lord says, ‘Keep my laws’; and again, he declares through the Prophet, ‘Woe to them who make unjust laws and set down injustices in writing to oppress the poor in judgement and deprive God’s humble people of their right.’27

Again in Fraternitatas vestrae, writing that the king should allow peace and liberty to Church, allow Rome to enjoy the liberties which it should have in his lands, and restore rights to Canterbury, he asserts, These are the royal dignities, the good laws which a Christian king should seek and observe, by which the Church ought to rejoice and flourish under him. These are the laws which observe the divine law and do not derogate from it; whoever does not observe them is manifestly an enemy of God: ‘The law of the Lord is without stain, converting souls.’28 For the Lord said of his laws, ‘Keep my laws’; and the prophet, ‘Woe to those who make unjust laws and write down injustices to oppress the poor in judgement and deprive God’s humble people of their right.’29

Here, then, we can see the Lives echoing arguments made during ­Thomas’s 23 Isa.

10:1; John 14:15; see MTB 1. 24, 3. 291. Attributed to Cyprian; see John 14:16; Decretum D. 8 c. 5. For its origins see G. B. Ladner, ‘Two Gregorian Letters on the Sources and Nature of Gregory VII’s Reform Ideology’, Studi Gregoriani 5 (1956): 221–42; Smalley, Becket Conflict, p. 128. 25 Decretum D. 8 c. 4. 26 MTB 3. 47–8. 27 CTB no. 74, pp. 296–7. 28 See Ps. 19:7 (18:8). 29 CTB no. 95, pp. 422–3. 24

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lifetime about the superiority of the law of the Church over secular law. The fullest statement of this position comes from Herbert of Bosham in his account of Westminster. After surveying Henry’s case as regards criminous clerks he reports Thomas’s reply: My lord king, sacrosanct Church, mother of all kings and priests, has two kings, two laws, two jurisdictions and two penalties. Two kings, Christ the heavenly king, and the worldly king; two laws, human and divine; two jurisdictions, priestly and legal; two penalties, spiritual and corporal. ‘Look, there are two swords.’ ‘It is enough’, said the Lord.30 Neither is too much and these are sufficient. But men of this profession, called clerks, by reason of order and office have Christ alone as their king, are assigned a distinguishing mark on their heads, as if by this set apart from the nations of people, and given over peculiarly to the work of the Lord; hence by privilege of order and office they are not subject to but superior to earthly kings, since they appoint kings and it is from them that the king receives the belt of knighthood and the power of the material sword. Therefore kings have no jurisdiction in these things, on account of profession and order, but rather these are judges of kings. For these men of our office, even if in the world there are weak, contemptible and cowardly ones, nevertheless, as a great king and prophet said, ‘They bind their kings with chains and their nobles with fetters of iron.’31 And therefore under their own king, the King of heaven, not worldly kings, they are ruled by their own law, and if they transgress, are penalized by their own law, which has its own penalty.32

He goes on to elaborate on the distinctive nature of the clergy, and how indecent it should be to see the hands that ministered at the altar bound and the head anointed with holy chrism hanging on the pillory. And he concludes by rejecting the example of the Old Testament Levites who submitted themselves to bodily punishment: Since this new law, new King, new judgement is reformed, not only in new punishments, but in new sacraments, new sacrifices, new works and new burdens. ‘For the old has passed away, behold, all things have become new.’33

Herbert tells us that if these are not Thomas’s precise words, they express the spirit and substance of what was said.34 Thomas may well have made a speech which touched on these matters. In describing the early days of his archiepiscopate, Anonymous I tells us that Thomas delivered a sermon to a crowded gathering of clergy and people in the presence of the king which concerned ‘the kingdom of Christ the Lord, which is the church, and the worldly king 30 Luke

22:38. 149:8. 32 MTB 3. 268. 33 MTB 3. 272; 2 Cor. 5:17. 34 MTB 3. 272. 31 Ps.

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dom, and the crown of each realm, priestly and royal, and also the two swords, the spiritual and the material’.35 The words attributed to Thomas draw on traditional and current discussions of spiritual and temporal power. The ultimate source is Pope Gelasius I’s letter of 494 to the emperor Anastasius: There are two powers, august Emperor, by which this world is chiefly ruled, namely, the sacred authority of the priests and the royal power. Of these that of the priests is the more weighty, since they have to render an account for even the kings of men in the divine judgement. You are also aware, dear son, that while you are permitted honourably to rule over human kind, yet in things divine you bow your head humbly before the leaders of the clergy and await from their hands the means of your salvation. In the reception and proper disposition of the heavenly mysteries you recognize that you should be subordinate rather than superior to the religious order, and that in these matters you depend on their judgement rather than wish to force them to follow your will.36

But Herbert more specifically echoes Gregory VII’s tendentious reading of Gelasius, later included in Gratian’s Decretum, which omits the acknowledgement that that the emperor rules over human race and is subject to priesthood only in matters concerning sacraments, thereby implying an unlimited subjection to priesthood on part of emperor.37 Eleventh-century scholars interpreted Gelasius’s words as a commentary on Luke 22:38, ‘Look, Lord, there are two swords’, and by the mid-twelfth century it was widely accepted that the two swords represented the two powers.38 Do the words Herbert attributed to Thomas represent a statement of the superiority of spiritual over temporal power? The answer must be yes, but with qualification. Herbert, and Thomas one assumes, would have said, if pressed, that the sacerdotium was pre-eminent over the regnum, but it is by no means likely that they devoted much energy to discussing it in such general terms. This speech occurs in the specific context of jurisdiction over 35 MTB

4. 22. Epistolae Romanorum Pontificum Genuinae I, ed. A. Thiel (Brunsberg, 1868), no. 12, p. 350. 37 Das Register Gregors VII viii. 21, ed. E. Caspar, 2 vols., MGH Epistolae selectae, 2nd edn (1920, 1923), p. 553; see also 4. 2, p. 293; Decretum D. 96. cc. 9–10; C. 2 q. 7 dictum post c. 41 is more faithful to Gelasius; see I. S. Robinson, The Papacy, 1073–1198 (Cambridge, 1990), p. 296–9. 38 See, for example, A. Stickler, ‘Concerning the Political Theories of the Medieval Canonists’, Traditio 7 (1949–51): 450–463; E. Kennan, ‘The “De Consideratione” of St Bernard of Clairvaux and the Papacy in the Mid-Twelfth Century: A Review of Scholarship’, Traditio 23 (1967): 73–115; B. Tierney, ‘Some Recent Works on the Political Theories of the Medieval Canonists’, Traditio 10 (1954): 594–625, repr. Church, Law and Constitutional Thought in the Middle Ages, Variorum (London, 1979); Robinson, Papacy, pp. 286–300. 36

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c­ riminous clerks. Furthermore, while the two swords were, by the time Herbert was writing, seen as indicative of the two powers, the spiritual sword continued to be discussed in terms of the powers of coercion available to the Church, specifically excommunication. Hugh of St Victor is the only medieval writer I have found who links the reading from Psalm 149:6–8 (‘To bind their kings with chains’) which Herbert invokes to the two swords of Luke 22:38.39 Although elsewhere Hugh discusses the domination of the spiritual over the temporal world,40 here his discussion focuses on the unsheathing of the spiritual sword in preaching and excommunication. And when Herbert employs Psalm 149:6–8 again, a few pages after the speech at Westminster, it is also in this context: Thomas condemns clause 7 of the Constitutions limiting excommunication for taking away the Church’s right to ‘bind their kings with chains and their nobles with fetters of iron’.41 The biographers’ discussion of the two laws, and particularly Herbert’s, are striking, in that they seem to place the Becket dispute in its broader significance as a struggle between regnum and sacerdotium. The rarity of such arguments in the Lives is also noteworthy. We can see the dispute as a struggle between the two powers, and presumably many contemporary observers did too, but that is not in the main how it is discussed in the Lives. Rather, it is presented as the failure of Henry II to fulfil his duties to the Church, and the failure of Thomas’s episcopal colleagues to respond appropriately. King and archbishop To approach the relations between the Crown and the Church in Angevin England from the point of view of the Becket dispute is somewhat similar to examining relations between the king and his nobles from the perspective of the clash between King John and his barons. For while both these crises revealed in dramatic manner the existence of deep tensions, a focus on them can obscure the general co-operation and shared interests which existed between the powers in the realm. Furthermore, contemporary theory on the Crown’s relations with the nobility on the one hand and with the Church on the other not only advocated close co-operation between the powers, but saw it as part of the proper order of things: if things went wrong, this was an aberration from the ideal. In 1065 Peter Damian wrote to Emperor Henry IV that ‘As both the royal and priestly dignity are in their origin joined together by a unique sacrament, so they are bound together in the Christian people by a mutual compact … the priesthood is protected by the guardianship of the royal office and 39 Sermones

centum 82, PL 177. 1161–2. Sacramentis Christianae Fidei 2. 2.4, PL 176. 418. 41 MTB 3. 282–3; see Lombard, PL 191. 1289, and Smalley’s comments, Becket Conflict, pp. 130–1. 40 De

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k­ ingship is supported by the sanctity of the priestly office.’42 More radical theorists of the reform movement echoed these principles, stressing the necessity of an alliance between pious secular rulers and reforming churchmen.43 For them, the advancement of the Church’s liberties did not demand the diminution of the secular power. Rather, the correct fulfilment of the pact between the two powers would allow both to flourish. Eadmer, chronicler of the first serious breach in this relationship in post-Conquest England, looked to the past for an ideal. His Life of Wilfrid, written in the 1080s, describes the late seventh century as golden age in the relations between the Crown and the Church, when one worked for the welfare of the other, bringing peace and prosperity to the realm – a view which Bede would perhaps not have shared.44 He begins his later Historia Novorum by looking back to the tenth century, when, he writes, ‘In the reign of that most glorious king, Edgar, while he governed diligently the whole realm of England with righteous laws, Dunstan, prelate of Canterbury, a man of unblemished goodness, ordered the whole of Britain by the administration of Christian law.’ Under Dunstan’s influence and counsel Edgar showed himself to be a devoted servant of God, and repelled foreign invaders: ‘England enjoyed peace and happiness throughout the length and breadth of the land so long as she was fortunate enough to have King Edgar and Father Dunstan with her in bodily presence.’45 Eadmer has Anselm describing the Church as a plough drawn by two oxen, the king and the archbishop of Canterbury, one ruling ‘by human justice and sovereignty, the other by divine doctrine and authority’.46 There are two parts to this image: first, the plough, representing the objective and – theoretically at least – unchangeable contract between regnum and sacerdotium; second, those who pull the plough, the individual kings and archbishops who, according to will and ability, determine how this contract is fulfilled.47 None of Thomas’s biographers identifies an earlier reign as a golden age of Church–Crown relations, but some writers look to the more recent past. William Fitzstephen’s account of the chancellorship presents not only a picture of a close personal relationship between Thomas and Henry, but one which worked to the mutual benefit of Church and realm: 42 Die

Briefe des Petrus Damiani, ed. K. Reindel, 4 vols. (Munich, 1983–93), MGH Epistolae II, no. 120, vol. 3, p. 389. 43 See I. S. Robinson, Authority and Resistance in the Investiture Contest (Manchester, 1978), p. 117; K. Leyser, ‘The Polemics of the Papal Revolution’, Trends in Medieval Political Thought, ed. B. Smalley (Oxford, 1965), pp. 42–65 at pp. 49–50. 44 Eadmer, Vita S. Wilfridi 27–8, PL 159. 725–6. 45 HN p. 3. 46 HN p. 36. 47 S. Vaughn offers a different interpretation, Anselm of Bec and Robert of Meulan: The Wisdom of the Serpent and the Innocence of the Dove (Berkeley, 1987), pp. 150–1; ‘The Monastic Sources of Anselm’s Political Beliefs: St Augustine, St Benedict and St ­Gregory the Great’, Anselm Studies 2 (1988): 53–92 at 55.

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Through the industry and counsel of the chancellor, through God’s disposition, and also thanks to the counts and barons, the noble realm of England was renewed, as if it were a new spring. Holy church was honoured, with vacant bishoprics and abbacies going without simony to honourable persons. The king, with the aid of the King of kings, prospered in all his doings. The realm of ­England was enriched, the horn of plenty was filled to the brim.48

Almost all the biographers suggest that this concord was shattered soon after Thomas became archbishop in April 1162, with one notable exception. Herbert of Bosham, in presenting his ideal relationship between king and archbishop, looks to the early days of Becket’s archiepiscopate.49 He follows his lengthy description of Thomas’s change of life by turning to the king’s attitude to his new archbishop. One of Thomas’s first actions was to reclaim various Canterbury estates which had, to his mind, been unfairly alienated during the vacancy or during Theobald’s archiepiscopate. This brought the archbishop into conflict with many important magnates, but, according to Herbert, most were afraid to complain to the king, because of his approval of Thomas, and those who did were rebuffed.50 Henry did not see his new archbishop until nine months after his consecration when he returned to England in late January 1163. Thomas, along with the young Henry, came to his court at Southampton, and when they were admitted, The king and all his men came running to him, and there was great joy and celebration throughout the whole court. The king and archbishop threw themselves into mutual kisses and embraces, each trying to outdo the other in giving honour. So much so that it seemed that the king was not effusive enough towards his son, being entirely effusive towards the archbishop.

A particular reason for Henry’s joy, writes Herbert, is that he had already privately heard such great things about Thomas’s sanctity.51 Next Herbert describes Thomas’s triumphant attendance at the Council of Tours in April 1163. His destination lying in Henry’s dominions, Thomas passed through the king’s cities, towns and villages, ‘received with as much honour as if it were the king himself’. When he reached Tours a great crowd converged on his lodgings – ecclesiastics, nobles, and ‘in particular royal justices, knowing the archbishop to be high in the king’s favour’. Omitting to mention the attendance of other bishops, the flaring up of the primacy dispute with York

48 MTB

3. 19; see 23, 26–7. Anonymous II also allows for the period between the consecration in June 1162 and Thomas’s first confrontation with the king at Woodstock in July 1163, but in less depth, MTB 4. 92–5. 50 MTB 3. 250–1. 51 MTB 3. 250–3. 49

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and Becket’s failure to achieve Anselm’s canonization,52 Herbert reports how the pope honoured him and renewed some Canterbury privileges. ‘Secure in apostolic blessing and favour’, he sailed to England on a gentle breeze, and ‘was received by the king in all happiness and enthusiasm as if a father by his son’.53 This is an important corrective to the picture of immediate conflict presented by most writers. First, recent research suggests that relations between Henry and Archbishop Theobald may have been more difficult than is often believed.54 England was not necessarily plunged into crisis in 1162 after years of concord between king and archbishop. Indeed, the early months of Thomas’s archiepiscopate might have represented a time of stability, especially after a relatively lengthy vacancy following Theobald’s death. Furthermore, although most biographers immediately follow their description of consecration, ‘conversion’ and Thomas’s new way of life with an account of the unfolding dispute, neglecting any co-operation between king and archbishop, the specific disputes they mention do not occur until 1163. The exception, as mentioned above, is the resignation of the office of chancellor, probably in autumn 1162, only mentioned by William of Canterbury and Guernes. If this raised tensions, the king’s absence from England until 1163 would have prevented them from flaring up, and Thomas spent much time at court in spring of that year.55 Still, Herbert’s characterization of an ideal relationship between Henry and Thomas is as guilty of distortion as that of the other bio­ graphers, as we can see from a significant manipulation of chronology. After his account of the Council of Tours, Herbert describes how ­Thomas secured the filling of the long vacant sees of Hereford and Worcester, appointments to which were made in March 1163. ‘After a little’, he writes, the archbishop called together many co-provincial bishops and dedicated that noble and royal abbey of Reading, in which Henry of divine memory, formerly king of England, and grandfather of our illustrious king Henry II, himself its founder, rests in a glorious mausoleum. This was done at the king’s wish and in his presence. And in the same year in London, at the equally famous and royal abbey of Westminster, he raised from the dust the body of the glorious and truly saintly Edward, as a very distinguished and precious vessel of perfect continence. And on account of the many outstanding merits of his royal life he solemnly elevated it and placed it amongst the bodies of the saints, likewise at

52 R.

Somerville, Alexander III and the Council of Tours; Councils and Synods, pp. 845–7; Barlow, Becket, p. 86. 53 MTB 3. 253–5. 54 See A. Duggan, ‘Henry II and the Papacy’, The World of Henry II: Proceedings of the 2004 Conference at UEA, forthcoming. Commendation of Theobald, and in particular his record, is quite muted in the Lives. Compare Eadmer’s praise of Lanfranc in discussing Anselm’s conflict with the crown, HN pp. 12–26. 55 See Barlow, Becket, p. 84.

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the wish of the king and in his presence. And, as we have said, the heart and mind of the illustrious king and holy pontiff were as one in God, and through this kingship and priesthood converged in the greatest peace and tranquillity, through the power of the God of peace and love.56

Herbert is correct to emphasize the royal character of these ceremonies. Reading was not only the resting-place of Henry I but also of Henry II’s firstborn son William, who died in infancy in 1157. It also boasted the relic of the hand of St James which Henry’s mother Matilda had brought back from Germany in 1125.57 Henry II was the first king of England to be descended not only from William the Conqueror but from the family of Edward the Confessor, and his enthusiasm for the sanctity of that king was not unconnected with the glory it reflected on him, as the cornerstone where the English and the Norman peoples met. Edward had been canonized in 1161, and his translation represented the culmination of the promotion of his cult. These, then, are perfect examples of the head of the English Church working side by side with the head of the English realm. However, although there is a question as to the exact date, it seems that the latter ceremony was performed on the last day of the Council of Westminster on 13 October 1163 – that is, when the conflict had already been developing for some time, and had, indeed, gained a new impetus.58 The dedication of Reading happened even later, on 19 April 1164, three months after the Council of Clarendon.59 Herbert’s purpose seems to be to build up the picture of concord so as to bring out the tragedy of the rift: ‘Indeed it would have been difficult to find such a great king and such a great pontiff in any other kingdom in the world, and such concord between them. Great indeed the concord, but brief in time.’60 But this picture also goes some way to absolving Thomas of any charge that he had conceived a design against the king and his interests from the beginning of his archiepiscopate. Where, then, does the fault for the breakdown of the relationship lie? For most writers, the process of ‘conversion’ involved not only a transformation in his inward spirituality but a change in the importance he gave towards

56 MTB

3. 260–1. Barlow, Becket, pp. 106–7. 58 Councils and Synods, pp. 849–50; F. Barlow, Edward the Confessor (London, 1970), pp. 282–4, 325–7; B. W. Scholz, ‘The Canonisation of Edward the Confessor’, Speculum 36 (1961): 38–60; O’Reilly, ‘Double Martyrdom’, pp. 218–35. 59 C. W. Previté-Orton, ‘Annales Radingenses Posteriores, 1135–1264’, EHR 37 (1922): 400–403 at 400, gives this date; Annales Monasterii de Wintonia (AD 517–1277), in Annales Monastici, ed H. R. Luard, 5 vols., RS 36 (London, 1864–9), vol. 2, p. 57, and Annales Bermondsey, in ibid., vol. 3, pp. 441–2, place the two events together, immediately before the conflict with Henry, but Winchester gives the year as 1163 and Bermondsey as 1164; See Barlow, Becket p. 106; O’Reilly, ‘Double Martyrdom’, pp. 223–4. 60 MTB 3. 261. 57 See

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ecclesiastical rights and a new zeal in their defence, and that the two went together. William Fitzstephen, for example, writes that the new archbishop was humble and amiable to the gentle, but stern to the proud. Against the injustice and insolence of the mighty he was strong like the lofty tower in Damascus, nor did the letters or entreaties of the king himself in favour of any man avail anything with him, if they were contrary to justice.61

Anonymous II comments that Thomas became anxious on behalf of the usurpation of the Church’s powers and liberties, and as he advanced on a holier path of life, he simultaneously redoubled his efforts to reform this situation.62 Guernes is blunter in linking Thomas’s new zeal for the Church to the beginnings of dissension, writing that The more he loved God, the worse was his relationship with the king. For as soon as he was consecrated to this honour, he made himself a proclaimer of God’s word, and gave his whole attention to his sovereign Lord. I do not know whether it was because of this that the king began to hate him, but it was from this time onwards that he banished him from his love.63

Anonymous I similarly writes that ‘What a venerable pontiff should do, and how he should hold himself, [Thomas] could not hide from the king’, and refers to the speech he made on the two swords: And as on this occasion he discussed much about ecclesiastical and secular power in a wonderful way – for he was very eloquent – the king took note of each of his words, and recognizing that he rated ecclesiastical dignity far above any secular title, he did not receive his sermon with a placid spirit. For he sensed from his words how distant the archbishop was from his own position: that the church owned nothing and could do nothing unless he granted it. How that which had already lurked in the heart of the king from then on came out in the open, how the venerable archbishop opposed himself as a wall for the house of the Lord, and with what constancy he came to interpose himself to royal fury in order to protect ecclesiastical liberty, the following will tell.64

Earlier, in reporting Thomas’s appointment to Canterbury, Anonymous I writes that it was prompted by Henry’s belief that ‘his plot against the church’ could easily be fulfilled through Thomas, and that Thomas from the first opposed his promotion, ‘knowing undoubtedly that he could not with concord serve two lords, whose wishes were far discrepant from each other, and

61 MTB

3. 39; compare 2. 370. 4. 91. 63 Guernes v. 735–40; Shirley, p. 20. 64 MTB 4. 22–3. 62 MTB

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whoever would be bishop of Canterbury, quickly would be held hostile to God or the king’.65 In 1166 Herbert wrote to the English clergy in Thomas’s name. His sorrow, he writes, is not for his own people, but that such a great king by the inspiration of evil men, ‘gave scandal to the world, insult to himself, offence to God, and sorrow to me’. He loved Henry more than anyone after God, and he wished nothing less than happiness and glory for the realm; ‘But he turned his face from me.’ These words, which Herbert includes in his account of Thomas’s contemporary reflections,66 reflect in summary how most of the biographers explain the origin of the conflict: Thomas’s efforts to work with Henry for the good of all were betrayed by the king, at the instigation of evil men. There are some strong words about the king in Thomas’s letters. In a letter of 1167 to all the cardinals, for example, the word ‘tyrant’ is freely used in describing Henry’s behaviour towards the Church.67 Implicit comparison of Henry to Old Testament tyrants is, as A. Saltman has explained, a notable feature of John of Salisbury’s letters.68 Henry is identified with Saul, who put the priests of Nob to death,69 Absalom, who committed parricide and incest,70 Ahab, who set up false prophets and destroyed Naboth’s vineyard,71 and Pharaoh, who enslaved the Israelites.72 There are also oblique references to tyranny in the Lives. Henry is compared to Herod, in his persecution of the Holy Innocents,73 and implicitly, in his role in Becket’s death.74 For example, the author of the Summa Causae writes that when Thomas refused to acknowledge the customs at Westminster, ‘The king was greatly troubled, and all Jerusalem with him’, words associated with Herod hearing of the birth of Jesus.75 Herbert even compares him to the devil when he reports the king’s words to Thomas during an interview in 1170: ‘Why do you not do what I wish? Certainly I would give everything into your hands.’ This, he writes, reminded Thomas of the words from the gospel, ‘All these I will give you, if

65 MTB

4. 14, 18. no. 221, 5. 463; 3. 370–1. 67 CTB no. 125, pp. 596–605. 68 A. Saltman, ‘John of Salisbury and the World of the Old Testament’, The World of John of Salisbury, ed. M. Wilks pp. 343–63, at pp. 344–9. 69 1 Sam. 22:6–20. 70 2 Sam. 15–17. 71 1 Kings 16–18, 21. 72 LJS no. 171, pp. 126–7. 73 MTB 3. 370. 74 MTB 1. 116. 75 MTB 4. 205; see Matt. 2:3. 66 MTB

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you will fall down and worship me.’76 One also finds more direct criticisms, as in this from Anonymous I: For whenever tyrants occupied the kingdom, they destroyed ecclesiastical l­iberties completely. This king Henry, following in their footsteps, usurped for himself the entirety of ecclesiastical management and organization. For he conferred bishoprics and abbacies on whomsoever he wished, and now at his order and decree he drew priests and clerks to secular judgement, as if they were no different from the common people.77

Henry is compared unfavourably to Louis, ‘the most Christian king of the French’.78 John’s encomium of France is matched by Herbert: ‘Kings of France, as is held from their ancient deeds, were always bellicose men, but hardly ever or never tyrants.’79 He reports that when Louis heard of Henry’s reference to Thomas as ‘formerly archbishop’, he remarked, ‘Certainly, like the king of the English, I am also a king, but I have no power to depose even the meanest clerk in my realm.’80 Therefore Henry’s actions are seen to be out of the ordinary for a monarch. The most common criticism is that he failed follow models of good kingship by not controlling his anger.81 His turning away from Becket is seen to parallel the archbishop’s transformation, and Herbert even calls it a conversio.82 This is all relatively restrained, considering that King Henry had just been implicated in the murder of his archbishop. Such restraint is understandable in part if we consider the fact that these works were written during Henry’s lifetime: Gerald of Wales waited until John’s death to fulminate against him and his father Henry II in De Principis Instructione, and Stephen Langton preached on the theme of tyrannical kings but used William II as an example rather than an Angevin ruler.83 It is also significant that most biographers were writing in the

76 MTB

3. 470; Matt. 4:9; Luke 4:6. 4. 23. 78 LJS no. 288, pp. 638–9. The designation Rex Christianissimus, hitherto rare, was frequently used in letters of Pope Alexander, especially those addressed to Louis VII of France, but also to Henry II: see G. B. Ladner, ‘The Concepts of “Ecclesia” and “Christianitas” and their Relation to the Idea of Papal “Plenitudo Potestatis” from Gregory VII to Bonifice VIII’, Images and Ideas in the Middle Ages: Selected Studies in History and Art, 2 vols. (Rome, 1983), vol. 2, pp. 487–515 at p. 500. 79 LJS no. 136, pp. 5–6. 8–9; MTB 3. 408. 80 MTB 3. 332. 81 MTB 2. 311; 3. 355, 372; 4. 33. 82 MTB 3. 262. 83 M. H. Caviness, ‘Conflicts between Regnum and Sacerdotium as Reflected in a Canterbury Psalter of ca. 1215’, Art Bulletin 61 (1979): 38–58 at 48; P. B. Roberts, Studies in the Sermons of Stephen Langton, Stephanus de lingua tonente (Toronto, 1968), pp. 130, 134–5. 77 MTB

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atmosphere of reconciliation introduced by Henry’s submission at Avranches in May 1172. But it also reveals that the greatest bitterness was not necessarily between Thomas and Henry but between the archbishop and his supporters on the one hand, and his enemies within the Church on the other. Rivals and false brothers Thomas made enemies easily, and they played a major role in his story from the beginning of his career right up to his death. They are prominent in all the Lives, both as individuals and as groups, attracting blame for the conflict and the archbishop’s various misfortunes, acting as antithesis to Thomas, the champion of truth and justice, and by their acts unwittingly revealing his glory. When Thomas was a young clerk in Theobald’s court Roger of Pont l’Evêque, then archdeacon of Canterbury, but soon to become archbishop of York, taunted him, out of envy for his favour with the archbishop.84 And when he became chancellor Thomas is said to have borne so much from rivals in court that he considered giving up his office.85 Herbert of Bosham describes the poisonous serpent of envy which Thomas encountered in court, kissing in public and betraying in secret, ‘with honey in its mouth and poison in his heart, and a sting in its tail’. As yet in the chancellor’s court the serpent skulked on account of fear of the king, but when Thomas became archbishop it began to raise its head.86 According to William of Canterbury, many worried about the influence of evil counsellors on King Henry from the time of his accession.87 Thomas himself is reported to have expressed concerns to the king that if he accepted the office of archbishop, ‘The envious would find occasion to stir up endless strife between us.’88 John of Salisbury describes how Thomas’s enemies misrepresented his ‘conversion’ of 1162, portraying his asceticism as superstition, his zeal for ecclesiastical right as rashness. In this way, the king came to believe that if Thomas’s will should prevail, royal dignity would undoubtedly suffer.89 Here Becket’s biographers follow a convention frequently applied to discussions of kingship, and particularly in their relations to the Church.90 Eddius Stephanus criticizes the role of 84 MTB

2. 362; 4. 9–10; Guernes v. 256–60. 2. 304–5; 4. 12. 86 MTB 3. 177; Craib, ‘Arras MS’, p. 219. 87 MTB 1. 4. 88 MTB 3. 181. 89 MTB 2. 309–10; see 4. 22, 91–2. 90 See E. Bornazel, Le Gouvernement capetien au XIIe siècle, 1108–1180 (Paris, 1975), pp. 152–54; C. W. Hollister, ‘Henry I and the Invisible Transformation of Medieval England’, Studies in Medieval History Presented to R. H. C. Davis, ed. H. Mayr-Harting and R. I. Moore (London, 1985), repr., Monarchy, Magnates and Institutions in the AngloNorman World (London, 1986), pp. 303–15 at pp. 304–5. 85 MTB

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King ­Ecgfrith’s flatterers in expelling Bishop Wilfrid from his see.91 Gregory VII claims that the emperor’s counsellors were responsible for polluting the churches with simony.92 And Eadmer implicitly contrasts the good counsel taken by Edgar and the Conqueror with the bad counsel of William Rufus and Henry I which provoked the conflict with Anselm.93 In describing the eruption of rivalry on Thomas’s appointment to Canterbury, a commonly employed image is that of the devil, envious of Thomas’s sanctity, sowing weeds of envy designed to suffocate the friendship between him and the king.94 William Fitzstephen writes that some of this rivalry came from within the king’s court, either from those who had no reason to defame the archbishop except to win the king’s favour and gain his ear, or clerks of the court who feared for their ill-gotten benefices.95 They were joined by nobles who either lost lands or feared for them when Thomas began to reclaim Canterbury estates.96 But when Thomas’s biographers allude to rivals who turned the king against him, they are usually referring to bishops. In an account echoed by many others, Edward Grim recounts how, between the councils of Westminster and Clarendon, Bishop Arnulf of Lisieux suggested to the king that he detach some of the English episcopate from Becket’s side. Three of their number, Hilary of Chichester, Roger of York and Gilbert of London were captured unarmed; rather, more truly, they threw down their arms on the ground and began to help the enemy … From these it is believed the error of the king gained, if not perhaps its beginning, at least its basis and increment. Therefore these sowed weeds, and by their industry worthless seeds grew in the hearts of others.97

Herbert relates how those who had first stood with the archbishop now were fully prepared to accept the king’s desire, and though noting that he was unworthy to comment on the merits of the bishops, he adds that saints are always built up by injuries from false brothers:

91 Eddius

24, pp. 48–51. Epistolae Vagantes of Pope Gregory VII, ed. H. E. J. Cowdrey (Oxford, 1972), 14, p. 34. 93 Edgar: HN p. 3, William I: HN p. 12; William II: VA pp. 67, HN 43; Henry I: HN pp. 131, 134, 178, 191–2. 94 MTB 1. 12; 2. 309; 3. 41–2. 95 MTB 3. 42. 96 MTB 3. 42–3, 250–1. 97 MTB 2. 377; see 1. 14; 3. 42–3; 4. 29–30; Guernes v. 851–65. 92 The

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For as the furnace to gold, the thresher to grain, the file to steel, is the false brother to the righteous man, by whom he is worn away until he reaches the point of truth. As one doctor said, ‘He refuses to be Abel, whom the malice of Cain does not exercise.’98

These bishops, ‘like chaff winnowed and shaken out from the grain’,99 left the archbishop alone with only a few supporters. He reports that long-time rivals of the archbishop secretly persuaded the king that his customs should be put in writing, while urging Thomas to remove his objections: Such tend to be the counsels of those who according to the prophet are ‘skilled in doing evil’; or like the golden cup of Babylon which is covered in gold so that he who drinks from it does not detect the poison, which indeed is usually offered with honey smeared all around. Therefore those skilled in doing evil indeed have honey in their mouths, but truly as brothers of scorpions carry poison in their hearts, and a sting in the tail shooting arrows from ambush at the blameless.100

Such a characterization of Thomas’s episcopal colleagues, while perhaps extreme, reflects both the sympathies of many amongst the clergy at the time, and the concept of the episcopacy revealed in medieval writing. The majority of the Anglo-Norman episcopacy had, like Becket, made their way through the royal service or belonged to the king’s immediate circle, and their interests were closely tied to his.101 While some, such as Roger of Worcester, were consistently loyal to Becket, others, notably Gilbert of London and Roger of York, took a hostile position. There was a long tradition of distinguishing individual bishops from their office: as Jerome writes, ‘Bishop, presbyter and deacon are not names of merits but of offices.’102 And bishops are often criticized, as individuals and as groups. In 1077 Gregory VII, writing to the faithful in Germany, complained that the Lombard bishops, who should be pillars in the Church of God, not only retain no place in the structure of Christ’s body but are constantly its attackers and would-be destroyers.103 Such

98

MTB 3. 275. Furnace to gold etc: see Bede (attrib.), De Psalmorum libro exegesis, PL 93. 520; Abel: Gregory, Mor. 20. 39, CCSL 143A. 1059; Homiliae in Hiezechihelem prophetam, ed. M. Adriaen (1971), vol. 1, 1. 9, CCSL 142. 136; Homilia in Evangelia, ed. R. Étaix, CCSL 141 (1999), 365; Decretum D. 2 C. 7 q. 1 c. 48. 99 MTB 3. 276–7; compare 1. 14. 100 MTB 3. 277. Skilled in doing evil: Jer. 4:22; see also MTB 3. 308, 323. Golden cup of Babylon: Jer. 51:7; see Gregory, Mor. 34. 15, CCSL 143B. 1752–3. Shooting arrows: Ps. 64 (63):3–4; context, v. 2: ‘Hide me from the secret plots of the wicked’. 101 D. Walker, ‘Crown and Episcopacy under the Normans and Angevins’, ANS 5 (1982): 220–33 at 228; Knowles, Episcopal Colleagues, esp. pp. 1–54. 102 Adversus Jovianum 1. 34, PL 23. 258. 103 Epistolae Vagantes 19, pp. 52–3.

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a ­characterization is present also throughout Eadmer’s depiction of Anselm’s dispute with his kings.104 The main criticism of Thomas’s episcopal colleagues is that they failed in their duty to correct the king. Three examples will serve as illustration. At the end of his lengthy description of the new archbishop’s way of life, Herbert discusses Thomas’s caution about ordaining new men to office, writing that too many he saw to have been promoted by virtue of royal favour rather than being called by God. Citing the words of Solomon, ‘Like one who binds the stone in the sling is he who gives honour to a fool’,105 he turns to that king’s successor, the first schismatic king Jeroboam, who first usurped both the kingdom and the priesthood to himself, at the start of his schismatic reign was repeatedly corrected through the prophets, because he set up idols for the people to adore, and made temples on high and priests from the lowest of the people …106 O how many of our kings after this foreshadowing usurped the priesthood and every day usurp still! Read our histories, read chronicles, read annals and you will find hardly a king who did not send take the devoted things,107 who did not usurp the priesthood, who did not put their hand on the ark, who did not plunder the temple, who did not drink from the vases of the temple or did not handle the vases from the temple; as if for them the kingdom was not sufficient unless they added the priesthood.108

Such kings, he warns, should beware the fate of Jeroboam, defeated in battle by Abijah;109 of Uzzah who was smitten by the Lord because he put out his hand to steady the ark;110 of Uzziah who burned incense on the altar and was struck on the forehead with leprosy;111 of the Babylonians who carried off the vases from the temple and had their empire destroyed.112 The correct example, he writes, is that of David, who strove to provide strong columns for the Church.113 A little later, Herbert describes how Thomas complained to the

104 They urge Anselm to buy William Rufus’s favour, HN pp. 50–1; urge him to accept the

king’s side at the Council of Rockingham, VA p. 86; are accused of apostasy, HN p. 64; likened to Judas, Herod and Pilate, HN p. 65; acknowledge that they are not as holy as the archbishop, HN pp. 82–3; support and urge on Henry I’s investiture policy, HN p. 140. 105 Prov. 26:8. 106 1 Kings 12:31. 107 See Josh. 6:18. 108 MTB 3. 242. 109 2 Chron. 13. 110 2 Sam. 6:6–7. 111 2 Chron. 26:16–21. 112 1 Esd. 1:41; Dan. 4:28–33. 113 MTB 3. 243.

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king of vacancies in the Church, and he contrasts his behaviour in this regard with that of many other metropolitans: By their dissimulation many kings turn into tyrants. And these archbishops, alas, stroke, caress and soothe them, when they ought to have controlled them as a father would. Hence the master said to one of his metropolitans, ‘reprove with all authority’.114

There are many, he says, who do not identify error freely lest they cause offence to friendship, and do not correct what is reprehensible by the authority they discharge. And he recalls how the prophet Isaiah reproached himself for not attacking King Ahab freely and with authority as he should have with the words ‘Woe is me for I was silent.’115 This, placed before the eruption of the conflict, is a theoretical discussion of a prelate’s duty to correct, when necessary, a ruler who usurps the power of the priesthood. It establishes that there have been many such kings, from Jeroboam’s time onwards, and that there have also been rulers of the Church who failed to reprove such kings when they ought to have done so. As we have seen, Herbert attributes to Thomas a lengthy address to a group of cardinals at Sens on the same subject.116 It was at the Council of Westminster that the king began, in the biographers’ opinion, to extend his authority unlawfully over ecclesiastical liberties. In the Summa Causae the bishops tell Thomas that the destruction of the Church’s liberty would bring no danger to the Church, ‘But’, they said, ‘it is better that it perish than we all perish.117 Let us do therefore what the king requires. Otherwise no refuge will remain to us, and no one will care for us.118 But if we give our consent to the king we will enjoy the sanctuary of the lord as our inheritance, and sleep secure in our ecclesiastical possessions. We must make allowances for the evil of these times.’119 So said the bishops, as if the evil of the times were not enough without the added evil of the bishops.

