SAINT THOMAS, then, he sighed full sore, for he did understand That he for all too long had been out of the English land, And, tho' it were against his will, it seemed him an ill deed That thus his Bishopric had lacked for rule, and eke for rede. Unto the King of France he went, and to good men and fair, And from them all his leave he took, to England would he fare. He thanked them for the honour all that they to him had done, And so with love, and escort fair, he went his way anon. With honour great he leaveth France, England to seek withal, And at a haven did abide, that men shall Whitsand call. The letters that he bare from Rome to England did he send To spread the sentence far and wide ere that he thither wend; Of York th' Archbishop was condemned, and so, I trow, should be The Bishops twain, of London town and him of Salisbury. He excommunicated them in that they wrong had done Crowning the young King in the See that was Saint Thomas' own. But when those tidings came to them they waxed full worth, I trow, Heaped threats upon this holy man, and woe to him did vow. Saint Thomas turned him to the ship, to England would he fare When that a man from out that land of goodwill met him there: "Ah Sire!" he cried, "for love of God, pass not the sea, I pray, In England there be many knights full ready thee to slay, In every haven lie in wait against thee many a one, And if thou com'st among them now thou shalt be slain anon!" "Nay, certes," quoth Saint Thomas then, "I will no longer bide, But get me back to England now, betide what may betide, And tho' they tear me limb from limb tarry will I no more, Too long have I been absent now, and that doth rue me sore! The souls committed to my care, six years and more, I wis, Have been without my watch and ward, Alas, too long it is! Right well I know I shall be slain, nor long the time shall be, And, for the sake of Holy Church, I'll take death joyfully. Now pray for me to Jesu Christ, this do for charitie, But above all, one thing alone I bid thee pray for me, That God doth me, of His good Grace, to Canterbury send, That, quick or dead, to mine own church once more my way I wend; If that I come not there alive, ere that I martyred be My body dead be thither brought, pray God to grant it me!" Then dolefully his leave he took, to ship he there hath gone Thanking them for the honour all that they to him had done; Commending France to Jesu Christ, he blessed it ere he passed, The folk there made a dole enow, long did their sorrow last. At Dover were there knights who heard how that he came again And made them ready that when he should land, he might be slain; Sir Renald de Warenne was one, with him Randolf de Broke, And Gervase too, the sherriff there, much folk with him he took, At Dover they, this holy man, on landing from the sea Would take, save he should do their will slain should he surely be. But unto Sandwich drave the ship, and there to harbour came, His foes at Dover lay in wait with threatening at that same. On the ship's sail, this holy man, he bade them set on high A Cross, sown fast unto the sail, that men from far might spy, That of his banner was the sign, for other had he none -- The men who stood on Sandwich beach beheld the cross anon: "Our Bishop Thomas hither-ward doth sail, as well we see!" Altho' the ship was far from land they wist who it should be. The cry, it spreadeth far and wide, the folk together ran, And ere the ship had gained the shore there met him many a man. They cried their thanks on Jesu Christ that they him living see And welcomed him with joy enow, nor greater bliss might be. 'T was the third day of Advent, the Christmas Feast before, That this good man, Saint Thomas, did land upon our shore; The seventh year since that he first had left the English land, Banished for six years and one month, was he, I understand. Eleven hundred years it was, and sixty more, and ten, Since that God, from His mother's womb, was born on earth mid men. Tidings to Dover do they bear unto the knightly band That Thomas, holy man, had now at Sandwich come to land; Then swift to Sandwich did they go, Saint Thomas found anon And with a threatening mien, I trow, they welcomed him each one; And said: "Why hast thou thus thy way once more to England ta'en In that thou dost disturb the land soon as thou com'st again? Yea, and upsetteth Holy Church, as all men well may see, Would'st Bishops excommunicate who thine own fellows be. Thou should'st by all law love the peace, and cherish and hold dear, Yet peace was never in this land since thou wast Bishop here! Would'st thou do well, undo this deed, we counsel thee, right soon, Or men, I trow, shall do to thee as should to such be done!" "My dear friends," quoth Saint Thomas then, "the sooth it is to say That judgment did I give of right, and not of wrong alway, By leave of this my lord the King, that each man have his right, And who such trespass great hath done should make amends forthright. For, an it were so soon condoned, against all right and law, 'T would