as well as by the stubbornness with which he clung to the offensive clause “Saving the honour of my order,” the addition of which to his consent would have practically neutralised the king’s reforms.  The Pope counselled mildness, the French king for a time withdrew his support, his own clerks gave way at last.  “Come up,” said one of them bitterly when his horse stumbled on the road, “saving the honour of the Church and my order.”  But neither warning nor desertion moved the resolution of the Primate.  Henry, in dread of Papal excommunication, resolved in 1170 on the coronation of his son:  and this office, which belonged to the see of Canterbury, he transferred to the Archbishop of York.  But the Pope’s hands were now freed by his successes in Italy, and the threat of an interdict forced the king to a show of submission.  The Archbishop was allowed to return after a reconciliation with the king at Freteval, and the Kentishmen flocked around him with uproarious welcome as he entered Canterbury.  “This is England,” said his clerks, as they saw the white headlands of the coast.  “You will wish yourself elsewhere before fifty days are gone,” said Thomas sadly, and his foreboding showed his appreciation of Henry’s character.  He was now in the royal power, and orders had already been issued in the younger Henry’s name for his arrest when four knights from the King’s Court, spurred to outrage by a passionate outburst of their master’s wrath, crossed the sea, and on the 29th of December forced their way into the Archbishop’s palace.  After a stormy parley with him in his chamber they withdrew to arm.  Thomas was hurried by his clerks into the cathedral, but as he reached the steps leading from the transept to the choir his pursuers burst in from the cloisters.  “Where,” cried Reginald Fitzurse in the dusk of the dimly-lighted minster, “where is the traitor, Thomas Beket?” The Primate turned resolutely back:  “Here am I, no traitor, but a priest of God,” he replied, and again descending the steps he placed himself with his back against a pillar and fronted his foes.  All the bravery and violence of his old knightly life seemed to revive in Thomas as he tossed back the threats and demands of his assailants.  “You are our prisoner,” shouted Fitzurse, and the four knights seized him to drag him from the church.  “Do not touch me, Reginald,” cried the Primate, “pander that you are, you owe me fealty”; and availing himself of his personal strength he shook him roughly off.  “Strike, strike,” retorted Fitzurse, and blow after blow struck Thomas to the ground.  A retainer of Ranulf de Broc with the point of his sword scattered the Primate’s brains on the ground.  “Let us be off,” he cried triumphantly, “this traitor will never rise again.”

[Sidenote:  The Church and Literature]