Thomas, ‘inflamed by zeal for the house of God’, replied,

114 Titus

2:15. 3. 257–8; Isa. 6:5; employed by Thomas with reference to his lengthy patience and duty to speak out: CTB no. 203, pp. 880–1; no. 233, pp. 1002–3; MTB no. 222, 5. 480. For its similar use, see Gregory, Mor. 7. 37, CCSL 143. 380, and The Letters of Peter the Venerable, ed. G. Constable, Harvard Historical Studies 78 (Cambridge, MA, 1967), vol. 1, no. 161, p. 388. 116 See above, pp. 68–71. 117 See John 12:50. 118 See Ps. 142 (141):4. 119 See Eph. 5:16. 115 MTB

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I see that you console yourself for your inertia under the guise of patience, and suffocate the liberty of Christ’s bride under the pretext of prudence. Who put a spell on you, foolish bishops? Do you think you can cover up your manifest iniquity by calling it prudence? What do you call prudence, that is destructive to the whole church? Let things be called by their names, do not pervert things and words. I certainly agree with what you say, that we must make many allowances for the evil of the times, but that does not mean that sins should be heaped on sins. God is capable of improving the church’s condition without worsening ours … Let me ask, when ought bishops offer themselves to danger, in tranquillity or in danger? You would certainly be ashamed to say that it is in tranquillity. Then it must be, that when the church is threatened, the pastor of the church ought to oppose himself to the danger. For it is just as worthy for us in our time to spill our blood for the liberty of the church, as it was for the bishops of old to found the church of Christ in their blood.120

Here the bishops invoke the evil of the times as many correspondents, including the pope, did in attempting to restrain Thomas. The archbishop’s response is consistent with Herbert’s case above, that there have been times when bishops were required to stand up to kings, even in danger, but goes further in suggesting that Henry’s introduction of his royal customs represents just such a time. Finally, Guernes, in his account of the Council of Clarendon, breaks off to address the bishops: You weak and foolish men! Tell me, what is it you are afraid of? That the king will take your powers from you? Indeed, he will not, if you have the courage to hold on to them. You are not real bishops, you are only called so. You do not do your duty in any respect. You ought to lead men and keep them on the right path, but you make them all stumble and fall – you even make the king of the country go wrong. You ought not always advise him to follow his own wishes; no, you should often rebuke and reprimand him. God has entrusted his flock to you for protection, and if the king is your sheep, then you must lead him. The shepherd must always turn away the stranger and carry the sick sheep on his shoulder; he must not leave it for the robber to kill. You are hirelings; there are not many true shepherds. And the king can see this, he will see the worse of you. God, who placed him in the kingdom, will require him at your hands; it is your duty to keep him well. He will not always think as he does now, and then he will hate those who gave him that advice.121

Here Guernes invokes two biblical readings frequently employed in both the correspondence and the Lives in relation to the duty of a prelate to speak out against injustice, First, Jesus’s words before the Jews and the Pharisees: ‘I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. He who is a hireling and not a shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, sees the 120 MTB

4. 203–4. v. 1191–1210; Shirley, p. 33.

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wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees.’122 Second, God’s warning to the prophet Ezekiel: ‘So you, son of man, I have made a watchman for the house of Israel; whenever you hear a word from my mouth, you shall give them warning from me. If I say to the wicked, you shall surely die, and you do not speak to warn the wicked to turn away from his way, that wicked man shall die in his iniquity, but his blood I will require at your hand.’123 Though the comments by Herbert, the anonymous author of the Summa Causae and Guernes concern the early period of Thomas’s archiepiscopate, they reflect arguments made during his exile, particularly those expressed in letters of 1166, a critical year in the conflict, and recapitulated, especially by Herbert of Bosham, in discussions of the pivotal event of that year: Thomas’s excommunications at Vézelay. To speak or to be silent After his flight to France and his meeting with the pope at Sens in November 1164, Thomas retreated to the Cistercian monastery of Pontigny, but the relative calm of his surroundings did not hide the increasing entrenchment on both sides, which was only deepened by distance. Henry had attempted to marginalize Becket with diplomatic missions to King Louis of France and had punished the archbishop for his flight by expelling and persecuting his kindred and allies. Thomas, meanwhile, had tried to extend his support, with little success, but new opportunities opened up when, on Easter Sunday, 24 April 1166, the pope granted him a papal legation within the province of Canterbury which, crucially, conferred the power of ecclesiastical censure. On 12 June at Vézelay, Thomas pronounced sentence of excommunication against a number of royal officials, and against the bishop of Salisbury and his deacon. This measure moved the dispute to a new level, not least because of what had not been done but remained a latent threat: the excommunication of the king or the imposition of an interdict upon England.124 Though not always explicitly stated, this was the central concern of the exchange of letters of 1166. From the archbishop’s side, three letters ‘of mounting severity’ were written to Henry, the first two just before Vézelay, the last shortly after. In them Becket warns, cajoles and threatens Henry to go back on his actions or suffer the consequences.125 The English clergy responded to the censures with

122

John 10:11–12. Ezek. 33:7–8; for a list of allusions to this reading in the correspondence, see CTB, p. 1423. 124 John of Salisbury reports that Thomas intended to excommunicate the king, but had mercy on him when he heard that he was seriously ill, LJS no. 168, pp. 112–15. 125 Discussed by C. H. Wynne, ‘The Tradition: Sacerdotium versus Regnum and the Two Beckets’, Cîteaux: Commentarii Cistercienses 23 (1972): 289–315. 123

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an appeal to the pope and a letter to Thomas informing him of the appeal, both drafted by Gilbert Foliot.126 A number of replies to the bishops’ appeal were drafted in Thomas’s name, though not all of them were sent.127 These were followed by John of Salisbury’s letters condemning the appeals and culminated in Foliot’s magisterial denunciation of Thomas, Multiplicem nobis.128 These letters are rhetorical exercises, public broadcasts of their author’s position. It is at this point that Thomas’s correspondence began to be collected and circulated as a way of rallying supporters. It is possible in these exchanges to determine an argument on each side. There is very little on the theoretical relationship between the Church and Crown, but more on the character and behaviour of king. The main concern, though, is how one ought to respond to the present situation. These letters are relevant to the present discussion, first, because some biographers include them in their Lives and therefore they form an integral part of their works. The letters themselves, or the arguments which they expressed, were widely known: John of Salisbury and Alan of Tewkesbury’s work prefaces the Becket correspondence, and in the earliest manuscript Fitzstephen’s work is accompanied by Gilbert Foliot’s letters. Furthermore, many of the arguments presented by both sides appear in some form in the Lives. This is especially the case for Herbert of Bosham, who did not include letters in his work (he referred the reader to Alan’s collection) but weaved arguments from them into his narrative, especially in the form of reported speech. The theme of the letters ‘of mounting severity’ is Henry’s repeated failure to do penance for his transgressions against the Church, and the pastor’s duty to correct him if he should continue on his path. In the first, Loqui de Deo, Thomas asks, ‘What do I do, speak or be silent? There is danger both ways.’ On the one hand, there is danger of which the Lord warned Ezekiel, that his failure to act as a watchman over Israel would be punished; on the other is the danger of provoking the king’s anger. But, he concludes, it is safer to invite the indignation of men than of God, and therefore he chooses to rebuke the king for his oppression of the Church. The Lord, he warns, is a patient requiter, and waits for a long time, but a most harsh avenger. And unless he heeds this advice, he adds, Henry is destined to emulate the downfall of Solomon, who turned his back on the Lord. Better, Thomas advises, to follow the example of Solomon’s father, David, who immediately after his offence humbled himself before God, sought mercy, and obtained pardon.129 Included in Grim and Guernes’s Life is the second of these letters, Desiderio desideravi, which was read aloud before Henry II at Chinon in June 1166.130 126

MTB no. 204, 5. 403–8; CTB no. 93, pp. 372–83. CTB nos. 95–6, pp. 388–441; MTB nos. 221–2, 5. 459–90. 128 CTB nos. 99–101, 109, pp. 452–83, 498–537. 129 CTB no. 68, pp. 266–71. 130 CTB no. 74, pp. 292–99. 127

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Thomas begins by saying how he has longed to see the king’s face and had hoped that he would be moved to pity on the archbishop’s behalf, First, because you are my lord, second, because you are my king, and third, because you are my spiritual son … Because you are my son, I am bound to reprove and restrain you by reason of my office. For a father corrects his son, sometimes with mild words, sometimes with severe ones, so that in this way he may draw him back to rightdoing.

He contrast the fate of those kings, David and Hezekiah, who repented for their misdeeds and recovered God’s favour, to those like Pharaoh, Saul, Nebuchodonosor and Solomon who did not and suffered for it before God. And he concludes with a warning to Henry: And we are ready to serve you as our dearest lord and king, loyally and devotedly with all our strength in whatever way we can, saving the honour of God and of the Roman Church, and saving our order. If you do not, you may know for certain that you will suffer the divine severity and vengeance.

The third of these letters, Exspectans exspectavi, probably reached Henry in June 1166 and is included in Guernes’s work.131 He begins in similar manner to Desiderio desideravi, with the words, Expectantly I have waited for the Lord to look down upon you so that you might change your ways and do penance, turn back from the wrong path, and cut away from your side the evil ones by whose incitement, as we believe, and counsel you have already almost fallen into the pit.

But until now, he writes, he has waited in vain to hear of the king’s satisfaction. Without any doubt he is at fault who neglects to correct what he should correct. Inasmuch as it is written, ‘Not only they who do wrong, but also they who agree to it are judged to be participants.’132

He goes on to remind the king how God promoted, honoured and exalted him, blessed him with children, strengthened his throne and enriched him with possessions, and how he has repaid such favours. Again, he recalls the fate of Old Testament rulers – Saul, Uzziah, Ahaz and Uzzah – who usurped the office of the priesthood and reaped God’s vengeance.133 He reminds the king how Ambrose excommunicated the emperor Theodosius, and how the prophet Nathan rebuked and corrected David, and led him to penance.134 131

CTB no. 82, pp. 329–43. D. 86 c. 3. 133 See 1 Sam. 22:18; 2 Chron. 26:18–21; 2 Chron. 28:21–7, 2 Kings 15:5; 2 Sam. 6:6–7. 134 See 2 Sam. 12:13. 132 Decretum,

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These letters, particularly the last, are in fact heavily influenced by letters of Ambrose to Theodosius which dwell on this particular example of Nathan’s correction of David,135 the arguments and language of which are recapitulated by Gregory VII in his letter to Hermann of Metz of 25 August 1076,136 and in Gratian’s discussion of ecclesiastical jurisdiction over rulers.137 Gilbert Foliot wrote two responses to Thomas’s censures in the name of the English clergy. In Quae vestro, they write of how their hopes of peace were shattered and their fears renewed by the news from Vézelay. They remind the archbishop of the perilous state of the Roman Church in time of schism, and urge him not to extend excommunication to the king.138 In their appeal to the pope, Vestram, pater, meminisse, they recall how ‘a holy contention sprang up, which, as we believe, simple intention of both parts excuses before the Lord’. In introducing the customs, the king was not aiming to oppress ecclesiastical liberty, but even so, they say, he had promised to make amends, and divisions had been almost put to sleep before they were revived by the archbishop. Having neither a father’s devotion nor a pontiff’s patience, he has provoked the king, thus causing great danger to the Church, ‘for the days are evil’.139 The lengthy final section of Multiplicem nobis deals with the nature of the dispute itself, or, as Gilbert puts it, ‘The reason why you urge us to our death.’ No dispute, he writes, exists over faith, the sacraments or morals: ‘The entire dispute with the king and regarding the king, then, is about certain evil customs which he claims were observed, and enjoyed by his predecessors, and he wishes and expects to enjoy.’ These customs were deeply established, and therefore they need to be dealt with as one might root out a well-established plant, by digging around it. He gives examples of other ecclesiastics who succeeded in rooting out many evils ‘not with reproaches, but with blessings and praise, and steady encouragement’. If they had hastened to arms, they would have achieved nothing. Thomas ought to have sought out the counsels of his brothers and other, and paid attention to the works of wise fathers, and balanced the Church’s loss against its gains. Praising the king for his commitment to the Church, he warns Thomas of the danger of wounding him, and

135 Epistulae,

ed. M. Zelzer (1982), no. 74, extra collectionem no. 1, 11, CSEL 82/3. 55–73, 145–61, 212–18. 136 Register IV, 2, vol. 2, pp. 293–7. 137 Decretum C. 2 q. 7 c. 41; see also D. 96 c. 10. On the influence of Ambrose’s example up to and including Canossa, see R. Schieffer, ‘Von Mailand nach Canossa: ein ­Beitrag zur Geschischte der christlichen Herrscherbusse von Theodosius der Grosse bis zu ­Heinrich IV’, Deutsches Archiv 28 (1972): 333–70; S. Hamilton, The Practice of Penance, c. 900–c. 1050 (Woodbridge, 2001), pp. 174–82. 138 CTB no. 93, pp. 372–83. 139 MTB no. 204, 5. 403–8.

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cites canons criticizing the use of ecclesiastical censure in time of schism.140 And he adds, Does anyone reckon it greater among a doctor’s skills to cure one wound by inflicting another, far greater and more dangerous? Who calls it discretion to desert his church in this way for what could be obtained very quickly and very easily, to rise up against his prince, and, having destroyed the peace of the whole church throughout the realm, not to trouble about the dangers to the souls and bodies of his subjects?141

Becket’s camp drafted four letters in response to the bishops’ appeal, each providing a lengthy and complex theological and canonical analysis of Becket’s position. One appears to have been written by Lombard of Piacenza, another by Herbert of Bosham, and the other two may have been collaborations.142 All give a fascinating insight into the development of the arguments in Becket’s favour, but perhaps the most interesting is that written by Herbert, Exspectans expectavi. Responding to the bishops’ charges and echoing their language, he employs imagery from a wide range of sources to make the claim that rebellion to secular authority is in some cases justified, and that Henry’s treatment of the Church is one such case. Therefore, he states, he is prepared to follow a prelate’s duty to enforce discipline on his spiritual son.143 Although it may have been circulated privately, it seems that Exspectans expectavi was never sent.144 But nor did it remain as a draft. Two decades later, Herbert incorporated its arguments and imagery into his Life, and developed upon them, using the author’s commentary and reported speech to describe how Becket came to his decision to excommunicate the king’s supporters, an issue skirted over by almost all the other writers.145 Without mentioning the change of circumstances caused by Thomas’s receipt of the papal legation, Herbert describes how, in the second year of his exile, the archbishop was roused to vigorous action. Realizing how hardened were the hearts of his enemies,

140 Decretum

D. 50 c. 25; Augustine, Ep. 185, CSEL 57. 39. Decretum C. 23 qu. 4 c. 32; Augustine, Contra epistulam Parmeniani, ed. M. Petschenig (1907), iii. 2. 14, CSEL 51. 116. Anonymous II uses the latter canon to explain the pope’s restraint of the archbishop after Vézelay. 141 CTB no. 109, pp. 526–37. 142 CTB no. 95–6; MTB no. 221–2; Barlow, Becket, p. 152. 143 MTB no. 221, 5. 459–78. 144 Barlow, Becket, p. 152. 145 Anonymous II is the only other writer who deals with Vézelay in any depth. His comments echo many of those made by Herbert, insisting on the validity of the censures and concludes that the pope subsequently restrained Thomas’s powers of censure because he did not know Henry as well as the archbishop did: MTB 4. 110–13.

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The archbishop began to reflect within himself and meditate in his heart, and in this meditation a fire began to kindle, a fire not of malice but of love … not driven by vindictiveness but by justice and fatherly compassion.’146

He who up to now had patiently borne all, was roused by the Lord’s warning to Ezekiel, that if he did not speak to keep the wicked from their ways he would requite their blood from his hand,147 and addressed his ‘companions in battle’, his household in exile. He begins: There is a time for all things, a time of suffering and a time of rebelling, a time of mercy and a time of justice. ‘When I receive the time’, he said, ‘I will judge justice.’148 And the master said to the disciples, ‘be patient in tribulation’.149

Up to now they have been patient, while their enemies pile sins upon sins. The Lord said, ‘Do you not for three or four transgressions go against him?’150 Up to now we have been silent, but does that mean that we will always be silent? ‘Woe is me’, said the prophet, ‘for I was silent.’151 Surely, frightened by the prophet’s example we will not be silent in the same way? And we, who have slept in solitude between these monks and these stones, do we not also awake.

It is good, he says, to enjoy leisure in the embrace of Rachel,152 but now, duty of office compels them to action. ‘Any pastor who does not ward off the wolves carries his sword without cause, and a judge who does not reprimand transgressors carries the sword without cause.’153 The Lord said, ‘I 146 See

Ps. 39:3 (38:4), and note the context: ‘I said, “I will guard my ways that I may not sin with my tongue; I will bridle my mouth, so long as the wicked are in my presence”. I was dumb and silent, I held my peace to no avail: my distress grew worse, my heart became hot within me. As I mused, the fire burned; then I spoke with my tongue’. Herbert’s words echo Augustine’s remark in relation to this passage, ‘a fire of charity is within me’, Sermones inediti 20. 8, PL 46. 904. 147 Ezek. 3:17. 148 Ps. 75:2 (74:3). Augustine links this to Psalm 101 (100):1, ‘I will sing of loyalty and justice to thee, O Lord’, Enn. Psal., CCSL 39. 1027. Peter Lombard comments, ‘There is a time of teaching and mercy; but later there is a time of judging’: PL 191. 699. 149 Rom. 12:12. Ambrosiaster writes, ‘He explains what it is to be patient in tribulation when he says elsewhere, “Redeeming the time, for the days are evil” (Eph. 5:16)’, Commentaria in Epistolam ad Romanos, PL 17. 159. This is echoed by Rabanus Maurus, Ennarationes in Epistolas Pauli, PL 111. 1552. See above, pp. 68, 70. 150 See Amos 1:3. 151 Isa. 6:5. 152 See above, pp. 54–5. 153 See Rom. 13:4. Herbert’s extension of this reading (‘He does not bear the sword in vain’) appears to derive from Gratian’s discussion of examples of the correction of kings, such as Uzziah who usurped the priesthood and was struck with leprosy, and David who did penance when rebuked by Nathan. Ambrose excommunicated the Emperor Theodosius ‘for as the judge does not carry the sword without cause, so not without cause do

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have ­constituted you today above the peoples and kingdoms to root out and destroy and scatter and dissipate and build and plant.’154 Therefore, Thomas concludes, they should take action, but, following the example of the Samaritan, cure sins first by pouring on the oil of leniency, and then if necessary, wine.155 The oil of leniency takes the form of the three letters ‘of mounting severity’ which Thomas sent to Henry in 1166. The speech at Pontigny also looks forward to the excommunications at Vézelay, suggesting first that Thomas was provoked to action, and also that his actions were not rash ones. Rather, that Vézelay was the final resort to severity only after the ‘oil of leniency’ had been poured on. Herbert claims that for a time Becket considered resigning his office but was dissuaded by his learned friends, who told him that this was not a time to flee but to advance.156 Encouraged by their exhortation, and having suffered and endured for so long without changing the king’s heart, he now did not think of deserting pastoral care, but rather of exercising it more bravely and boldly than before. Now thinking nothing of flight, nothing of rest, but solely of duty and the fight, he resolved to threaten the king with the pastoral staff, who did not feel the lighter castigation of the rod.157 Herbert presents this decision as an entirely personal one on the archbishop’s behalf, repeating how he debated the pros and cons within his heart, frequently stopping and hesitating, without revealing his plan or consulting with his companions.158 Thomas, he writes, considered the scriptural exhortation, ‘You shall not speak evil of a ruler of your people’,159 and also of various arguments against excommunication in time of schism, including one of those advanced by Gilbert Foliot in Multiplicem.160 But, Thomas concluded, to unsheathe the spiritual sword in this case is not to speak ill of the leader, which is prohibited in law, but to coerce a son of the Church with paternal discipline. Such discipline is as the medicine of the Samaritan, or the cutting off of a wound with priests receive the keys of the church. He carries the sword for the punishment of evildoers, but praise of the good; they hold the keys for the exclusion of excommunicates and the reconciliation of the penitent. Therefore by this example subjects are shown to be due reprehension by prelates, not prelates by subjects’, C. 2 q. 7 c. 41 dictum post. See also MTB 3. 391. 154 Jer. 1:10. 155 MTB 3. 380–3; see Luke 10:33–4. Gregory I interprets the Samaritan’s application of oil and wine as the mingling of mercy with severity, Mor. 20. 5, CCSL 143A. 1012. He is followed by Gregory VII, Register iv. 3, p. 298; and Gratian, Decretum D. 45 c. 9. 156 MTB 3. 386. On the significance of Thomas’s language in the context of exile, see below, pp. 178–81. 157 MTB 3. 386–7. 158 MTB 3. 387. 159 MTB 3. 387; Acts 23:5; see Exod. 22:28. 160 3. 388; Decretum C. 23 qu. 4 c. 32; Augustine, Parm. iii. 2. 14, CSEL 51. 116, but also Decretum C. 23 qu. 4 c. 19; Augustine, Parm. iii. 2. 13, CSEL 51. 114–15.

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steel which did not feel the bandage.161 Nor does such punishment originate with the pastor himself, because if the Church acts to punish a king, the punishment is said to derive from God alone.162 Thomas then recalls how Ambrose excommunicated and excluded Theodosius from the Church, and how more recently Ivo of Chartres excommunicated Philip of France.163 But Thomas’s decision to issue censures was not only based on his interpretation of the canons, but by his meditation on what it meant to be a pastor: he was persuaded by the example of Isaiah, who said, ‘Woe is me, I was silent’;164 by the warning to Ezekiel that if he did not act as a watchmen over Israel, the blood of the evil would be required from his hand,165 and concluded that if he did not act to exclude from the Church one who ought to be excluded, the pastor held the staff without cause, the ecclesiastical judge held the sword without cause, and the priests of the Lord held the keys of the Church without cause.166 Conclusion One of the ways in which the treatment of the dispute in the Lives differs from that in the letters is that the biographers pay greater attention to the Constitutions themselves. Whereas there is some condemnation of them in Thomas’s letters of 1166, there is no evidence of a debate on their validity. Instead, the argument is about the depth of the threat they presented to the Church, in particular as held against the danger that might be caused by incurring Henry’s hostility in time of schism, and the related issue of how best to respond to the king’s actions. When the biographers were writing, it seemed that this debate had been settled. The murder of the archbishop and his posthumous acclaim rendered unsustainable Foliot’s argument that the dispute involved a minor and unimportant matter better approached with moderation. For the biographers it set the Constitutions in a new light, as an unparalleled attack on the liberties of the English Church, and vindicated the force with which Thomas opposed them. That the Constitutions perhaps seem of lesser significance to us is in part because they were abandoned: they faltered in the face of Thomas’s resistance, and his murder provided the coup de grâce. Even if compromise between royal and ecclesiastical interests initiated at Avranches and sustained for the rest of Henry’s reign meant that Thomas’s cause did not triumph in his death – and that is Herbert’s disillusioned view – one ought not to underestimate what had been achieved. Henry’s 161

Decretum D. 82 c. 4. MTB 3. 389. 163 MTB 3. 389–90. 164 MTB 3. 389. 165 MTB 3. 390. 166 MTB 3. 391. 162

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ecclesiastical policy was typically radical, and the Constitutions ought to be seen in the context of the formalization of relationships and the growing importance of written record from Domesday Book to Magna Carta, and as part of Henry’s broader reform programme. It was only in the ecclesiastical sphere that his reforms met with such opposition that they were abandoned, and that, whatever one thinks about his methods, was largely due to Thomas. Another difference with the treatment of the dispute in the letters is that there the key issue of how a prelate ought to behave in such a situation was more directly addressed: Thomas stated that in some cases resistance to royal authority was necessary, and that he was following in the footsteps of earlier champions of righteousness, while his critics characterized his actions as reckless and held up more appropriate models. Direct comment on these issues is present in the Lives, most obviously in Herbert’s discussion of Thomas’s decision to issue his censures at Vézelay. But more usually, this theme is integrated into descriptions of Thomas’s actions and those of his opponents in his trials, his exile and martyrdom.

10 Trial

‘The Becket dispute’ is an appropriate name for the crisis which dominated relations between the Church and the Crown in England between 1163 and 1170, because it was Becket himself who gave it its unity. Clearly identifiable political issues were involved, certainly, but personalities drove events and gave them their shape. Thomas’s biographers make little attempt to distinguish the political from the personal. Although, as we have seen, many writers provide incisive analyses of the issues at stake, this is seldom divorced from the theme of Thomas’s sanctity, or parallels with earlier exemplars. Some of the most impressive sections of the Lives, in terms of both detailed reporting and elaborate reflection, concern these occasions where the political and the personal came into contact most closely: the various public encounters between Thomas and his opponents from Westminster in October 1163 to Montmartre in November 1169. These were events of great moment in the dispute, but they also served to develop the impression of Thomas as a stubborn and arrogant recalcitrant in the eyes of his contemporary critics, or as an embattled defender of truth and justice to his posthumous biographers. In the Lives these confrontations are often presented as trials in which Thomas and his cause were proved, but, more generally, his life from his consecration onwards is characterized as a test of endurance in which he was purified and justified. Like earlier champions of truth and justice from the Bible and Christian history, Thomas had to struggle to have his cause recognized during his lifetime as he faced opposition from an oppressive king and false brethren. And it was a struggle which took its toll on him, in trial, exile, the proscription of his kindred and the slanders of his enemies. His life, from his consecration onwards, at least, was seen as a battle conducted inwardly in his wearing of the hair shirt and his secret asceticism, and outwardly in his suffering of persecution by the enemies of truth and his public confrontations with them. His struggle foreshadowed his martyrdom: many accounts make direct links between his various trials and his death, and many of their themes are echoed in the reports of his final moments. But his trials are also seen to represent in themselves a living martyrdom in which, even before his death, the truth and justice of his cause and the sanctity of his life were tested and vindicated, and were already beginning to become clear to the world.

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The tradition of trial There are a number of accounts of judicial procedures and public debates in medieval historical writing. Gregory of Tours’ description of King Chilperic’s court and Bede’s account of the Synod of Whitby, for example, though dealing with very different events, are similar in relating the arguments involved through detailed description and reported speech. A more recent example may be found in the trial of William of Durham, a very detailed eleventhcentury report of the debates between that bishop and Archbishop Lanfranc, again based on circumstantial evidence and reported speech. But it is the trials found in the New Testament and the Acts of the Christian Martyrs that provide the principal models for Thomas’s public confrontations. Jesus was tried for blasphemy before the High Priest and the Sanhedrin and then before Pontius Pilate. Before his own trial, Jesus had warned his disciples, Beware of men: for they will deliver you up to councils, and they will flog you in their synagogues, and you will be dragged before governors and kings for my sake, to bear testimony before them and the Gentiles.

In depictions of the apostles in Acts and of the early martyrs, their death is often a minor part of the narrative with greater prominence being given to the trial which preceded it. Whereas Jesus made no response to the charges against him except to acknowledge that he was the Christ, the early martyrs, while echoing his composure, were also often inspired to address their persecutors fearlessly. As Christ continued, in his instruction to the apostles, When they deliver you up, do not be anxious how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you in that hour; for it is not you who speak but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.

The fulfilment of this prediction is reported in Acts, where Peter and Paul are instructed not to preach by the high priest and elders of Jerusalem, but reply



Gregory of Tours, Historia, MGH Scriptores rerum merovingicarum, ed. G. Waitz (1885), 5. 49, pp. 240–3; Bede, Historia Ecclesiastica 3. 25, ed. B. Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors (Cambridge, 1969), p. 296–308.  Symeonis Monachi Opera Omnia, ed. T. Arnold, RS 75 (London, 1982), vol. 1, pp. 170– 95. H. S. Offler argues that this is in fact a twelfth-century work, ‘The Tractate “De Iniusta Vexatione Willelmi Episcopi Primi” ’, EHR 56 (1951): 321–41.  Matt. 26:57–68, 27:11–26; Mark 14:53–65, 15:1–5; Luke 22:66–71, 23:1–7.  Matt. 10:17–20; see Luke 21:12–15.  For the trials of Julius, Maximilian and Cyprian, respectively, see ACM pp. 260–5, 244–9, 170–1.  Matt. 10:17–20. See Luke 21:12–15.

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that ‘We cannot but speak the things of which we have seen and heard.’ They call out to God, saying, The kings of the earth set themselves in array, and the rulers were gathered together, against the Lord and against his Anointed … And now, Lord, look upon their threats, and grant to thy servants to speak thy word with all boldness.

And when they had prayed, ‘The place in which they were gathered together was shaken, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit, and spoke the word of God with boldness.’ Many of the early martyrs are depicted as being gripped by the power of the Holy Spirit upon entering the amphitheatre. A voice from heaven urges Polycarp to be strong, and as he refuses to curse Christ he is filled with a joyful courage, his countenance filled with grace. Fructuosus speaks ‘with the inspiration and words of the Holy Spirit’, and Conon looks up to heaven and invokes God before addressing his persecutors. The closest parallel to the depiction of trial in the Lives of Thomas is found in the Historia Novorum and Vita Anselmi, where Eadmer draws on these biblical and saintly models but applies them to public confrontations between an archbishop of Canterbury and his royal and ecclesiastical adversaries. It may be seen especially in the account of the Council of Rockingham in Spring 1095. Threats, reproaches and insults are thrown at Anselm, and, echoing the condemnation of Christ at the hands of the High Priest, he is accused of blasphemy for standing up against the king. But throughout, he displays a placid and happy expression, his cheerfulness astonishing the king and his allies. When called upon to answer, the normally meek archbishop speaks, ‘lifting up his eyes, his face all aglow, in an awe-inspiring voice’. His opponents are represented primarily by William of St Calais, bishop of Durham, described by Eadmer as ‘a man quick-witted and of ready tongue rather than endowed with true wisdom’, and by Robert count of Meulan, whose verdict on Anselm, ‘Words! Words! All he is saying is mere words’ is seen to reflect more on himself. Another twelfth-century example of boldness of speech (parrhesia), apparently inspired by God at critical moments, may be found in the Vita Prima Bernardi. During the schism of Aquitaine, Bernard left the contending parties to it while he ‘trusting in stronger weapons’, went to say mass. After the consecration, Bernard, ‘acting no longer as a mere man’, took the blessed



Acts 4:26, 29, 31. See G. W. H. Lampe, ‘Martyrdom and Inspiration’, Suffering and Martyrdom in the New Testament, ed. W. Hornbury and B. MacNeil (Cambridge, 1981), pp. 118–35.  ACM pp. 8–11, 180–1, 190–1.  See M. Staunton, ‘Trial and Inspiration in the Lives of Anselm and Thomas Becket’, Anselm: Aosta, Bec and Canterbury, ed. D. Luscombe and G. R. Evans (Sheffield, 1996), pp. 309–21; O’Reilly, ‘Double Martyrdom’, pp. 206–8.

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sacrament outside and accosted the Duke William with eyes blazing full of menace.10 Again, while preaching the Crusade, half way through the mass he was suddenly seized by the Holy Spirit, and spoke to Emperor Conrad on equal terms.11 The biographers’ presentation of Thomas’s public confrontations with his adversaries falls within this tradition, though the parallels invoked vary according to circumstances. At Northampton, the example of Jesus is most clearly apparent in the atmosphere of intrigue and danger and in Thomas’s betrayal by ‘false brothers’, while on other occasions the trials of the Christian martyrs provide the most obvious model. It is also likely that Eadmer’s work, in which the theme of trial and inspiration is prominent, and which would have been familiar to most biographers, had a direct influence. Martyrdom in the spirit: Northampton The Council of Northampton was a trial in every sense of the word. It began as a judicial procedure intended to humiliate the archbishop, but as it progressed, Thomas succeeded in presenting it as an act of endurance on behalf of Christ and the Church, a battle for righteousness in the mould of the trials of the apostles and early Christian martyrs. A knight called John FitzGilbert the Marshal claimed that he had not received justice in the archbishop’s court on a land plea, and appealed to the king’s court. Thomas was summoned but did not turn up. Consequently he was summoned to a royal council on 6 October 1164, to be judged by the lay and ecclesiastical magnates on a charge of contempt of the king. Thomas was found guilty, but Henry pressed on, accusing him of embezzlement during his time as chancellor. Thomas replied that he had not been summoned to hear that charge, and there followed two days of negotiation, with the clergy passing between the king in an upper room and the archbishop in the lower chamber. On the sixth day, as threats and tension rose, the archbishop fell ill, but the following morning, Tuesday 13 October, he rose from his bed for one of the most dramatic and momentous days of his life. It was a turning-point in the conflict when Thomas, as never before, began to identify his troubles with the cause of the Church, and himself with its glorious champions. With the exception of his murder, the Council of Northampton is the best-attested episode in Thomas’s life. William Fitzstephen and Herbert of Bosham, both of whom were present, give particularly detailed witness, but there are also substantial accounts by William of Canterbury, Alan of Tewkesbury, Edward Grim, Anonymous I and Guernes. These writers echo the implication which Thomas himself had made, that he was being tried as Jesus and the early martyrs had been, but go

10 Vita 11 Vita

Prima 2. 3, PL 185. 270. Prima 6. 15, PL 185. 382.

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further in characterizing his fellow-bishops as false brethren and his trial as a step towards martyrdom. On the sixth day of the council, Thomas was struck down by a sudden illness which confined him to bed and caused him to tremble with cold and pain. It has been suggested that Thomas was suffering from renal colic,12 but it is likely that fear also had much to do with it. It is said that sympathizers in the king’s court conveyed the threat of imprisonment or even death to him, and even allowing for retrospective exaggeration, on 12 October 1164 Thomas found himself in the most difficult position of his career to date. The options presented to him by the king, nobles and clergy were either to accept a humiliating judgement on his conduct as chancellor – with no guarantee that such humiliations at the hands of the Crown would cease – or to resign his office. On Tuesday the 13th, a day which Herbert of Bosham notes is the day of Mars, god of battle,13 Thomas rose from his bed with a third option in mind: resistance. Herbert describes an early morning meeting with certain prelates at the archbishop’s lodgings. Though it is not reported by others, many of its details are found in their accounts of the council’s business later that day. Herbert’s account sets the tone for the presentation of that day as a trial in the mould of Christ’s, with the bishops in the role of the scribes, Pharisees and High Priests. The prelates’ advice was that Thomas should submit to the king or else resign his office. ‘And certainly the prelates were gathered together in this council against the Lord and against his anointed’, he writes, echoing the words used by the disciples in the midst of their persecution to describe Christ’s trial.14 Earlier Herbert had written that the king had been prompted to summon Thomas to trial by the efforts of three groups: rumour-mongers, complainers, and the envious of the court: ‘the first as gnats, the second as bees, the third as scorpions’, as in the reading, ‘They surrounded me like bees, they blazed like a fire of thorns.’15 He writes: Called to the case, or rather to a wrestling-match, the time and place decided and determined, we came to the wrestling-school of the Lord. And first the aforesaid complainers, as bees, stood around the anointed of the Lord, Christ’s 12 Knowles,

Episcopal Colleagues, pp. 167–8. 3. 301. 14 MTB 3. 302; Acts 4:26; Ps. 2:2. 15 Ps. 118 (117):12. Note the context (v. 5, 9): ‘Out of my distress I cried out to the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me free … It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to put confidence in princes’. Jerome employs this reading in discussing the attempts of the Pharisees and followers of Herod to arrest Jesus, and how, when fear of the people prevented them from doing so, they tried to catch him out, Commentarii in Evangelium secundum Marcum 12 PL 30. 624; see Lombard, PL 191. 1036. In Augustine’s words, ‘we rightly understand that our Lord was surrounded by persecutors as bees surrounded a hive … Unknowingly, they made him sweeter to us by his passion’, Enn Ps., CCSL 40. 1660. 13 MTB

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pontiff, and fired very sharp civil questions at him, like so many stinging darts.16

Of the morning meeting he writes: Now not only the aforesaid gnats, bees and scorpions, but also sturdy bulls stood around the athlete of Christ, so that the cry from the passion of the Head, ‘Many calves have surrounded me: fat bulls have besieged me’, could be associated with the member of the Head now suffering.

This latter reading is from Psalm 22 (21), generally interpreted as a foreshadowing of Christ’s passion.17 The bulls, writes Herbert, were the pontiffs, the calves their followers. Readers familiar with exegesis would recognize that the bulls were traditionally identified with the scribes, Pharisees and high priests, and the calves as their followers.18 Thomas, in reply to their advice, said that now, as the world roars against him, it is his greatest regret that his fellow-bishops should fight on the opposing side: For even if I am silent, future generations will tell of how you deserted me, your archbishop and father, in the battle, how you have judged me now twice, on two continuous days, me with nails in my eyes and a lance in my side, you who, as much as I am a sinner, ought to have risen with me against the malevolent and stood alongside me.

Thomas announced that he was appealing to the pope against them, and prohibited them from judging him in a secular case again. The pontiffs departed and Thomas ‘prepared himself for the wrestling-school’.19 All the biographers agree that before he set out for court, the archbishop celebrated mass, and not the customary mass for that day but the mass of St Stephen. To celebrate such a mass on this day was a provocative and dramatic gesture, with an obvious significance to those present at the council. St Stephen was the first Christian martyr, accused of blasphemy for preaching in the streets and stoned to death.20 Not only that, but the Introit to the Mass was ‘Even though princes sit plotting against me, thy servant will meditate on thy statutes.’21 O’Reilly has noted another significance to the celebration of that mass on this day. This was the first anniversary of the translation 16 MTB

3. 296. 22:12 (21:13). 18 Arnobius Junior, Commentarii in Psalmos, ed. K.-D. Daur, CCSL 25 (1990), 28; Cassiodorus, Expositio Psalmorum, ed. M. Adriaen, CCSL 97 (1958), 196; Augustine, Enn. Ps., CCSL 38. 126; Lombard, PL 191. 232. 19 MTB 3. 302–4. 20 Acts 6–7. 21 Ps. 119 (118):23. 17 Ps.