prejudice full sore my church this judgment to withdraw." Then when the knights they heard him say the King agreed thereto They did forsake their angry mood, and threatenings great also, And did beseech him courteously to cancel his decree, And 'twixt his fellows and the King to cherish charitie; And respite now, of this prayer, they granted at that same So that Saint Thomas with the morn to Canterbury came. Then, with the morn, Saint Thomas doth to Canterbury fare The country all with joy and bliss came out to greet him there, For every priest, his parish all, he summoned, end to end, That they should in procession fair to meet th' Archbishop wend. In many a procession then, I trow, all fairly found, With Cross and lighted tapers fair to meet him are they bound, With cross, and tapers all alight, as many as might be, And thanks they gave to Jesu Christ that they him, living, see. Then loud they chimed, the bells, I trow, whenas to town he came And loudly, to their instruments, their song rose at that same. Yea, men might hear no other thing, the noise it was so loud, No greater joy, I trow, was made afore by any crowd. As on Palm Sunday Christ, our Lord, was met with honour high When to Jerusalem He rode, and to His Death drew nigh, So was Saint Thomas, as methinks, men might hereafter see For that Our Lord had willed his death like to His Own should be. Then, ere Saint Thomas, holy man, came to his church that day, The monks in fit procession there they met him on the way. He from his palfrey lighted down, and then the monks each one, To the High Altar, fittingly, they led him up anon, And when he in the church had done all that was there to do Then with his men, so courteously, he to his inn did go. Now ere Saint Thomas long had been within his palace hall These self-same knights they came again answer to crave withal; They did beseech him, as before, to loose the ban that day, And these three Bishops to absolve, who 'neath the judgment lay. Then quoth Saint Thomas: "Nay, @3Beau frere@1, herein I can do naught, For that the doom wherein they lie the Pope on them hath brought, And I may not undo his deed, ye wot, in any place; But none the less, in that I have such trust in this, his grace, I will absolve them in this form, to wit, that henceforth they Assurance give to Holy Church they will her laws obey, Submit to Holy Church's Head -- this form, I trow, or none!" The Knights who hearkened well his words, to chiding fell anon, As they none other answer found in wrath they hence did wend That message to the Bishops bare who did them thither send. The Bishops, they were wroth enow, their threats they fell full fast, Natheless, the twain of them withdrew, and yielded at the last, The Bishops both of Salisbury and London sware that they Would yield themselves to Holy Church, and all her law obey. But York's Archbishop, he withstood, with word and eke with deed, And quoth: "Now shame his portion be who giveth us such rede, That we should put us in his grace who was our foe of yore For he hath done us many a shame, and now would do us more. Altho' he may have power o'er you, yet hath he none o'er me In that I too Archbishop am, ye wot, as well as he! And I, I have a coffer good, that standeth whole and sound, Therein shall be, as I think well, at least eight hundred pound, That am I ready now to spend, nor much it seemeth me, That we may lower this, his pride, of him avenged may be. Now go we to the King anon, and tell him of this deed, That if he peace be fain to have he find some other rede." Then these three Bishops, hastily, across the sea they hied, And came in safety to the King, ere it was Christmas-tide, They found him there in Normandy, they knelt low on their knee, Prayed him his honour to maintain, and their good lord to be, They told him how that this good man, since that to land he came, Disturbance wrought, alike in Church, and Kingdom, at that same, And that he had, with mickle pride, his doom upon them laid, Who, with his own consent, his son as King afore had made; And how he, in despite of him, had done such evil deed, That of the land he did outright refuse the laws to heed. The King, whenas he heard the tale, for wrath was well nigh wood, Awhile strode up and down the hall, awhile in thought he stood; "If he doth excommunicate those who made my son King The doom, it falleth first on me who did ordain this thing, Now who would in such misery for long time lead his life? This traitor, he doth ruin my realm, and brings me woe and strife!" And oft-times did he curse those men he had to honour brought That of the priest who was his foe they would avenge him naught, The priest, who had his land disturbed, and sorrow on it laid -- As thus the King strode up and down, and as these words he said, The knights, who hearkened all his words, they stood, and held them still, And silent, in themselves they thought to do their master's will. Then four of them, the fiercest there, they thought what they might do, Sir Rainald de Fitzurse was one, Sir