It was Christmas Day, and the king was in a rage.
William Hamleigh was frightened. He had known only one person with a temper like King Henry’s, and that was his mother. Henry was almost as terrifying as she. He was an intimidating man anyway, with his broad shoulders and deep chest and huge head; but when he was angry his blue-gray eyes became bloodshot, his freckled face went red, and his customary restlessness turned into the furious pacing of a captive bear.
They were at Bur-le-Roi, a hunting lodge of Henry’s, in a park near the Normandy coast. Henry should have been happy. He liked to hunt better than anything else in the world, and this was one of his favorite places. But he was furious, And the reason was Archbishop Thomas of Canterbury.
“Thomas, Thomas, Thomas! That’s all I hear from you pestilential prelates! Thomas is doing this—Thomas is doing that—Thomas insulted you—Thomas was unjust to you. I’m sick of Thomas!”
William furtively scrutinized the faces of the earls, bishops and other dignitaries around the Christmas dinner table in the great hall. Most of them looked nervous. Only one had a look of contentment: Waleran Bigod.
Waleran had predicted that Henry would soon quarrel with Thomas again. Thomas had won too decisively, he said; the pope’s peace plan forced the king to yield too much, and there would be further rows as Thomas tried to collect on the royal promises. But Waleran had not simply sat back to wait and see what would happen: he had worked hard to make his prediction come true. With William’s help, Waleran constantly brought Henry complaints about what Thomas had been doing since he returned to England: riding around the countryside with an army of knights, visiting his cronies and cooking up any number of treacherous schemes, and punishing clergymen who had supported the king during the exile. Waleran embroidered these reports before passing them on to the king, but there was some truth in everything he said. However, he was fanning the flames of a fire that was already burning well. All those who had deserted Thomas during the six years of the quarrel, and were now living in fear of retribution, were keen to vilify him to the king.
So Waleran looked happy while Henry raged. And well he might. He stood to suffer more than most from the return of Thomas. The archbishop had refused to endorse the nomination of Waleran as bishop of Lincoln. Nevertheless, Thomas had come up with his own nominee as bishop of Kingsbridge: Prior Philip. If Thomas had his way, Waleran would lose Kingsbridge but would not gain Lincoln. He would be ruined.
William’s own position would suffer too. With Aliena acting as earl, Waleran gone, Philip as bishop, and no doubt Jonathan as prior of Kingsbridge, William would be isolated, without a single ally in the county. That was why he had joined Waleran at the royal court, to collaborate in the undermining of the shaky concord between King Henry and Archbishop Thomas.
Nobody had eaten much of the swans, geese, peacocks and ducks on the table. William, who normally ate and drank heartily, was nibbling bread and sipping posset, a drink made with milk, beer, eggs and nutmeg, to calm his bilious stomach.
Henry had been driven into his current fury by the news that Thomas had sent a delegation to Tours—where Pope Alexander was—to complain that Henry had not kept his part of the peace treaty. One of the king’s older counselors, Enjuger de Bohun, said: “There will be no peace until you have Thomas executed.”
William was shocked.
Henry roared: “That’s right!”
It was clear to William that Henry had taken the remark as an expression of pessimism, rather than as a serious proposal. However, William had a feeling that Enjuger had not said it lightly.
William Malvoisin said idly: “When I was in Rome, on my way back from Jerusalem, I heard tell of a pope that had been executed, for insupportable insolence. Damned if I can think of his name, now.”
The archbishop of York said: “It looks as if there’s nothingelseto be done with Thomas. While he’s alive he will foment sedition, at home and abroad.”
To William those three statements sounded orchestrated. He looked at Waleran. At that moment Waleran spoke. “There is certainly no point in appealing to Thomas’s sense of decency—”
“Be quiet, the lot of you!” the king roared. “I’ve heard enough! All you do is complain—when will you get off your backsides and do something about it?” He took a gulp of ale from his goblet. “This beer tastes like piss!” he shouted furiously. He pushed back his chair and, as everyone hastened to stand, he got up and stormed out of the room.
In the anxious silence that followed, Waleran said: “The message could hardly be clearer, my lords. We are to get up off our seats and do something about Thomas.”
William Mandeville, the earl of Essex, said: “I think a delegation of us should go to see Thomas and set him straight.”
“And what will you do if he refuses to listen to reason?” said Waleran.
“I think we should then arrest him in the name of the king.”
Several people started to speak at once. The assembly broke up into smaller groups. Those around the earl of Essex began to plan their deputation to Canterbury. William saw Waleran talking to two or three younger knights. Waleran caught his eye and beckoned him over.
Waleran said: “William Mandeville’s delegation will do no good. Thomas can handle them with one hand tied behind his back.”
Reginald Fitzurse gave William a hard look and said: “Some of us think the time has come for sterner measures.”
“What do you mean?” William said.
“You heard what Enjuger said.”
Richard le Bret, a boy of about eighteen, blurted out: “Execution.”
The word chilled William’s heart. It was serious, then. He stared at Waleran. “Will you ask for the king’s blessing?”
Reginald answered. “Impossible. He can’t sanction something like this in advance.” He grinned evilly. “But he can reward his faithful servants afterward.”
Young Richard said: “Well, William—are you with us?”