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of Edward the Confessor, which Thomas had celebrated at Westminster in the company of the king. Thomas would have been expected on this day to dedicate the mass to Edward, a symbol of saintly kingship related by blook to Henry II.22 The biographers are strangely coy about the significance of the mass of St Stephen. Many report that Thomas confessed his fears to a certain religious man who urged him to celebrate the mass so as to protect himself against his enemies.23 None identify this as the anniversary of the translation of Edward the Confessor – rather, as the feast of St Calixtus, and the 102nd anniversary of the Norman Conquest.24 Both Herbert and Fitzstephen mention the Introit to the mass, but do not comment upon it. Indeed, Fitzstephen complains that ‘Spies immediately informed the king of the mass, malignly suggesting that the archbishop had celebrated the mass for himself, as another Stephen, the first martyr, against the king and the enemies persecuting him’25 – which is exactly what he had done. The clearest acknowledgement of its significance comes from Anonymous I who reports the religious man as advising Thomas to celebrate solemnly the mass of the blessed protomartyr Stephen, and there before the sacrosanct mystery of the Lord’s body and blood commend the cause of his holy church to Jesus Christ, and to the blessed ever Virgin Mary, and St Stephen himself, and our blessed apostle Gregory, and St Aelfeah and the other patrons of the holy church of Canterbury. When you do this, go forth confident in the mercy of God and secure in the patronage of the saints, and act bravely; for it is not your business but God’s, who will be present with you throughout.26

This roll-call of saints includes Canterbury’s first martyr-archbishop and echoes those to whom Thomas is said to have committed himself before his death. The final words are a reference to Christ’s instructions to the apostles as they present themselves before kings and councils.27 If Herbert is uncharacteristically reticent about the full meaning of the mass, he does recognize its inspirational effect on Thomas, describing how, as he finished celebrating, he put off the face of humility and put on the face of the man and the face of the lion, the prophetic and evangelical animals.28 22 See

O’Reilly, ‘Double Martyrdom’, pp. 218–35. MTB 1. 32; 2. 393; 4. 45; Guernes v. 1546–50. Herbert identifies this man as a canon regular, MTB 3. 304. 24 MTB 3. 304; 2. 330 (this seems to be a later addition). 25 MTB 3. 56. According to Guernes, Gilbert Foliot later accused Thomas of sorcery in celebrating this mass, v. 1556–9. 26 MTB 4. 45. 27 Matt. 10:19–20; see Luke 21:14–15. 28 See Ezek. 1:10. 23

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He and others report that Thomas intended to advance to court dressed in his priestly vestments, but was dissuaded from doing so. He did, however, according to Herbert, secrete the Eucharist on his person. Even in his usual archiepiscopal garb, Thomas managed to make a dramatic and provocative entrance when he took the cross from his cross-bearer, who was accustomed to carry it before the archbishop. The bishops of Hereford and London tried to take the cross from him, but Thomas held firm and kept the cross in his hands throughout that day’s business. For the biographers, Thomas’s carrying of the cross into the chamber held a multiple symbolism. First, it recalled Christ and his instruction ‘If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.’29 It also represented the standard of Christ, which protected Thomas and clearly showed for which prince he fought.30 Herbert told Thomas that he need not fear, since he had raised up that standard which had caused so many to triumph in so many wars, and reminded him of the example of Emperor Constantine.31 But for many of those present, Thomas’s entrance with the cross had an immediate and worrying significance. Most writers report in very similar detail the exchange between Thomas and his bishops when he entered. Anonymous I’s account is typical: Certain of the bishops came to the archbishop, one of whom was Gilbert Foliot, bishop of London, who said to him, ‘Lord archbishop, this is bad counsel to dare approach the king with your sword drawn. You know for sure that the king himself has drawn his sword against you, to brandish it against you with much indignation, and as long as you conduct yourselves like this towards each other there can be no hope of peace: therefore take my advice and put down the cross from your hands.’ The archbishop replied, ‘The cross is a sturdy shield, and a sign of peace: and so I will not put it down.’

At this point Foliot tried to wrestle the cross from Thomas’s hands, but the archbishop’s strength prevented him. Then Roger of York said to Thomas, ‘Unless you want the lord king to be even more angry and inflamed against you, my advice is that you put down your sword, that is your cross: for the king’s sword is much sharper than yours.’ To which the venerable pontiff answered, ‘The king’s sword indeed flourishes with earthly sharpness, but mine with spiritual sharpness, nor ought the king be displeased at this, if I hold the cross of my Lord and his in my hands, but should rather be pleased.’32

29 MTB

1. 34; 3. 305; Matt. 16:24. 2. 330; 3. 305. 31 MTB 3. 307–8; see 1. 34–5. 32 MTB 4. 46–7. See 2. 330, 394; 3. 57–8, 305–6; Guernes v. 1587–1607, 1646–90. 30 MTB

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Here the cross is seen as representing the spiritual sword: vigorous action on the Church’s behalf.33 The details of the day’s business are quite complex, and there are differences between the accounts, but we can discern from the better accounts that the morning was taken up with discussions between the bishops and the king in the upper room while Thomas remained downstairs with a few companions. There the bishops told the king of Thomas’s appeal and prohibition. Eventually the king sent certain earls and barons to Thomas to ask him if he was responsible for the appeal and prohibition, and to remind him that he was the king’s vassal and had sworn to observe his customs, one of which was that bishops should take part in judgements in his court. He was then asked to provide guarantees for bail, and stand judgement on the rendering of accounts of his chancellorship. Thomas replied that he had only been summoned on the case of John the Marshal and that on his consecration he had been absolved of all secular claims of the king. He reiterated his appeal against the bishops, and placed himself and his Church under the protection of God and the pope. When this was reported to the king, he pressed the bishops to join with the nobles in sentencing the archbishop on a charge of embezzlement – and, it seems, of perjury for going against the royal customs – but they excused themselves on the basis of the archbishop’s prohibition. Nonetheless they complained to Thomas of the position he had put them in, reminded him of how he had led them into recognition of the customs, and appealed against him to the pope. Thomas replied that nothing was conceded at Clarendon except ‘in good faith, without guile and lawfully’, and that whatever is against the faith due to the Church and the divine laws cannot be observed in good faith and lawfully. And if, he said, he lapsed at Clarendon, he ought to regain his spirit and rise up against the ancient enemy. Throughout, most biographers dwell on the threatening atmosphere, the betrayal of Thomas by the bishops, and his endurance of suffering. It is said that Thomas had come to Northampton with almost forty clerks, but on that morning when he came to the council for the last time, almost all had deserted him,34 and he entered ‘with the company of God alone’.35 Herbert marvels at the spectacle of the man, once in fine clothes, now wearing a hair shirt and carrying the cross; once surrounded by magnates and courtiers, now abandoned, recalling the Psalm, ‘Thou hast caused lover and friend to shun me; my companions are in darkness’;36 and the Lamentation,

33

See above, pp. 68–9, 104–6; the symbolism of this episode is discussed by M. Aurell, ‘Le Meurtre de Thomas Becket: les Gestes d’un Martyre’, Bischofsmord im Mittelalter: Murder of Bishops, ed. N. Fryde and D. Reitz (Gottingen, 2003), pp. 187–211. 34 MTB 1. 34; 4. 45. 35 MTB 2. 393. 36 Ps. 88 (87):18.

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‘Let him sit alone in silence when he has laid it on him.’37 This Herbert sees as a judgement of God, one which is terrible but nonetheless happy, recalling that saying of the wise man, ‘My son, if you come forward to serve the Lord, prepare yourself for temptation.’38 The magnates and pontiffs were called to the king, who cried out against Thomas. And as the cries of traitor and the clamour from the upper room grew stronger, ‘No one spoke to the archbishop, nor did he to anyone besides the disciple who wrote these things, who sat at his feet holding the cross.’39 William Fitzstephen was also sitting nearby and he tells us that he heard Herbert advising Thomas that should anyone lay their hands on him, he should excommunicate them. But Fitzstephen, within earshot of the archbishop, said, Far be it from him. Not so did God’s holy apostles and martyrs do when they were captured and lifted up. Rather, if this should happen, he ought to pray for them and forgive them and possess his soul in patience. If then it happen that he suffer for the cause of justice and the liberty of the Church, by the Lord’s fulfilment, his spirit will be at rest, his memory blessed.

After a little, Fitzstephen tried to approach the archbishop, but was prevented from doing so by a royal marshal. Instead He turned to the archbishop and, by raising his eyes and moving his lips he signalled to him to look at the image of the cross and the Crucified which he was holding as an example, and remain in prayer. The archbishop understood this sign well, and did so, and was comforted in the Lord.40

At this point Fitzstephen’s narrative is interrupted by a digression which was excluded from Version B of his Life. As described above,41 he first addresses the king, criticizing him for making the son judge the father in his court, and the sheep the shepherd, reminding him that while the archbishop is the king’s vassal, he is also his spiritual father. Then he reports a debate about whether, if Thomas were to be killed for the liberty of the Church, he should be considered a martyr. The examples given of comparable martyrs – John the Baptist, the Maccabees, Aelfeah, Abel and Remus – all have their own resonance with Thomas’s trials, but especially the latter two victims of fratricide, as Thomas was being persecuted by his brother bishops. While Thomas is depicted as constant and steadfast, sitting alone, holding his cross, 37

Lam. 3:28. Ecclus. 2:1. 39 MTB 3. 306–7. 40 MTB 3. 58–9. Walter Daniel tells us that he whispered to the dying Ailred, ‘Lord, gaze on the cross, let your eye be where your heart is’. Ailred rallies, opens his eyes and says, ‘Into thy hands I commit my spirit’, Life of Ailred, p. 61; see Luke 23:46. 41 See above, pp. 59–60. 38

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his fellow-bishops are portrayed in a particularly harsh light. William of Canterbury informs us that at one point Roger of York and Gilbert of London proposed that Thomas be imprisoned as soon as the council was over and the crowds had dispersed, ‘Which it is read that high priests and scribes did, who sought how they might by deceit hold and kill Jesus, saying, “Not during the feast, lest there be a tumult among the people.” ’42 Fitzstephen associates the barons too with Christ’s persecutors, claiming that after Thomas spoke, some exclaimed, ‘You have heard his blasphemy’, the words of high priest in condemning Jesus.43 Finally, the barons were called upon to pronounce sentence, but Thomas refused to hear it, and left the chamber to jeers and abuse. Alan of Tewkesbury even claims that the crowd called out, ‘Crucify him! Crucify him!’44 William of Canterbury writes that the hall resounded with abuse, ‘since he was considered worthy to suffer insult for Jesus’s name’.45 Guernes compares his stoicism as he walked on, not saying a word, to Jesus being screamed at and spat at when he was condemned: ‘God endured it of his own free will, for human sin; and so did this man, to free the clergy from wretchedness.’46 As he left he stumbled over some firewood in the hall, but did not lose his composure but when he came to the gate of the castle he found it locked, but, as some writers claim, it was opened miraculously (just as six years later the miraculous opening of a door would allow his martyrdom to take place in the cathedral).47 As he made his way to his lodgings in St Andrews, he was surrounded by the poor, and since he was deserted by almost all his clerks, he invited paupers to dine with him.48 According to William of Canterbury, though Christ’s athlete was condemned, he ended up as the victor.49 And Anonymous I describes how, at dinner that evening, though his men sat dejectedly at table, he showed himself light-hearted and affable towards them.50 The sense of ordeal but also triumph is also present in the accounts by Herbert and Fitzstephen. ‘O cursed day! O evil council!’, writes Herbert. But he also says: ‘That day we were made a spectacle to the world, to angels and to men’, and concludes that Thomas was returned from it more perfect and commendable, ‘For power is 42 MTB

1. 37; Matt. 26:5. 3. 64–5; Matt. 26:65. 44 MTB 2. 312–13; Matt. 27:22–3. 45 MTB 1. 39. 46 Guernes v. 1936–40; Shirley, p. 52. Herbert of Bosham and Anonymous I, on the contrary, suggest that Thomas answered back, saying that he would defend himself with arms against their accusations, were it not for his office, MTB 3. 310; 4. 52. 47 MTB 1. 40; 2. 333; 3. 68; 4. 52. 48 MTB 2. 333, 399; 3. 311; 4. 51–2. 49 MTB 1. 39. 50 MTB 4. 52–3. 43 MTB

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made perfect in weakness.’51 ‘O what a martyrdom in spirit he bore that day!’, writes Fitzstephen. ‘But he returned more happily from the council, because he was held worthy there to suffer insult for Jesus’ name.’ When they returned to their lodgings, Fitzstephen said to the archbishop, ‘This has indeed been a bitter day for us.’ To which he replied, ‘The Last Day will be even more bitter.’ And, exhorting his followers, he said, ‘Let each of you keep silence and remain in peace; let no word of bitterness proceed out of your mouth. Make no response to those who speak evil of you, but let them go on railing. It is the mark of the higher nature to suffer injury, and of the lower to inflict it.’52 True and false eloquence: Sens Thomas is reported as making various speeches at Northampton, and some biographers suggest that his words were divinely inspired. Fitzstephen writes that when the barons came to him and asked him about his appeal against the bishops, and asked him to provide guarantees for bail: ‘In response, looking at the image of the Crucified, firm in mind and countenance, and remaining seated, so as to preserve his dignity as archbishop, he gave a speech like this, calmly and evenly, without halting over a single word.’53 Alan of Tewkesbury reports likewise that he delivered his speech seated so as not to dishonour the person of priest and ‘gave a wonderful answer, inspired by God’.54 These comments echo a tradition that one’s power of speech at such a critical juncture may reflect not human eloquence but divine inspiration, and consequently that what is said and the person who says it is favoured by God. This theme is especially pronounced in accounts of two meetings at the papal court at Sens. First, on 26 November 1164, a distinguished royal mission led by senior members of the episcopacy addressed the pope. Their intention was to put the king’s, and their own, side of the story to Alexander, in the hope that he would condemn the archbishop, or at least send legates to review the case. This audience is presented not just as a failure to achieve their objectives, but as a defeat for their case, as these normally eloquent men trip over their words. Then, a few days later, Thomas came to the pope, presented the Constitutions before him and the cardinals, offered his resignation, and was restored to office by Alexander – an episode depicted as a triumph for a far less distinguished, but truthful, speaker. The fullest account of the royal mission is by Alan of Tewkesbury. As he describes it, the first to speak was Gilbert of London. He began confidently, criticizing Thomas for relying on his own wisdom, and thereby disturbing the concord of brothers, the peace of the Church and the devotion of the 51 MTB

3. 313; 310; 315: see 1 Cor. 4:9; 315: see 2 Cor. 12:9. 3. 68. 53 MTB 3. 63. 54 MTB 2. 397–8. 52 MTB

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king. Recently, he says, a dispute has arisen for no good reason except that Thomas had insisted on acting with rash vigour. And then, with no one using force, he took to flight, as is written, ‘The wicked flee when no one pursues.’55 At this the pope interrupted him with the words, ‘Have mercy, brother’, to which Foliot replied, ‘My lord, I will have mercy on him.’ ‘I am not telling you, brother, to have mercy on him but on yourself’, retorted the pope, causing the bishop of London to fall silent. Then Hilary of Chichester tried to take up the thread. Hilary was renowned for his eloquence, Alan describing him here as ‘fluent’ and earlier as ‘glorious in speech’, but he too ended up stumbling over his words. He began by reminding the pope how the archbishop had brought great hardship on himself and his men, the king and the realm, the clergy and people because he had insisted on following his own counsel. Then Hilary made a grammatical mistake, confusing the imperfect tense with the perfect, a slip which caused the assembly to dissolve in laughter and the bishop to abandon his speech.56 The confusion of the bishops of London and Chichester are corroborated not only in other Lives but in a letter by Herbert of Bosham written shortly afterwards.57 Nevertheless, Alan makes it clear that these stumbles were the work of God. Referring to the pope’s response to Gilbert, he writes that ‘In this way the Lord so struck and confused the bishop of London through this apostolic voice and trumpet that he could not mutter another word.’ And as to Hilary’s slip, ‘With these words’, he writes, ‘the Lord so confused this bishop that from then on he became mute and speechless.’58 Herbert, who gives a briefer description of the speeches, writes that ‘those among them who were considered most eloquent or elegant in speech’ were disturbed in their speech, as the wise man said, ‘a slip of the tongue like falling on the floor’.59 This was all, he writes, ascribed to ‘the power of Him who opens the mouths of the dumb and makes a fool of the tongues of the fluent’.60 Augustine refers to this reading as condemnation of vain eloquence, and it recalls the same writer’s reference to the man who, ‘seeking a reputation for eloquence, standing before a human judge in front of a thronging multitude inveighing against his enemy with a fierce hatred takes care that his tongue does not slip into a grammatical error, but does not worry if through this fury he cuts off a man from his fellow-men’.61 Roger of York and Bartholomew of Exeter spoke 55 Prov.

28:1. 2. 337–9. 57 MTB 2. 402; 4. 61; Guernes v. 2241–90; MTB no. 177, 5. 341–2. 58 MTB 2. 338–9. 59 Ecclus. 20:18: ‘A slip on the pavement is better than a slip of the tongue; so the downfall of the wicked will occur speedily.’ 60 MTB 3. 336; compare no. 177, 5. 342; see Wisd. of Sol. 10:21. 61 De Doctrina Christiana 4. 12, ed. I. Martin, CCSL 32 (1962), 135–6; Confess. 1. 18, CCSL 27. 16. 56 MTB

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next, taking care to temper their language and speak briefly. Then William d’Aubigny, the earl of Arundel, gave a humble speech in French which was more graciously received than those of the supposedly more eloquent ecclesiastics.62 When the king’s envoys left the court their place was taken a few days later by the archbishop. His address to the pope is also seen by some as a triumph of divinely inspired eloquence, as distinct from worldly fluency and training. Anonymous I writes that although many of his clerks who accompanied him were skilled in the decrees and laws, and were very eloquent and experienced in speaking, they all excused themselves in fear of the king. Having no other option, ‘The holy man came to court, having confidence in the Lord.’63 In Alan’s words, he spoke ‘prepared not by himself but by God’.64 Following this, he addressed the cardinals, in Herbert’s words, ‘according to the wisdom and grace given to him’.65 Two writers, Guernes and Anonymous I, dwell at greater length on Thomas’s eloquence.66 They tell us that as soon as Thomas started to speak, one of the cardinals, William of Pavia, began to interrupt him with objections, believing that the archbishop had learned his speech by heart. ‘Saint Thomas’, writes Guernes, ‘was a very intelligent man; the holy Spirit was present in him – he took in all that this other man said and answered every word; he explained each point in good Latin.’ The debate between them lasted more than half a day, but whenever the archbishop answered the cardinal’s questions, he would come back to his own argument, ‘like a Solomon, expounding his case with a very fine reasoning’. He made his case logically and clearly, so that both laymen and clerks listened attentively to him, and the pope took careful notice of all his points.67 Anonymous I writes that Thomas managed without difficulty or hesitation to dissolve or refute his opponent’s objections ‘like spiders’ webs’. St Basil is said to have confounded the machinations of his enemies ‘like spiders’ webs’,68 but a more immediate source for this image is Eadmer. While at Rockingham his adversaries carried on their conclaves, Anselm ‘sat by himself, putting his trust wholly in the innocency of his heart and the mercy of the Lord God’, and then leaned back against the wall and slept peacefully, demolishing all opposition when he awoke. An exasperated Count Robert complained that ‘While we busy ourselves all day long preparing such advice and in doing so scheme how to make the answers we suggest into some sort 62 MTB

2. 339–40. 4. 62. 64 MTB 2. 341. 65 MTB 3. 344. 66 See also Grim, MTB 2. 403. 67 Guernes v. 2354–80; Shirley, p. 63. 68 Cassiodorus, Historia Ecclesiastica Tripartita, ed. W. Jacob and R. Hanslik, CSEL 71 (1952), 437. 63 MTB

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of consistent argument, he on his side so far from thinking out any evil just goes to sleep and then, when these arguments of ours are brought out in his presence, straight away with one breath of his lips he scatters them like ­cobwebs.’69 Endurance: Pontigny At the end of his interview at Sens, the pope sent Thomas to the remote and austere Cistercian monastery of Pontigny, where he remained until the summer of 1166. There Thomas began a programme of study under the guidance of Herbert of Bosham and the canonist Lombard of Piacenza, and also entered upon a life of asceticism of a kind unfamiliar to him. Edward Grim describes how the archbishop limited himself to coarse foods and how he would stand in the stream which ran through the grounds of the monastery for so long that he fell ill,70 and Herbert of Bosham relates how he found it necessary to remonstrate with the archbishop to temper the hardship of his regime.71 He also embarked on a programme of study, guided by Herbert, who comments, That monastery was to us like a training-school for combat, in which we were exercised together, a school of virtue in which we were educated together, so that every day we would say to the Lord, ‘It is good for us that we are afflicted, that we may learn thy statutes.’72

In addition to self-imposed hardship, Thomas was tested by the actions taken against him by Henry at his Christmas court of 1164. There the king ordered Thomas to be deprived of all his possessions, that prayers for the archbishop be prohibited, and that his relations and all the clerks and laymen of his household be expelled from the kingdom.73 The latter punishment in particular is described in piteous, and possibly exaggerated, detail by many biographers, with destitute women carrying infants to France. They also describe the depth of Thomas’s distress at the sight of such people suffering on his account. But nonetheless, many writers also consider how this affliction acted as an aid to Thomas’s cause, and in particular, his own spiritual progress. Anonymous II writes,

69

HN pp. 62–3. See Job 8:13–14: ‘Such are the paths of all who forget God; the hope of the godless man shall perish. His confidence breaks in sunder, and his trust is a spider’s web.’ 70 MTB 2. 412–3. 71 MTB 3. 377–9. 72 MTB 3. 358; see Ps. 119 (118):71. 73 MTB 3. 75–6.

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But God is good, and makes everything good for those who are good. For what had been designed to taunt him in his destitution was clearly turned into comfort for him, because while he seemed on the point of collapse he was in fact invigorated, made more robust in himself by the expulsion of his men, and more favourable to others by his proscription.74

In the words of William of Canterbury, ‘Hence before the martyrdom he was made a martyr, before the beatings of the masons the angular stone was shaped, before the furnace copper turned into silver, before the mill chaff turned into wheat, and before the alabaster jar was broken, he emitted the ointment of nard.’75 This theme is especially pronounced in the account by Herbert of Bosham, who witnessed Thomas’s reaction to such persecution. Herbert describes how hearing the news of the expulsions was as if the messenger had announced to Job the misfortunes which had befallen his family.76 But, he writes, the exiles bore the news with equanimity, calling out like the ‘brave athlete’ Job, ‘God gives, God takes away, as God pleases it is done.’77 At this point Herbert reports a lengthy speech of encouragement by his learned advisers. ‘We’, they say, ‘share a common cause, penalty and battle; with God’s favour we will share victory and the crown.’ The ejection of the archbishop’s kindred is, they say, a penalty that they share, but it should be regarded as a medicine rather than a punishment, a pungent lotion imposed by the heavenly doctor on their sins. They should not reject the lash of the healing doctor, but rather take note of how God favours those whom he punishes for his sins, while those who prosper are not to be envied.78 And they remind him how God told Jeremiah in his suffering that those who prosper are sheep to the slaughter.79 Then they introduce a striking image to describe Thomas: See the prosperity of this world, of this life, which like the dregs flows through the streets, when the oil has been pressed in the wine-press and later stored in the cellar. And you, lord (not wishing to offend you, indeed we speak the words of God), you certainly for a time were the dregs flowing through the streets, everything yielding without an obstacle to your wish and desire. But now it seems that He who turns water into wine wishes to turn the dregs into oil. If then you wish to be oil, you must bear the pressure of the wine-press, until you flow from the press into the wine-store.80

74 MTB

4. 108. 1. 48–9; see Mark 14:3; John 12:3. 76 Job 1:14–19. 77 MTB 3. 359; Job 1:21. 78 MTB 3. 362; see Ps. 37 (36):7. 79 Jer. 12:1, 3. 80 MTB 3. 363–4. 75 MTB

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This image is much discussed by Augustine. On the title of Psalm 81 (80):1, ‘Unto the end for the presses’, he writes that we should take the presses to mean the mystery of the Church. In the treading and crushing of the presses, ‘The oil pours out secretly into the vat, the dregs run openly down the street.’81 Again on Psalm 84 (83) he writes that Everyone coming to the service of God understands that he is approaching the winepress, he shall suffer trouble, shall be crushed, shall be pressed, not so as to perish in this world, but so that he flow down into the storehouses of God. The covering of carnal desire is stripped off like grape-skins; for this has happened to him in carnal desires, as the apostle says, ‘Put off the old man and put on the new.’ This is only done with pressure; for which reason the churches of God of this time are called winepresses … But placed in this pressure, we are crushed for this, so that for our love by which we were carried to those worldly, secular, temporal and transitory and perishable things, having suffered in these things, in this life, torments and tribulations of pressure and abundance of temptations, we may begin to seek that rest which is not of this life or this earth … [the poor] crying to God, having nothing in this world to delight them, or by which they are held, placed in abundance of pressures or temptations as if in winepresses, there flows out wine, there flows out oil.82

But in addition, ‘Wine-presses are also usually taken for martyrdoms, as if when they who have confessed the name of Christ have been trodden down by the blows of persecution, their mortal remains as husks remained on earth, but their souls flowed forth into the rest of a heavenly habitation.’83 Thomas’s companions urge Thomas in this solitude to be another Moses, and commit the battle to the Lord. In this way, the poor who follow him may be inflamed by the fire of the word of heaven on the one hand, and by the wind of pride on the other: ‘May the be inflamed, I say, “as gold in the furnace”,84 so that proved they may be purged, and as steel in the fire.’85 Thomas, they say, sowed a wind of pride when he was one of the sons of the proud in the secular world, and now he reaps the whirlwind, but they should regard it as a breeze which blows them to port. In this way, they say, their pilgrimage is ennobled, and those expelled should be considered new recruits of the Church’s cause. Therefore, their advice is to put off sorrow, to wait for the Lord and act bravely, ‘For here among the woods of the forests, between the stones and these solitaries, to us in this solitude, as if a certain wrestling-

81 Enn.

Ps. 81 (80), CCSL 39. 1120–1. Ps. 84 (83), CCSL 39. 1146–8. 83 Enn. Ps. 8:1, CCSL 38. 50; see Lombard, Ps. 83, PL 191. 787. 84 Wisd. of Sol. 3:6: ‘Like gold in the furnace he tried them, and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them’, commonly applied to martyrs. 85 See Origen, De Incarantione Verbi ad Januarium, PL 42. 1192; Honorius Augusto­dunensis, Expositio in Cantica Canticorum, PL 172. 368. 82 Enn.

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school of our battle, we are either to retreat with ignominy or advance to the battle with glory.’86 Thomas replies by thanking the Lord for giving him such indefatigable, learned and strenuous allies in battle, and accepting their judgement: I, brothers, as you said, for much of the time as the dregs ran through wide and spacious ways of life, the vain and voluptuous things of life yielding to my wish and desire. And so, abandoned to my desires, untamed and unrestrained through the byways of the secular world I ran, I flowed, I wandered in trackless wastes.87

In this great danger, he says, it is not safe to follow him, but he is determined to follow them in their counsels: And indeed, as you said, I was the dregs, but I desire now, if perhaps the Lord deigns to work such a miracle, to be turned into oil. And hence, helped by the strength of your counsel and aid I have resolved to sustain more bravely and effectively the pressure of the wine press, if perhaps thus the Father of mercies, the Lord of virtues, wishes to draw me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog.88

After a very lengthy speech in which he reviews the expulsions and proscriptions, and his own fault in it, he says, ‘Let them eject, expel, proscribe, prick, sting, goad and rage; it is the time of forbearance, we will be patient and prepared for scourging.’89 And so, writes Herbert, every day the poor and destitute moved the archbishop: He was disturbed, certainly, but like some precious aroma, that gives out a smell the more it is shaken; or like a mustard seed which, the more it is crushed, the more it reveals its quality, or a silver trumpet, which, the more it is beaten the more fully it is brought out and formed. Indeed suddenly he appeared to have been entirely purified into the finest oil in the pressure of the winepress, his face so brightened in oil, that his soul was always so even, so composed, so resolute, under this weight he could hardly be noticed to feel any pressure.90

The reference to the trumpet recalls Augustine’s interpretation of Psalm 98 (97):6: ‘With trumpets and the sound of the horn, make a joyful noise before the King, the Lord!’:

86 MTB

3. 364–6. 107 (106):40. 88 MTB 3. 366–7; Ps. 40 (39):2. A little later he describes kings who depart in the counsel of the wicked in the same way: MTB 3. 373. 89 MTB 3. 373. 90 MTB 3. 373–4. 87 Ps.

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Ductile trumpets are of brass, they are drawn out by hammering. By hammering, by being beaten, you shall be ductile trumpets, drawn out to the praise of God, if you improve when in tribulation: tribulation is hammering, improvement is the being drawn out. Job was a ductile trumpet, when suddenly assailed by the heaviest losses, and the death of his sons, became like a ductile trumpet by the beating of such heavy tribulation.91

The image of the face shining in oil is derived from Psalm 104 (103):15, ‘wine to gladden the heart of man, oil to make his face shine’. Augustine interprets this as the grace of God; a sort of shining for manifestation; as the Apostle says, ‘The Spirit is given to every man for manifestation’. A certain grace which men can clearly see in men to conciliate holy love is called oil, for its divine splendour; and since it appeared most excellent in Christ, the whole world loved him; who though while here He was scorned, is now worshipped by every nation.92

Herbert’s repeated invocation of the examples of Job, Moses and Psalmist make sense in the context of Thomas’s suffering and trials, but only truly fall into relief when we see them recapitulated in his account of the martyrdom. Truth vindicated: Montmirail A number of writers report a vision which Thomas is supposed to have experienced just before he left Pontigny. In the words of Edward Grim, one night, exhausted by repeated prayer and genuflection, he fell asleep and saw in a dream that a serious conflict had arisen between him and the king, and that he stood alone before the lord pope and the cardinals to set out his case. But the cardinals who took the king’s side, greatly angered because the archbishop had acted against the king with such constancy, attacked him and exerted themselves to gouge out and tear apart his eyes with their fingers. The pope cried out, but the clamour and tumult of the cardinals was greater, and served to smother the apostolic cries. Then when these had departed he saw others come in as if executioners destined for him, who was there alone. These men, terrible in appearance and full of fury, approached the archbishop, drew their swords and sliced off the top of his head, as much as the width of the crown, so that the part sliced off fell down onto his brow. Disturbed by the strangeness of this horrendous vision, and on the deep consideration of his heart judging that it would not have been shown to him without reason, the man of God privately delivered more and more prayers to God, and steeled himself to suffer all injuries.93

91 Enn.

Ps., CCSL 39. 1374; see Lombard, PL 191. 891. Ps., CCSL 40. 1512; 1 Cor. 12:7. 93 MTB 2. 413–4. Herbert places the discussion in a church, specifies that the executioners were four knights, and compares the vision to that which the early martyr Polycarp 92 Enn.

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The obvious suggestion here is that Thomas’s vision foreshadowed his death, but the context of a public confrontation involving the king, the cardinals and the pope also has associations with the public meetings in which he was involved, most obviously at Sens, but also those of the final years of his exile. In 1169 and 1170 Thomas took part in a number of public conferences arranged by the pope for the purpose of settling the issues between king and archbishop and allowing Thomas’s restoration to Canterbury. That only Herbert of Bosham covers them in any detail is largely because he was the only one of the biographers who witnessed them, but it is also perhaps significant that the inclusion of such conferences might have posed problems to the biographers. First, each of these conferences, apart from the last, at Fréteval, was a failure, and the complex issues involved would have been of little interest to most readers. But also, these conferences did not reflect especially well on Thomas, as his intransigence provided the principal, if not the only, obstacle to peace. The conference at Montmirail in January 1169 represented a significant opportunity for peace. Not only was this the first meeting between Thomas and Henry since Northampton in 1164, but King Louis of France who had come to Montmirail to secure a treaty with Henry regarding affairs in Poitou and Brittany, remained for the discussions involving Thomas, and the papal commissioners, Simon, prior of Mont-Dieu, and Engelbert, prior of Val-St-Pierre, were also present. The peace negotiations foundered on Thomas’s insistence on qualifying his submission to the royal will with the words ‘saving God’s honour’. Not only did this insistence go against the advice of the papal mediators and infuriate both kings, it also alienated many within his own household, one of whom, on the way back to their lodgings, mockingly called on the archbishop to overtake him with his horse, ‘saving God’s honour’.94 Despite such apparently inauspicious circumstances, Herbert devotes much attention to Montmirail, not only in recounting the details of the conference but in frequently asserting, through reported speeches, that Thomas’s stance was the correct one. As he presents it, Montmirail was another important trial for Thomas in which he stood alone, and was proved right, against the urgings of the many.95 According to Herbert, Thomas’s learned companions, fearing that either the peace be obstructed or the cause of the Church be endangered, were had of his own death, 3. 405–6. William of Canterbury identifies his killers as four royal attendants, 1. 51–2. Guernes, who claims that Thomas experienced the vision at Sens, tells us that the king himself was present, and that Gilbert Foliot was prominent in attacking the archbishop. In his account, Hilary of Chichester was struck dumb, while Gilbert Foliot’s body disintegrated and fell to pieces, and though Thomas’s head was skinned he felt no pain and even laughed, v. 3861–90. 94 MTB 3. 97. 95 Compare the reports of the conference by Simon and Engelbert, MTB no. 451, and John of Salisbury, LJS no. 288.

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uncharacteristically unwilling to advise Thomas, ‘just as no wisdom was found in Teman’.96 But as the archbishop was being led forward to the kings, surrounded by the mediators, Herbert pushed himself into the throng and managed to whisper briefly in his ear, reminding him of the sorrow which ensued when he had abandoned his insistence on the phrase ‘saving our order’ after the Council of Westminster more than five years earlier. If he should do so again, Herbert warns, he would tearfully recall the reading from the psalm, ‘I was dumb and silent, I held my peace to no avail; my distress grew worse.’97 Standing before the kings, Thomas, to the surprise of all, insisted on his reservation, ‘saving God’s honour’. This prompted King Louis, normally supportive of the archbishop, to sarcastically ask him, ‘Lord archbishop, do you wish to be more than a saint?’ But Thomas, ‘not disturbed or shaken out but with a composed and balanced spirit’, gave his answer, asserting that he would not accept any new customs which would harm the Church’s liberty. But when he began to justify his exile, the mediators drew him aside, where almost all pressed him to acquiesce in the king’s will and drop the phrase, ‘saving God’s honour’.98 There he stood, writes Herbert, ‘as a sacrificial victim, the others as executioners, armed not with steel but with words’, and ‘as a bold tower directly situated facing Damascus’,99 and immovable like a house built upon a firm rock, like a city placed on a mountain, like an iron pillar, and like a bronze wall against the land, kings, princes and priests. In heart, voice and deed, it was if he were in the middle of a battlefield, singing, ‘The God who girded me with strength for war, so that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.’100 All the mediators, seeing him immoveable and inflexible, soon left him and he remained alone: Alone, I say, who bore the pressure of the wine-press alone; he bore it bravely and trod it triumphantly. So the mediators, as we said, departed from him and the athlete of the Almighty remained alone in the battlefield, alone in the hall of the wrestling-school (the conference was in fact held on the plain of a battlefield).101

The kings left in anger and disgust, while the courtiers and mediators slandered the archbishop to his face, accusing him of being arrogant and ­wilful, 96 See

Jer. 49:7. Ps. 39 (38):2. Note the context of v. 1, 3: ‘I said, “I will guard my ways, that I may not sin with my tongue; I will bridle my mouth, so long as the wicked are in my presence” … my heart became hot within me. As I mused, the fire burned; then I spoke with my tongue.’ 98 MTB 3. 421–5. 99 See Song of Sol. 7:4. 100 See Ps. 18 (17):32, 34, 39. 101 MTB 3. 425–7. 97

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and that he had brought destruction on his Church. But, writes Herbert, Thomas held his tongue, seeming to meditate on the words of the psalmist to the Lord, ‘You are my refuge and my fortress, for you delivered me from the fowler’s snare and the hostile word’,102 and, ‘Deliver me, O Lord, from lying lips, from a deceitful tongue’,103 so that ‘To the reproaches and insults he was like someone who did not hear and in whose mouth are no rebukes.’104 He could not be reproached for either pride or slackness, ‘just as the psalmist boasted that he had waited for him who hath saved him from pusillanimity of the spirit, and a storm’.105 ‘Good God’, writes Herbert, ‘how your fighter suffered in this conference for your honour!’ Though afflicted with insults and injuries he spoke God’s honour in the sight of kings and was not put to shame:106 For why would the soldier of the Lord not triumph, having thus put on the armour of the Lord? He indeed in this conference, as if a certain amphitheatre, opposed the breastplate of justice to the stings of words, the shield of patience to the lances of the tongue, the helmet of eternal safety to the promises of worldly happiness, singing along with that vigorous warrior-king, ‘Though a host encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war rise against me, yet I will be confident.’107 Therefore he left the conference very happy and cheerful that he should be worthy to suffer insult for God’s honour.

As they left, Herbert commended his master that under such attack, ‘Our guardian Lord saved you and preserved you from pusillanimity of spirit and the storm.’ And he comforts him that the Lord will honour him for in the sight of the world for not denying him that disputed clause, as He said, ‘If anyone honours me, I will honour him.’108 And so ‘As first in England at Northampton, they left the conference, having been made “the scorn of those who are at ease, the contempt of the proud”.’109 Later, at their lodgings, though the French king did not visit Thomas as he was accustomed to do after such occasions, the archbishop showed himself happy and joyful as accustomed. With the world against him he seemed in no way disturbed or troubled, knowing the words of St Paul, ‘All things are yours, whether life or death, things present or things to come.’110 ‘Therefore’, writes Herbert, 102 See

Ps. 91 (90):2–3. 120 (119):2. 104 Ps. 38 (37):14. 105 See Ps. 55 (54):8. 106 See Ps. 119 (118):46. 107 See Ps. 27 (26):3. 108 John 12:26. 109 MTB 3. 427–30. 110 1 Cor 3:22. 103 Ps

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everything belongs to the righteous; and whether the world likes it or not, all the world to him is riches, even if the whole world opposes him. The world is more fully his the more contrary it is, it serves him the more it opposes him. The world indeed, even if unaware, nevertheless justly built an eternal crown, as if between hammer and anvil, between the punishment he bears and the virtue of patience.