Hugh de Morville two, Sir William Tracy was the third, the fourth, Richard de Brut, Their names, for this, their wickedness, they ne'er shall be forgot. They held their counsel secretly, o'er sea to take their way, And, to fulfil the royal will, Saint Thomas would they slay. Then, secretly, they gat them forth, that no man saw them go And well nigh came unto the sea ere that the King did know; But when the King, he understood, after them did he send, And bade them leave their folly there, and back to him to wend; But with no toil this messenger unto the knights hath won For, ere he came unto the sea, they were far out thereon. This wrought to Henry dole enow, that thus their way they went, And spake not with the messenger whom after them he sent. At Canterbury, Thomas good, upon midwinter's day, He stood, and preached unto the folk as many a man doth say, And in his sermon, suddenly, began to sigh full sore, And made such dole and sorrow there that never man made more; And weeping, he beheld his tears, how fast they ran adown, I trow that many an eye was wet that day throughout the town! "My dear Friends:" quoth Saint Thomas, the while he wept full sore "Your priest I now somewhile have been, but I shall be no more, For that my end is well nigh come, nor long I here shall be, But suffer death for Holy Church I must, right speedily. For love of God, now pray for me, and Holy Church also That now is well nigh brought to ground save God His Mercy show. Yet would I fain be put to death, when so God's Will shall be, For this, the right of Holy Church, ere that she ruined be." Candle and book he took anon, and banned them then and there Who on the rights of Holy Church made war, her foemen were, Namely Sir Randolf, he of Broke, Robert of Broke also, Who this, his See and Bishopric did wrongfully misdo. For that, the while he was away, of wrong King Henry took The Bishopric, and gave its lands to Randolf, he of Broke, Who made Robert de Broke his clerk, for him to come and go, And Warden under him to be, he wrought the land much woe, And did destroy the Bishopric, and took to him its gold, And of these goods, won wrongfully, had built to him a hold; And therein, on that Christmas Day, when Thomas laid the ban, He sat at meat, in noble state, and with him many a man. Unto his hounds he threw the bread, that there before him lay, But every hound, he turned aside, the folk who saw it say. Then took he to him other bread, and with it mixed anew Bread from another's trencher, which to the dogs he threw, And every bit he handled there the dogs, they let it lie, The other bread, they chose it out, and ate it greedily! The Curse, I trow, was on him seen, upon the self-same day, The rightful vengeance of Our God, as all the folk must say, When that the dogs the bread forsook that lay to them anear -- And Christmas-Day, methinks, it fell on Friday, in that year, When these four wicked knights of whom the deed I tell to-day Their way to England thus had ta'en Saint Thomas for to slay. And on Saint Stephen's Day, those four to Saltwood Castle came Six miles from Canterbury, there they 'lighted, at that same; And unto them Randolf de Broke, he made his way anon, That night they counsel took, I trow, how best the deed were done. The morrow, ('t was on Child-Mass Day) as God the grace did send, To Canterbury speedily, Randolf de Broke did wend, (For of Saint Thomas he would know where he should be that tide That he might flee them not, that day, nor might in safety hide.) Those knights, I trow, when Tuesday came, they would no longer stay, To Canterbury did they ride before the close of day, About the time of Evensong they to Saint Thomas came And boldly to his chamber they betook them at that same. They came, and found him peacefully, there, in his chamber, stand, With him his privy clerks, for they a council had on hand. Then grimly, Sir Rainald Fitzurse, he did toward him wend, And: "Sire:" he saith, "our lord, the king, doth us in message send, And here, from him in Normandy, we this command have brought, That thou should'st here his bidding do, and should'st delay thee naught, And that thou go unto his son, for crowned king he is, And should'st amend to him what thou his sire hast done amiss, And swear thou wilt be true to him, and loyally wilt do What, for the lands thou hold'st from him in chief thou needs must do; The clerks, whom thou dost bring with thee, with thee in this must stand, Swear to be true unto the king, or they must flee the land." "@3Beau Sire@1," then answered this good man, "I think to tell no lie, I'll do my homage to the king for this, my baronie, But God wills not that Holy Church 'neath foot be trodden so That I, or other of my clerks, should this thy bidding do. Thou knowest well the laymen all who be within this land They take upon them no such oath as here I understand, By this thou thinkest Holy Church in servitude to bring More than the lot of laity, nay, I swear no such thing!" "I think me well," Sir Rainald quoth, "thou wilt obey in naught