Francis shook his head sadly. “It’s become a question of pride, now, though,” he said. “I know Henry has no intention of double-crossing Thomas. But he won’t be compelled. He hates to feel coerced.”
“It’s the same with Thomas, I think,” Philip said. “He’s asked for this token, and he can’t back down.” He shook his head wearily. He had thought that Francis might be able to suggest a way to bring the two men together, but the task looked impossible.
“The irony of the whole thing is that Henry would gladly kiss Thomasafterthey’re reconciled,” Francis said. “He just won’t accept it as a precondition.”
“Did he say that?” said Philip.
“Yes.”
“But that changes everything!” Philip said excitedly. “What did he say, exactly?”
“He said: ‘I’ll kiss his mouth, I’ll kiss his feet, and I’ll hear him say mass—after he comes back.’ I heard him myself.”
“I’m going to tell Thomas this.”
“Do you think he might accept that?” Francis said eagerly.
“I don’t know.” Philip hardly dared to hope. “It seems such a small climb-down. He gets the kiss—it’s just a little later than he wanted it.”
“And for Henry, a similar small climb-down,” Francis said with rising excitement. “He gives the kiss, but voluntarily, rather than under compulsion. By God, it might work.”
“They could have a reconciliation at Canterbury. The whole agreement could be announced in advance, so that neither of them could change things at the last minute. Thomas could say mass and Henry could give him the kiss, there in the cathedral.” And then, he thought, Thomas could block Waleran’s evil plans.
“I’m going to propose this to the king,” Francis said.
“And I to Thomas.”
The monastery bell rang. The two brothers stood up.
“Be persuasive,” Philip said. “If this works, Thomas can return to Canterbury—and if Thomas comes back, Waleran Bigod is finished.”
They met in a pretty meadow on the bank of a river at the frontier between Normandy and the Kingdom of France, near the towns of Fréteval and Vievy-le-Raye. King Henry was already there, with his entourage, when Thomas arrived with Archbishop William of Sens. Philip, in Thomas’s party, spotted his brother, Francis, with the king, on the far side of the field.
Henry and Thomas had reached agreement—in theory.
Both had accepted the compromise, whereby the kiss of peace would be given at a reconciliation mass after Becket returned to England. However, the deal was not done until the two of them had met.
Thomas rode out to the middle of the field, leaving his people behind, and Henry did the same, while everyone looked on with bated breath.
They talked for hours.
Nobody else could hear what was being said, but everyone could guess. They were talking about Henry’s offenses against the Church, the way the English bishops had disobeyed Thomas, the controversial Constitutions of Clarendon, Thomas’s exile, the role of the pope. ... Initially Philip was afraid they would quarrel bitterly and part worse enemies. They had been close to agreement before, and had met like this, and then something had come up, some point that touched the pride of one or both, so that they had exchanged harsh words and then stormed off, each blaming the intransigence of the other. But the longer they talked, the more optimistic Philip became. If one of them had been ready to storm off, it would surely have happened early on, he felt.
The hot summer afternoon began to cool, and the shadows of the elms lengthened across the river. The tension was unbearable.
Then at last something happened. Thomas moved.
Was he going to ride away? No. He was dismounting. What did it mean? Philip watched breathlessly. Thomas got off his horse, approached Henry, and knelt at the king’s feet.
The king dismounted and embraced Thomas.
The courtiers on both sides cheered and threw their hats into the air.
Philip felt tears come to his eyes. The conflict had been resolved—by reason and goodwill. This was how things ought to be.
Perhaps it was an omen for the future.
II