Herbert then reports a speech of comfort to his men delivered by Thomas on the journey to Chartres in which he recapitulates many of the points made by Herbert. ‘Brothers and fellow-servants of Christ’, he says, ‘yesterday in the war, yesterday in the fight, yesterday in the wrestling-school, we were made a spectacle to angels and men.’111 Though the world scorns, he says, we should see our cause as more precious and pure, ‘like a light which shines in the darkness and the darkness does not grasp it, like an enclosed garden and a sealed fountain’, and from yesterday it was made more pure, more just, clear and evident. First, he says, they advanced the cause of the Church and its liberties, but now they are explicitly advancing the cause of God. ‘And if God is for us, who is against us?’ The wisdom of is world is folly before God,112 and God often judges as good what worldly wisdom had condemned as bad. God amuses himself in human affairs: Joseph was sold by his brothers in order that they would not worship him, but because they sold him, they ended up worshipping him;113 the Jews crucified Jesus lest their holy place and their nation be destroyed, but because they killed him, this is what later happened.114 And Thomas concludes by predicting that though the world now condemns them and their cause, it will soon bestow honour and glory upon them because they did not suppress God’s honour before kings.115 When they arrive in Chartres, Thomas’s prediction is proved right, as people say, ‘Look, here is the archbishop who in the conference yesterday refused to deny Christ for the sake of kings, or suppress God’s honour.’ And some who had earlier been critical of his stance during the conference now began to come round to his position.116 Soon after, the news became widespread that King Henry had violated the terms of the peace he had made with Louis regarding Poitou and Britanny, and this helped the tide of opinion to turn in Thomas’s favour, and King Louis to restore his customary support and friendship to him. As Herbert writes, Thomas’s assertion that their ignominy would soon turn to glory had been vindicated, as the Lord said, ‘Who honours me, I

111

See 1 Cor. 4:9. 1 Cor. 3:19. 113 See Gregory, Ezek. 2. 9.29, CCSL 142. 373. 114 See Augustine, Enn. Ps. 64. 1, CCSL 39. 823; John 11:48. 115 MTB 3. 432–6. 116 MTB 3. 436–7. 112

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will honour him.’117 And he comments that already Thomas began to experience God’s honour in recompense for the honour he had shown him at the conference, but this was ‘only the small beginnings of honour, its incomparably greater and happier fulfilment reserved for the future consummation of the man, as the end of the history will show’.118 Conclusion It was easy for the biographers, looking back on Thomas’s life, to see in it foreshadowings of his death. The Council of Northampton especially, but also the other public gatherings in which he was involved, presented an image of Thomas as an embattled defender of truth, surrounded by his enemies, which was only surpassed in his martyrdom itself. But to the more subtle writers, determined to demonstrate the evidence of Thomas’s sanctity in life and the validity of his cause irrespective of their conclusion, such trials not only ­echoed and predicted his martyrdom, but embodied a living martyrdom which began well before December 1170. The biographers’ argument is not wholly persuasive. The notices of Thomas’s asceticism at Pontigny are relatively brief, and it is the expulsion of Thomas’s kindred and his lonely defence of truth and justice which Herbert highlights as evidence of his suffering and endurance during life. The debate which Fitzstephen reports about Thomas’s merit as a martyr acknowledges that whereas the penalty which he suffered was undoubtedly that of a martyr, his cause appeared unorthodox to some. But what does ring true is the sense that the events of Thomas’s life were of equal moment to his martyrdom. Part of the reason for the scale of the reaction to Thomas’s murder is that he was already one of the most famous men in the Christian world, the drama of whose life had captured the interest of people in England and beyond. Even had he not died such a death, it is likely that many of these episodes would have been recorded, but surely not as fully. The martyrdom, while sometimes distracting from the drama of Thomas’s life, in another way ensured that such dramatic public events were not forgotten.

117 John 118 MTB

12:26. 3. 439–40.

11 Exile

In the early hours of 15 October 1164 Thomas slipped out of his lodgings at St Andrew’s Priory, Northampton, and fled from the town under cover of darkness. Over the next few weeks he travelled by night and hid by day, making his way by a circuitous route to the port of Eastry in Kent. There he set sail with a few companions and landed on a remote beach in Flanders, whence he proceeded to the lands of the French king. He did not return to England for six years, and a month later he was dead. The exile dominated and helped to define Thomas’s archiepiscopate. It was born out of conflict and exacerbated that conflict, broadening its reach to other parties and issues. And it was the events of the exile, and the circumstances of its conclusion, which triggered Thomas’s murder. The exile also did much to shape his reputation, confirming the negative picture of him which had already developed in many quarters. In any era an archbishop of Canterbury would have found a six-year absence from his see difficult to justify. The difficulty was greater when the archbishop’s departure occurred at such a time of crisis and brought such disturbances in its wake. Moreover, Thomas abandoned his see and his land at a time when theoretical discussions of the subject in canon law collections, theological works and correspondence were weighted in favour of stability, allowing little scope for the legitimate exile of a prelate. The good shepherd remained with his sheep, and he who left the care of the flock was widely considered to represent the hireling of John’s gospel. In these circumstances, and in the light of his previous record, it was easy for critics to characterize Thomas’s exile not only as harmful in itself, but emblematic of his general failings: the archbishop who had gained office as the hireling of the king, who had already fled from righteousness by conceding to the royal customs at Clarendon, now ran away from his duty in the body, as he had run away in the spirit. Here, as in so many other ways, the murder changed everything. If Thomas’s critics saw the exile as a continuation of the disputes of 1162–4 and a confirmation of his perceived flaws, his posthumous biographers regarded it as a prelude to martyrdom, its significance now revealed by his sacrifice and glory. While Thomas’s supporters struggled during his lifetime to offer a sustained defence of exile, his biographers were able to appeal to the same traditional precepts on the subject which underpinned its criticism, to present

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not merely a justification, but an exaltation of his exile. But the biographers’ treatment of the theme of exile does not stand in isolation. Instead, looking at the exile in the light of Thomas’s life as a whole, his death and posthumous acclaim, they presented it as part of a broader journey: a development of his ‘conversion’ of 1162, a period of preparation for the battles ahead, and an advance towards martyrdom. Criticism and justification Some benefited from Thomas’s exile – notably the de Broc family, which gained control of Canterbury estates – but more suffered from it. The king, Thomas’s clerks and supporters, the monastic community of Christ Church, Canterbury, and the English episcopacy all had reason to feel aggrieved at his actions. But the criticism which survives to us came from the perspective of existing hostility to Thomas, and was not only a critique of the act of exile but an indictment of the exile himself. It is underpinned by accepted notions of legitimate and illegitimate exile, based on Church tradition, notions which were difficult to refute in Thomas’s lifetime but later helped to shape the biographers’ exaltation of his exile. Thomas’s action in fleeing to France was not only controversial, it was illegal. Clause 4 of the Constitutions of Clarendon stated: Archbishops, bishops and beneficed clergy may not leave the realm without the king’s license. And if they shall leave, if it pleases the king, they shall give security that neither in going nor in staying nor in returning shall they promote evil or damage to the lord king or the realm.

Like most of the Constitutions, its establishment was motivated by a general desire by Henry to assert royal authority over his senior clergy, accompanied by fear of a particular danger, the promotion of ‘evil or damage’ to his king or realm by an absent ecclesiastic. The fear that Thomas would do just that is encapsulated in a letter which Henry sent to King Louis immediately upon hearing of the archbishop’s flight: Know that Thomas, formerly archbishop of Canterbury, has been publicly judged in my court by the full council of my barons to be a hostile and perjured traitor to me, and under the plain appearance of a traitor has departed wickedly, as my envoys will tell you more fully. For this reason I urgently pray that you do not allow a man guilty of such great crimes and treasons, or his men, in your kingdom.

Apart from this statement, Henry’s criticism of Thomas’s actions was expressed less in words than in deeds. When royal envoys to the French king and the  Councils  MTB

and Synods, p. 879. no. 71, 5. 134.



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pope failed in their aim of isolating the archbishop, the king took his revenge on Thomas’s clerks, kindred and supporters, many of whom were expelled or lost their lands or both. In addition, the archiepiscopate was forfeited and handed over to the royal servant Ranulf de Broc. The monks of Canterbury had not been enthusiastic about the intrusion of a non-monastic royal servant as their archbishop in 1162, and one suspects that Thomas’s exile increased any existing antipathy towards him. In addition to the eventual loss of property – it was not actually seized until 1167 – the monks and people of Canterbury found themselves in a situation akin to a vacancy, but without any immediate prospect of its being filled. The absence of surviving written criticism of Thomas’s exile from Canterbury is somewhat surprising, especially given that the main criticism of Archbishop Anselm’s exile six decades earlier had come from that quarter. It should, though, be added that the letters critical of Anselm’s exile were removed from the official letter collection after Anselm’s death. For a properly worked-out case against Thomas’s exile we must turn to his episcopal colleagues, and in particular to Gilbert Foliot, bishop of London. Some bishops were supportive of Thomas during the exile. Henry of Winchester, for example, is reported as rejoicing at news of the flight, and sent money to support the archbishop. Others had already begun to stand against Thomas before he set sail for the Continent. Of the five ecclesiastics who formed part of Henry’s mission to King Louis in November 1164, Roger of York, Gilbert of London and Hilary of Chichester were already staunch opponents of the archbishop. Even those less hostile soon found the absence of their leader and the uncertainly about their future difficult to bear, and Thomas’s censures at Vézelay in June 1166 deepened the strains of their dual obedience to king and archbishop. Multiplicem nobis, the fullest contemporary exposition of the case against Thomas, has been described as being in the main an attack on Thomas the chancellor; it is equally an attack on Thomas the exile. Having reviewed the circumstances of Thomas’s appointment and the progress of the conflict in England, Gilbert turns to the exile: As if [the king] were devising plots against your life or your family, having begun your flight by night, in disguise, after lying hidden for a short while, you secretly crossed from the realm, with no one in pursuit, with no one expelling you, and chose to make your abode for the time being outside his dominions, 

For letters critical of Anselm’s exile see below, pp. 157–8; W. Fröhlich, ‘The Letters Omitted from Anselm’s Letter Collection’, ANS 6 (1983): 58–71 at 70.  On the conduct of the bishops during Thomas’s exile, see Knowles, Episcopal Colleagues, pp. 91–139.  MTB 4. 54–5; 3. 106.  CTB no. 109, pp. 499–539; discussed by Morey and Brooke, Gilbert Foliot and his Letters, pp. 166–87.

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in another kingdom. From there, you are arranging to pilot the boat which you had abandoned without an oarsman amidst the waves and tempest.

These words are echoed in the speech at the papal council at Sens in November 1164 which Alan of Tewkesbury attributes to Gilbert: ‘In order to discredit our mutual brotherhood, with no one using force or even making threat he took to flight, as is written, “The wicked flee when no one pursues.” ’ Gilbert is responding to a recent accusation by Thomas that the English bishops had ‘turned [their] backs on the day of the battle’, rather than laying down their lives to liberate the Church. He turns the accusation back on the archbishop, demanding, with what effrontery, father, have you invited us to death, a death which you both feared and fled, as you have revealed more clearly than the day to the whole world by such obvious evidence? What affection urges you to lay on us the burden which you have thrown down? The sword which you fled is threatening us, against which you chose to throw stones, not fight hand to hand. Perhaps you invited us to the same flight; but the sea was closed to us, and after your departure all ships and ports were forbidden to us. The islands are very strong fortresses of the king, from which hardly anyone can escape or extricate himself. If we must fight, we shall fight at close quarters.

Gilbert’s argument is that Thomas had not only ignominiously fled the land and abandoned his flock, but had repeatedly shown himself as a hireling, rather than a true shepherd of the sheep by fleeing from righteousness. This discussion of the flight follows on from a cutting critique of Thomas’s elevation, in which Gilbert claims that Thomas bought the office of chancellor, and was blown into the office of archbishop ‘on this golden breeze’. At Clarendon, he writes, while the other bishops stood firm in defence of righteousness, ‘The captain of the army himself turned tail; the leader of the camp fled.’ Thomas’s action in fleeing is all of a piece with his earlier failures: For what was accomplished by bowing the knee at Clarendon, beginning a flight at Northampton, changing your dress to skulk for a while, and secretly skulking out of the confines of the kingdom? What did you achieve by these actions, except that you very carefully avoided the death which no one thought fit to inflict?10

Nowhere else do we find as developed a critique of Thomas’s exile as in Multi­plicem nobis. But if we examine other writings on episcopal exile we can



CTB no. 109, pp. 524–7; MTB 2. 338; Prov. 28:1. Thomas’s accusation: CTB no. 95, pp. 390–1; see Ps. 78 (77):9–10.  CTB no. 109, pp. 502–3.  CTB no. 109, pp. 510–11. 10 CTB no. 109, pp. 526–7.



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detect a pattern of criticism which underlay Gilbert’s case, and within which the discussion of Thomas’s exile was framed. Thomas’s exile had a number of precedents in Canterbury tradition, but they were not entirely happy ones. Augustine’s establishment of the church of Canterbury in 601 was followed by a period of instability in which his companions Mellitus and Justus chose to abandon the fledgling church and return to Gaul. Bede relates how Laurence prepared to leave Canterbury too, but was dissuaded by a vision of St Peter in which the apostle asked ‘why he had left the flock which he himself had entrusted to him; or to what shepherd he would commit the sheep of Christ when he ran away and left them in the midst of wolves’.11 Dunstan, as abbot of Glastonbury, left England following the loss of King Eadwig’s favour in 956–7, resulting in the confiscation of monastic property, the punishment of his friends and the treachery of many of his brethren. As one of his biographers writes, the devil was even heard to laugh.12 More recently Archbishop Theobald had sailed to the Council of Rheims in 1148 against the wishes of King Stephen, in the company of his young clerk Thomas Becket, and was subsequently expelled from England. Though the trip to Rheims was later celebrated by John of Salisbury and Herbert of Bosham, his six-month exile received little support at the time: when he summoned three bishops to France to assist at the consecration of the bishop of Hereford, they refused, and when he imposed an interdict on England, it was all but ignored by the clergy.13 The closest parallel to Thomas’s exile amongst his predecessors is that of Anselm, who absented himself from England from 1097 to 1100 as a result of disagreements with King William Rufus, and again between 1103 and 1106 during his dispute with Henry I over lay investiture. His second exile drew sharp rebukes from his monks and fellow bishops. Particularly pungent is a letter of 1106, thought to be from the prior, Ernulf. Lamenting the archbishop’s lengthy absence, he asserts that Anselm would have done better to share their present danger. Instead, he writes, ‘Of your own accord, with no one at all forcing you, you were torn away from our dangers, perhaps so as not to experience what we are forced to suffer, and what is worse, forced to witness.’ He goes on to outline the various evils afflicting the Church and people in Anselm’s exile, and then demands, Do you think by fleeing you can turn away the contumacy of God’s enemies, who do not believe in God, nor give any place to truth unless they have to? By what reasoning, father, could you come to such a conclusion? He who takes command of a ship must be all the more vigilant the more he fears the storms. But perhaps when you see the choirs of souls being led before Christ’s tribunal, 11 Historia

Ecclesiastica 2. 5–6, pp. 152–5. Memorials of St Dunstan, ed. W. Stubbs, RS 63 (London, 1874), pp. 33–6 (B), 101–3 (Osbern), 191–5 (Eadmer). 13 Hist. Pont. 2, 15, 19, pp. 7, 41–2, 48; MTB 3. 356; see Saltman, Theobald, pp. 25–30. 12

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the bravest rams of the flock whom no wolf could turn, nor fear of anyone turn to flight, perhaps then you will feel ashamed to have fled merely at the wish of the envious.

This dereliction of duty he contrasts with the constancy of Ambrose, who resisted the Emperor Theodosius to his face. Also, Ernulf suggests, it contrasts with established rules on the subject: If you had made an effort to consider with solicitous attention the rule of ecclesiastical administration and the precepts of ancient tradition, no reason would have snatched you away to exile, nor by the occasion of your absence would others incur such serious danger.14

Though Ernulf does not specify it, there can be little doubt as to the source he had in mind in referring to these ‘precepts of ancient tradition’. In the twelfth century one authority dominated the discussion of episcopal flight in canon law collections, theological works and correspondence. The framework for the criticisms of exile made by both Ernulf and Gilbert Foliot, and the justification of Thomas’s exile by at least five of Thomas’s biographers was provided by the response made by Augustine to the dilemma faced by an obscure fifth-century Mauritanian bishop. Around the year 428 Bishop Honoratus of Thiaba wrote to Augustine, apprising him of the danger he was facing in his see, and asking him what to do. Augustine sent a brief reply in which he reminded Honoratus of the responsibility of ministers not to forsake the churches in which it is their duty to serve. Dissatisfied with this answer, Honoratus wrote back, asking Augustine where this verdict left the Lord’s instruction to the apostle from Matthew 10:23, ‘When they persecute you in one town, flee to the next.’15 Augustine’s 14 Epistolae 310, Sancti Anselmi Archiepiscopi Opera Omnia, 6 vols., ed. F. S. Schmitt (Edin-

burgh, 1946–61), vol. 4, pp. 233–5; HN 160–2. See also Epp. 365, 366, 386, Opera 4, pp. 308–9, 309–10, 329–30. For a discussion of criticism and justification of Anselm’s exile, see M. Staunton, ‘Exile in Eadmer’s Historia Novorum and Vita Anselmi’, St Anselm: Bishop and Thinker, ed. R. Majeran and E. I. Zielinski (Lublin, 1999), pp. 47–59; for comparison with the treatment of Becket’s exile, see M. Staunton, ‘Exile in the Lives of Anselm and Thomas Becket’, Exile in the Middle Ages: Selected Proceedings from the International Medieval Congress, University of Leeds, 8–11 July, 2002, ed. L. Napran and E. van Houts (Turnhout, 2004), pp. 159–80; O’Reilly, ‘Double Martyrdom’, p. 202. 15 Ep. 228, CSEL 57. 484–96. Neither of Honoratus’s letters, nor Augustine’s first reply, have survived. See the comments on this letter in Corpus Iuris Canonici, ed. E. Friedberg (Leipzig, 1879), vol. 1, pp. 585–6. E. M. Peters makes more detailed comments in ‘The Archbishop and the Hedgehog’, Law, Church and Society: Essays in Honour of Stephan Kuttner, ed. K. Pennington and R. Somerville (Pennsylvania, 1977), pp. 167–84, at pp. 177, 183 n. 27. He also notes the references to Paul, David and others in the Lives but does not link them to Augustine’s letter. O’Reilly, ‘Double Martyrdom’, pp. 204–6, offers the only discussion I have seen of the Becket biographers’ use of Matt. 10:23 and John 10:11–12. She also discusses their portrayal of exile as a pilgrimage, pp. 204–6, 209–10.



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response is the most detailed discussion of episcopal flight in patristic literature, and the most frequently cited authority in twelfth-century discussions of the subject. Large sections are included verbatim in the relevant canons of Deusdedit and Anselm of Lucca, and Gratian draws heavily upon it in his Decretum. It is also cited directly in the Glossa Ordinaria and in Peter Lombard’s Great Gloss on the Epistles, and is echoed in correspondence on the subject by Bernard of Clairvaux, among others.16 Augustine begins by acknowledging Christ’s instruction to flee from city to city, but, he demands, ‘Who can believe that the Lord wished this to be done with the result that the flocks which he established with his own blood are deprived of the ministry upon which their lives depend?’ Later he adds, ‘Far be it from us to value this ship of ours so little that we should think it right for the crew, and especially for the pilot, to abandon it in time of danger, even if it is possible to escape by jumping into a lighter or even by swimming ashore.’ And he balances the requirements of Christ’s instruction in Matthew 10:23 with His saying in John 10:10–11, ‘I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. He who is a hireling and not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees.’ The minister who flees ‘when the consequence of his flight is the withdrawal from Christ’s flock of that nourishment by which its spiritual life is sustained’, is, according to Augustine, nothing but a hireling.17 Nevertheless, Augustine concedes that, while in general ministers should not abandon their churches, ‘some wise and holy men have been found worthy by God’s gift to choose and carry out just that, and have by no means faltered in the prosecution of their purpose even in the face of disparagement.’ While frequently reminding Honoratus of the pastor’s duty to defend one’s flock, Augustine’s letter is in many ways a definition and an appreciation of legitimate flight in specific circumstances. The first occurs when no flock exists, as when Christ, carried by his parents, fled to Egypt to escape Herod. The second, more relevant to our case, occurs when the pastor himself, rather than the flock, is in physical danger: the flock is not deprived of ministry, and its well-being is benefited by the pastor’s absence. Paul was let down in a basket through a window and escaped from Damascus, leaving behind other pastors, ‘in order to save for the Church’s benefit his own person, which the persecutor was seeking.’ David took a similar course of praiseworthy expedience when he acquiesced in the petition of his people to preserve himself from the dangers of battle lest the light of Israel be extinguished. With these 16

Anselm of Lucca, Canonum Collectio, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 269, fol. 24; Die Kanonessammlung des Kardinals Deusdedit, ed. V. W. von Glanvell (Paderborn, 1905), 4. 215, pp. 515–8; Decretum C. 7, qu. I, cc. 46–9; Lombard, in 2 Cor 19:21, PL 192. 78; Biblia latina cum glossa ordinaria: facsimile reprint of the editio princeps, Adolph Russch of Strassbourg, ed. K. Frochlich and M. Gibson (Turnhout, 1992), 1480–1 (not in PL edition). 17 Ep. 228. 2, 11, 14, CSEL 57. 485, 493, 496.

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exceptions to the general rule in mind, then, Augustine criticizes those who regard the two statements of the Lord, from Matthew 10:23 and John 10:10– 11, as mutually exclusive: Why do they not try to understand these two true statements of the Lord, one where flight is permitted or ordered, the other where it is condemned or blamed, and see that they are not contradictory? And how can this be seen except by considering, as I have shown, that we ministers of Christ ought to flee under pressure of persecution when there is either no congregation to which we might minister, or the necessary ministry can be fulfilled by others who do not have the same reason to flee? The apostle, as I have mentioned, was let down in a basket and escaped when his own person was being sought by the persecutor, and there were others there lacking the same necessity of flight who by no means deserted the Church’s ministry. Athanasius bishop of Alexandria fled when Emperor Constantius wished to apprehend him specially, and the Catholic people who remained in Alexandria were in no way abandoned by other ministers.18

Augustine’s views reflect the circumstances of the time when individual Christian communities often faced the danger of destruction, and the greatest necessity of the Church was that the pastor should remain with his people and withstand persecution and physical threat, even to death. He acknowledged that in certain circumstances the flight of the pastor was the legitimate response to the situation, but the conditions he laid down were restrictive ones. If these conditions were difficult to meet in the fifth century, they were all the more rare in the twelfth century, when the physical persecution of a senior ecclesiastic had become more unusual. A hardening of attitudes during this period against exile in favour of stability is also evident in discussions of monastic duty.19 Nevertheless, situations did arise in which Augustine’s argument and imagery were applied in defence of exile. In 1131 Bernard of Clairvaux claimed that Pope Urban II had recently fled from Rome following the Lord’s precept to flee from city to city. Urban had proved himself an apostle by following the example of Paul in his escape from Damascus; he fled

18 Ep.

282. 14, 2, 10, 6, CSEL 57. 496, 485, 492, 488–9. For Paul’s flight, see 2 Cor. 11:33; Acts 9:25. For David see 2 Sam. 21:17. Athanasius himself wrote an Apologia de Fuga in the year 357, The Historical Works of St Athanasius with an Introduction by William Bright (Oxford, 1881), 158–77. A response to charges of cowardice, its arguments share much with Augustine’s. He claims that many holy men have legitimately fled from persecution when the time was appropriate, citing the examples of Jacob, Moses, Saul, Elijah, Paul and Jesus, and the instruction to flee from city to city. Much of this work is incorporated into Cassiodorus, Historia Tripartita 6. 22, ed. Jacobs and Hanslik, 333–9. See A. Petterson, ‘ “To Flee or not to Flee”: An Assessment of Athanasius’s De Fuga Sua’, Persecution and Toleration: Studies in Church History 21, ed. W. J. Shields (London, 1984), pp. 29–42. 19 See G. Constable, ‘Opposition to Pilgrimage in the Middle Ages’, Studia Gratiana 19 (1967): 125–46, repr. Religious Life and Thought (11th–12th Centuries) (London, 1979).



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not to evade death but to achieve life; his exile was a fruitful one for himself and his people.20 About nine years later a canon of Hereford found himself forced to leave his diocese in the face of an attack on the city by supporters of the Empress Matilda and received a letter of condolence: Happy your leaving, by which you are designated to the college of saints. But they lingered who fled. Indeed, you did not flee, but preserved yourself for fighting more fiercely for justice. Paul fled from Damascus, let down in a basket. When he wrote about it he was not filled with blushes, rather he was gloried by it. For had he not fled, he would not have confounded the roaring beasts, nor would he have placed the Lord’s standard on the summit of the empire. The Good Master teaches us, ‘If you are persecuted in one town, flee into another.’

The author of the letter was the then bishop of Hereford, Gilbert Foliot.21 Fleeing persecution Augustine’s categories of justified flight do not immediately seem to offer much in defence of Thomas’s actions. There is little evidence that Thomas faced physical danger in late 1164, and his actions over the following years appeared less than fruitful to contemporaries. As E. M. Peters puts it, in a discussion of Augustine’s two cases of justified flight, ‘the first reason [when there is no flock to desert], of course, would not apply in Becket’s case, and much of the thrust of Multiplicem undermines Becket’s arguments for the second [flight from personal persecution], had Becket explicitly referred to Augustine’s letter, which he does not appear to have done.’22 It is true that Thomas does not refer to Augustine’s letter in his surviving correspondence, but John of Salisbury used its arguments as early as 1167. After Thomas’s death Augustine’s letter was mined extensively by Anonymous II, William of Canterbury and Herbert of Bosham, and strong echoes are evident in the work of Alan of Tewkesbury. Augustine’s influence may be seen for example in Anonymous II’s comments on Thomas’s flight: Wisely [Thomas] realized that he should give way before malice and give place to the madness, as Jacob did towards his brother Esau, and David towards the most unyielding of enemies Saul. So also did Athanasius bishop of Alexandria who fled from all the lands under the rule of his persecutor Constantius so that he might be preserved to oppose the Arians for the sake of the catholic faith. So did the apostle Paul who was let down through a window in a basket so as to avoid the force of the Damascenes, and remain alive for the expansion of the Church. Finally, so too did Christ himself, first when he was carried

20 Ep.

124, Opera 7. 305.

21 The Letters and Charters of Gilbert Foliot, ed. A. Morey and C. N. L. Brooke (Cambridge,

1967), no. 1, pp. 33–5. ‘Archbishop and Hedgehog’, p. 183, n. 7.

22 Peters,

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away by his parents from the traps of Herod and hid in Egypt, and then when he hid himself from the Jews and left the temple when they wanted to stone him. Strengthened then by these great examples, he followed the instruction of Christ to his apostles, ‘When you are persecuted in one city, flee into another.’ He did not earn the mark of the hireling, who sees the wolf coming and flees, because he does not care for the sheep. For he did not desert in time of danger the flock committed to him, but rather prudently removed himself from the danger which was specifically prepared for his head alone.23

Likewise, William of Canterbury introduces the exile with these words: At the appropriate time [Thomas] escaped the premeditated crime and the exertions of evil counsels, deciding to cross to a safer place, just as the Lord promised and did, Who chose to flee so that authority for flight, when reason demands it, be given. Our patriarch Jacob fled from the presence of his brother Esau, and this on his mother’s advice, so that later by God’s arrangement he would return home with blessed and excellent fruit. Paul fled so that he would be preserved for other things for which he was necessary. The most brave David fled the perils of battle lest the light of Israel be extinguished, but he acquiesced in the request of his people, he did not propose it himself. Thomas fled to protect the Church’s liberty from danger. He fled so that he could die more proven and perfect. He fled, not as a hireling, who sees the wolf coming and flees, since those who could supply ecclesiastical ministry were not lacking, but in order to tend from afar the sheep whom he was unable to tend under the jaws of the wolf. He fled from the battle but did not flee the battle.24

Both William and the Anonymous show throughout their works an extensive knowledge of canon law, using it, for example, to condemn the Constitutions of Clarendon. John of Salisbury, Alan of Tewkesbury and Herbert of Bosham also looked to law to present an incisive, internally consistent justification of Thomas’s actions. The case which Thomas needed to answer was neatly summed up six decades earlier by Ernulf in his letter to Anselm: ‘Even if they imprisoned you, ill-treated you, tore you to pieces, you would not have been justified in so withdrawing. How much more so when you have not had to bear any such treatment nor has your bishopric been refused you?’25 In other words: where was the physical persecution, and if such persecution existed, where was the justification for avoiding it? In the immediate aftermath of his flight, Becket’s critics poured scorn on the suggestion that he had left England to escape danger. As we have seen, Henry’s mission to King Louis claimed that Thomas had fled without reason, in violation of English law, and a month later, according to Alan of Tewkesbury, Gilbert Foliot accused Thomas before the

23 MTB

4. 106. 1. 40–1. 25 Ep. 310, Opera iv, p. 234; HN p. 161. 24 MTB



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pope of taking to flight ‘with no one using force or even making threats, as is written, “The wicked flee when no one pursues.” ’ Two years later he reiterated these charges in Multiplicem nobis: Becket had fled secretly by night as if plots had been laid against his life and person, although no one had pursued him or driven him into exile. By saving himself he left the flock in danger and now, refusing to engage the enemy at close quarters, he invites the remaining bishops to meet the death from which he shrank and fled. These arguments directly reflect Augustine’s verdict that the well-being of the flock is more important than fear for self, ministers of the soul being especially needful in time of danger, and that a cowardly escape sets an example of cowardice to others.26 As Foliot puts it, ‘When the head is faint the other parts of the body become faint also.’27 We do not have any independent evidence that Thomas would have faced a threat of incarceration or violence had he stayed in England. It was not difficult, however, for the biographers, presenting the Council of Northampton as a prefiguring of Becket’s passion, to argue such a case. In William of Canterbury’s account, King Louis tells the mission from the English king that Thomas had fled, not because he had incurred blame, but because he feared violence. All the biographers report a threatening atmosphere as the Council of Northampton drew to a close. William Fitzstephen describes how some of the king’s barons spoke, deliberately within earshot of the archbishop, of the violent retribution the king’s ancestors had taken on recalcitrant ecclesiastics. According to Edward Grim, the archbishop had it on good authority that he would be imprisoned unless he went into hiding immediately. Anonymous II reports similar worries and even a murder plot.28 Some of the biographers emphasize that the flight was an escape from danger. Herbert describes how, at supper on the evening after the close of the Council of Northampton, the reading was from the Historia Tripartita about the persecution of ‘Bishop Liberius’, and when they came to the line, ‘If you are persecuted in one town flee to the next’, Herbert caught Thomas’s eye. As Thomas made his way from the monastery in the dead of night, one of his household, asleep and unaware of the flight, clearly heard in his dream a voice chanting the lines from the psalm, ‘Safe, like a bird rescued from the fowler’s snare; the snare is broken and we are safe.’29 The most vivid image of persecution appears in William of Canterbury’s Life. As he describes Thomas’s escape from Northampton, William inserts,

26

Ep. 228. 11, CSEL 57. 493. CTB no. 109, pp. 510–11. 28 MTB 1. 44; 2. 399; 3. 65; 4. 53. 29 MTB 3. 312–13; Ps. 124 (123):7. The text is not in fact quoted by Liberius, but by the Arian bishop Demophilus, on being turned out of Constantinople by Theodosius, Hist. Tripartita 9. 10, CSEL 71. 505. For the theme of flight in the Historia Tripartita, see n. 18 above. 27

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without any introduction, the justifications of exile based on Augustine cited above, and then he immediately launches into a description of ‘the vision which a certain deacon saw’: The king of England was hunting in Wabridge forest with all his archbishops, bishops, barons, nobles, priors and abbots, when a hedgehog sprang out in front of them, roused by the clamour of the hunters. When they saw it they all began to chase it, harrying it with shouts and mockery. But the hedgehog outran the throng and hastened to the sea, not in a straight line but through a more winding path, carrying on his back the book entitled The Acts of the Apostles. None of those who followed was without a bodily flaw, but seemed either blind, one-eyed or lame, or to have mutilated lips or nose. And when eventually the hedgehog came to the sea, it plunged in and did not emerge again. Seeing this, those who had been in pursuit turned back. And behold a thick dark cloud arose and covered the face of the earth, and a shower of blood fell. The king then turned aside to the royal hall set up in that place, and he sat in it, after he had put on a long white robe of linen, and placed around his head wolves’ tails as a garland. But the blood did not cease from spilling down upon him, because the house, being in a deserted place, did not have a waterproof roof, and through the wolves’ tails hanging down it flowed into his garment. And when it had filled his garment and its winding folds, it began to flow out, and as it overflowed it filled even his mouth.30

This is a complex and ingenious allegory. The hedgehog’s harassment, by the king, the senior ecclesiastics and nobles, reflects Thomas’s treatment at the council of Northampton. His path to the sea mirrors Thomas’s roundabout progress to the coast of Kent – north from Northampton to Lincoln before doubling back towards the south, a path that passed through Wabridge Forest. The Acts of the Apostles most likely symbolize Thomas’s association with St Paul. And the story itself, and its placement at this juncture, recalls two similar stories associated with Anselm. Eadmer interrupts his account of Anselm’s decision to enter into exile for the first time to describe how a fleeing hare took shelter from his persecutors beneath the archbishop’s horse. In the next chapter he relates Anselm’s delight at observing a bird break free from a boy who had been playing with it on a string.31 In the Icelandic Saga, the hedgehog is interpreted as reflecting Thomas’s defence against assailants and his harsh manner of life,32 but a further meaning is suggested by literary precedent. St Sebastian is described in his death as being ‘filled with arrows so that he bristled like a hedgehog’, an image also applied by Abbo of Fleury to the martyrdom of King Edmund the Martyr.33 It also recalls the apocalyptic scene from Isaiah 34 in which the skies roll up like a scroll, the land is soaked 30 MTB

1. 41–2. pp. 89–91. 32 Saga, vol. 1, pp. 233–9. 33 Acta S. Sebastiani Martyris, 23. 85, PL 17. 1056; see Bede, Martyrologium, January 2, PL 31 VA



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in blood, princes are brought low and the hedgehog and other wild creatures inherit the earth. The conclusion of the vision, in which blood fills the king’s mouth, is surely a reference to the king’s rash words which prompted Thomas’s murder. All in all, in this image, William’s intention is to link the exile to Thomas’s murder.34 It was not enough for the biographers to point to physical danger – such an unqualified assertion left Becket open to the charge of cowardice and dereliction of duty. According to Augustine, flight is only permissible when the persecution is specific rather than general (commune); that is, when the bishop himself is specially sought, and the flock has no necessity of flight. Otherwise the sufferings ought to be borne equally. As we have seen, the persecutor particularly (proprie) sought Paul’s life, and Constantius sought to seize Athanasius specially (specialiter). Therefore, writes Augustine, ministers may by all means flee from city to city, when any of them is specially (specialiter) sought by persecutors, in such a way that the church is not deserted, but that others who are not sought in the same way may provide nourishment to their fellow-servants, whom they know cannot survive otherwise.35

Becket’s supporters are at pains to distinguish personally directed persecution from that which applies to all, and they do so with quite specific language. This is even apparent before Thomas’s death in a letter of 1167 from John of Salisbury to Peter the Scribe, a member of the Canterbury circle. Responding to contemporary criticism, John writes, ‘Perhaps you will say, “If such was his resolve why did [Thomas] flee? Why did he expose the Church to so many fearful dangers when he knew in advance that priests must lay down their lives for it?” ’ He answers that ‘As authority for his flight he has Christ and His apostle, who escaped from the hands of His persecutors by being let down in a basket, for he knew that one should flee from one city to another to escape the man who persecutes one’s person, not one’s cause.’36 The posthumous Lives make the same point. As Anonymous II writes, Becket prudently removed himself from danger because it was specially (specialiter) prepared for his head alone.37 Alan of Tewkesbury writes that in the aftermath of the Council of Clarendon in January 1164 it was well known that ‘The blood and life of the archbishop himself were being sought.’ He goes on to report a debate between various bishops at the Council of Northampton

94. 817. Abbo of Fleury, Passio sancti Edmundi, in Three Lives of English Saints, ed. M. Winterbottom (Toronto, 1972), pp. 78–9. 34 Isa. 34:11, 15. Note the similarity between William’s introduction of the vision and the introduction of other visions in Isaiah, e.g. 1:1, 13:1. See other biblical references to hedgehogs in Isa. 14:23, Ps. 103 (102):18, Zeph. 2:14. 35 Ep. 228. 2, 10, CSEL 57. 485, 492. 36 LJS no. 225, pp. 390–3. 37 MTB 4. 106.

