“Some hope, if you’re an optimist,” Thomas replied. “The pope has devised a peace treaty which he urges me and Henry to agree to. The terms are acceptable to me: the treaty gives me what I’ve been campaigning for. Henry says it is acceptable to him. I have insisted that he demonstrate his sincerity by giving me the kiss of peace. He refuses.” As he spoke, Thomas’s voice changed. The natural rise and fall of conversation flattened out and became an insistent monotone. All the vivacity went out of his face, and he took on the look of a priest delivering a sermon on self-denial to a heedless congregation. Philip saw in his expression the stubbornness and pride that had kept him fighting all these years. “The refusal of the kiss is a sign that he plans to lure me back to England and then renege on the terms of the agreement.”
Philip nodded. The kiss of peace, which was part of the ritual of the mass, was the symbol of trust, and no contract, from a wedding to a truce, was complete without it. “What can I do?” he said, as much to himself as to Thomas.
“Go back to England and campaign for me,” Thomas said. “Write letters to your fellow priors and abbots. Send a delegation from Kingsbridge to the pope. Petition the king. Preach sermons in your famous cathedral, telling the people of the county that their most senior priest has been spurned by their king.”
Philip nodded. He was going to do nothing of the kind. Thomas was telling him to line up with the opposition to the king. That might do Thomas’s morale some good but it would achieve nothing for Kingsbridge.
Philip had a better idea. If Henry and Thomas were this close it might not take much to push them together. Perhaps, Philip thought hopefully, there was something he could do. The idea excited his optimism. It was a long shot, but he had nothing to lose.
After all, they were only arguing about a kiss.
Philip was shocked to see how his brother had aged.
Francis’s hair was gray, there were leathery bags under his eyes, and the skin of his face looked desiccated. However, he was sixty years old, so perhaps it was not surprising. And he was bright-eyed and sprightly.
Philip realized that what was bothering him was his own age. As always, seeing his brother made him aware of how he himself must have aged. He had not looked in a mirror for years. He wondered if he had bags under his eyes. He touched his face. It was hard to tell.
“What’s Henry like to work for?” Philip asked, curious, as everyone was, to know what kings were like in private.
“Better than Maud,” Francis said. “She was cleverer, but too devious. Henry is very open. You always know what he’s thinking.”
They were sitting in the cloisters of a monastery at Bayeux, where Philip was staying. King Henry’s court was billeted nearby. Francis was still working for Henry, as he had for the last twenty years. He was now head of the chancery, the office that wrote out all the royal letters and charters. It was an important and powerful post.
Philip said: “Open? Henry? Archbishop Thomas doesn’t think so.”
“Yet another major error of judgment on Thomas’s part,” Francis said scornfully.
Philip thought Francis ought not to be so contemptuous of the archbishop. “Thomas is a great man,” he said.
“Thomas wants to be king,” Francis snapped.
“And Henry seems to want to be archbishop,” Philip rejoined.
They glared at one another for a moment. If we’re having a row already, Philip thought, it’s no surprise that Henry and Thomas are fighting so fiercely. He smiled and said: “Well, you and I shouldn’t quarrel about it, anyway.”
Francis’s face softened. “No, of course not. Remember, this dispute has been the plague of my life for six years now. I can’t be as detached about it as you.”
Philip nodded. “But why won’t Henry accept the pope’s peace plan?”
“He will,” Francis said. “We’re a whisker away from reconciliation. But Thomas wants more. He’s insisting on the kiss of peace.”
“But if the king is sincere, surely he should give the kiss of peace as a surety?”
Francis raised his voice. “It’s not in the plan!” he said in an exasperated tone.
“But why not give it anyway?” Philip argued.
Francis sighed. “He would gladly. But he once swore an oath, in public, never to give Thomas the kiss of peace.”
“Plenty of kings have broken oaths,” Philip argued.
“Weak kings. Henry won’t go back on a public oath. That’s the kind of thing that makes him different from the wretched King Stephen.”
“Then the Church probably shouldn’t try to persuade him otherwise,” Philip conceded reluctantly.
“So why is Thomas so insistent on the kiss?” Francis said in an exasperated tone.
“Because he doesn’t trust Henry. What is to stop Henry from reneging on the deal? What could Thomas do about it? Go into exile again? His supporters have been staunch, but they’re weary. Thomas can’t go through all this again. So, before he yields, he must have iron guarantees.”
