Eight hundred thirty-five years ago today (ignoring the change of calendars), four barons from the retinue of the King of England murdered Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, in Canterbury Cathedral. A month before, the Archbishop had returned to England after six years in exile. To outward appearances, he and King Henry II had reconciled after a day-long conference in France the previous July, but the King was slow to carry out his promises, from which Becket inferred that his malice remained unabated. That distrust was well-founded. On Christmas Day, while keeping court near Bayeux in France, Henry uttered his famous words: “What miserable drones and traitors have I nurtured and promoted in my household, who let their lord be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born clerk!” The exclamation, “Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?” may be apocryphal, but William de Tracy, Reginald Fitzurse, Hugh de Morville and Richard Brito in any case took the hint.
The four quickly crossed the Channel and three days later reached Canterbury, where they gathered troops and forced their way into the cathedral complex. The Archbishop’s servants, fearing violence, hustled him to the sanctuary of the church edifice. The barons followed. Refusing to hide, or even to bar the doors of the church, the Archbishop stepped forward when they called out, “Where is the traitor?”
“Here I am, no traitor, but Archbishop and priest of God,” Becket replied. Fitzurse and de Tracy tried to arrest and carry him off, but he was tall, athletic and well able to hold his place against them. Frustrated, Fitzurse drew his sword and struck the first blow. The other barons joined the attack.
Becket fell face downwards, with his head to the north and the altar of St Benedict to his right. Richard Brito delivered the coup de grâce and Hugh de Horsea, a subdeacon who had accompanied the soldiers, scattered his brains on the floor. Becket, as he collapsed, had commended his soul to God, the Blessed Mary, St Denis, and the patron saints of his church.
After the soldiers had retreated to Saltwood Castle, the terrified monks began to pay some attention to the corpse. In the morning a kinsman of Ranulf de Broc [castellan of Saltwood, who had assisted the barons in entering Canterbury] returned and ordered it to be buried immediately in some obscure place; and a marble sarcophagus, already prepared for another burial and sunk into the floor of the Trinity Chapel at the eastern end of the crypt, was chosen. The body was not washed or embalmed, as was the custom, nor was there, because of the pollution of the church, any religious service. It was probably just after Becket's fiftieth birthday, and at the time many men thought that a traitor to the king had met an end he well deserved. [Frank Barlow, “Thomas Becket”, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography]
The verdict of the English people was different. Within days of Becket’s martyrdom, miracles were attributed to his intercession. King Henry did public penance for inspiring the murder (protesting that he had meant nothing by his outburst). The Pope canonized the Archbishop on Ash Wednesday 1173, by which time his sanctity was already affirmed by his countrymen. For a long time thereafter, he rivaled St. George for the position of patron saint of England. His tomb was among the most popular pilgrimage destinations in Christendom. As Chaucer wrote,
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seeke.
The Reformation wrought a change. To King Henry VIII, St. Thomas of Canterbury was quite as troublesome as he had been to Henry II, for the cause of his martyrdom had been the defense of the rights of the Church against assertions of royal supremacy, and one of its consequences had been the cutting back of the monarch’s powers. There is a story, probably fake but psychologically accurate, that in 1538 the later Henry ordered St. Thomas exhumed and condemned for high treason. Certainly his tomb was desecrated at that time, and his body disappeared.
The merits of 12th Century ecclesiastical controversies are now faded. Both Church and State have altered so markedly that only a formidable scholar would be in a position to evaluate the legalities of the conflicting claims. What is nonetheless clear is that St. Thomas devoted himself whole-heartedly, without fear of death, to vindicating the rights of the subject against the power of government. The “subject” in his case was a powerful and wealthy corporate body that was itself far from innocent of overreaching. Arguably it did not need a defender as stubborn as Thomas; many of his fellow bishops were willing to compromise and concede, on the theory that the Church could regain through favoritism whatever it yielded in right. To lesser men, however, constraints upon governmental authority were vital. The general liberty that we enjoy today grew out of the specific liberties won first by the Church and then by the nobility. Elsewhere in the world, where no one had rights against the ruler (the Russian and Ottoman Empires are instances), the growth of freedom has been far slower and more precarious.
But, as is to be expected in an era of overweening government, there are “authorities” who scorn figures like St. Thomas. The Daily Telegraph informs us that a certain John Hudson, Professor of Legal History at the University of St. Andrews, has labeled Thomas “the worst Briton of the 12th Century”.
Despite his canonisation following his murder in Canterbury Cathedral, Becket was a founder of “gesture politics with the most acute of eyes for what would now be called the photo opportunity”, said Prof Hudson.
More tellingly, he said, Becket carried over his personal greed and arrogance as Henry II’s chancellor into his role as Archbishop of Canterbury, where he caused as much trouble as he could between Church and State. He was also a lawyer.
No doubt Reginald Fitzurse would have concurred in sneering at St. Thomas’ “photo op” on December 29, 1170. It’s strange, though, that a prelate so imbued with “greed” would scorn the comforts of royal favor to live in straitened exile and that the nation that he subjected to such “trouble” rallied unanimously behind him after his death. One wonders whether the real target of the professor’s ire isn’t those “troublesome” people in our own day who don’t cheerfully sign over their birthright in order to become, as C. S. Lewis put it, “willing slaves of the Welfare State”.
Addendum: Professor Hudson’s slander of St. Thomas is part of a survey directed toward identifying the “worst Britons” of each century from the 11th through the 20th. The full list, reflecting the opinions of various academicians, is a monument to contemporary frivolity:
11th Century: Eadric Streona (a royal counselor (to King Aethelred the Unready) who allegedly gave aid and comfort to King Canute’s invasion; though authentic information about his role is in short supply)
12th Century: St. Thomas Becket, as discussed supra
13th Century: King John (ho hum; and what about the magnates who openly supported the French invasion in 1216?)
14th Century: Hugh Depenser the Younger (Edward II’s notorious favorite and a reasonable candidate, though the competition is strong)
15th Century: Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury (almost as absurd a choice as Becket; in reality, Arundel was an opponent of royal misgovernment and a notable Church reformer, who is anachronistically chastised for suppressing the Lollard movement)
16th Century: Sir Richard Rich (infamous for his role in the trial of St. Thomas More but hardly a major league malefactor; I’m surprised that “Bloody Mary” didn’t get the nod, though the Earl of Essex would be more deserving)
17th Century: Titus Oates (unquestionably a perjured villain, but this was the century of Cromwell, Northampton, Rochester, Buckingham and plenty of others whose misdeeds were more consequential)
18th Century: Prince William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland (called “the Butcher” for his harsh treatment of Scottish rebels and generally not an admirable figure, but was he worse than the politicians who took bribe money from Louis XIV? [and, pace the “expert” who nominated him, he was never the “royal heir”])
19th Century: Jack the Ripper ([sigh] not even the worst murderer of the century)
20th Century: Oswald Mosley (giving too much credit to a minor demagogue; how about selecting traitors who did real damage, like Philby, Blunt, Burgess and McLean?)
The news story doesn’t name all of those responsible for this travesty. One hopes that they are privately embarrassed.