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days before Thomas’s flight in which they discussed the imminent danger to the archbishop. ‘It is clear’, says Robert of Lincoln, ‘that the life and blood of the man himself is being sought, and it will be necessary for the archbishop to give up either his archiepiscopate or his life.’ And Bartholomew of Exeter concurs that ‘The persecution is not general but personal.’38 Herbert of Bosham claims that ‘There is no need to apologize for the flight of a shepherd, not a hireling, who was personally sought.’39 The reason why Augustine argues that personal persecution may legitimately be evaded by the pastor is that such an action may be expedient and fruitful on behalf of the flock. Paul preserved his life for the Church’s good, and ‘The whole Catholic faith knows how necessary it was [that Athanasius should flee], and how much benefit it brought that this man remained alive to defend it from the Arian heretics by his word and his loving care.’ In these cases the death of the pastor would have diminished the fortunes of the Church. Indeed, one ought not to tempt the Lord by assuming that He will intervene miraculously to save oneself from danger.40 In his letter of 1167 to Peter the Scribe, John of Salisbury echoes these arguments of Augustine. Seeing the conspiracy of kings and princes, Thomas, he writes, fled with the aim of bringing aid to ‘the sinking Church in England’ where ‘the chief priests were drowning it’: This was not calculated to leave the Church defenceless but to help it to freedom; unless you are prepared to record the man who gets into a lighter to pilot a ship to port as abandoning the ship … Not to expose himself to those who seek his life, when a safer and easier path lies open to him, is the right cause and based on the example of prophets and apostles, since one may read how David, Elijah, Peter and Paul did the same. It is tempting God to expose oneself to sure and obvious perils, when there is a clear way of escaping them acceptable to the Lord.41

Later, in his Life of Thomas, John could look back and conclude that Thomas decided on exile ‘lest the cause of the Church – which at that time had not been realized – should meet its downfall in his death’.42 Similarly, Alan of Tewkesbury has Robert of Lincoln saying at the bishops’ discussion at Northampton that, since Becket’s life was being sought, he would have to abandon either his archiepiscopate or his life, ‘and what would it profit the archiepiscopate if he lost his life?’43

38

MTB 2. 325, 327–8. 3. 319. 40 Ep. 228. 2, 6, 11, CSEL 57. 485, 489, 493. On the latter point see Matt. 4:7 and ­Augustine, Contra Faustum Manichaeum, ed. I. Zycha (1891), 22. 36, CSEL 25. 630. 41 LJS no. 225, pp. 392–3. 42 MTB 2. 313. 43 MTB 2. 327. 39 MTB



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When Thomas arrived in France, he made his first public appearance as an exile at the papal court at Sens. In addition to the archbishop’s audience with the pope, Herbert of Bosham, who was present, also reports a discussion between Thomas and a group of sceptical cardinals in which the archbishop explained why he had fled.44 A central reason for leaving England, he says, was that ‘At present I could not produce fruit there.’ Many other good pastors left their flocks on similar grounds, and no apology is necessary for their actions. The fruit of remaining, he feared, would have been his own death, and the increased sorrow of his flock. Therefore, it was better to withdraw in the face of royal anger than to try to turn back the tide. In doing so, he says, he does not mean to set a precedent to his successors, unless the most urgent reason should demand it. But all archbishops of Canterbury have had to face the dilemma when they quarrelled with their kings, to face danger at home, or, if expediency demands it, to flee.45 The problem which most fugitive prelates faced in the twelfth century was that the criteria for legitimate exile which still pertained had been framed centuries earlier in an age when physical danger to a bishop was common. Neither Anselm nor his biographer Eadmer were able to provide a satisfactory answer to Ernulf’s question, because there was no evidence that Anselm had suffered physical persecution. In twelfth-century England such persecution was rare, but Thomas’s case was the great exception. If protests of physical danger to Thomas in 1164 are not entirely convincing, they are at least half-way plausible, and, crucially, they were given a retrospective validity by the murder. Similarly, the victory which the biographers supposed the Church had won through Thomas’s actions in exile and his return to martyrdom, suggested that Thomas had left England to bear fruit on behalf of his flock. In the twelfth century few pastors who took to flight could have been convincingly portrayed as the successors to the fleeing Athanasius, Paul and Christ, but Thomas was a saint who broke the rules. The biographers discussed here were able to approach Thomas’s exile with a lawyer’s eye, but they also had an eye to the bigger picture. Thomas was not only a fugitive prelate but a saint. The defence of exile has a triumphant quality: the murder and Thomas’s posthumous glory had revealed the quality of his exile to those who had once doubted it. Their justifications of Thomas’s actions do not appear in the context of a technical legal brief but as part of hagiographical narratives, which were influenced by other saints’ Lives and were designed to unite the various aspects of Thomas’s life from birth to death.

44 See

above, pp. 68–71. 3. 355–6; see 319–20.

45 MTB

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The pilgrim’s progress For Thomas’s biographers, as for their audiences, ancient and modern, Thomas’s exile is less a cause for debate than a dramatic episode in Thomas’s life. His escape from Northampton, his clandestine sailing to Flanders, his journey to the papal court and subsequent retreat to Pontigny form a particularly evocative part of most Lives. After the debates over the royal customs and the public confrontations which accompanied them, the focus returns to Thomas himself, adrift from the certainties of his life in England. That these sections of the Lives are so vivid is despite the fact that this period in Thomas’s life is quite poorly attested, apart from the eye-witness record of Herbert of Bosham. Oral tradition, reliable or otherwise, evidently looms large, as suggested by the similarity of description and the repetition of anecdotes in many of the Lives. It is also clear that many biographers were influenced by hagiographical conventions of virtuous exile. Most importantly, their accounts were shaped by their idea of Thomas’s life as an ongoing perfection of his ‘conversion’ of 1162, and as a journey towards martyrdom. When Thomas returned to his lodgings at the monastery of St Andrews at the close of the Council of Northampton on 13 October 1164 it is said that he immediately prostrated himself in tearful prayers before the altar. He entertained the poor in the monks’ refectory and then ordered his bed to be placed behind the altar, where he sang psalms and called out the names of various saints. Just before daybreak he slipped out of the monastery and made his way on horseback from the town with three trusted companions. Lying low by day and travelling by night in disguise, he made a circuitous path to the port of Eastry in Kent, where, on 2 November, he embarked in a small boat with a few of his household. They landed at Oye, near Boulogne in the county of Flanders, and proceeded south towards Sens. Their midwinter journey through the marshlands of Flanders was a difficult one for the exhausted exiles, and especially it seems for Thomas, who is said to have stumbled and fallen more than once. Welcome comfort and support was available when the exiles reached the Benedictine abbey of St Omer at St Bertin’s, where Thomas was reunited with some of his clerks and was visited by sympathetic churchmen. After some days the archbishop’s party moved on towards the lands of the French king, with whom Thomas had a supportive audience at Soissons. Continuing their journey south, the exiles reached the papal court at Sens in the last days of November.46 The preferred term for this episode to Thomas, his correspondents and his biographers is neither flight (fuga), nor exile (exsilium) but pilgrimage (pere­ grinatio). The concept of exile as pilgrimage had a long tradition, and was 46 MTB 1. 40–3, 46; 2. 335–7, 399–403; 3. 70-4, 310–15, 318–35, 338–40; 4. 52–61, 105–7;

Guernes v. 1971–2150. For an analysis of Thomas’s itinerary, see J. van der Straeten, ‘Les vies latines de S. Thomas Becket et son exil en France’, Sédières, pp. 27–32, and the discussion following, pp. 33–9.



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particularly strong in Irish hagiography, where saints who journeyed to foreign lands were identified as pilgrims, especially if they did so for penitential reasons.47 The theme is also present in English hagiography. Exile looms particularly large in Eddius Stephanus’s early eighth-century Life of Wilfrid, and in Eadmer’s Life of Anselm (Eadmer also wrote a Life of Wilfrid). Both exiles are explicitly described as pilgrimages, and in Anselm’s case the archbishop is described as taking his pilgrim’s scrip and staff from the altar of Canterbury Cathedral before setting out on his first exile. Also echoed in the depictions of Thomas’s exile is the manner in which the exiles of Wilfrid and Anselm are represented as virtuous ones, favourable to God and man alike.48 Wilfrid, bishop of Hexham (d. 709), made numerous trips to the Continent, visiting Francia, Frisia and Rome. His many sea crossings are described as being aided by divine protection, and he is on one occasion saved from the attack of pagans by God’s intervention. In this way, writes Eddius, ‘The Lord glorified him by His protecting care throughout his journey.’ Anselm, sailing from England in 1097, calls divine judgement on his venture, and immediately the wind changes in his favour. On arrival, his companions discover a large hole in the boat’s hull, which had miraculously let in no water. On the journey to Rome God saves the exiles from robbery, and on their return to Lyon they escape numerous dangers in a similar way. Divine protection is again cited for his second trip to Rome in 1103, and for his return. Wilfrid and Anselm also enjoy human approval, as expressed not only in the hospitality bestowed upon them but in the spontaneous response which the exiles elicit from strangers. On Wilfrid’s arrival at Lyons in 653, Archbishop Dalfinus provides him with generous hospitality and even wishes to adopt him as his son, ‘seeing his saintly mind imaged in his peaceful countenance.’ Later the king of the Franks and the king of Campania receive him with similar honour. For Anselm’s part, he is not only hailed by nobles, bishops and even the pope, but is acclaimed by clergy, monks and crowds of ordinary people. Eadmer attributes this response in part to the justice of his cause, but also suggests that personal charisma was responsible: the duke of Burgundy intended taking money from Anselm but ended up asking for his blessing; some citizens of Rome tried to capture him, but when they saw his face they prostrated themselves before him. ‘Though we were few and unknown, journeying in a foreign land, knowing no one, and telling no one who we were or whence we came, nevertheless the mere appearance of Anselm stirred people’s admiration for him and they pointed him out as a man of God.’49

47

See C. Stancliffe, ‘Red, White and Blue Martyrdom’, Ireland in Early Medieval Europe: Studies in Memory of Kathleen Hughes, ed. D. Whitelock, R. McKitterick and D. Dumville (Cambridge, 1982), pp. 21–46, and M. Richter, Ireland and her Neighbours in the Seventh Century (Dublin, 1999), pp. 41–7. 48 Wilfrid as pilgrim: Eddius pp. 54–5. Anselm as pilgrim: VA pp. 97, 103, HN p. 95. 49 Divine protection for Wilfrid: Eddius pp. 14–5, 26–9, 56–7, 66–7, 70–1; human

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In late summer or early autumn 1164, a couple of months before the Council of Northampton, Thomas had attempted to flee from England, but the winds were against him. According to Edward Grim, the archbishop said, ‘If it is true that the winds are against our objective, let God’s will be done, and keep to the port which God assigns’, and immediately they were carried back to England. Grim claims that Thomas later acknowledged that it had not been God’s wish that he cross then, because he had not yet suffered the painful battle and trial of Northampton.50 William of Canterbury agrees, commenting that ‘Divine dispensation had recalled His pugilist to the fight. He was to be proved by a harsher agony, so as to grow in merit and shine more brightly by example.’51 Herbert of Bosham also sees it as a case of ‘God himself resisting in his elements. For as for all things there is a time, so there is a time of advancing and a time of fleeing, but [Thomas’s] time had not yet come.’52 No such problems faced Thomas in his next attempt. His passage from Northampton was aided by heavy rain and the absence of a guard on the north gate. As Anonymous I concludes, ‘Even the time and hour of the blessed man’s flight seemed to be aided by divine support.’ Likewise, the sailing to Flanders was ‘by God’s will’ a prosperous one.53 Indeed, Herbert of Bosham reports that Thomas crossed the Channel at the same time as the royal envoys embarked for France, but whereas the latter were beset by a storm, the archbishop and his companions found a peaceful sea. This he compares to the seventh and ninth plagues of Egypt, when the people of Israel were spared the thunder and lightning, and later the veil of darkness, which fell upon the land: ‘So the most powerful God of Israel, the same then and now, distinguishes both in reward and in the lash the righteous from the impious and the fearful from the scornful.’54 Another episode recalls a different story from Exodus, that of the Israelites’ receipt of manna from heaven. Alan of Tewkesbury relates how, as the exiles crossed a lake on their way to the monastery of St Omer, Thomas’s companions worried that their hosts, the monks, would not have fish to eat on that day of abstinence. ‘It is for God to provide’, declared Thomas, and immediately a large bream jumped out of the water into his lap.55 The exiles also receive help from worldly sources, leading both John of Salisbury and Herbert of Bosham to gush over in enthusiasm for the land approval: pp. 8–9, 54–5. Divine protection for Anselm: VA pp. 99–100, 116, HN pp. 89, 152, 183; human approval: VA pp. 102, 104, 114, 116, HN pp. 89, 98, 114, 116, 151. 50 MTB 2. 390. 51 MTB 1. 29. 52 MTB 3. 293. 53 MTB 4. 54–5. 54 MTB 3. 330–1; see Exod. 9:22–6; 10:21–23; 16:13–36. 55 MTB 2. 336.



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and people of France. King Louis in particular in singled out for his generosity.56 There are numerous examples of Thomas being given hospitality by lay and clerical supporters, but it also happens that he is recognized by those he encounters on the way as someone special. This is despite his being dressed simply, and having asked his companions to call him Christian, as Anonymous I writes, ‘so that his name might change but remain true’.57 Many writers report how bystanders, thinking they recognize Thomas, ask if this is the archbishop of Canterbury, to which Thomas’s companions reply, ‘Do you think this is how the archbishop of Canterbury travels?’58 There are other more intimate contacts with strangers. Anonymous I reports how a certain woman was struck by the appearance of the exiles and Thomas in particular as they passed through her village. ‘Considering the venerable man more closely, and discerning something special in his countenance’, she rushed to her house and brought him back a staff to aid his journey. And though it was covered with soot and grease, Thomas accepted it as if it were the greatest of gifts.59 Herbert of Bosham describes how Thomas was recognized by an innkeeper on his journey, and ‘Seeing then that this man was quite different from the others in his way of eating and in the nature and posture of his body, he quickly judged that he had taken in some great man, and certainly suspected that this was the archbishop of Canterbury.’ In this, his serving-girl concurred, and both began to treat him with the greatest honour.60 In these ways the accounts of Thomas’s exile echo hagiographical tradition: the establishment of exile as virtuous by invoking the approval of God and man. But Thomas’s exile was seen not only in the context of earlier writing, but in terms of Thomas’s life as a whole, in particular as a stage between conversion and martyrdom. The drama of this section of the Lives derives from the change in circumstances which Thomas was compelled to experience. The biographers make much of this change, drawing a contrast with his earlier life, both as chancellor and archbishop, and pointing to his new life as a time of spiritual progress. Just as, upon appointment to Canterbury, Thomas had ‘put off the old man and put on the new’, in flight he cast off the luxuries and comforts of his earlier life in favour of a simpler and more humble regime. We are told that he changed his dress, adopting the rough tunic and shoes of a lay brother. According to Herbert he left England with no possessions but his pallium and seal, and ‘With no bag, no bread, no money in his belt, but wearing only the hair shirt above his nakedness he followed Jesus.’ A little later he remarks that Thomas ‘carried nothing with him on the way but the faith and poverty of the Crucified, he who had been nourished on ­ magnificent 56 LJS

no. 136 pp. 2–3; no. 169, pp. 86–7; MTB 3. 333–4, 339. 4. 56. 58 MTB 1. 45; 2. 335; 4. 57. 59 MTB 4. 56. 60 MTB 3. 326–7. 57 MTB

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luxury’.61 When the archbishop reached Flanders he was forced to make his way south towards Sens over difficult terrain, begging ‘as a desolate and exiled pilgrim’, a change of circumstances which leads many writers to reflect on the fickle and transient nature of worldly glory. William of Canterbury composed a verse on the subject, in which he describes how, Once exalted, by a great crowd escorted First of the first is now exiled and lowest.

At one point on the journey the archbishop’s companions are reported as procuring for him a humble pack-horse for the price of a penny, with cloth for a saddle and hay for a bridle. The contrast with his former life, when he had the choice of the finest horses, is made by many writers, but a certain glory is also discerned in such ignominy. William of Canterbury associates this image with Christ’s entry into Jerusalem,62 and Herbert explicitly identifies it with Thomas’s process of conversion: What a sight to see Thomas, once on chariots and horses, now astride a packhorse, with only a halter around its neck for a bridle and the rags of the poor brothers and lay brothers on its back for a saddle! What a change of circumstances, Thomas! Where are those horses and knights you used to have, all those rich and ostentatious trappings? Look at all these now reduced to one packhorse and one halter, and not even your own packhorse or halter but another’s. As you change, the things belonging to you also change, as your old things pass away and become new. Truly God is marvellous in his saints, Who leads them down a wonderful road, from tribulation gladdening, from pressure expanding, from temptation proving, by destroying building, by persecuting healing, by killing giving life.63

Or, as William of Canterbury more succinctly puts it, despite the hardship of the journey, ‘the forward movement of virtues makes your exile safe’.64 In the last week of November 1164 Thomas and his companions arrived at the papal court at Sens. He presented the Constitutions before the pope and the cardinals and had them condemned, and then dramatically resigned his archbishopric, citing his intrusion to that position by the royal power as the source of the troubles which had befallen the English Church. After some discussion, the pope restored Thomas to his office, pointing to the archbishop’s proven zeal on the Church’s behalf, and declaring that his resignation had wiped away any wrong which might have accrued from his uncanonical election. Alexander then commended Thomas to the monks of Pontigny, a Cistercian house within the royal domain, ‘not, I say, to be trained in ­splendour 61

MTB 3. 319, 322. 1. 42. 63 MTB 3. 325; see 2 Cor. 5:17. 64 MTB 1. 42. 62 MTB



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but in simplicity, as befits an exile and an athlete of Christ’.65 The pope’s commendation of Thomas to Pontigny was no doubt motivated by the desire to dampen down the tensions between king and archbishop, but his two-year stay there enjoys an important place in the biographers’ portrayal of Thomas. This time constituted the only sustained period of retreat from worldly business in his adult life and provided the biographers with one of the few obvious examples of a spiritual purpose in Thomas’s life. It also appeared in retrospect as a crucial stage in Thomas’s ‘pilgrimage’, a period of inner growth, of rest after the labours of his early archiepiscopate, and of preparation and training for future combat. On one level, the stay at Pontigny is seen in terms of penance. It is described as an opportunity ‘to make amends for his most serious sins’, and ‘a purgatory for his laxer life’. The biographers draw attention to the harshness of his new life, and some claim that while there he received a monastic habit from the pope.66 Edward Grim and Herbert of Bosham in particular describe in detail the privations and mortifications to which Thomas subjected himself. In addition to the hair shirt and the lashes which Thomas had adopted on his elevation to Canterbury, he now increasingly withdrew food from himself and purged the flesh by standing in a freezing stream, so much so that he fell ill and was persuaded to temper his ardour.67 At Pontigny Thomas also underwent a course of study. As Anonymous II writes, he ‘made up for the loss of his former days and occupations with the fervour of his dedication to study, so that he was better tutored in exercising the dignity which he undertaken’.68 Herbert of Bosham was Thomas’s teacher of scriptures at Pontigny, and describes this aspect of Thomas’s life in some detail: The archbishop then, after all the troubles we have described, as if after a time of dense cloud, soon began to turn himself with all his mind to the serenity and tranquillity of divine light, giving himself entirely to reading, prayer and meditation. For this was the time which, as I heard from himself, he had always longed for, from the beginning of his promotion as archbishop, even during his time amongst the vanities of the world as chancellor. Knowing that, as the wise man said, ‘Wisdom depends on leisure’, he was taught and he learned.69

A little later Herbert returns to this theme, describing how as solitary men they hid away from the world and, ‘more free because more peaceful, more fruitful because more private, turned with all the mind to spiritual things.’ Thomas, stirred by a remarkable ardour, dedicated himself to the study of 65

MTB 2. 336–45. MTB 2. 345; 4. 64. 67 MTB 2. 412–3; 3. 376–9; 4. 118. 68 MTB 4. 118. 69 MTB 3. 358; see Ecclus. 38:24. 66

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scripture, canon law and especially theology, so as to learn how to rule over others. Now, making up for ‘squandered days’, he would not let these books out of his hands all day, ‘especially those two holy books the Psalms and the Epistles, like two spiritual eyes, mystic and moral’.70 Herbert’s description recalls a letter which John of Salisbury wrote to ­Thomas at Pontigny in January 1165: My counsel and my wish and the substance of my prayers is that you turn wholeheartedly to the Lord and to prayer … In the meantime lay aside all other activities, so far as you can: although they may at times seem necessary, what I recommend is to be preferred, since it is even more necessary. Canon and civil law have their value; but believe me, there was no need of them at this moment. ‘The time is not ripe for such displays’ … Who ever rises contrite from the study of civil or even canon law? And further: scholarship sometimes swells learning into a tumour, but never or scarcely ever inflames devotion. I would rather have you ponder the Psalms and turn over the moral writings of St Gregory than philosophize scholastically.71

This letter is famous for John’s apparent rejection of the study of law, and has been interpreted as a counsel of moderation or despair at a time when the archbishop’s cause was gaining little ground. The central point of this passage, however, is neither law nor the progress of the cause, but the importance of the contemplative life. The Church Fathers, notably Gregory the Great in his moral writings, wrote of the varying attractions of contemplation and action. Contemplation of the divine mysteries, which is represented by the biblical figures Mary of Bethany and Jacob’s wife Rachel, is the ‘preferable’ life, but action on behalf of one’s neighbour, represented by Mary’s sister Martha, and Jacob’s other wife, Rachel’s sister Leah, is ‘more necessary’.72 However, as John suggests here, effective action often requires contemplation as a prelude. This ties in with Herbert’s idea of Pontigny as a training-school for combat, in which in books were the weapons, and meditation the exercises.73 When Anselm went into exile for the first time, he chose as his dwellingplace the mountain of Liberi, ‘as far removed from the thronging crowd as if it were in a desert’. There he ordered his life as he had as a monk, before he became archbishop: ‘Day and night his mind was occupied with acts of holiness, with divine contemplation, and with the unravelling of sacred mysteries.’ But ‘at the same time he made himself all things to all men’.74 Thomas too, as depicted by William of Canterbury, enjoyed the contemplative life at Pontigny, but also engaged in action of behalf of his neighbour: 70

MTB 3. 379. CTB no. 42, pp. 172–3. 72 See Luke 10:38–42; Gen. 29–31; above, p. 54–5. 73 MTB 3. 358. 74 VA p. 107. 71



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Therefore in the monastery of Pontigny resting from exterior action, and as if composing himself after a journey, he shook off the old dust of error which he had collected on the way, bearing exile as purgatory for a laxer life. And discovering the monk between the precincts of the monastery, whom he had not satisfied amidst the din of the secular world, now with Mary he sat at the feet of the Lord Jesus, now with Martha he exerted himself in the ministry of the Lord Jesus, learning from experience what might be delightful under the joy of Rachel, what is harsh under her sister duty. Meanwhile, a possessor of the upper fountain, he sighed for the punishment of the reprobate, and the rewards of the blessed, and while he ranged between the dealings of heaven and earth, in turn he is present in the things of men and the conversations of angels. And it happened that planted among fruitful trees he grew into a terebinth tree, which began to distil wholesome resin before the time of harvest.75

The first year of Thomas’s exile is presented as one of inner development, but soon the demands of action came to outweigh those of contemplation. The exile was a journey not only for Thomas but for his cause, and for the biographers the perfection of the man went hand-in-hand with a vindication of that cause. For some writers, and particularly Herbert of Bosham, the exile could be characterized as a forward march, rather than a retreat, in which Thomas, in contrast his detractors, could be seen to have boldly engaged the enemy in battle. Advance to martyrdom If leisure and preparation were appropriate to the early phase of Becket’s exile, the biographers suggest that by 1166 it was time for him to revive from repose and take vigorous steps in the Church’s defence. As Anonymous II puts it, ‘It was not safe among so many great dangers for the captain of the ship to sleep for too long.’76 Herbert describes how Thomas, observing the iniquity of his enemies, could no longer remain patient, could no longer sleep, but instead roused himself, telling his household that they must leave Rachel’s embraces now that ‘The pastoral care which we have undertaken urges us to the performance of necessary things.’77 Thomas brought to a close this phase of his exile, that of repose and leisure, when he set out for Vézelay. We have seen how the pastor’s appropriate defence of his flock dominated the exchange of letters of 1166. Thomas and his supporters argued that in speaking out against the enemies of the Church, he was fulfilling the duty of the pastor to root out evil from the field of the Lord. The English episcopacy, led by Gilbert Foliot, claimed that Thomas’s wanton actions – not just at Vézelay but before – had endangered the very flock which he claimed to be defending. The imagery 75 MTB

1. 49. See Josh. 15:19; Judg. 1:15; above p. 54–5. 4. 111. 77 MTB 3. 380–2. 76 MTB

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of flight featured prominently in both. In July 1166, Thomas wrote to the English clergy explaining why he had been forced to act in this way on his own initiative: I have been silent for a long time, waiting to see if the Lord would perchance inspire you who turned your backs on the day of the battle to recover your strength; waiting to see if even one among your number would perhaps rise in opposition and station himself like a wall for the house of Israel.78

The reference here is to the biblical tribe of Ephraim who, ‘armed with the bow, turned back in the day of battle. They did not keep God’s covenant, but refused to walk according to his law.’79 Thomas’s accusation prompted Gilbert’s response in Multiplicem nobis with reference to the Council of Clarendon of 1164: Who fled? Who turned tail? Whose spirit was broken? Your letter accuses us of turning away in the day of the battle, of not rising up in opposition; of not standing like a wall for the Lord’s house. Let God judge between us; let him judge for whom we stood, for whom we refused to give way before the threat of princes; let him judge who fled, who was a deserter in the battle.

Gilbert lists the names of the bishops who stood firm, the last name being his own, before concluding, ‘The captain of the army himself turned tail; the leader of the camp fled.’80 Herbert of Bosham devotes thousands of words to supporting Thomas’s claim that he was acting as the true the defender of the Church in contrast to the English bishops who had failed in their duty. But one of the most lengthy and striking discussions of this theme occurs not in the midst of his account of Vézelay or his later public confrontations, but in a preface to his account of Thomas’s flight from England. Herbert begins by pointing to parallels with Jesus, Paul, Jacob and Elijah, and the Lord’s mandate to flee from city to city. ‘Therefore’, he writes, ‘no apology is necessary for Thomas’s flight; rather, the flight of those who remained, namely the provincial bishops, is inexcusable.’ Then, under the heading Spiritual flight, where the mercenary, not the shepherd, flees, he expands on this theme: And certainly they who remained fled; for no one can deny that they fled, who deserting their archbishop, the leader of their army, in the day of battle, crossed to the other side. They fled like the tribe of Ephraim, who being armed and carrying bows – that is, preparing themselves in advance for the battle and promising help – were turned on the day of the battle. Remaining in the body, and embracing the things of the flesh, they fled in the spirit. Under the bushel

78 CTB

no. 95, pp. 390–1. 78 (77):9–10. 80 CTB no. 109, pp. 510–11. 79 Ps.



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of fear they abandoned the arms of their militia and the light of truth, when they ought to have risen from adversity against the princes and powers of this world, and stood for the house of Israel in the battle on the day of the Lord. Otherwise the soldier of the Lord carries the sword without cause; rather, as we already said, under the bushel of fear abandons his sword and flees, even if not in the body, nevertheless in the spirit. Indeed, this flight, not of the body but the spirit, which fear or love of the world produces in the hireling, is always inexcusable.

Such ministers of the altar, laments Herbert, in their gilded temples observe the duty of singing and praying, but not that of arguing, rebuking, resisting, and opposing oneself to worldly powers lest they lose worldly advantage. Fleeing is this way they attained what the fleeing Thomas despised, their flight certainly perishing from Thomas in his flight, so that fleeing he could truly sing that line from the Psalm along the way, ‘Flight has perished from me.’81

Here Herbert refers back to the arguments made in Thomas’s letters, but his principal source is one which does not appear to be used by other biographers: Augustine’s theological and anti-heretical writings. Augustine, in Contra Gaudentium, challenges the Donatists’ view, based on John 10:11–12, that episcopal flight is always wrong. Such a blanket rejection of flight, he argues, identifies Paul in his flight as a hireling. Rather, Augustine claims, ‘The hireling to which the Lord refers, sees the wolf and flees, not in the body but in the spirit, when he abandons righteousness through fear.’82 His discussion of John 10:11–12 in In Iohannis Evangelium expands upon this argument. Surely, he writes, Peter, Paul and the apostles were not hirelings when they fled. Who, then, is the hireling? ‘He who seeks his own, and not the things of Jesus Christ. He who dares not freely denounce a sinner.’ He who ought to rebuke or excommunicate a sinner often, through fear of losing the advantage of human friendship, remains silent, and in this way the wolf seizes the sheep by the throat: You are silent and do not condemn. O hireling, you saw the wolf coming and fled. Perhaps you say in response, ‘Look, here I am, I did not flee.’ You fled because you were silent; you were silent because you were afraid. You stood in the body but fled in the spirit, unlike [Paul] who said ‘For though I am absent in body, yet I am with you in spirit.’ For how did he flee in the spirit, who though absent in the body, corrected the fornicators in his letters?83

Augustine also discusses this theme with reference to Psalm 142 (141):4, ‘Flight has perished from me’:

81 MTB

3. 320–2; see Ps. 142 (141):4. Gaudentium, ed. M. Petschenig (1890), 1. 16, CSEL 53. 211–12. 83 In Iohannis Evangelium, ed. R. Willems, 46. 7, 8, CCSL 36. 402–3; see Col. 2:5. 82 Contra

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Flight perishes from him who does not flee. For he who does not flee suffers whatever he can for Christ. That, is, he does not flee in the spirit. For it is lawful to flee in the body, it is allowed, it is permitted, according to the Lord’s saying, ‘If you are persecuted in one city, flee into another.’ Therefore no refuge remains to the man who does not flee in the spirit.84

Herbert, in employing Augustine’s doctrine of spiritual flight, not only repudiates the charge of cowardice made against Thomas, but characterizes the exile as an act of bravery, in contrast to the spiritual cowardice and betrayal of the bishops. Rather than fleeing from death, his progress through exile was a brave defence of the Church’s cause. It was also a journey towards a willingly undertaken death. These themes are recapitulated in his reflections on Thomas’s reasons for return, a subject which is largely neglected by other writers. Here he combines Augustine’s idea of physical flight as spiritual adhesion with the same writer’s discussion of legitimate flight in his letter to Honoratus to present Thomas’s exile, return and martyrdom as part of an integrated whole. Many biographers suggest that, though Thomas’s glorious death was destined, he was allowed to evade death before he and his cause had reached maturity. As a child he fell into a mill but miraculously evaded death ‘lest the light of Israel be extinguished’, a reference to David’s escape from the battlefield.85 Likewise, as Anonymous I remarks, he fled England not in fear for himself but for his Church, choosing ‘not to evade death, but to defer it for a time’.86 Anonymous II writes that ‘if first, [Thomas] fled by the example of Christ, Paul and the other disciples, choosing the most suitable and useful time for the Church, then, when the time advised, that is, after a saintly course of life, and having made public the righteousness of his cause’, he chose martyrdom.87 Herbert, commenting that ‘flight perished’ from the archbishop, puts it most succinctly: ‘Realizing that there is a time for all things, a time for fleeing and a time for advancing, he first fled (fugit), but later fearlessly advanced (occurrit)’, following the example of Jesus who had done likewise.88 Herbert’s fullest meditation on this theme occurs in his account of the aftermath of the Council of Montmartre in November 1169, a year before Thomas’s return. Despite the king abandoning the royal customs and promising full restoration to the archbishop, negotiations had collapsed when Thomas demanded a kiss of peace from Henry. Herbert reports a lengthy speech by Thomas’s advisors in which they assert that such a demand presents no 84

Enn. Ps. 142 (141):4, CCSL 40. 2053. Similar arguments appear in Contra Faustum 22. 36, CSEL 25. 629–30, and more briefly in Sermo 133. 7, PL 38. 741–2, and De Opere Monachorum, ed. I. Zycha (1900), 27. 35, CSEL 41. 583–4. 85 MTB 2. 360–1; see 2 Sam. 21:17. 86 MTB 4. 53. 87 MTB 4. 122. 88 MTB 3. 322, 319; see 1. 2.



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reason to abandon a peaceful settlement which will ensure their return. It is easy to believe that he is accurately reporting their sentiments, but the language attributed to them owes a great deal to Herbert. It also owes much to Augustine. In Herbert’s interpretation, Thomas fled because he was facing personal, rather than common, persecution, and his flock was not left bereft of ministers. However, these ministers, by ‘fleeing in the day of the battle’, had failed the flock, so that now there existed a general danger to the English Church, rather than a specific threat to Thomas. Now, say Thomas’s advisers, as they enter upon the sixth year of exile, their great consolation is that ‘The truth and poverty of our pilgrimage are inseparable allies. Our cause, as a rising light, every day becomes clearer and clearer to the world, as shown even by the testimony of our enemies.’ The disputes which prompted and sustained their exile – the royal customs, property matters, the recognition of ‘God’s honour’ – have now been laid to rest, and the only matter which thwarted reconciliation at Montmartre was the king’s denial to Thomas of the kiss of peace. This ought not, they say, cause the archbishop to remain absent from his Church, ‘certainly when there is danger to many from the common (commune) absence of the priest’. There is no one to teach, to celebrate the sacraments, to rebuke the sinner, and so the sheep are allowed to stray before the wolf: And thus from your absence there is great detriment to the church both in spiritual and temporal things, great harm and common (commune) danger. Up to this certainly the cause of your absence and exile was most just; but now, in this common danger and general (generale) threat, neither absence nor the cause of exile can be just or excusable, but rather damnable and more damnable to the damnable; especially when now the personal (personalis) persecution, on account of which you fled, has passed away, the king publicly offering your church to you in all security and peace, whatever he himself may arrange, whatever he might desire within. Therefore now that personal persecution which went before is remiss, to which (as we have already shown) the general succeeded, in which the good pastor is bound not to absent himself, not to flee, but to ascend from adversity, to oppose himself, and even to hurl himself before the naked blade, and thus, if it is necessary, to lay down his life for his sheep. And so to the priestly man there is a time of fleeing (fugiendi) and a time of advancing (occurrendi): the time of flight when the person is sought, as the Lord said, ‘If you are persecuted in one town flee to another’, but a time of advancing when the Church is endangered. Concerning which Scripture says, ‘He advanced like a lion, he scorned fear nor did he withdraw the sword.’

In such a way, they say, Paul first fled from Damascus by escaping through a window, but later went into Jerusalem to die. Jesus as a child fled into Egypt, but later as a robust adult advanced. So He who said to his people, when they were still like delicate children on their mothers’ milk, ‘If you are persecuted in one town flee to the next’, later

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in speech and in deed, taught them as robust adults that they ought to advance, saying ‘Behold, I send you as sheep before wolves – Go!’

Thomas accepts their advice and readies himself to return to suffer whatever he should meet.89 The coronation of the young Henry in June 1170 broke the deadlock. Outraged at the usurpation of Canterbury’s rights, papal envoys threatened the king with interdict and brought him to meet Thomas at Fréteval the following month, where Thomas was offered, and accepted, full restoration to his see. Few writers make much comment on the few months between the peace settlement and Thomas’s return. One exception is William Fitzstephen, who describes the signs that Henry was not prepared to honour the agreement, the portents of danger in England and Thomas’s prediction of his fate.90 The other exception is Herbert. He too relates developments, including his own meeting with the king, which suggested that the peace was an empty one, and the archbishop’s preparations for return, most ominously his sending before him to England of the papal letters of anathema against the prelates involved in the young king’s coronation. On the point of return Thomas is warned of the danger which he would face if he were to return, at which point Herbert, as he tells us, addresses the archbishop.91 The choice, he tells Thomas, is to withdraw in disgrace or proceed bravely and act manfully. If they decide to remain in exile, their enemies will be able to say, ‘Look now how the archbishop of Canterbury, who first fled at Northampton, now flees a second time when he ought to fight – he who claims to stand up for the Church so bravely and so manfully!’ We will be like that timid tribe, who armed and carrying bows were turned back in the day of the battle.

The peace has proved fraudulent, and in this return the archbishop must face a new persecution from the lion of violence in concert with the serpent of deceit. Martyrdom to these forces, he says, would prove a glorious consummation of exile. Jesus was killed through betrayal, and the good pastor is always ready to lay down his life for the sheep. Therefore flight is no longer fit or excusable. Now, he reminds Thomas, six years of exile have passed, ‘And all this time the sinners have built upon your back, prolonging their iniquity, while at the same time unknowingly building an incorrupt crown for you.’ The seventh year is one of rest, and with the crown already prepared, no further polishing is required. The stone, beaten and shaped for so long, no longer requires sculpting. 89

MTB 3. 451–7; see Acts 20:24; Job 39:22. Herbert refers to recent discussions after Montmartre, no. 653, 7. 267. 90 MTB 3. 111–18; see below, p. 185–6. 91 MTB 3. 467–73.



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No furnace fire is needed, when the gold has already been tested in the furnace, where the bones of the old man pile up like firewood, so that the old man in you appears entirely disabled, or rather extinct. When the man has been tested like this, what reason is there to hesitate, what is there to fear?

Thomas replies by declaring, ‘I will enter the land, knowing for certain that there my passion awaits.’92 The return to Canterbury at the start of December 1170 and the martyrdom weeks later proved to be the perfection of Becket’s spiritual journey. Thomas was, as Herbert writes, ‘great in pilgrimage, great in the return from pilgrimage, but greatest in the consummation of pilgrimage’. No excuse is necessary for the flight of a good shepherd. He fled at the appropriate moment, and when his time had come he returned to lay down his life for the sheep. The return to England proved that the exile had not been a flight from duty but a journey towards martyrdom.93 Conclusion The Thomas who landed at Sandwich in early December 1170 was a different man from the one who had fled from the nearby port of Eastry six years before. He had experienced uncertainty, hardship and serious setbacks as never before in his adult life, and had fought his cause with greater determination than he had been prepared to do while in England. Even if we do not accept that his exile was a conscious journey towards martyrdom, this phase of his life is crucial to an understanding of his personality, character and motives. The exile transformed the dispute, too. By 1170 it had reached a maturity and complexity which went well beyond the jurisdictional issues which had dominated the first two years of Thomas’s archiepiscopate. That this is not always fully acknowledged is largely because one afternoon in late December 1170 bestowed upon the conflict a spurious simplicity. The exile is also central to an understanding of the Lives. Inevitably the biographers saw the exile from the vantage-point of Thomas’s murder and posthumous glory, and believed that its aftermath had revealed the significance of those years: Thomas’s exile was a righteous act, sanctioned by tradition; through his experience he had tested and confirmed both his cause and himself. He had, as Herbert put it, built an incorrupt crown for himself. Particularly illuminating is the way in which the more sophisticated writers – John of Salisbury, Alan of Tewkesbury, William of Canterbury and especially Herbert of Bosham – make their case. One the most pronounced features the biographers’ treatment of exile is their resort to law. While some writers cite the canons to condemn Henry’s 92 MTB

3. 473–6; see Ps. 129 (128):3, Wisd. of Sol. 3:6. The image of gold in the furnace is also employed by Athanasius, Fuga, 19, p. 170. 93 MTB 3. 471.

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ancestral customs, say, or to justify Thomas’s ecclesiastical censures, nowhere else is the law so smoothly and effectively integrated into the narrative. The only modern writer, to my knowledge, who has drawn attention to the legal basis of the debate on Thomas’s exile is E. M. Peters in his article ‘The Archbishop and the Hedgehog’, though he only cites Gilbert Foliot’s arguments in Multiplicem nobis and does not acknowledge the biographers’ use of canon law. In this article Peters makes a more general point, which is of direct relevance to my argument. He sees Gilbert’s arguments in Multiplicem nobis, ‘built step by step with canon law firmly in mind, and culminating in the charge of illegal flight which was recognized as one of the technical grounds for removing a bishop’, as characteristic of a time when ‘the masters of the new sciences of law and theology were sweeping all before them’. The growth of canon law over the previous decades had rendered anachronistic any defence of Becket’s public actions based on his spiritual stature: Both Thomas and Gilbert [Foliot] drew increasingly on the ‘laws and canons’ in attack and defence. Gone were the allegories, scriptural and classical references, and the whole apparatus of figurative expression that had permitted some earlier disputes great latitude in which to be settled. In their place are the argumenta and canones of a technical duel.

