He was remarkably friendly, William thought, considering that his master was at loggerheads with the king. He could probably be suborned.
“No dinner, thank you,” said Reginald.
“A cup of wine, after your journey?”
“We have a message for your master from the king,” Reginald said impatiently. “Please announce us right away.”
“Very good.” The steward bowed. They were unarmed, so he had no reason to refuse them. He left the table and walked to the far end of the hall.
William and the four knights followed. The eyes of the silent servants went with them. William was trembling the way he used to before a battle, and he wished the fighting would start, for he knew he would be all right then.
They all went up a staircase to the upper floor.
They emerged in a roomy attendance chamber with benches around the sides. There was a large throne in the middle of one wall. Several black-robed priests and monks were sitting on the benches, but the throne was empty.
The steward crossed the room to an open door. “Messengers from the king, my lord archbishop,” he said in a loud voice.
There was no audible reply, but the archbishop must have nodded, for the steward waved them in.
The monks and priests stared wide-eyed as the knights marched across the room and went into the inner chamber.
Thomas Becket was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in his archbishop’s robes. There was only one other person in the room: a monk, sitting at Thomas’s feet, listening. William caught the monk’s eye, and was jolted to recognize Prior Philip of Kingsbridge. What was he doing here? Currying favor, no doubt. Philip had been elected bishop of Kingsbridge, but had not yet been confirmed. Now, William thought with savage glee, he never would be.
Philip was equally startled to see William. However, Thomas carried on speaking, pretending not to notice the knights. This was a piece of calculated discourtesy, William thought. The knights sat down on the low stools and benches around the bed. William wished they had not: it made the visit seem social, and he felt they had lost impetus somehow. Perhaps that was what Thomas had intended.
Finally Thomas looked at them. He did not rise to greet them. He knew them all, except William, and his eye came to rest on Hugh Morville, the highest-ranking. “Ah, Hugh,” he said.
William had put Reginald in charge of this part of the operation, and so it was Reginald, not Hugh, who spoke to the archbishop. “We come from the king in Normandy. Do you want to hear his message in public or in private?”
Thomas looked irritably from Reginald to Hugh and back again, as if he resented dealing with a junior member of the delegation. He sighed, then said: “Leave me, Philip.”
Philip stood up and walked past the knights, looking worried.
“But don’t close the door,” Thomas called after him.
When Philip had gone out, Reginald said: “I require you in the name of the king to go to Winchester to answer charges against you.”
William had the satisfaction of seeing Thomas go pale. “So that’s how it is,” the archbishop said quietly. He looked up. The steward was hovering at the door. “Send everyone in,” Thomas said to him. “I want them all to hear this.”
The monks and priests filed in, Prior Philip among them. Some sat down and others stood around the walls. William had no objection: on the contrary, the more people who were present, the better; for the object of this unarmed encounter was to establish before witnesses that Thomas refused to comply with a royal command.
When they were all settled, Thomas looked at Reginald. “Again?” he said.
“I require you in the name of the king to go to Winchester to answer charges against you,” Reginald repeated.
“What charges?” Thomas said quietly.
“Treason!”
Thomas shook his head. “I will not be put on trial by Henry,” he said calmly. “I’ve committed no crime, God knows.”
“You’ve excommunicated royal servants.”
“It was not I, but the pope, who did that.”
“You’ve suspended other bishops.”
“I’ve offered to reinstate them on merciful terms. They have refused. My offer remains open.”