And he singles out two pieces of writing from the Becket camp – William of Canterbury’s vision of the fugitive hedgehog, and John of Salisbury’s letter to Thomas at Pontigny urging him to abandon the study of law in favour of the scriptures and the moral writings of St Gregory – as examples of a mentality which had had its day.94 It is true that the pontificate of Alexander III marked the point when canon law came to exclude other authorities in certain spheres – marriage, and saintly canonization, for example. But canon law is not easily distinguishable from other forms of discussion, as it depends on such authorities as correspondence, theology, hagiography and history, which did not always necessarily have an original legal function. Furthermore, the advance of canon law did not exclude concurrent developments in other fields, including exegesis, allegory and moral theology. And, as the Lives of Thomas show, it was possible to advance a technical legal argument in combination with other forms of expression. The use of Augustine’s letter to Honoratus is a striking feature of the biographers’ discussion of exile, but equally noteworthy is the way in which the five writers mentioned above managed to overlap different literary traditions and different approaches to the theme of exile. In a single passage, each of these writers might record a historical event, exalt his subject as a saint, interpret Thomas’s actions in a moral light and defend them in contemporary legal terms. In his famous article ‘The Hedgehog and the Fox’ Isaiah Berlin cites the words of the Greek poet Archilochus, ‘The 94 ‘Archbishop

and Hedgehog’, pp. 167, 169–71.



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fox knows many things but the hedgehog knows one big thing’ to illustrate a basic difference between two types of writers: those ‘hedgehogs’ who relate everything to ‘a single, universal, organizing principle’ and those ‘foxes’ who ‘pursue many ends’ and take an approach which is ‘scattered or diffused, moving on many levels’. In this regard, the biographers are confirmed ‘foxes’, and nowhere is this made more clear than in their discussion of exile.95 When Herbert was at Pontigny, Thomas, so he tells us, suggested a new project for him: a revision of Peter Lombard’s Magna Glosatura on the Psalms and Epistles. This he completed shortly after Thomas’s murder. If one turns to 2 Corinthians 11, the discussion of Paul’s escape from Damascus, one finds the Lombard citing other examples of justified flight, based on Augustine’s letter to Honoratus. Beside this, Herbert has added the name of the most recent example: ‘our blessed neomartyr Thomas’. Here the discussion has come full circle. He whose exile was first condemned, and then justified, on the basis of ancient tradition, has himself become part of that tradition.96

95

I. Berlin, ‘The Hedgehog and the Fox’, Russian Thinkers, ed. H. Hardy and A. Kelly (London, 1978), p. 22. 96 Cambridge, Trinity College, MS B 5. 6. Here Herbert makes a cross-reference to ‘Flight perished from me’ (Ps. 142 (141):4), but unfortunately the relevant folio is missing from Bodleian MS Auct. E. inf. 6.

12 Martyrdom

Ever since the evening of 29 December 1170 perceptions of Thomas Becket’s life have been coloured by his image in death. No matter how vivid or significant are the pictures we have of Thomas in his various roles – as the king’s servant, archbishop, exile – the image of the murder victim and triumphant saint loom over them. Thomas the martyr can detract from Thomas the chancellor and archbishop and can distort our perception of his life. But this is understandable if we consider the extraordinary nature of his death. The familiarity of the image of Thomas’s murder has dimmed the shock of the event. In reading the biographers’ accounts we need to be reminded that this was the leader of the English Church at the height of his fame, murdered in his own cathedral by agents of the king in a place and time where such martyrs must have seemed an exotic reminder of a distant past. For the five biographers who witnessed it – John, Edward Grim, Benedict, William of Canterbury and William Fitzstephen – no occurrence in their lives could have compared, and for those who did not witness it with their own eyes, it still represented the most momentous event of their age. Benedict’s work deals only with the murder and its aftermath, and Alan does not cover it. The treatment of the murder is most markedly different from what went before in Grim’s Life, where he provides both detailed description and subtle reflection not found elsewhere in his work. For the others, their familiar characteristics are, if anything, amplified when they turn to the murder. John’s account is brief but encapsulates much found in the later works. The clearest and most succinct narrative is that of Anonymous I, while Anonymous II is vague on details and inclined to interpretation. William of Canterbury and William Fitzstephen’s both combine detailed description with reflection, though Fitzstephen’s is superior in both respects. As elsewhere, Herbert of Bosham’s stands apart. Whereas in sequence and detail his shares much with the others, his elaborate reflections are of a different kind from anything found in the other Lives, and as such require separate treatment. 

Abbott, St Thomas of Canterbury, vol. 1, pp. 11–219, analyses parallels and discrepancies between the various accounts. See also Urry, Becket, pp. 100–49; Barlow, Becket,

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Return I: the parallel accounts ‘Fate is drawing me, unhappy wretch that I am, to that afflicted church.’ So wrote Thomas in late October 1170 in his last surviving letter to King Henry. He continues: I shall return to her, perhaps to die, to prevent her destruction, unless your piety deigns swiftly to offer us some other comfort. But whether we live or die, we are and will always be yours in the Lord; and whatever happens to us and ours, may God bless you and your children.

Who knows what Thomas truly expected as he prepared to return. There were ample signs of danger in the two months after he wrote that letter; but on the other hand, his actions, while often highly provocative, do not necessarily seem those of someone who believed his days were soon about to end. The biographers, however, could read into those signs the clear foreshadowing of Thomas’s martyrdom, and into those actions his willing embrace of that fate. William Fitzstephen notes the prophetic words with which Thomas took his leave, for the last time, of King Louis, the bishop of Paris, and King Henry. He told Louis he was going into England ‘to play for heads’, and when the king suggested he stay in France he replied, ‘God’s will be done.’ To the bishop of Paris he said, ‘I am going into England to die.’ And when Henry promised he would accompany him to England, Thomas said, ‘Lord, my heart tells me that in taking my leave of you now, I will not see you again in this life.’ ‘Do you think I do not keep my word?’, demanded the king, to which the archbishop replied, ‘Far be it from you, lord.’ When Thomas reached the French shore at the port of Wissant some of his clerks urged him to return, but he answered, ‘What is your hurry? Within forty days of landing you will wish you

pp. 225–50; Duggan, Becket, pp. 201–23. For the symbolism employed by the bio­ graphers, see Pânzaru, ‘Caput mystice’; Aurell, ‘Meurtre de Becket’, pp. 200–10; J.-P. Perrot, ‘Violence et sacré: du meurtre au sacrifice dans la Vie de Saint Thomas Becket de Guernes de Pont-Sainte-Maxence’, La Violence dans le Monde Medieval (Aix-en­Provence, 1994), pp. 399–412. On literary approaches to martyrdom, see, for example, H. Delehaye, Les passions des martyrs et les genres littéraires (Brussels, 1921); P.-A. Février, ‘Martyre et sainteté’, Les fonctions des saints dans la monde occidental (IIIe-XIIIe siècle), Actes du colloque organisé par ‘La Sapienza’, Rome 27–29 octobre 1988, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 149 (Rome, 1991), pp. 51–80.  CTB no. 320, pp. 1334–5.  John of Salisbury and Thomas report dangers: LJS no. 304; CTB no. 326. Thomas ­carries out normal business: CTB nos. 327–9.  MTB 3. 113.  MTB 3. 116.

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were anywhere but England.’ Still, Thomas readied himself for return ‘secure in the Holy Spirit, not afraid to die for God and the cause of the church’. Similar forebodings, coupled with Thomas’s determination to face death, are reported by other writers, but they also acknowledge the joy and relief of the returning exiles and those who had waited for their return. Fitzstephen describes how all the people from the greatest to the least rejoiced, decorated the cathedral, dressed in their finest garments and prepared a public banquet. As Thomas entered in solemn procession, the cathedral resounded with hymns and organ-music, fanfares of trumpets, and loud rejoicing. There Thomas preached a sermon on the text: ‘Here we have no abiding city but we seek one to come.’ The following day Thomas set off for London on his way to visit the young king, whose court was at Winchester. Fitzstephen describes how, as he approached the priory of St Mary Overy in Southwark, a huge crowd of clergy and people went out to meet him, including around three thousand poor scholars and clerks of the churches of London. When he eventually reached the church, he was greeted with the canons singing the Benedictus. But even amidst such public acclaim, there were signs of impending danger. At Southwark, A certain foolish, shameless and prattling woman called Matilda, who tended to force herself on public courts and gatherings, cried out and repeated a number of times, ‘Archbishop, watch out for the knife’, so that everyone wondered what portents or treachery she had heard of, which she had signified to him with these words.

And there was much reason to be afraid. The settlement with the king at Fréteval had not removed the resentment of Thomas’s long-standing opponents, and some, in particular the de Broc family who had held the Canterbury estates in the archbishop’s absence, had much to lose by his restoration. Thomas’s decision on the eve of return to issue censures against Roger of York, Gilbert of London and Jocelin of Salisbury for their part in the young Henry’s coronation had lit the fuse which led to his murder. According to Anonymous II, opinion was divided within the country, some saying that Thomas was a just man of great courage and judgement, against which others said, ‘No, he deceives himself and acts rashly.’ Shortly after landing at Sandwich, Thomas was confronted by senior royal officers who accused him of wishing to take the crown away from the young king, and demanded that he absolve the censured ecclesiastics. The same charge and demand were reiterated the next day at Canterbury by the royal officials and clerks of the prelates in question, as they would be by the knights weeks later in the cathedral. When Thomas  MTB

3. 117; see 1. 85–6; Guernes v. 4656–80. 3. 119–20; Heb. 13:14; see MTB 4. 69, Guernes v. 4751–5.  MTB 3. 121–3.  MTB 4. 125.  MTB

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reached London, messengers of the young king informed him that their master did not wish to see him and that he was to return to Canterbury. There, within the sept of his church, where he lived out the rest of his days, the archbishop heard reports of outrages carried out by the de Brocs; how they intercepted one of his ships bearing wine and killed or imprisoned the sailors; how they hunted in his deer park, captured his hunting-dogs and mutilated a horse carrying his provisions. These setbacks are reported by the biographers as strengthening the archbishop’s resolve. Grim writes that Thomas rejoiced at hearing the young king’s mandate, because he foresaw in such things his martyrdom approaching.10 William of Canterbury tells us that when one of his clerks whom Thomas sent out of his see to gather information warned the archbishop of danger, his response was to touch his neck and say, ‘Here, here, the boys will find me.’11 In Fitzstephen’s words, Thomas thought over all these indications of his imminent martyrdom, and steadied his soul for his exit from Egypt. So from day to day he prepared himself, more prodigal in almsgiving, more devoted in prayer, more anxious in the care of his soul. Indeed, several times in speaking with his clerks, he said that this affair could not be brought to completion without bloodshed, and that he would stand by the church’s cause up to death. At the time, his men did not understand what he was saying, but later those who saw what happened recalled these words. And the archbishop wrote to the lord pope that nothing was in store for him except death and the sword, and begged him to pray to God more attentively on his behalf.12

Others concur, observing that he lived out the rest of his life in holiness, and steadied his spirit and stood immobile in defence of the Church’s right.13 Benedict of Peterborough describes how, informed of threats against his life, he said, ‘Let them find me prepared for death; let them do what they wish to do. I know indeed, my son, and am certain that I will die by arms. Nevertheless they may not kill me outside my church.’ Surely also with these words is proved not only his foreknowledge of his passion but also the manner and place?

He chose to drink cheerfully the cup of the Lord, adds Benedict, rather than

10 MTB

2. 427. MTB 1. 113–5. William compares the archbishop’s confinement to that of Semey, whom Solomon had executed when he disobeyed his orders to remain in Jerusalem. Thomas, however, was killed though he innocently obeyed the royal mandate. He likens this clerk to Chusy, David’s informant. See 1 Kings 2:36–44; 2 Sam. 18:21. 12 MTB 3. 126–7. 13 MTB 2. 427; 4. 69, 126; Guernes v. 4756–65. 11

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fleeing or calling in an army, just as Christ refused to call for twelve legions of angels when he could have done so.14 Thomas’s last public act was to celebrate mass on Christmas Day, when, according to some writers, he reminded the people that they already had one martyr, Aelfeah, and might soon have another.15 Meanwhile, the censured prelates had crossed the Channel and presented their complaint before the king at Bur. Some writers emphasize the role of York, Guernes claiming that he persuaded the others by giving them 40 marks each: ‘Thus the blood of the righteous was bought and sold, thus Judas the covetous went to the Jews.’16 Fitzstephen blames them for accusing Thomas without allowing him to defend himself, something which even the High Priests allowed to Jesus.17 It was this accusation that provoked Henry to utter his famous words of anger against Thomas before his courtiers, though nowhere in the Lives is Thomas described as a turbulent or troublesome priest. In fact, the words attributed to Henry dwell on Thomas’s lowly background and his ingratitude: in William of Canterbury’s words, ‘a man who first burst into my court with a knapsack and a limping mule’ now raises up his heel, trying to seize the throne for himself.18 Henry’s words provoked four of his courtiers – Reginald Fitzurse, Hugh de Morville, William de Tracy and Richard le Bret – to set out for Canterbury. Usually described as knights, though actually quite distinguished barons, they receive little attention from the biographers.19 Fitzstephen tells us that the next day Henry again complained of Thomas and was told by Enjuger de Bohun that, ‘The only way to deal with such a man is to hang him on a gibbet, twist stiff branches into a crown and crucify him’, while William de Mandeville said that he had once heard of a pope who had been killed for his insolence and intolerable impudence.20 Hearing that the knights had set out without his knowledge, the king sent three senior men after them, but it was too late. For, as many writers note, though it was winter, and the sea and weather changeable, and the four knights each embarked from different

14 MTB

2. 17–19; Matt. 26:63. 2. 434, 3. 130, Guernes v. 4951–70, 5426–35. 16 Guernes v. 5121–35; see MTB 1. 121. 17 MTB 3. 127. 18 MTB 1. 121–2. Compare MTB 2. 429; 4. 69; Guernes v. 5031–40. Fitzstephen does not report the words but merely writes that Henry’s bitterness and anger were ‘manifest in his countenance and his gestures’, MTB 3. 128. 19 The exception is William of Canterbury, who fills in some personal detail: MTB 1. 128–9. On their provenance and fate, see N. Vincent, ‘The Murderers of Thomas Becket’, Bischofsmord im Mittelalter: Murder of Bishops, ed. N. Fryde and D. Reitz (Gottingen, 2003), pp. 211–72. 20 MTB 3. 128–9. 15 MTB

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ports, they arrived not only on the same day, but at the same hour at their determined rendezvous, the de Broc seat, Saltwood Castle.21 Arrest I: the parallel accounts We can be reasonably sure that the knights’ immediate intention was to arrest Thomas, not to kill him. This is suggested by their reported behaviour and by some statements by the biographers. Prelates had been arrested and imprisoned before, including Thomas’s predecessor Stigand, who ended his years in prison. But whatever fate the knights expected Thomas to face after his arrest, they had come prepared to use force, raising a garrison and having arms and supporters at hand. William of Canterbury tells us that William de Mandeville, one of those who followed the knights to England from the king’s court, admitted after the murder that he too would have used force against Thomas had he continued in his obstinacy.22 It is difficult to pinpoint the exact moment when the knights’ intentions turned murderous, but the sequence of events which the biographers outline indicates that Thomas provoked the knights in three different ways before blows rained down on him. First, the knights interviewed Thomas in his chamber, complaining that he had censured the prelates and wished to take the crown away from the young king. Thomas’s response led them to place him under arrest and arm themselves. Then, while they were arming, the monks persuaded Thomas to enter the cathedral, thereby effectively resisting arrest. Finally, the knights’ entrance into the cathedral led to an angry exchange with the archbishop, which culminated in his killing. In the biographers’ description of these events, the archbishop’s willing embrace of death is again emphasized. But in addition, Thomas is presented as the good shepherd, tending to his sheep: those close by, whom he protects from death, but also those within the wider Church for whom he speaks out. It was about three o’clock when the knights were admitted to Thomas’s chamber where he was sitting with his advisors. At first neither Thomas nor the knights spoke, but when he eventually greeted them, they launched into their complaints against him, and he replied that it was not in his power to absolve the churchmen of papal censures, and that he had no intention of disinheriting the young Henry. Edward Grim’s is one of the fullest accounts. As tempers rose, Thomas said, ‘Cease your threats and quiet your brawling. I trust in the King of heaven Who suffered for His people on the cross. From this day forth no one will see the sea between me and my church. I did not come back to flee. He who seeks me will find me here.’ When they complained of his censures, ‘the athlete of Christ, standing up to his slanderers in fervour of spirit’, declared that he would not spare anyone who violated 21 MTB 22 MTB

1. 127; 3. 129–30; 4. 128. 1. 126.

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the laws of the Church. The knights jumped to their feet and said, ‘We warn you that you have spoken in danger to your head.’ ‘Have you come to kill me then?’, replied Thomas, echoing the words of Jesus in his arrest.23 ‘I have committed my cause to the Judge of all, so I am not moved by threats, nor are your swords more ready to strike than my soul is ready for martyrdom. Look all you like for one who will run away; for you will find me foot to foot in the battle of the Lord.’24 Fitzstephen gives a similar report which also refers back to his exile. Thomas, he writes, ‘like a confident lion was without fear’, a reference to the reading which Gilbert Foliot used to condemn Thomas’s flight from England: ‘The wicked flee when no man pursues, but the righteous are bold as a lion.’25 Prepared to fight to the death for justice and the liberty of his church, he said, You threaten me in vain; if all the swords of England were ready for my head, from the observation of God’s justice and obedience to the lord pope your terrors cannot move me. Foot to foot you will find me in the battle of the Lord. Once I fled like a timid priest; I returned in counsel and obedience of the lord pope and his church: I will never again desert it. If it is allowed to me in peace to discharge my priesthood, it is good to me; if it is not, so be the wish of God.26

Then as the knights left the chamber in order to arm themselves, they called on the clerks and monks present to guard the archbishop so that he did not leave. But, as Benedict reports, Thomas said, ‘What is this? Do you think I want to slip away by escape? Not for the king, not for anyone living will I take to flight. I have not come to flee, but to await the fury of the aggressors and the malice of the impious.’27 Other writers claim that he followed them to the door and placing his hand on his neck said, ‘Here, here you will find me.’28 Some also report that at this point John of Salisbury remonstrated with the archbishop, urging him not to exasperate the knights, but Thomas, in Guernes’s words, answered, ‘We must all die. You will never find me flinching from what is right for fear of death. And I want to endure death for the love of God; they cannot be any readier to strike than my heart is to suffer martyrdom.’29 These reported comments echo aspects of the biographers’ earlier description of Thomas, recalling his exile but also his constancy and boldness of speech. They also recall the early Christian martyrs. Polycarp’s captors found 23 See

Matt. 26:55; Mark 14:48; Luke 22:52; see below, p. 193–4. 2. 432–3. 25 Prov. 28:1. 26 MTB 3. 134–5; see also 4. 72, Guernes v. 5298–9. 27 MTB 2. 8; compare 1. 130. 28 MTB 2. 433; 4. 72; Guernes v. 5341–4, 5356–8. 29 Guernes v. 5371–5; Shirley, p. 152. 24 MTB

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him reclining in an upper room: ‘He could have left and gone elsewhere but he refused, saying, “May the will of God be done.” ’ All were amazed at his composure as he prepared food for them and asked to be allowed time to pray. Transported to the amphitheatre, he was taken down roughly from the carriage ‘But taking no notice, as if nothing had happened, he walked on eagerly and quickly.’ Threatened with animals, then the flames, he said, ‘Why then do you hesitate? Come, do what you will.30 A more proximate example is provided by Abbo’s tenth-century Life of King Edmund. When Bishop Humbert urges the king to subject himself, as demanded, to the Danish king, Edward replied, What do you suggest, that in the extremity of life, abandoned by my attendants, I dishonour my glory by flight? No one has ever accused me of fleeing from the battlefield … the Almighty Judge is present as my witness that whether I live or die, nothing will separate me from the love of Christ.31

Next most writers describe how the knights, returning armed, found the doors barred and had to break in through a partition. Thomas wished to remain where he was, but was persuaded or forced, depending on the account, to enter the church. Edward Grim again provides the fullest account: Terrified by the fearful and uproarious din the servants and almost all the clerks were scattered this way and that like sheep before wolves. Those who remained called out for him to flee into the church, but he, mindful of his former promise that he would not in fear of death run away from the killers of the flesh, refused flight. For in such a case one ought not flee from city to city,32 but rather give an example to his people that everyone should prefer to succumb to the swords rather than see divine law scorned and the sacred canons subverted. But equally, he who had for a long time burned with love of martyrdom, having attained, as it seemed, an opportunity to fulfil it, feared lest it be deferred or even pass him by completely if he fled to the church.

The archbishop remained immobile, ‘determined to await the happy hour of his consummation which he had longed for with many sighs and sought with much devotion’, until he was physically dragged, carried and pushed into the cathedral: What a sincere and untroubled conscience had the good shepherd, who in the cause and protection of his flock did not wish to postpone his own death, when he could have, nor evade the executioner, so that satiated with the blood of the shepherd, the fury of the wolves might keep off the sheep.33

30 ACM

pp. 6–11; see Acts 21:14. Lives, ed. Winterbottom, p. 75. 32 See Matt. 10:23; see above, pp. 158–61. 33 MTB 2. 433–4. 31 Three

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The sense that Thomas had long expected and burned for martyrdom and was determined to face death is present in the other accounts,34 but also present in some is the sense that his actions were those of the good shepherd prepared to lay down his life for the sheep rather than flee from city to city. Guernes writes that Thomas’s men ‘began to scatter like sheep pursued by wolves, just as the apostles did when they saw Pilate’s men arrest Jesus’.35 Fitzstephen describes how ‘He walked on slowly, last of all, driving all before him, like a good shepherd and his sheep.’36 Some writers say that Thomas insisted that he have his cross carried before him, in Benedict’s words, mindful to observe the precept, ‘He who will come after me let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.’37 In transferring to the cathedral, they needed to pass through the cloister, but, as some writers mention, when they came to it they found it locked. Benedict explains that two cellarers, whom he names, pulled back the bolt from the other side, but others claim that one of the archbishop’s party miraculously managed to pull it back as if it were only stuck with glue.38 When Thomas entered the church the monks broke off vespers and, in Grim’s words, bolting the folding-door of the church they made haste to keep off the enemy from the killing of the shepherd. But the wonderful athlete turned to them and ordered them to open the doors of the church, saying, ‘It is not right to turn the house of prayer, the church of Christ, into a fortress which, even if it is not closed is enough of a defence for its children. And we will triumph over the enemy not by fighting but by suffering, for we have come to suffer, not to resist.’39

Grim is echoed by other writers,40 but Benedict adds a unique detail: that Thomas opened the door, and removing this one and that from the folding door, his people, who had been left to the jaws of the wolves, he dragged into the church with his most sacred hands, saying, ‘Come in, come in quickly!’ so that he could say with the Lord, ‘Of those whom thou gavest me I lost not one.’41

34 MTB

1. 131–2; 2. 9–11; 3. 137–9; 4. 74, 129; Guernes v. 5381–90, 5436–43. v. 5411–14. 36 MTB 3. 138. 37 MTB 3. 491; 2. 11; see Matt. 16:24. 38 MTB 2. 11, 434–5; 4. 75; Guernes v. 5444–55. Note the similarity with the incident at the end of the Council of Northampton, above, p. 139, and in the account of Flavian’s martyrdom, ACM pp. 230–1. 39 MTB 2. 435. 40 MTB 3. 139; Guernes v. 5477–87. 41 MTB 2. 11–12; John 18:9. 35 Guernes

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A number of writers describe how, on entering the church, Thomas was abandoned by most of his clerks and monks, though there is some disagreement as to whether this happened immediately on the archbishop’s entrance, after the entrance of the knights or after the first blow. William of Canterbury and Anonymous II draw the parallel with the apostles abandoning Jesus, as He predicted when He said, ‘Tonight you will all desert me; for it is written, “I shall strike the shepherd and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.” ’42 Next the knights burst in and challenged Thomas. There are some differences in the reports of the exchange – Grim, for example, tells us that the knights called out, ‘Where is Thomas Becket, traitor to the king and realm?’, an insulting reminder of the archbishop’s background.43 But a consistent theme in most accounts is the similarity to the arrest of Christ. In the Synoptic Gospels, when the mob approaches Jesus to arrest him, one of his company cuts off the ear of the High Priest’s slave with his sword, but Jesus miraculously restores it. Then he says to them, ‘Have you come, as against a robber, with swords and clubs to arrest me?’44 Then they seize him and the disciples flee.45 In John’s Gospel, Jesus asks them, ‘For whom are you looking?’ They reply, ‘Jesus of Nazareth’, and he says, ‘I am He’:46 When He said to them, ‘I am He’, they went backward and fell to the ground. Once more He asked them, ‘Whom do you seek?’ and they said, ‘Jesus of Nazareth.’ Jesus replied, ‘I told you that I am He, so if you are after Me, let these others go.’ This took place so that the word He had spoken might be fulfilled, ‘I have not lost any of those whom You have given Me.’47

John then reports the cutting off of the slave’s ear, which he attributes to the apostle Peter.48 The parallel is perhaps most explicit in Benedict’s report: The said knights entered the monastery, some crying, ‘Where is the traitor’, others ‘Where is the archbishop?’ The saint, knowing in the spirit all that was to happen to him, left the steps, some of which he had ascended, to go and meet them, saying with a fearless expression, ‘Here I am, not a traitor but archbishop’: imitating the Lord who when the Jews were seeking him went to meet them, saying, ‘I am He.’ Then the first of them came up to the saint and said, ‘Run away, you are a dead man!’ The saint replied, ‘By no means will I fly.’ The sacrilegious knight, laying hands on him, and striking off his cap with the sword said, ‘Come this way, you are a prisoner.’ The saint replied, ‘I will not come, you will do what you wish to do to me here.’ He cast off the border of his 42 MTB

1. 133–4; 4. 130; 3. 139; Matt. 26:31; Mark 14:27. 2. 435. 44 Matt. 26:55; Mark 14:48; Luke 22:52. 45 Matt. 26:56; Mark 14:50. 46 John 18:5. 47 John 18:6–9. 48 John 18:10. 43 MTB

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cloak from the man’s hand. And turning to another knight clad in a breastplate, whom he saw approaching with sword drawn he said, ‘What is it, Reginald? I conferred many benefits on you; and you come to me, into a church, armed?’ Surely by these words the imitator of Christ seemed to follow Christ saying to the Jews, ‘As against a robber have ye come out with swords and staves to seize me.’49 To whom the knight, full of a spirit of fury said, ‘Soon you will know. You are dead man.’50

Benedict’s surviving Passion is incomplete, but we can reasonably guess that he continued the parallel in the same way as almost all the other writers did. Grim’s words are typical: ‘Then’, they said, ‘you will now die and get what you deserve.’ ‘Then’, he said, ‘I am prepared to die for my Lord so that in my blood the church may find liberty and peace, but I forbid you in the name of Almighty God to harm my men, whether clerk or lay, in any way.’ How piously did the illustrious martyr provide for his men, how prudently for himself, lest a bystander be harmed, an innocent crushed, lest an unhappier outcome for a bystander obscure his glory as he hastened to Christ. It was quite fitting that the soldier martyr should follow in the footsteps of his Captain and Saviour, Who when he was being sought by the wicked said, ‘If you seek me, let these men go.’51

Thomas’s constancy in standing up to his killers echoes his behaviour in public confrontations with his opponents during his life, which in turn recall depictions of the trials of the Christian martyrs. There, such constancy is often apparent in their voices and in their faces: Montanus cried out against the pagans in a prophetic voice;52 Polycarp ‘with a sober countenance’ shook his fist at pagans and refused to curse Christ, and when he spoke to his accusers ‘he was filled with a joyful courage; his countenance was filled with grace, and not only did he not collapse in terror at what was said to him, but rather it was the governor that was amazed’;53 and Perpetua advanced to her martyrdom with a shining countenance and calm step, as the beloved of God, as a wife of Christ, putting down everyone’s stare by her own intense gaze.54 Similarly, Edward Grim writes that Thomas came forward unafraid, as is written, ‘The righteous will be brave as a lion without fear’, and addressed the knights ‘in a perfectly clear voice’.55 William Fitzstephen claims that upon seeing the archbishop, the knights initially drew back, ‘as if ashamed and astounded,

49

See also MTB 1. 133. MTB 2. 12–13. 51 MTB 2. 436. Compare 2. 319–20; 4. 131. 52 ACM pp. 226–7. 53 ACM pp. 8–11. 54 ACM pp. 126–7. 55 MTB 2. 435. 50

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and abased by his countenance’.56 And John of Salisbury, referring to Thomas’s ‘steady countenance’, comments that ‘No martyr seems ever to have been more steadfast in his agony than he, or so I would state as my confident opinion, giving to all the martyrs their due respect.’57 Priest and victim I: the parallel accounts Visual representations of Thomas’s murder usually place it before the altar, as does John of Salisbury, in our earliest description of the murder scene. ‘The martyr’, he writes, ‘stood in the cathedral, before Christ’s altar, as we have said, ready to suffer; the hour of slaughter was at hand.’58 Anonymous II, likewise, writes that ‘He crossed, so as to stand before the great altar, and in that his seat consummate the battle, if it were necessary, there shed his blood for Christ, where also he was accustomed to sacrifice Christ for the wellbeing of his people and world.’59 However, others place it differently. Anonymous I tells us that it occurred near the altar of St Benedict, and Guernes locates it between the altar of St Benedict and one dedicated to the Virgin Mary. William of Canterbury tells that when the knights burst in, ‘God’s president of the games planted his footsteps over and against them in a place where long ago in a dream he had seen himself crucified, as it is asserted, having, on the left, the cross that was wont to precede him; on the rear, the party-wall; before him, the icon of the blessed Mary; on all sides, the memorials and relics of the saints.’60 The eagerness of some to place the murder before the altar is explained by its symbolism of Thomas’s murder as a sacrifice, with Thomas as both priest and victim. Anonymous I provides the clearest and most succinct account of the proceedings: The holy man seeing that his martyrdom was now imminent, and that his striker was standing by, joined his hands and opened his eyes, and inclining his head to the striker, said, ‘I commend myself to God and St Denis and St Aelfeah.’ When he had said this, Reginald approached and struck him powerfully from the side in the head, and cut off the top of his crown, and knocked off his cap. The sword fell upon the left shoulder-blade, and cut all his clothes to nakedness. But Master Edward, who stood beside the man, seeing that he was about to strike, put his arm in front as protection, and it was almost completely cut off. William de Tracy approached, and struck him with a great blow on the head; but still he did not fall. The same William struck another powerful blow and at this the holy man fell prone on the pavement. Richard le Bret struck 56

MTB 3. 140. MTB 2. 319. 58 MTB 2. 319. 59 MTB 4. 129. 60 MTB 1. 132–3. 57

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him now as he lay on the pavement, and broke his sword through the middle on the stone. While this was happening Hugh de Morville busied himself driving away the people who were pressing forward; and so it happened that he did not strike him with his hand. But Hugh Mauclerk, the most wicked of all men, approaching him as he lay, put his foot on his neck and thrusting the point of his sword into his head spread his brains on the pavement, crying out and saying, ‘Let us go, the traitor is dead.’61

There is some dispute about who struck which blows, but the main difference between the Anonymous’s account and the others is the contrast between bare narrative and reflective reporting. The reported dedication is echoed by other writers, though most also mention the Virgin Mary and suggest that Thomas invoked the patron saints of the church of Canterbury rather than specifically Aelfeah. Many writers also echo the Anonymous in suggesting that Thomas’s posture was one of prayer or that he presented his neck to the strikers, or in combining both.62 Most other writers mention Edward Grim’s bravery, and some provide a gloss. Anonymous II claims that Thomas, remembering Christ’s words to Peter, when he had cut off the ear of the High Priest’s servant, ‘Put your sword in its sheath; the cup which the father gave to me, do I not drink it’, said to Grim, ‘Stop, brother, the Lord does not want this defence’, and sees Grim’s escape as divinely inspired, lest Thomas’s glory be diminished.63 Grim himself provides one of the most elaborate descriptions of the first blow: Hardly had he said the words than the evil knight, fearing that he would be snatched by the people and escape alive, suddenly leapt on him and wounded God’s sacrificial lamb in the head, cutting off the top of the crown, which the oil of holy chrism had dedicated to God. The same blow almost cut off the arm of this witness who, as everyone fled, monks and clerks, steadfastly stood by the archbishop, and held him in his arms until his arm was struck. Behold the simplicity of the dove, behold the wisdom of the serpent, in this martyr, who offered his body to the persecutors, so that he preserve unharmed his head, that is his soul and the church, nor did he devise a defence or trap against the killers of the flesh! O worthy shepherd who, lest the sheep be torn to pieces, so bravely presented himself to the jaws of the wolves! Because he had abandoned the world, the world wishing to crush him unconsciously raised him up. Then he received another blow in the head but still remained immoveable. But at the third blow he bent his knees and elbows, offering himself as a living sacrifice,64 saying in a low voice, ‘For the name of Jesus and the well-being of the church I am prepared to embrace death.’65

61 MTB

4. 76–7. 1. 133; 2. 320, 437; 3. 141; 4. 131; Guernes v. 5576–80. 63 MTB 4. 130–1; John 18:10–11. 64 See Rom. 12:1. 65 MTB 2. 437. 62 MTB

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Such conceits – the shepherd of the sheep and the sacrificial lamb, priest and victim, the body offered to preserve the head, the one who abandoned the world exalted by the world – recall descriptions of Christ’s passion, and are developed in Herbert of Bosham’s account. In receiving the blow, the biographers are unanimous in stressing ­Thomas’s constancy as shown by his external appearance, ‘how the body served the spirit’, as Fitzstephen puts it. John of Salisbury writes, Through all the martyr’s spirit was unconquered, his steadfastness marvellous to observe; he spoke not a word, uttered no cry, let slip no groan, raised no arm nor garment to protect himself from an assailant, but bent his head, which he had laid bare to their swords with wonderful courage, until all might be fulfilled.66

Such constancy is commonplace in the Acts of the Christian Martyrs. The account of Polycarp’s martyrdom begins with a commendation of the martyrs: For even when they were torn by whips until the very structure of their bodies was laid bare down to the inner veins and arteries, they endured it, making even the bystanders weep for pity. Some indeed attained to such courage that they would utter not a sound or a cry, showing to all of us that in the hour of their torment these noblest of Christ’s witnesses were not present in the flesh, or rather that the Lord was there present holding converse with them.67

Edward Grim comments that it was as if Thomas ‘were not present in the flesh’,68 and many writers echo the tone of this description of the martyrs’ nobility.69 William of Canterbury writes that ‘He was struck by the swords in the manner of a sheep being sacrificed, a cry did not sound, nor did a murmur, but with quiet heart the mind well conscious preserved patience.’70 This is an allusion to Isaiah 53:7, interpreted as a foreshadowing of Christ’s sacrifice: ‘He was oppressed and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth, like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep before the shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth.’ Benedict tells us that this constancy was even present in the way he fell, as ‘With body straight as if prostrated in prayer, he collapsed on the ground.’71

66 MTB

2. 320. pp. 2–3. 68 MTB 2. 436. 69 MTB 2. 438; 3. 140–2; 4. 131; Guernes v. 5611–15. 70 MTB 1. 135. 71 MTB 2. 13. In terram corruit is an allusion to Job 1:20: see Pânzaru, ‘Caput mystice’, p. 443, and below, p. 205, 210. 67 ACM

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Both Benedict and William comment on the sword dashed on the pavement, and interpret it as signifying the triumph of the Church in the martyr’s blood.72 A number of writers express their outrage at the scattering of Thomas’s brains on the floor, John of Salisbury commenting that the knights were more cruel than Christ’s executors, who refrained from breaking His legs when they saw that He was dead.73 But some others depict this scene in terms which sum up their understanding of the relationship of Thomas’s life to his death. Grim writes that with the crown separated from the head, ‘the blood white from the brain, and the brain equally red from the blood, brightened the floor with the colours of the lily and the rose, the Virgin and Mother, and the life and death of the confessor and martyr’.74 Fitzstephen provides a fuller gloss: Certainly to the flowers of the church neither lilies nor roses are lacking, and in the passion of the blessed Thomas with the cruel point of the sword was extracted both the white brain and red blood. Surely true and most certain signs, that the pastor of Christ’s sheep, archbishop and agonist, confessor and martyr laid down his life for his people, to get hold of the double stole from the Lord, the white from the archiepiscopacy faithfully administered, the purple from the martyrdom faithfully consummated.75

As O’Reilly has noted, in patristic exegesis, the white lily and the red rose represent, respectively, the blameless life of the confessor and the violent death of the martyr, which is also represented by the colour purple. Here, in presenting their mingling on the floor of Canterbury Cathedral, these writers express, perhaps better than anywhere else in the Lives, the complementary nature of Thomas’s life and death.76 In the conclusion of the murder scene, some further biblical parallels are drawn. Benedict writes of how, as the knights left, some called out their victory cry, ‘King’s men, king’s men!’ But others threw insults saying, ‘He wanted to be king; he wanted to be more than king; so is the king, so is the king!’ In this these men were like those who insulted the Lord as he hung on the cross, going by and shaking their heads and saying to one another, ‘But he said, “I am the son of God.” ’77

72 MTB

1. 135; 2. 13. 2. 320. John 19:33. 74 MTB 2. 437–8. 75 MTB 3. 143; see also 3. 523; Guernes v. 5636–40. 76 ‘Candidus et Rubicundus’. 77 MTB 2. 14; see Matt. 27:38–9; Job 16:4; Ps. 22:7 (21:8). See Pânzaru, ‘Caput mystice’, p. 443. 73 MTB

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Fitzstephen claims that, just as Christ’s crucifixion was marked by darkness covering the land, the sun now averted its eyes from the crime, darkness fell, and sudden rain, and later a redness was seen in the sky as a sign of the blood shed.78 Most of the biographers describe how the knights plundered the palace, seizing clothes, furnishings, ornaments, and documents, an act which they compare to the division of Christ’s clothes. Benedict, who gives one of the fullest accounts of the aftermath to the murder, writes that, In this way, then, it pleased divine piety, which powerfully and wisely arranges all things, that the imitators of those who divided Christ’s clothes would liken more fully the passion of the servant to the passion of the Lord. In this way, by the manifest similarity of things, it would be recognized by all the faithful that the church would be delivered from the servitude of the world through the blood of the martyr, just as it was rescued from the power of the devil through the death of Christ’.79

When the knights left, the monks lifted up the body and placed it before the great altar. Benedict tells us that when the body was raised from the ground, they found beneath him an iron mallet and a hatchet, left behind by the killers, which the archbishop had taken possession of when it fell on the ground: ‘In this way he figuratively demonstrated that he was to be a hammer of the wicked, and that whoever did not turn to penitence could not escape the sentence of his vengeance.’80 Throughout all this William Fitzstephen tells us that ‘The dead man’s countenance reflected his serene and constant mind.’81 William of Canterbury comments that the dead man seemed by his appearance to be only sleeping. The limbs did not tremble, there was no stiffness in the body nor any flowing from his mouth or nose for the whole night: ‘The suppleness of his fingers, the composition of his limbs, the joy and grace of his countenance, foreshadowed his glorification, if either his life or the cause of the passion said nothing.’82

78 MTB 3. 142–3; see Matt. 27:45; Mark 15:33; Luke 23:44. Compare the aftermath to the

martyrdom of Montanus and Lucius, ACM pp. 236–7. 2. 14–15; see 2. 320–1, 439; 3. 144, 513; 4. 77–8, 132; Guernes v. 5656–80. 80 MTB 2. 15. 81 MTB 3. 147. 82 MTB 1. 135–6. Compare, for example, the appearance of Pionius in death, ACM pp. 164–5. 79 MTB

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Return II: Herbert of Bosham Herbert of Bosham’s recollections are those of an aged veteran of a great conflict. Though his leader and companions in battle are now dead, and the world hardly remembers what they had been fighting for, for him the memories are undimmed, even more vivid, perhaps, as his end approaches. But as Herbert looked back on his life, one regret still caused him anguish: that he had not been allowed to participate in the great climactic battle. Three days before his death Thomas sent Herbert to Normandy on business, and it is at this point that his personal witness to Thomas’s life ends. But though he was not present in the flesh, Herbert’s account of Thomas’s last moments is a fitting end to his work, full of elaborate reflection which, if often distracting to the narrative, is entirely consistent with his purpose. Herbert was the only one of Thomas’s biographers who made the return journey with Thomas, and though the sense of foreboding found in the other Lives is present, he also conveys much of the joy and triumph of the occasion. As the boat pulled into harbour at Sandwich, the local people saw the archbishop’s cross towering erect, and came running, throwing themselves on the ground before him. Along the six mile journey to Canterbury, wherever they passed, crowds of paupers ran up, crying, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!’83 To Herbert, this was the ‘victory procession of Christ’s triumphant anointed’, a second Palm Sunday: If you had seen it, he with his passion now imminent, amongst the boys and the infants and the poor, following the path prepared by the Lord, you would have said without question that the Lord was for the second time approaching his passion, and that He who once died at Jerusalem to save the whole world had come again to die at Canterbury for the English church.

As he entered the church to the sound of bells and organs, hymns and songs, Herbert gazed on his master’s face: What a face of the man you would have seen as he first entered the church! As some noticed and marvelled, it seemed as though with his heart aflame, his face was also on fire; the face in fact brightened in oil, pleasing to all, gracious to all.

It was as if his heart could not contain the flame of charity now erupting: And, if I am not wrong, such great facial grace, suddenly dyed red and a beautiful colour, upon his very entrance to the church of the Saviour, was a ­presaging,

83 Matt. 21:9, the gospel for Advent Sunday and also Palm Sunday. See O’Reilly, ‘Double

Martyrdom’, p. 191.

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like a heavenly oracle, of the martyrdom to be consummated soon in that church of the Saviour.84

In the Acts of the Christian Martyrs, the outward appearance of the martyr’s body, and in particular the face, is often seen as revealing the inner person. Martyrs are often portrayed with glowing faces: Perpetua, for example, advanced to her martyrdom ‘with a shining countenance’.85 Red is the colour of martyrdom and is often present in their depiction, as for example, when Pionius was being taken to jail and the crowd said, ‘He is always so pale, but now look how ruddy his complexion is!’86 The image of the face brightened in oil is a reference to Psalm 104:15: ‘wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make his face to shine’. Augustine interprets it as the grace of God; a sort of shining for manifestation; as the Apostle says, ‘The Spirit is given to every man for manifestation.’87 A certain grace which men can clearly see in men to win over holy love is called oil, for its divine splendour; and since it appeared most excellent in Christ, the whole world loved him; who though while here He was scorned, is now worshipped by every nation.88

Herbert had already employed this image to describe how suffering his hardships in exile: ‘He seemed to had been entirely purified into the finest oil in the pressure of the winepress, his face so brightened in oil that he was always so even, so resolute under this weight he could hardly be noticed to feel any pressure.’89 Now he recalls it, when Thomas’s glory is beginning to become manifest to all. ‘But’, Herbert adds, the disciple who wrote these things, seeing this with watchful faith and taking note in astonishment, immediately thought of Moses. Though his glory of the face was wiped away and destroyed in the waters of contradiction, and so he was not worthy to enter the promised land,90 and died outside in exile. But this was not the fate of him who after many battles finally prevailed, reached home, and after a little in Jerusalem itself received the undimmable crown of his palm. Hence the glory of his face was not wiped away nor the flame of charity made extinct, but at the waters of strife were proved rather than extinguished, among people murmuring and gnashing the teeth against him always burning and shining.91 84 MTB

3. 478–9. ACM pp. 126–7. This recalls Christ’s transfiguration, Mark 9:2, Matt. 17:2, and the angel at Christ’s tomb, Matt. 28:3. 86 ACM pp. 148–9; see 164–5. 87 1 Cor. 12:7. 88 Enn. Ps., CCSL 40. 1512; see Lombard, PL 191. 938. 89 MTB 3. 374; see above, pp. 146–7. 90 See Num. 20:24; Ps. 106 (105):32 etc. 91 Burning and shining as John the Baptist: John 5:35. 85

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The unhappy example of Moses, who led his people out of Israel but failed to reach the promised land is invoked in William Fitzstephen’s account where he reports that one of his household urges him at Wissant, ‘Why do you not get into the ship? Will we be like Moses, who saw the promised land but did not enter it?’92 Herbert’s invokes the example to draw a contrast between the old law, as represented by Moses, and the new, initiated by Christ and championed by Thomas, a theme which runs through his entire account of the murder. As Paul wrote, God has qualified us to be ministers of a new covenant, not in a written code but in the Spirit; for the written code kills, but the Spirit gives life. Now if the dispensation of death, carved in letters on stone, came with such splendour that the Israelites could not look at Moses’ face because of its brightness, fading as this was, will not the dispensation of the Spirit be attended with greater splendour.93

The brightness of Moses’ face, reflecting the old law, faded, but Thomas’s, reflecting the new, could not. Seeing this, Herbert felt compelled to approach him and say, ‘Lord, now we should not care in which hour you depart from this world, since today in you the bride the church of Christ triumphs in you, rather Christ triumphs, Christ reigns, Christ rules.’94 Herbert goes on to recount the interview with Thomas at Canterbury, and how the censured prelates crossed the sea, how his planned visit to the young king was rebuffed, and the indignities caused to him by the de Brocs. In words which allude to Christ’s passion and also recall Thomas’s trial at Northampton, Herbert writes, So what would the athlete of the Lord do? Where could he turn? To give in would be disgraceful but to fight dangerous. Bees stood around him, plump bulls guarded him,95 in the heart of the sea the ocean fenced around. But certainly, as I know to be true, that brave athlete of the Lord, recognizing himself as the ram of the Lord’s flock, did not think of flight but only the fight, now knowing that he was not to fight with men but beasts, his sheep thus turned into wolves.96

He then describes the sermon on Christmas Day, when his prediction that the time of his death was at hand brought tears not only to the archbishop himself but to his congregation, who murmured, ‘Father, why do you desert us so soon, and to whom do you leave us desolate?’ But after his sermon, ‘no longer crying, no longer weeping, but after the tears, as could be seen and 92 MTB

3. 117; see also 1. 86. Cor. 3:6–8. 94 MTB 3. 478–9. 95 Ps. 118 (117):12; 22:12 (21:13). See above, p. 133–4. 96 MTB 3. 483–4. 93 2

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heard, so furious, angry, ardent and bold, he inveighed against the arrogant and hateful men of the land explicitly and by name’, and ‘in a spirit of ardour’ anathematized many of the king’s courtiers, including Ranulf and Robert de Broc. ‘Certainly’, he writes, ‘if you had seen these things, you would have immediately said that you had seen and heard in the flesh the prophetic animal who had the face of a man and the face of a lion.’97 The next day Thomas informed some of his clerks that he was sending them away. A distraught Herbert remonstrated with him, saying, Holy father, why have you decided this, why are you doing this? For I know for certain that I will never again see you in the flesh. I offered to stand with you loyally, but as it seems to me, you wish to defraud me of the fruit of your consummation, I who have up to now been with you in your trials. Now I see that I who was a companion in your struggle will not be a companion in your glory.

The archbishop assured him that by fulfilling his father’s instruction he would not be deprived of fruit, but added, ‘Still, what you say and lament is true: you will never see me again in the flesh.’98 Herbert recalls how he set out in dead of night in tears and great sorrow, adding, ‘At the end of this history, then, I pray with all my heart, with all my soul and with all my strength, that I be found worthy to see in heaven him who I will never see again in this world, and share in his crown, I who was a companion in the battle.’99 Meanwhile, the king’s angry words had caused the four knights to band together, and they were conveyed with miraculous speed to England. Herbert is careful throughout to note the liturgical sequence of events: the return to England coincided with the season of Advent; Thomas sent Herbert away on the feast of St Stephen, ‘the protomartyr’; the disciple took his leave on the feast of St John the Evangelist; and when the knights reached England it was the feast of the Holy Innocents. Arrest II: Herbert of Bosham Herbert’s description of the murder occupies the fifth, penultimate book of his Life. It begins abruptly, with the knights breaking into the palace, with no discussion of the earlier interview in Thomas’s chamber. His description of the confrontation echoes those of other biographers in certain respects, but there is much greater emphasis on the combative Thomas, who fights for his men, and for the liberties of the Church. When his men forced him into the church, he protested, fearless of death, ‘The grace of his countenance even in this strait not in the slightest changed; so that, just as not in countenance, thus not in posture any sign of trepidation 97 MTB

3. 484–5; see above, n. 135. 3. 485–6; see 3. 131–2. 99 MTB 3. 485–6.

98 MTB

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appear.’ He even paused while his cross-bearer was summoned to go with him, ‘no doubt mindful of his Lord, who with a cross hastened to the cross’. When he entered the church, many of his men abandoned him in fear, so that to the Head this member of the Head could call out with him and lament, ‘I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint.’ And, ‘Thou hast caused lover and friend to shun me; my companions are in darkness.’ Alone was to him the treading of the winepress, so that in this strait glory be given not to others but to him alone.

The lament, ‘I am poured out like water’ occurs in Psalm 22, ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’, commonly interpreted as a foreshadowing of the Crucifixion. Herbert’s reference to Thomas treading the winepress alone recalls his troubles in exile and at the conference at Montmirail.100 When the knights run in and challenge Thomas, Herbert describes the altercation in much the same way as other writers: One cried out, ‘Where is that deceiver?’101 But the anointed of the Lord did not reply. But another then cried out, ‘Where is the archbishop?’, and the anointed of the Lord said, ‘I am he; what do you want?’ ‘Your death’, he replied, ‘you can no longer live.’ But he answered, ‘And I am prepared to lay down my life for my God and for the liberty of the church.’102

But he adds a unique detail, that Thomas, ‘rebuking the gladiators with all authority’,103 grabbed one of them, William de Traci, and shook him so powerfully through his hauberk that he almost prostrated him on the floor.104 This confrontation leads Herbert to a number of comparisons. First, it is likened to Christ’s expulsion of the moneychangers from the temple: ‘Following his Saviour and Emperor in this, except that this brave soldier of the highest Emperor fearing nothing as it seemed, dreading nothing, took care to expel not moneychangers and sellers of doves,105 but gladiators, already raging for his murder.’106 Then he praises Thomas’s priestly zeal and love of justice as he provokes rather than placates his killers: ‘He stands imperiously among the butchers, as priest and victim. Here he stands, and they with swords drawn stand around him’, he fulfilling the priestly office and ‘rebuking with all authority’:

100

MTB 3. 491; Ps. 22 (21):14; Ps. 88 (87):18. See above, pp. 144–6, 149. Ille seductor: see Matt. 27:63. 102 MTB 3. 492. 103 See Titus 2:15, and above, p. 118. 104 Abbott suggests that the knight accosted by Thomas was Reginald Fitzurse, p. 123. 105 See John 2:14. 106 MTB 3. 493. 101

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Behold our Samson fearlessly attacking; behold our Paul promptly rebuking; behold our anointed of the Lord bravely expelling. Whose bone made in secret now is not now hidden, even if the substance is in the depths.107

This is a reference to Psalm 139 (138):15, ‘My frame was not hidden from thee, when I was being made in secret, intricately wrought in the depths of the earth.’ Augustine interprets this hidden bone as inward strength of the soul which cannot be broken by tribulation.108 But, continues Herbert, why do I say the substance is in the depths of the earth? Rather now it is in the heights of heaven, not now as flesh but rather as a certain admirable mutation transubstantiated into heaven. For what kind of flesh is not horrified by death, does not fear swords stretched out against it, but strikes and defies the gladiator prepared for murder. O man not man, o flesh not flesh! O flesh of Adam, O flesh of Thomas! Braver Thomas among the swords, on a dungheap, than Adam among fruitful trees in paradise; as much as who, besides certain mortal skins about to be put off, whatever old from the first Adam he had assembled, he deposited; for whom now everything came from the second Adam.109

The key phrase here is ‘Thomas on the dungheap’. When Satan sent his afflictions upon him and covered him all over with sores, Job shaved his head and sat on a dungheap. His wife urged him to curse God, but Job rebuked her.110 Medieval exegetes drew the contrast between Job’s response to his wife and that of Adam to Eve. Augustine writes that ‘Adam did not repel Eve in paradise; Job repelled Eve among the ashes. On the ashes sat Job, when he flowed with vermin and was putrid: but better Job full of wounds on the ashes than Adam healthy in paradise.’111 We have seen how Thomas in his tribulations in exile was compared to Job, and here, then, his rebuking of the knight is seen to parallel Job’s rebuking of his wife and contrast with Adam’s acquiescence before Eve. But in medieval exegesis Job was also seen to prefigure Christ. And Christ in his death and resurrection constituted a second Adam.112 As Paul wrote, Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those that have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive.113

107 MTB

3. 493. Enn. Ps., CCSL 40. 2004; see Lombard, PL 191. 1216. 109 MTB 3. 493–4. 110 Job 2:8–10. 111 Sermones suppositi 52 PL 39. 1844. See Enn. Ps., CCSL 39. 1320, 1374–5. 112 See L. L. Besserman, The Legend of Job in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, MA/London, 1979), pp. 80–1. 113 1 Cor. 15:20–22. 108

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As Herbert continues, Thomas is a son of the second Adam, Christ. Such sons of the second Adam, filled with constancy and fortitude do not yield to the swords even if they are killed by them: Rather when these are killed it is the death of death, they are victors over death. And as we say as an example, ‘Where now is your sting, death, where is your victory?’114 You conquered Adam in his paradise; today you have been conquered by Thomas on the dungheap.

In time of peace this bone is hidden, but not in time of manifest temptation, and therefore Thomas does not now sheathe or hide his bone. Referring to Eve’s creation from Adam’s rib, Herbert writes, He who is not now flesh from flesh but bone from bones,115 in the army of the Lord’s Sabbath strongest of the strong. And so, he who once fled like the boy Jesus, now similarly as an adult advances,116 now marches out, now reveals himself.

Hurling himself before the swords, in this boundary between life and death Thomas’s bone is no longer hidden, knowing that this fleeting death of the flesh is ‘the death of death and the door of life’.117 To summarize, Thomas in his return to Canterbury had recalled Moses, but more accurately Christ’s entry to Jerusalem, because in His death He wiped away the old law which brings death, and instituted the new, which brings life. In rebuking his murderers with all authority, Thomas recalls Job who rejected Adam’s acquiescence to Eve. Job prefigures Christ, who constituted a second Adam, who brings life, not death. As a son of the second Adam Thomas advances to death, knowing that in doing so he defeats death and enters life. At this point Herbert pauses to justify his prolixity, arguing that he should not be criticized for drawing out his description of the ‘single-combat of our David’: Indeed that old single-combat of the unarmed and puny son of Jesse against Goliath is remarkable; but the single-combat of his new man, of the new law, and of the son of the new King is incomparably more remarkable. For here not swayed, not forced, not sent, but in the ardour of his spirit and unheard of virtue proceeding to battle alone and unarmed by will alone, unmindful of the flesh, nor, its seemed, recognizing himself as a son of Adam, not fearful of death but avid for it, threw himself into the midst of swords. And he struck Goliath

114

See 1 Cor 15:55. Gen. 2:23. 116 See above, p. 178–80. 117 MTB 3. 494–5. 115 See

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as was fitting for such an athlete, not with the sword of steel but the word, not with the stone of the sling but the tongue.118

If he were to pass over such material, Herbert writes, invoking the image he frequently used to describe Thomas speaking out, he would have to condemn himself with the words of the prophet, ‘Alas, for I was silent.’119 Priest and victim II: Herbert of Bosham Herbert resumes his narrative by relating how the knight who had been shaken off by ‘our bony athlete of Christ’, aimed to strike the head of ‘the Lord’s anointed’, but Edward Grim interposed his arm. He compares Grim to the youth with the linen cloth who followed Christ in Mark’s gospel, except unlike the youth, the clerk did not flee.120 Nevertheless, when Grim withdrew his arm, Thomas received the remainder of the blow: Therefore that priest of the Almighty, sacrificing himself to the Almighty, sensing that the sacrifice had now begun, as soon as that cap that he was accustomed to wear on his head had fallen, lifting up his eyes to heaven, his knees bent and his hands now joined in prayer before him, in the temple before the altar the priest offered himself as a living sacrifice to God.121

As we have seen, some other writers suggest that Thomas was killed before the high altar, presenting himself as priest and victim, but Thomas develops the image further. Herbert’s imagery throughout his account of Thomas’s death is especially close to a passage from Augustine’s sermon on the Passover which describes Christ as priest and victim, offering himself in an odour of smoothness, a new sacrifice in which the old priesthood is abolished and ‘a new wine is put in new bottles’.122 Like other biographers, Herbert describes how Thomas stretched out his neck and exposed his head, commending himself and his cause to God, the Virgin Mary, the patrons of the church of Canterbury and St Denis, and charged the knights to spare his followers. He likens Thomas to Christ who said, ‘If you seek me, let these go’, except that in Thomas’s case it was not so much a plea as an order and coercion: Now the blood flows from the cut, and amidst the band of killers the authority of the priestly office does not cease in the least; rather amidst the swords he

118

MTB 3. 495–6. MTB 3. 497; Isa. 6:5. 120 MTB 3. 498. See Mark 14:51–2. 121 MTB 3. 498–9. 122 Sermones suppositi 164, PL 39. 2066–7; see Matt. 9:17. 119

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does not sheathe the sword in cowardice and fear, but daringly and manfully wields it. For see, there are two swords here: amidst the swords of steel the sword of the word. In such a great crisis, in this hour of darkness, here our athlete promptly and faithfully wielded the sword of St Peter; and, as befitted a priest, defended his men.123

He could, writes Herbert, have defended his men with the sword of steel but feared the rebuke of Jesus to Peter, ‘All who take the sword will perish by the sword.’124 Christ rejected the sword of steel as an indication to ecclesiastics that this sword is not fitting in their hands. But Jesus also rejected the spiritual sword, the sword of the word, since his killers were not Christians, as an indication to ecclesiastics that those outside the Church should not be judged by the Church; as Paul said, ‘What have I to do with judging outsiders? Is it not those inside the church whom you are to judge?’125 But Thomas’s killers were, as Christians, within the Church, and so he wielded the spiritual sword, the sword of the word, ‘instructed by God that those who are within should be judged by priests, not by outsiders’.126 Thomas’s instruction to spare his men becomes in Herbert’s hands, not only an echo of Christ’s call to ‘Let my people go’, but a commentary on ecclesiastical jurisdiction. Herbert goes on, praising Thomas for continuing to act as the shepherd of the sheep, even as he was being sacrificed before the altar: O rich, O pithy holocaust, defending his men, not defending himself but exposing himself defenceless, the same priest and victim, in the temple before the altar sacrificing himself for himself and his men. Sacrificing, I say, in I know not what lifegiving odour of marvellous smoothness before God and the world.

Jesus said, ‘If anyone strikes you on one cheek, turn the other to him’, but, struck on the head, Thomas exposed his whole head and body and his whole self.127 In exposing his head while striking back on his men’s behalf, Herbert sees the mingling of smoothest oil and most fervent wine, of mercy and truth.128 Frequently in the Old Testament, burnt offerings to God let out a sweet savour to God,129 but Paul writes that in the New Testament Christ ‘gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God’.130 Thomas’s sacrifice emits a ‘lifegiving’ odour, echoing Paul’s statement that God ‘has

123 MTB

3. 499; see Luke 22:38, and above, pp. 104–6. See Matt. 26:52. 125 1 Cor 5:12. 126 MTB 3. 500. 127 MTB 3. 501. See Luke 6:29. 128 MTB 3. 501. See above, pp. 126–7. 129 E.g. Gen. 8:21; Exod. 29:41. 130 Eph. 5:2; see Phil. 4:18. 124

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qualified us to be ministers of a new covenant, not in a written code but in the Spirit; for the written code kills, but the Spirit gives life’.131 Herbert then digresses on his own role as an absent witness. Citing the Psalm, ‘They shall pour forth the fame of thy abundant goodness’,132 he laments that he is unable to pour forth the memory of Thomas’s goodness, being found unworthy to be present. He tells us, however, that Thomas later appeared to him in his sleep and told him that he wished his disciple had been present. Herbert protested that on account of his sins he would have perished had he been killed, but the martyr reassured him, ‘No, you would have been baptized in my blood.’133 After an apology for his prolixity, followed by a digression on his unwillingness to take the story further,134 Herbert calls on God for inspiration, and finally comes to Thomas’s death: The killers, I say, from this side and that struck and struck again, struck, I say, and struck again, until they separated the crown from the head. And so the anointed of the Lord, the oiled of the Lord, was sacrificed where he was anointed, with the holy oil of unction advancing and falling to the murderous sword. For that holy body in the remainder was unhurt and unharmed, and only in that small part of the body from which the privilege of the priest and pontiff emanated was this unheard of sacrifice admitted. And so shaved by the killers he was de-crowned.135

And he continues, describing Thomas’s constancy as he suffered the onslaught: To speak first about the man’s great virtue of patience, in this shaving, in this decrowning, in such a hard, bitter, shearing of the head, where the top of the head with the crown of unction was separated from the head (which is astonishing to say and hardly credible) neither a murmur nor a complaint was heard. Other martyrs indeed if they were immediately beheaded did not murmur – marvellous indeed, but not so much as this. For here our martyr in so hard a shearing of the head, as a sheep before the shears did not open his mouth. And well and truly shearing, for what is this tonsure of the head if not a harsh and bitter shearing of the crown, where the top of the head with the crown of unction is separated from the head? Truly as a sheep before shearing and hammering and truly as a sheep not indeed led, but leading himself to the killing. For he was offered because he wished.136

The fact that the part cut off from Thomas’s head was that which set him

131

2 Cor. 3:6. Ps. 145 (144):7. 133 MTB 3. 502. 134 See above, p. 73. 135 MTB 3. 506. 136 MTB 3. 507. 132

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apart as a priest by its anointing is highlighted by some other writers, but Herbert invests it with a greater significance. Thomas receives not only a decrowning (decoronatio) but a shaving (decalvatio); he is both sheared (tonsus) and hammered (tunsus). As noted, when Job was struck with misfortune, he shaved his head and sat on a dungheap.137 I. Panzaru, discussing the association of Thomas with Job in Benedict of Peterborough’s Passio, notes that in medieval exegesis the head symbolized the highest priestly function of Jews, and hair represents the subtlety of the Christian sacraments. Job, head shaved, is a prefiguring of Christ who, in incarnating himself, separates the divine sacraments from the Jewish priesthood. The incarnation of the Son had the same function as the shaving of the head: it removes all basis from Jewish ritualism and founds Christian spiritualism. The word calvus, meaning ‘bald’, is linked to Calvary.138 Thomas’s demeanour recalls the sheep from Isaiah 53:7, dumb before the shearers. The reference to the killers shearing and hammering (tondens et tundens) has more than an alliterative purpose. The reference to hammering evokes Augustine’s interpretation of Psalm 97:6: ‘With ductile trumpets also, and the sound of the pipe of horn’: Ductile trumpets are of brass, they are drawn out by hammering (tundendo). By hammering, by being beaten, you shall be ductile trumpets, drawn out to the praise of God, if you improve when in tribulation: tribulation is hammering, improvement is the being drawn out. Job was a ductile trumpet, when suddenly assailed by the heaviest losses, and the death of his sons, became like a ductile trumpet by the beating of such heavy tribulation … For Job sat on the dungheap, when he flowed and rotted with worms. Better Job putrid on the dungheap, than [Adam] healthy in paradise.’139

Earlier, in describing Thomas tribulations in exile, Herbert characterizes him as exuding a precious aroma, purged into oil, and also ‘as a silver trumpet, which, the more it is beaten the more fully it is brought out and formed’.140 Misattributing the scattering of Thomas’s brains on the pavement to Robert de Broc, Herbert compares him to Longinus, who pierced Christ’s side with his spear, and comments that this act surpassed the savagery of Christ’s executioners, who refrained from breaking His legs.141 Herbert then describes the shattering of the sword, suggesting it was broken, not against the pavement, but against Thomas’s head: the sword was shattered, as was the exterior bone, but the hidden interior bone made by the Lord was unbreakable. This bone of the second Adam, ‘not bone from bone and flesh from flesh 137

Job 1:20, 2:8 Pânzaru, ‘Caput mystice’, pp. 441, 443–4. 139 Augustine, Enn. Ps. 97:6, CCSL 39. 1374–5; see Lombard, PL 191. 891. 140 MTB 3. 374; see above, pp. 146–7. 141 MTB 3. 506–7. 138

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but spirit from the Spirit’, shattered steel, but was itself unharmed.142 He reflects on Thomas’s demeanour in death, and presents a picture similar to that known from the Becket iconography of the archbishop ‘hands joined, the neck extended and the head exposed, so that with this composition of the body he might pray to the Lord, and equally invite the gladiators to the strike’. He is as immobile and as constant ‘as if he were inviting the gladiators to a feast’. Falling to the right, the decency of the composition of the exterior man reflected the interior man.143 After a reflection on the horror of the murder,144 Herbert describes how the poor rushed up to the martyr, just as it was the women and fishermen who ran to Christ,145 and he describes the appearance of the body when it was placed before the altar. The part of the head which had been cut off was reattached, and astonishingly, after such a bitter murder, Thomas’s face did not appear pallid or wrinkled, nor did his body seem in any way drooping or rigid. In fact Herbert, echoing William of Canterbury, comments that Thomas looked more like he was sleeping. This was the grace, this beauty of the whole body, this vivacity of the face, this happiness, the hilarity of the face brightened, rather now anointed in oil. This, as we have said above, this was the glory of his face when he first entered the church on his return from exile, but now in his departure going home consummated.146

Aftermath and reflection The night of 29 December was spent in mourning and fear, and the next day armed men threatened a further indignity to the martyr’s body. The monks hastened to bury the body, neglecting the custom of washing and embalming it. As Benedict comments, this came about less on account of human evil than divine piety, ‘for what need has he for more common perfume, for whom the Lord has supplied the unction of his own blood?’147 And, as the monks stripped the body, they discovered that beneath his pontifical vestments Thomas had worn a monk’s habit, and beneath that a hair shirt riddled with vermin. Benedict tells us that the monks looked at each other, and were astonished at this view of hidden religion beyond what could have been believed, and with their sorrow thus 142

MTB 3. 508. See Augustine, Enn. Ps. 33:21, 96:1, CCSL 38. 296; 39. 1357. MTB 3. 508–9. 144 See below, pp. 214–15. 145 MTB 3. 518. 146 MTB 3. 520. 147 MTB 2. 16–17; see 3. 148. 143

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multiplied, so were their tears. How could such a man have been suspected of covetousness or treachery? Could he ever have set his thoughts upon an earthly kingdom, who had thus preferred sackcloth above all worldly pleasures?148

In Fitzstephen’s words, Their sorrow was turned into joy, their lamentation into paeans of praise. Having seen with their own eyes this double martyrdom, the voluntary one of his life and the violent one of his death, they prostrated themselves on the ground, they kissed his hands and feet, they invoked him as St Thomas and acclaimed him as God’s holy martyr. They all ran up to view – clad in sackcloth – him whom as chancellor they had seen clothed in purple and satin.149

Guernes, who gives a detailed description of the clothes, and says that he later saw them himself, writes, ‘The first martyrdom was an atonement for the sins he had committed formerly, in secular life; he endured these great torments as a reparation for great delights. The second martyrdom sanctified him; it was through the one that he at last attained the other.’150 Grim tells us that, ‘stung by the miracle of hidden religion’, the monks immediately burst out, ‘See, see, that here truly was a monk, and we did not see him!’151 Herbert tells us that they called to the others monks, and those among them who had doubted his sanctity were now astonished and contrite, ‘having seen the movement of the earth’, and as the centurion in the gospel called out, ‘Truly this was the son of God!’152 Soon after, this hidden sanctity was revealed more widely. The first miracles are variously identified. Edward Grim describes how Thomas appeared to a familiar who said to him, ‘My Lord, are you not dead?’, to whom Thomas replied, ‘I was dead but I have risen.’153 Herbert, noting that he usually omits miracles, claims that Thomas’s death was known of in Jerusalem within only fifteen days thanks to a vision.154 John of Salisbury, writing within months of Thomas’s murder, describes the scene at his tomb in terms which echoed Christ’s miraculous powers: the blind see, the deaf hear, the dumb speak, the lame walk.155 William Fitzstephen is particularly informative on the early cult, describing the various cures, the throngs of pilgrims, the use of the ‘water of 148 MTB

2. 17. 3. 148. 150 Guernes v. 5826–30; Shirley, p. 154. 151 MTB 2. 442. 152 MTB 3. 521–2. He claims that some from the knights’ ‘cohort’, upon discovering two hair shirts in plundering the palace, privately said to themselves, ‘Truly this man was just!’, 3. 513; see Mark 15:39. 153 MTB 2. 440–1. 154 MTB 3. 514–17. 155 MTB 2. 322; see 2. 443; Matt. 11:5, 10:8. 149 MTB

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St Thomas’, ampoules of water mixed with the martyr’s blood, and the volume of miracles at Canterbury. Even the children playing in the streets told of Thomas’s passion.156 Anonymous II and Guernes also dwell on the extraordinary nature of the veneration.157 Benedict and William, of course, deal with these themes at greatest length in their miracle collections. Perhaps surprisingly, little attention is paid in the Lives to the fate of the knights, or to the king’s reaction, though such themes are discussed in more detail in the third Lansdowne fragment, and in Herbert’s Liber Melorum. Edward Grim, in a later addition to his work, discusses at some length the king’s penance at Thomas’s tomb. He describes how the mother church, closed for almost a year after the murder, cried out ‘Avenge, Lord, the blood of your servant innocently shed!’ He describes the rebellion against the king in these terms, commenting that, ‘though it had not been done by him or through him, the king bore responsibility for it on account of his anger’. Recognizing that his only option was to appease the martyr, Henry made a humbling pilgrimage to his tomb, an event which Grim relates at length. Immediately after, the king’s enemies were crushed and peace returned to his lands.158 Thomas, then, had revealed his sanctity and triumphed over the enemies of the Church in death, but what did his life and death mean in the broader scheme of Christian history? Though the narratives of his death employ traditional imagery of martyrdom, there is little direct comparison of Thomas to other martyrs. Some note that his death occurred the day after the feast of the Holy Innocents (which carries with it the association of Henry with Herod), and some point to the fact that St Thomas the apostle and St Thomas of Canterbury’s feast days were equidistant from Christmas. As Guernes writes, His namesake was killed in the days when holy church was young and growing, and he lies in the east; this Thomas was killed in the north for the sake of his church which was in decay, and he protects the west. They share Christmas and Jerusalem equally between them. Both of them died for the church on earth; both by their deaths gained the kingdom of heaven.159

But to most, Thomas was greater than any other martyr. ‘To whom ever did the title of martyr stand out more glorious?’, writes Benedict. While other martyrs entered the battle on behalf of individual causes, Thomas died for the cause of the Church universal.160 For a truer comparison Benedict sets his sights higher, remarking, ‘We do not believe any other martyr’s passion was

156

MTB 3. 150–2. MTB 4. 140–1; Guernes v. 5881–5905. 158 MTB 2. 443–8. 159 Guernes v. 5861–7; Shirley, p. 156. 160 MTB 2. 17. 157

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as similar to that of the Lord.’161 This is the central theme of the work which Herbert affixed to his Life, the Liber Melorum: O death of Christ, O death of the anointed of the Lord! Here an exemplar, there an exemplum. And truly, if anyone inspects and takes note, how great the convention, how wonderful the consonance, how harmonious, how sweet a melody there is of the penalty of Christ to the penalty of the anointed of the Lord, of offering to offering, passion to passion, death to death.162

In the preface to his Life, William of Canterbury details the parallels: The Lord is the principal cause, and the martyr is he who is similar to him in his passion. For as the Lord with his passion imminent approached the place of the passion, so Thomas knowing the future approached the place where he would suffer. As Jesus, so Thomas they sought to apprehend, but no one put forth their hand because his hour had not yet come. The Lord triumphed before his passion; Thomas before his. The Lord suffered after a meal; Thomas too. The Lord was captured for three days by the Jews of Jerusalem; Thomas was kept for some days within the sept of the church. The Lord, advancing to those who sought him, said, ‘I am whom you seek’; Thomas said, ‘Here I am.’ The Lord, ‘If you seek me, let them go’; Thomas, ‘Do not harm those standing by.’ One there, one here, was wounded. There four soldiers, here four soldiers. There the division of garments, here pack-horses. There the dispersal of the disciples, here of his household. There the veil was torn, here a sword shattered. The Lord gave water and blood for salvation, Thomas for healing. The Lord called back the lost world, Thomas called many lost back to life.163

The majority of writers, following John of Salisbury in Ex insperato, claim the murder of Thomas was a more heinous crime than the killing of Jesus. As John notes, the killers of Jesus did not defile the city or make the Sabbath unclean, whereas Thomas was murdered within the city and even within the church on a day within the Christmas festival. Christ was killed by gentiles who did not know God, and tried by those whose law he seemed to be transgressing; Thomas was killed by those who professed God’s law and loyalty towards friends. Jesus was betrayed by a disciple as Thomas was by disciples and in both case the execution was planned by chief priests, but in Thomas’s case they outbid Annas and Caiaphas, Pilate and Herod in wickedness, in that they took greater pains to see that he did not face judgement with the chance to answer his accusers. Herbert draws similar conclusions: the horror of the murder was, he writes, marked by the faith of the killers, being Christian; their profession, being subject as sons to their father; by the peace publicly given and written, by Thomas’s grade as a priest, indeed prince of priests; by the place where it occurred, the Church of the Saviour, the mother Church 161 MTB

2. 18–19. 3. 517. 163 MTB 1. 1–2. 162 MTB

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of the realm, and more specifically with the sword inserted into the holy place of anointing; the time being Christmas. As both Herbert and Fitzstephen comment, when Christians murdered the archbishop of Canterbury in his own cathedral, the sons killed their father in the womb of their mother.164 Conclusion The biographers’ descriptions of the murder have a freshness hard to match in any contemporary historical writing. In the best accounts one can almost hear the clash of the armour and the blows of the swords, such is the vividness and physicality of the description. For anyone who had witnessed Thomas’s murder, the impression left would have been difficult to erase, and, though there are discrepancies in the detail, the overall impression is that these are broadly accurate descriptions of what happened. As faithful observers, most of the biographers are at their best in relating how Thomas met his death, but they are also at their most reflective. As people retold the story of that afternoon in December, their interest was not only in what happened but what it meant. For them, each of the steps which Thomas took towards his end had echoes of the passion of Christ and the early martyrs, but they also recalled the dominant themes in Thomas’s life. This was the perfection of his conversion and pilgrimage and the culmination of his struggle. In his acceptance of martyrdom all the qualities attributed to him are united, the brave and outspoken advocate of ecclesiastical liberty at one with the humble ascetic offering himself as a sacrificial lamb. Still, while admiring the skill with which the biographers reflect upon their theme, one cannot help feeling that they overstate their case. Did Thomas’s acceptance of martyrdom truly surpass that of all other martyrs, and even Christ’s passion in the horror of the crime? This degree of hyperbole, remarkable even in medieval hagiography, is especially marked in Herbert’s reflections, which seem to border on blasphemy. But this was a writer who saw himself as the successor to John the Evangelist, and Thomas as a saint who, if he did not surpass Christ, at least stood apart from all other saints. There was no reason for the biographers to inflate the significance of Thomas’s murder as there was, for example, to promote his sanctity in life. The only explanation for the biographers’ hyperbolic interpretation of Thomas’s martyrdom is that that is how it presented itself to those who were there or who lived through those times.

164 MTB

3. 143, 510; see P. A. Thompson, ‘An Anonymous Verse Life of Thomas Becket’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch 20 (1985): 147–54; Smalley, Becket Conflict, p. 207.

Conclusion

One of the reasons for Thomas’s broad appeal as a saint is that he meant different things to different people. Each could take from his memory and his image what they sought, whether it was the miracle-worker, the martyr, the champion of the Church or a combination of these. It is not unusual for people to project onto a saint, or indeed any famous figure, what interests them and what they want to see, but Thomas allowed such a range of interpretations because his life presented such rich and varied material. The same may be said of the Lives of Thomas. In their volume, variety and complexity they allow readers to use them as historical sources for Thomas’s career, personality and character, and for evidence of the disputes in which he was involved and the world in which he lived, but also as an insight into historical and hagiographical writing of the time, and of patterns of contemporary thought and learning. My approach has been deliberately selective, aiming as I have to give a sense of the literary character of these works, and to highlight features of their portrayal of Thomas which have not received due attention. This approach not only limits the focus on their value as historical evidence but also, by concentrating on their qualities, less has been said about their flaws, and I have tended to emphasize similarities between individual Lives, and between the Lives of Thomas and other medieval writing, rather than looking for differences. Nonetheless, such a selective approach is necessary in order to demonstrate that these Lives, whatever their differences and failings, constitute a body of writing of a richness and sophistication that has not been fully acknowledged. One of the principal characteristics of the Lives is that they tend to combine factual historical narrative with more obviously literary reflection, and these two purposes are not always easily distinguishable. Similarly, an understanding of the literary Thomas cannot be divorced from the historical evidence, and an analysis of the Lives as literature is not just of relevance to literary studies. Rather, it is hoped that a fuller understanding of the influences, concerns and methods of the writers will allow their works to be used more effectively as historical sources. Before turning to some conclusions on the place of the Lives in twelfth-century writing, a few preliminary observations on my reading of the historical Thomas on the basis of this research should be noted. John of Salisbury, in a passage followed by a number of other writers, describes how, when Thomas became archbishop, some deliberately misrepresented his behaviour, interpreting his zeal for justice as cruelty, his magnificence as pride, his pursuit of God’s will as arrogance, his protection of the

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Church’s rights as rashness. This seems to go to the heart of the difficulty in interpreting Thomas’s character, for his seemed to feature a preponderance of traits which could be interpreted either way: there is a thin line between bravery and foolhardiness, between constancy and stubbornness; someone who appears magnificently impressive to one observer might appear insufferably overbearing to another. Anonymous II, citing similar misrepresentations, concludes that, considering the manner of his death and his posthumous glory, where doubt remained about Thomas’s actions, they should be given the better construction. This is what all the biographers did, believing that his marvellous departure from life had shone a light on those aspects of his life and character which had appeared ambiguous when he was alive. It need hardly be said that medieval hagiographers are not always believable, and that many of the claims about their subjects are impossible to verify. But if we use their works as historical sources, there are certain considerations to take into account which can aid our assessment of their veracity. One such consideration is the nature of the claim made about their subject, and a case in point is the biographers’ claim that Thomas underwent a conversion upon becoming archbishop. Once it is recognized that their suggestion is of a change which was significant and dramatic to those around him but not necessary sudden or unfounded, one which revealed more fully a purpose which had been embryonic and largely concealed, and which continued to be built upon after his elevation to Canterbury, it becomes more plausible. It is not unusual for people to change their outlook and behaviour, especially when a new position in life, new demands and loyalties are involved. This, and the concealment of purpose which the biographers attribute to Thomas, are all the more believable if we consider Thomas’s relatively lowly background, something he was reminded of from his time as a clerk in Theobald’s court, right up to Henry’s condemnation of his uppity low-born clerk, and the knights’ cry, ‘Where is Thomas Becket?’ It would be understandable for someone from such a background who found himself in a more elevated environment to embrace the trappings of such a life with all the enthusiasm of the nouveau riche, and it was equally natural for Thomas to continue to feel an outsider, and to reject this life when he had an opportunity. When Thomas became archbishop he was able to show his true colours more freely, but he still did not fit in among the English episcopate, and perhaps it is significant that in the Lives Thomas appears on easier terms with such men as Alexander Llewelyn, a subordinate, and Herbert of Bosham, an eccentric loner. Did Thomas have a true spiritual purpose, at least from 1162 onwards? It is difficult to tell, but the biographers, despite their description of the hair shirt and his asceticism and learning at Pontigny, are not especially convincing. In fact, though such passages attract the reader’s attention, the biographers do not dwell on the theme, and this is telling in itself. More convincing is Thomas’s genuine commitment to the cause of ecclesiastical liberties, though whether this was simply the psychological hook upon which he unconsciously hung his own ambitions is another matter.

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The biographers’ treatment of the question of ecclesiastical liberties and the nature of the dispute is illuminating for our understanding of that dispute. First, it bolsters the impression, given in the letters, that even if the issues concerned relations between the Church and the Crown, the debate was overwhelmingly one between ecclesiastics over the right course of action. The argument between ecclesiastics had at its basis different interpretations of the significance of Henry’s introduction of the royal customs. The biographers believed that the dispute involved issues of great magnitude. This might seem an obvious point, but it is made because the issues inevitably seem of lesser significance to us, and some historians have tended to follow Gilbert Foliot’s view that this was a minor and unimportant matter which might have been settled more effectively if a more moderate approach had been taken. The Constitutions of Clarendon failed and were abandoned, but Henry’s introduction of his ancestral customs succeeded, they would have had stood as one of the landmarks in the formalization of relationships and the developing use of written record in medieval England. Most participants in the dispute, and most biographers, did not grasp the full significance of their being written down, but they were aware that they involved a major and unprecedented step. The biographers tend to acknowledge Henry’s greatness as a king, but characterize his rule as aggressively acquisitive. They frequently comment that Thomas knew Henry inside out, and was therefore more wary of his deviousness than others. He believed from the start that the king’s introduction of his ancestral customs represented an ambitious and significant plan of reform for Church–Crown relations, and throughout the negotiations for peace he continued to fear that the king’s promises were hollow. On the basis of the historical record, none of these judgements appears inaccurate. Of all the spheres of Henry’s governmental reforms, this was the only one in which, at least during his lifetime, they were caused to be restrained, and they were restrained largely because of Thomas’s opposition. This should not be read as an overly sympathetic view of Thomas. There are many signs that he could be personally objectionable and dislikeable, and his actions ill-conceived. But the impression given by a thorough reading of the Lives is that he was not a charlatan, nor was he lacking in substance. In assessing the place of the Lives of Thomas in twelfth-century writing, a parallel may be drawn with the cult of St Thomas. The cult was extraordinary in its scope, and not quite like any other saintly cult of the age. But it also showed certain features characteristic of the time, for example in its speedy development within living memory of the saint, in its geographical reach, and in the combination of the popular and the official. At the same time, it harked backed to an earlier age, being centred on the most traditional model of a saintly cult: a martyr venerated at his tomb. The Lives, too, are not quite like any other saints’ Lives or histories of the time. This is partly to do with their volume and their speed of completion, and also to do with the nature of their subject which demanded a somewhat different treatment to many other saints. The Lives also feature many traits characteristic of

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c­ ontemporary writing: the fact that they were written within living memory of the saint; their interest in individuals and recent events rather than more conventional material; their attention to detail and concern for accuracy. But the biographers also looked to an earlier age for many of their models and much of their language. Parallels are drawn more often with the patriarchs of the early Church than with more recent saints, and many writers show a greater familiarity with Augustine on the Psalms or Gregory’s Moralia than they do with English hagiography. This, it seems to me, is quite consistent with other manifestations of the ‘twelfth-century renaissance’. While it is often the recovery of the classical past and manifestations of an apparently more modern outlook with which that phenomenon is associated, these are not its only characteristics. Along with marked progress in the field of science and dialectic, the twelfth century saw simultaneous developments in more traditional disciplines, such as exegesis and moral theology: St Bernard was just as much a man of his time as Abelard was. What was new and often experimental was the application of old sciences to the changing world of the twelfth century. Thomas’s biographers were addressing a new subject, but one which had echoes especially in the distant past, and they responded to it with works which recalled older models but are often striking in their originality. At the end of his book Herbert of Bosham apologizes again for his prolixity and acknowledges that some might regard his approach as one which violates the rules of history. But he asserts that if one were to examine properly other histories and their form, one would see that his approach is in fact fully in accordance with those rules. Is Herbert typically overstating his case, or could it be that the features which exist in extreme form in his work but are present also in the other Lives – the combination of vivid observation of events with elaborate reflection upon them and more specifically the employment of theology and canon law to interpret lives and events – more prevalent in twelfth-century writing than has always been recognized? The Lives of Thomas did not occur in isolation, and parallels are particularly evident in the work of Eadmer and in much Cistercian hagiography. The application of similar analysis to other contemporary writing, especially to those works which have tended to attract attention as historical records more than as works of literature could yield similar results and throw more light on what was seen to constitute the ‘rules of history’. But that, as Herbert puts it, is for another time.

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Index Abbo of Fleury, Passio S. Edmundi  164, 191 Abel  16, 60, 116, 138 Abelard, Peter  19, 219 Abiathar  101 Abijah  117 Absalom  112 Achsa  54 Adam  101, 205–6, 210–11 Adam of Charing  36 Adam of Eynsham, Magna Vita S. Hugonis 15, 85, 89 Adiutorus, St  86 Adonia  101 Aelfeah, St, archbishop of Canterbury  60, 94, 135, 138, 188, 195, 196 Aelfsige, archbishop of Canterbury  54, 92 Ahab  112, 118 Ahaz  122 Ailred of Rievaulx, St  89, 91, 138n40 Alan of Lille  44 Alan of Tewkesbury biographical  14, 44 and Becket correspondence  5, 11, 13, 19, 27, 38, 44 Explanatio  1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 19, 38, 44–8, 68, 93, 95, 121, 132, 139, 140–2, 156, 161, 162, 165–6, 170, 181, 184 and cited passim Albert de Morra, cardinal  10, 21 Alcuin, Vita S. Willibrordi  77 Alexander III, pope and Anselm’s canonization bid  10, 21 and canon law  182 and Thomas’s canonization  10, 21–3, 25–6 appeals to  134, 137, 120–1, 123 arranges peace conferences  148 court at Sens (1164)  31, 46–7, 68, 120, 140–3, 172–3 departure from France  44 grants legation to Thomas  120 letters of  21–2, 70 Thomas writes to 187 Alexander Llewelyn of Wales  44–5, 95, 217 Ambrose, St, bishop of Milan  14, 40, 86, 122–3, 127, 158

Andrew of St Victor  64 Angelomus  14 Annas  25, 214 Anonymous I (?Roger of Pontigny) biographical  4, 14, 34 Vita  1, 4, 5, 6, 8, 13, 28, 34–7, 78–9, 79–80, 81, 90, 91, 102, 104–5, 111–12, 113, 132, 135, 136, 139, 142, 170, 171, 178, 184, 196 and cited passim Anonymous II, ‘of Lambeth’ biographical  14 Vita  1, 3, 4, 5, 8, 10, 11, 13, 14, 19, 26, 38–43, 47, 52, 84, 91, 92, 95, 101, 108n49, 111, 143–4, 161–2, 163, 165, 175, 178, 184, 186, 193, 195, 196, 213, 217 and cited passim Anonymous III (Lansdowne MS)  7, 213 Anselm, St, archbishop of Canterbury at the Council of Rockingham  131 canonization bid  10, 25, 109 disputes with kings  117, 157 exile  155, 157–8, 162, 164, 167, 169, 174 on St Aelfeah  60 Anselm of Lucca, Collectio canonum  159 Anskar, St  94–5 Arnulf, bishop of Lisieux  115 Asketil, prior of Leicester  61 Athanasius, St, bishop of Alexandria  160, 161, 165, 166, 167 Augustine, St, archbishop of Canterbury  157 Augustine, St, of Hippo  14, 15, 42, 67, 70, 76, 82, 86, 89, 141, 145, 146–7, 158–6, 163, 164, 165, 166, 177–8, 179, 182, 183, 201, 205, 207, 210, 219 Avranches, compromise of (1172)  10, 12, 29, 40, 51, 114, 127 Babylonians  117 Baldwin, archbishop of Canterbury  44, 66 Barlow, Frank  17, 71 Bartholomew, bishop of Exeter  45–6, 141–2, 166 Basil, St  142 Bede  14, 107, 130

index

Benedict, St  195 Benedict of Peterborough biographical  4, 14, 29, 34, 50 Miracula  9, 11, 13, 49, 50–1, 213 Passio  1, 4, 6–7, 8, 32, 49, 51, 184, 187–8, 190, 192, 193–4, 198, 198–9, 199, 210, 211–12, 213, 213–14 Beneit (Benet, Benoit) of St Albans  6 Berlin, Isaiah  182–3 Bernard, St, abbot of Clairvaux  10, 55, 86, 87, 89, 131–2, 159, 160–1, 219 Boethius  14 Brooke, Zachary  85 Bruno, St, archbishop of Cologne  91 Caiaphas  25, 46, 214 Cain  60, 116 Caleb  54 Calixtus, St  135 Cambridge  29 Canon law  15, 33, 52, 101, 174, 181–3 Canterbury cathedral  28, 49, 189, 191–200, 203–11, 214–15 estates  50, 52, 154, 155, 186 monastic community of Christ Church  49–55, 154 and cult of Thomas  8–11, 38 and Thomas’s canonization  10–11 and Thomas’s election  52, 55 and Thomas’s exile  155 library of  14 Matilda’s vision of  77 patron saints of  135 primacy  53, 108 privileges  50, 52, 109, 154, 155, 186 Cassiodorus, Historia Tripartita  160n18, 163 Cecilia, St  93 chansons de geste  33 Chartres  151 Chilperic, king of the Franks  130 Chinon  121 Chronicle of Battle Abbey  84 Claudian  91 Clarendon, constitutions of  68, 97–106, 123, 127, 128, 140, 154, 162 Clarendon, Council of (1164)  12, 27, 31, 32, 35, 36, 38, 39, 40, 44–5, 46, 47, 52, 66, 95, 100, 102, 103, 110, 115, 119, 153, 156, 165, 176, 218 Clement of Alexandria  16 Conon, St  131

241

Conrad, emperor  132 Constantine, emperor  136 Constantius of Lyons, Vita S. Germani  81, 85 Constantius, emperor  160, 161, 165 criminous clerks  30, 52, 53, 99–101 Cyprian, St, bishop of Carthage  42–3 Dalfinus, archbishop of Lyons  169 David  16, 80, 95, 101, 117, 121, 122, 122–3, 160, 161, 162, 166, 178, 206–7 de Broc family  154, 186, 187, 189, 202 Delatte, D. P., 87 Denis, St  23, 195, 207 Desiderio desideravi  103, 121–2 Deusdedit, Collectio canonum  159 Domesday Book  128 Duggan, Anne  17, 26 Duggan, Charles  101 Dunstan, St, archbishop of Canterbury 107, 157 E(lias?) of Evesham  6–7, 57 Eadmer  167, 219 Historia Novorum  107, 115, 116–17, 131, 142–3 Vita Anselmi  3, 15, 25, 60, 115, 116–17, 131, 164, 169 Vita S. Wilfridi  107, 169 Eadwig, king of England  157 Eastry (Kent)  153, 168, 181 Ecgfrith, king of Northumbria  115 Eddius Stephanus Vita S. Wilfridi  114–15, 169 Edgar, king of England  107, 115 Edmund the Martyr, St, king of England 164 Edward Grim biographical  4, 14, 28, 29, 195–6 Vita  1, 4, 5, 6, 8, 11, 13, 16, 22, 28–37, 51, 52, 79, 81, 88, 91, 101, 115, 121, 132, 143, 147, 163, 170, 173, 184, 187, 189, 191, 192, 193, 194, 196–7, 197, 198, 207, 212–13 Edward the Confessor, St, king of England 109–10, 135 Elijah  73, 166, 176 Engelbert, prior of Val-St-Pierre  148 Enjuger de Bohun  188 Ephraimites  176–7, 180 Ernulf, prior of Canterbury  157–8, 162 Ernulf, Becket’s chancellor  98

242 thomas

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Henry II, king of England  21, 36, 40, 51, 52, 57, 65, 70, 75, 79–80, 91–2, 97–104, 107–28, 132–3, 135, 140, 143, 147–9, 151, 154–5, 162–5, 180, 185, 188, 213, 217–18 and Thomas’s murder  21, 29, 188, 203 at Avranches (1172)  10, 12, 29, 40, 51 criticism of  25, 33, 57–60, 111–13, 165 Felix, Vita S. Guthlaci  89, 91 dispute with Thomas  97–128 Fordingbridge (Hants)  53 penance at Thomas’s tomb  10, 29, 40, Foreville, Raymonde  17 213 Francis of Assisi  76 relations with Chancellor Thomas  75, Fraternitatis vestrae  103 78, 79–80, 81 Fréteval, Peace of (1170)  31, 50, 148, 180, Henry the young king  58, 186–7, 189 186 coronation of (1170)  27, 30, 31, 53, 97, Fructuosus, St  131 108, 180 Fulgentius of Ruspe  87 Henry IV, emperor  98, 106 Henry of Essex  29 Garnier see Guernes Herbert of Bosham Gelasius I, pope  105 biographical  4, 14, 17, 19, 57, 64–6, 97, Gerald de Barri of Wales  73, 113 143, 173, 200, 203, 209, 217 Germanus of Auxerre  81, 85 letters of  1, 13, 22, 66, 112 Gervase of Canterbury, Chronica  7 exposition of Jerome’s Hebraica  13, 64 Gilbert Becket  77 Liber Melorum  66, 213–14 Gilbert Foliot, bishop of London  15, 17, revision of Peter Lombard’s Magna 25, 38, 45, 57, 83, 121, 136, 139, 155, Glosatura  13, 64, 183 161–3, 186, 188, 218 Vita  1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 11, 14, 16, 17, 18, 28, Multiplicem nobis  12, 38–9, 46, 79, 83, 95, 31, 56, 63–74, 79, 80, 82, 84, 88, 90, 91, 121, 123–4, 126, 127, 155–6, 158, 161, 93, 93–4, 95, 99, 100, 101, 104–6, 108, 163, 175, 176, 182, 190 112, 113, 114, 117–18, 119, 120, 121, Giles, John Allen  34 124–7, 128, 132, 133–4, 135–6, 137–8, Glossa Ordinaria  159 143–52, 157, 161, 162, 163, 166, 167, Goliath  206–7 168, 170, 170–1, 171–2, 173–4, 175–81, Gratian, Decretum  101, 105, 159 183, 184, 197, 200–11, 214–15, 219 Gratian of Pisa  70 and cited passim Gregory of Tours  130 Herod  25, 60, 112, 159, 162, 213, 214 Gregory I (the Great), St, pope  14, 40, 41, Hesychius  14 54, 135, 174, 182, 219 Hezekiah  122 Gregory VII, pope  26, 98, 105, 115, 116 High priests, scribes, pharisees  16, 25 , 46, Guernes (Garnier) of Ponte-Ste-Maxence 130, 131, 133, 134, 139, 166, 188, 196, biographical  14, 32 214 Vie  1, 4, 5, 13, 16, 28, 29, 32–3, 34–5, 36, Hilary, bishop of Chichester  45, 46, 115, 37, 51, 52, 79, 98, 100, 101, 109, 111, 141, 155 119–20, 121, 122, 132, 139, 142, 190, Hildebert of Tours  55 192, 195, 212, 213 and cited passim Holy Innocents  25, 60, 112, 203, 213 Guthlac, St  89, 91 Honoratus, bishop of Thiaba  158–9, 178, 182, 183 Horace  82 Haymo  14 Hubert, St  89 Henry of Blois, bishop of Winchester  45, Hugh, count of Champagne  87 155 Hugh de Morville  188, 196 Henry de Longchamp, abbot of Crowland Hugh of Horsea (Mauclerk)  196 6 Henry I, king of England  109, 115, 157 Hugh of Lincoln, St  85, 89 Esau  221, 161 Eugenius III, pope  87 Eve  205–6 Exspectans expectavi (CTB no. 82)  122 Exspectans expectavi (MTB no. 221)  124 Ezekiel  120, 121, 125, 127

index

Hugh of Rouen, Vita S. Adiutoris  86 Hugh of St Victor  106 Ireland  51, 169 Isaiah  118, 127, 164–5 Isidore of Seville  14 Ivo, bishop of Chartres  127 Jacob  54, 161, 162, 174, 176 James, St, hand of  110 Jereboam  117–18 Jeremiah  144 Jerome, St  14, 116 Job  17, 144, 147, 205–6, 210 Jocelin de Bohun, bishop of Salisbury  25, 120, 186, 188 John, king of England  106, 113 John, St, the Evangelist  67, 203, 215 John Fitzgilbert the Marshal  132, 137 John of Canterbury, bishop of Poitiers  20 John of Ford, Vita S. Wulfrici  95 John of Oxford, dean of Salisbury  120 John of Salisbury biographical  4, 11, 13–14, 17, 19, 34, 97, 190 letters of  17, 112, 113, 121, 161, 165, 166, 170–1, 174, 181, 182 Ex insperato  1, 9–10, 20–7, 51, 75, 212 Historia Pontificalis  13, 19, 157 Metalogicon  13, 19 Policraticus  13, 19 Vita S. Anselmi  13, 19, 25 Vita et Passio S. Thomae  1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 11, 14, 19–27, 34, 38, 40, 44, 45, 80, 90, 91, 114, 121, 184, 195, 197, 198, 216 and cited passim John the Baptist, St  16, 60, 138 Joseph  80, 151 Josephus  14 Judas  188 Judith  80 Justus, St, archbishop of Canterbury  157 Juvenal  82 Knowles, David  77, 81 Lanfranc, archbishop of Canterbury  60, 130 Lansdowne Anonymous, see Anonymous III Laurence, St, archbishop of Canterbury 157

243

Leah  54–5, 174–5 Lett, Didier  51 Levites  101, 104 Liberius, pope  163 Lives of Thomas and canon law  14, 16, 44 and exegesis  14, 16–17, 36 and hagiography  14–16, 18, 30, 168, 171 and historical writing  14, 16 and theology  44 classical influences on  14, 56, 82–3 order and interrelation  3–4 purpose  11 speed and volume  3, 11 use of correspondence  5, 7, 12, 31 use of oral tradition  5, 28–9 writers’ knowledge of Thomas  4–5 Lombard of Piacenza, archbishop of Benevento  124 London  38, 43, 57, 59, 77–8, 80, 82–3, 186, 187 Longinus, St  211 Loqui de Deo  121 Louis VII, king of France  10, 47, 58, 113, 120, 148–51, 154–5, 162, 163, 168, 171, 185 Maccabees  60, 138 Magna Carta  128 Magnússon, Eiríkr  63–4 Mardobus, Vita S. Roberti Abbatis Casae Dei 77 Margaret, daughter of King Louis of France 58 Martin of Tours, St  40, 81 Martha  54–5, 174–5 Mary of Bethany  54–5, 174–5 Matilda, Thomas’s mother  77 Matilda ‘the Empress’, 61, 110, 161 Maurice de Sully, bishop of Paris  185 Mellitus, archbishop of Canterbury  157 Montanus, St  194 Montmartre, conference at (1169)  129, 178–9 Montmirail, conference at (1169)  24, 38, 47, 147–52, 204 Moses  16, 72, 145, 147, 201–2, 206 Naboth’s vineyard  112 Nathan  122–3 Nebuchodonosor  122 Nob, priests of  112 Norbert of Magdeburg, St  89

244 thomas

becket and his biographers

Northampton, Council of (1164)  16, 27, 31. 32, 39, 45–6, 56, 57, 59–60, 66, 132–40, 148, 150, 152, 156, 163, 164, 165, 168, 170, 180, 202 Northampton, discussion at (1163)  35 Northampton, St Andrew’s Priory  139, 153, 168 Oda archbishop of Canterbury  92 Odo of Cluny, St  86 Odo, prior of Christ Church, Canterbury 10 O’Reilly, Jennifer  17–18, 134–5, 198 Orderic Vitalis, Historia Ecclesiastica  87, 91 Origen  16 Othloh of St Emmeram  94 Oxford, St Frideswide’s priory  6 Oye, Flanders  168 Panzaru, Ioan  210 Paul, St  41, 43, 69, 70, 76, 86, 88–90, 95, 96, 150, 159, 160, 161, 162, 164, 165, 166, 167, 176, 177, 178, 179, 202, 205, 208–9 Paulinus of Nola  86 Perpetua, St  62, 194, 201 Persius  82 Peter Damian  106 Peter of Celle, abbot of St Rémi, Rheims 86 Peter Lombard  64 Magna Glosatura  13, 64, 70, 159 Peter, St  35, 42–3, 157, 166, 177, 193, 196, 208 Peter the Chanter  12 Peter the Scribe  165, 166 Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny  86 Peters, Edward M., 161, 182 Pharaoh  112, 122 Philip I, king of France  127 Philip de Broi  30, 99 Pionius, St  201 Polycarp, St  131, 190–1, 194, 197 Pontigny abbey  31, 34, 68, 96, 120, 124–6, 143–7, 152, 168, 172–5, 217 Pontius Pilate  130, 192, 214 Prudentius  91 Quadrilogus  6–7, 29, 44, 51, 52, 57, 63, 64, 66 Quae vestro  123

Rachel  54–5, 125, 174–5 Ralf of Diss (Diceto), Ymagines Historiarum  7, 57 Ranulf de Broc  53, 155 Reading Abbey, dedication of  109–10 Reginald fitzUrse  188, 194, 195 Remus  60, 138 Rheims, papal council at (1148)  80, 157 Richard le Bret  188, 195 Richard, prior of Dover, archbishop of Canterbury  53 Rimbert, Vita S. Anskarii  94 Robert, count of Meulan  131, 142 Robert de Broc  210 Robert de Chesney, bishop of Lincoln  166 Robert of Cricklade  6 Robert, abbot of Casa Dei  77 Robert of Melun, bishop of Hereford  60, 136 Robertson, James Craigie  7, 17, 63, 67, 71 Rockingham, Council of (1095)  131 Roger of Crowland  7 Roger of Howden, Chronica  7 Roger of Pontigny, see Anonymous I Roger of Pont-l’Evêque, archbishop of York  25, 30, 45, 52, 53, 115, 114, 116, 136, 139, 141–2, 155, 186, 188 Roger, Parisian master  12 Roger of Gloucester, bishop of Worcester  45, 116 Rome  82, 169 Romney (Hants)  36 Romulus  60 Rouen, St-Gervase  61 Rufinus, Summa  101 Rule of St Benedict  87, 91 Ruotger, Vita S. Brunonis  91 St Omer at St Bertin’s  168, 170 Saltman, Avrom  112 Saltwood (Essex)  29 Saltwood Castle (Kent)  189 Samaritan  17, 126 Samson  205 Samuel  77 Sandwich (Kent)  181, 186, 200 Saul  112, 122, 161 Scattergood, John  82 Sebastian, St  93, 164 Semey  53 Seneca  23 Sens, St Columba’s abbey  31 Short, Ian  32–4

index

245

Simon, abbot of Christ Church, 75–96, 109, 110, 114, 154, 168, 171–2, Canterbury  53 217; pallium obtained  33, 52; adopts monastic habit  34, 52, 54, 92, 173; Simon, prior of Mont-Dieu  148 hairshirt  23, 31, 49, 50, 51, 54, 92–4, Smalley, Beryl  17, 64, 70–1 95, 129, 137, 211–12, 217; early concord Solinus  14 with the king  108–10; at the Council Solomon  41, 53, 101, 117, 121, 122, 142 of Tours  108–9; dedicates Reading Southampton  108 Abbey  109–10; translates Edward the Southwark, priory of St Mary Overy  186 Confessor  109–10 Stephen, king of England  40, 61, 71, 157 conflict with the king  91–2, 97–127; Stephen, St  62, 203 early disputes  52, 98–9, 110–12; mass of  59, 134–5 resigns chancellorship  98–9; reclaims Stephen Langton, archbishop of Canterbury properties  50, 52; at the Canterbury  11, 113 Council of Woodstock (1163)  99; at Stephen of Rouen, Draco Normannicus  12 the Council of Westminster (1163)  31, Stigand, archbishop of Canterbury  54, 92, 99–100, 102–3, 104–5, 118–19; at the 189 Council of Clarendon (1164)  15, 24, Sulpicius Severus, Vita S. Martini  81, 91 31, 39, 44–5, 94; deserted by fellowSumma Causae inter regem et Thomam  7, bishops  31, 115–16; attempts to 101, 112, 118–20 flee  31, 36–7, 170; at the Council of Synoptic Gospels  193 Northampton (1164)  31, 45–6, 59–60, 132–40; views on two powers  105–6 Theobald, archbishop of Canterbury  19, exile  5, 15, 18, 24, 26, 27, 31, 34, 27, 30, 40, 50, 52, 71, 80, 83, 84, 109, 50, 66, 70–1, 75, 143–7, 153–83, 114, 157 189–90; flight  12, 24, 31, 39, 46, 48, Theoctista, patrician  54 56, 153–6, 141, 161–7, 168–72; at Theodosius, emperor  122–3, 127, 158 the papal court at Sens (1164)  31, Theodwin, cardinal  10, 21 46–7, 68–71, 140, 142–3, 167, 172–3; Thomas, St, the Apostle  42, 213 at Pontigny  31, 34, 124–6, 143–7, Thomas Becket, St, archbishop of 173–5; kindred expelled  7, 143–6, Canterbury 154–5; studies scripture  66, 173–4; career  2, 30–1, 78 vision at Pontigny  147–8; granted birth and parentage  27, 30, 77, 82; lowly papal legation (1166)  120; censures background  35, 188, 217; Saracen at Vézelay (1166)  12, 30, 120, 126–7; legend  29; portents surrounding at St Colombe’s, Sens  31; attempts birth  15, 30, 40, 77 at reconciliation with king  31; at escapes death in a mill  15, 30, 178 Montmirail (1169)  47, 147–52; at clerk in city of London  30, 77–8, 78–9, 81 Montmartre (1169)  178–9 clerk to Archbishop Theobald  27, return to Canterbury  50, 52, 52–3, 175– 30, 50, 52, 71, 78, 80, 81, 114, 157; 81; censures against bishops  50, 186, at the Council of Rheims, 80, 157; 189; censures on Christmas Day  188, archdeacon  61, 78, 81 202–3; portents of martyrdom  180, royal chancellor  12, 27, 30, 39, 56, 57–9, 185–6; murder  1, 2, 23–4, 28, 31, 50, 61, 66, 75, 76, 78–80, 80–1, 83, 91, 61–2, 66, 73, 75, 96, 127, 129, 133, 107–8, 114, 132, 137, 156, 184; 139, 140, 148, 152, 153, 154, 167, 178, embassy to Paris  58–9, 78; campaigns 184–215; plunder of the palace  36, 51; in Toulouse and La Marche  59, 78; burial  29, 49, 51, 211–12 suspected of affair  33, 79 accedes to Canterbury  12, 27, 30, 39, 40, cult  2, 8–13, 20–1, 52, 212–13, 218; 46, 59, 61, 65, 71, 72, 75–6, 82–4, 88, miracles  9–10, 11, 12, 13, 15, 21–3, 90, 91, 96, 107–8, 108–9, 111–12, 115, 27, 29, 31, 43, 49, 50–1, 51–2, 66; 129, 153, 156, 171, 217; election  31–2, pilgrimage to shrine  8–9, 20–1, 49; canonization  10, 11, 13, 21–3, 25, 26; 52, 83, 84, 85; consecration  59, 83, 84, 88; conversion  15, 18, 24, 30, 59, translation  11

246 thomas

becket and his biographers

asceticism  25, 31, 49, 50, 53–5, 92–4, 129, 143, 152, 171–5, 211–12, 217 compared to Christ  16–17, 22, 23–4, 31, 36, 51, 61–2, 73, 130, 132, 133–4, 135, 136, 139, 151, 165, 172, 176, 178, 179–80, 187–8, 190, 192–4, 196–202, 204–8, 210–15 concealment  15, 42, 50, 78–9, 79–80, 90, 92–4 correspondence of  5, 17, 27, 31, 38, 44, 48, 66, 103, 120–3, 124 criticism of  8, 12–13, 18, 38–48, 155–7, 162–3, 176 iconography  23, 28, 195 Thomas of Froimont  34 Thómas Saga Erkibyskups  6–7 Thucydides  67 Timothy  80 Tours, Council of (1163)  108–9 Tradatur curiae  101 twelfth-century renaissance  56, 219 two swords  68, 69, 104–6, 111, 136–7, 207, 208 Urban II, pope  160–1 Uzzah  117, 122 Uzziah  117, 122 Vestram, pater, meminisse  123 Vézelay, censures at  12, 30, 120–8, 155, 175–6 Virgil  82 Virgin Mary  23, 94, 135, 195, 196, 207 Vita S. Huberti  89 Vita S. Norberti  89 Vita Prima Bernardi, see William of St Thierry, Vita Prima Bernardi Vivian, archdeacon of Orvieto  70 Wabridge Forest  164 Walberg, Emmanuel  3, 5, 17, 26, 28, 29, 32, 34, 57 Walter Daniel, Vita S. Aelredi  15, 89, 91, 138n40 Walter Map  73 Warenne, countess of  61 Westminster, Council of (1163)  7, 27, 31, 32, 35, 66, 67, 99–101, 101–6, 109–10, 112, 115, 118–19, 129, 135, 149

Whitby, Synod of  130 Wilfrid, St, bishop of Hexham  107, 169 William I, the Conqueror, king of England  110, 115 William II (Rufus), king of England  113, 115, 157 William X, duke of Aquitaine  132 William, brother of Henry II, 61 William, count of Aquitaine  87, 91 William d’Aubigny earl of Arundel  142 William de Mandeville  188, 189 William de Tracy  188, 195, 204 William Fitzstephen biographical  4, 14, 56–7 Vita  1, 4, 5, 6, 13, 14, 16, 28, 31, 32, 35, 56–62, 73, 78, 79, 82–3, 88, 93, 99, 102–3, 107–8, 111, 115, 121, 132, 135, 138–9, 140, 163, 180, 184, 185–6, 186, 187, 188, 190, 192, 194–5, 197, 198, 199, 202, 212, 212–13, 214, 215 and cited passim William of Canterbury biographical  4, 14, 51 Miracula  9, 11, 13, 49, 51–2, 213 Vita  1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 11, 14, 19, 26, 31, 32, 33, 36, 49, 51–5, 79, 80–1, 90, 92, 98, 101, 109, 114, 132, 139, 144, 161, 162, 163–5, 170, 172, 174–5, 182, 184, 187, 188, 189, 193, 195, 197, 198, 199, 211, 214 and cited passim William of Chartres  19 William of Eynsford  99 William of Malmesbury, Vita S. Wulfstani  81, 85 William of Newburgh, Historia Rerum Anglicarum  7, 12, 85 William of Pavia, cardinal priest of S. Pietro  142 William of St Calais, bishop of Durham  130, 131 William of St Thierry et al., Vita Prima Bernardi  3, 89, 131 William, son of Henry II, 110 Willibrord, St  77 Wilson, C. I., 28–9 Wissant  185, 202 Woodstock, Council of (1163)  99, 108n49 Worcester, see of  109 Wulfric of Haselbury, St  95 Wulfstan, St  81, 85 Zechariah  16

Other Volumes in Studies in the History of Medieval Religion I Dedications of Monastic Houses in England and Wales, 1066–1216 Alison Binns II The Early Charters of the Augustinian Canons of Waltham Abbey, Essex, 1062–1230 edited by Rosalind Ransford III Religious Belief and Ecclesiastical Careers in Late Medieval England Edited by Christopher Harper-Bill IV The Rule of the Templars: The French Text of the Rule of the Order of the Knights Templar translated and introduced by J. M. Upton-Ward V The Collegiate Church of Wimborne Minster Patricia H. Coulstock VI William Waynflete: Bishop and Educationalist Virginia Davis VII Medieval Ecclesiastical Studies in Honour of Dorothy M. Owen edited by M. J. Franklin and Christopher Harper-Bill VIII A Brotherhood of Canons Serving God: English Secular Cathedrals in the Later Middle Ages David Lepine IX Westminster Abbey and its People, c.1050–c.1216 Emma Mason X Gilds in the Medieval Countryside: Social and Religious Change in Cambridgeshire, c.1350–1558 Viriginia R. Bainbridge XI Monastic Revival and Regional Identity in Early Normandy Cassandra Potts XII The Convent and the Community in Late Medieval England: Female Monasteries in the Diocese of Norwich, 1350–1540 Marilyn Oliva XIII Pilgrimage to Rome in the Middle Ages: Continuity and Change Debra J. Birch

XIV St Cuthbert and the Normans: The Church of Durham, 1071–1153 William M. Aird XV The Last Generation of English Catholic Clergy: Parish Priests in the Diocese of Coventry and Lichfield in the Early Sixteenth Century Tim Cooper XVI The Premonstratensian Order in Late Medieval England Joseph A. Gribbin XVII Inward Purity and Outward Splendour: Death and Remembrance in the Deanery of Dunwich, Suffolk, 1370–1547 Judith Middleton-Stewart XVIII The Religious Orders in Pre-Reformation England edited by James G. Clark XIX The Catalan Rule of the Templars: A Critical Edition and English Translation from Barcelona, Archivo de la Corona de Aragón, ‘Cartes Reales’, MS 3344 edited and translated by Judi Upton-Ward XX Leper Knights: The order of St Lazarus of Jerusalem in England, c.1150–1544 David Marcombe XXI The Secular Jurisdiction of Monasteries in Anglo-Norman and Angevin England Kevin L. Shirley XXII The Dependent Priories of Medieval English Monasteries Martin Heale XXIII The Cartulary of St Mary’s Collegiate Church, Warwick edited by Charles Fonge XXIV Leadership in Medieval English Nunneries Valerie G. Spear XXV The Art and Architecture of English Benedictine Monasteries, 1300–1540: A Patronage History Julian M. Luxford XXVI Norwich Cathedral Close: The Evolution of the English Cathedral Landscape Roberta Gilchrist XXVII The Foundations of Medieval English Ecclesiastical History: Studies Presented to David Smith edited by Philippa Hoskin, Christopher Brooke and Barrie Dobson

Also available Liber Eliensis: A History of the Isle of Ely from the Seventh Century to the Twelfth Translated by JANET FAIRWEATHER This is the first translation from Latin into English of an important source for English and ecclesiastical history. The Liber Eliensis is an account of the history of the Isle of Ely compiled by a monk of Ely monastery in the later twelfth century. He uses evidence from the monastery’s Latin and Old English archives, combined with chronicle data and biographies of saints and heroes, to tell the story of Ely from the conversion of East Anglia to Christianity to the compiler’s own times, ending with the martyrdom of Thomas Becket.

A Companion to Middle English Hagiography Edited by SARAH SALIH A vast body of literature evolved during the middle ages to ensure that everyone, from kings to peasants, knew the stories of the lives, deaths and afterlives of the saints. This collection introduces the canon of Middle English hagiography; places it in the context of the cults of saints; analyses key themes within hagiographic narrative, including gender, power, violence and history; and, finally, shows how hagiographic themes survived the Reformation.

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