This same behest, which unto thee we from the king have brought. And now we bid, on his behalf, that thou absolve straightway Those Bishops, whom beneath thy ban thou didst but lately lay." "@3Beau Sire@1," he quoth, Saint Thomas, "'t was not my deed, I trow, From his own mouth the Pope himself he hath condemned them now, And thou know'st well that I may not the Pope's own deed undo --" "The Pope's deed?" quoth Sir Rainald, "Nay, 't is thy deed also!" "Sooth" said Saint Thomas, "if the Pope those men to judgment brought Who this my church have so misdone, it doth displease me naught!" Sir Rainald made swift answer there: "By all thine acts dost shew Thou would'st annoy our lord, the king, and that thou art his foe, And 't is thy will to work him harm, that do we clearly see, Thou fain would'st take from him his crown, but that shall never be! And king thou would'st be in his stead, but that thou shalt be ne'er!" "Certes, Sire," quoth Saint Thomas, "that thought I cherished ne'er, But rather would I be his friend and helper, an I may, For him, and for his honour do I pray both night and day, For there is no man on the earth whom I love more, I wis, Than him, save but his father, who still my liege lord is. Feast of Saint Mary Magdalene, in sooth I tell to thee, A full accord was made betwixt my lord the King and me, He gave me leave to ban all those who did in aught misdo The Church that is his Mother, and naught else did I do!" "Avaunt thee, priest," quoth Rainald, "too much, I trow, dost say Thou would'st thine own lord slander, too clever thou alway! Would'st say that he, my lord the king, would ban them, and disown Those who had crowned his son as king? Was not the deed his own? Was it not with his own consent, by no man's rede or lore? Avaunt, Sir Priest, bethink thee, and say thou so no more!" "Sir," said Saint Thomas, "thou know'st well that others had a share, For thou wert present there thyself, as many others were, Archbishops, Bishops, too, I ween, other great men and high, Yea, well five hundred men and more, as thou didst see with eye!" "Be still," then quoth that wicked knight "and hold thy tongue to-day, Thou foully dost belie thy lord, woe him who thus doth say! Who should such slander suffer, and not avenge the deed? Nay, by the faith I owe to God I'll teach thee other rede!" With one consent, his fellows, their arms about they cast, And fared as men who were nigh mad, their threats they fell full fast. Then to the monks he turned anon, "Come forth!" he then did cry, "'T is the King's foe ye have in hold, he knows it verily, To the King's will his body yield, or here do I declare He taketh to him all your lands, your manors layeth bare!" "Sir Rainald," quoth Saint Thomas, "dost think that I will flee? Nay, @3parde@1, I'll not stir a foot, nor for the king nor thee!" "By God, Sir Priest," quoth Rainald, "thou soon wast at a stay, Thy flight, I trow, it were but short, nor far should'st go alway!" Those knights, they wrathful were enow, they gat them forth anon, And then, when they were fully armed they came again, each one, With swords, and eke with axes, and other weapons more; Robert of Broke, that wicked clerk, he went them all before, To Canterbury's cloisters they came with all their might, The monks were singing Compline, for now 't was nigh to night; Then some, for the great noise they heard, they fell adown for fear, And some began to run about, as tho' they witless were. Saint Thomas took his Cross in hand, of other arms had none, And therewith, with all boldness, towards his foes hath gone, The monks, they cried upon him there: "Now, Mercy, Sire," they say, "For God's Sake, bide thee here, Our Lord may give thee rede alway, Suffer us here to aid thee, or else with thee to die!" And some, they would shut fast the door, when they their foes espy. "Nay, leave that," quoth this holy man, "therein shall ye do wrong, Sing on the service of Our Lord, and this, your Evensong, No man of Holy Church should make a castle 'gainst his foe, He leaveth fools to rave a stound, and in their folly go." With that, on folly bent, the knights they rushed in speedily, "Where is" they quoth, "that Bishop false, that traitor, where is he?" Saint Thomas took the Cross in hand, and answer made anon: "Behold me here, God's Priest am I, but traitor am I none! Look ye for them who think to flee, or do your threatenings dread, For not more ready are your swords here now to smite me dead Than this, my heart, is ready here death from your hand to take, And ne'er the rights of Holy Church for death will I forsake!" The knights, they rushed on him anon, his cap from off his head, His mantle from his back, they tare, reviling him that stead, Sir Rainald de Fitzurse, I trow, doth close beside him go -- "Sir Rainald," quoth Saint Thomas there, "what thinkest thou to do? For oft have I done good to thee, and others too, I trow!" The other quoth: "What I may do, thou learnest soon enow Traitor! This will I do to thee, right swiftly shalt thou die!" "In sooth," then quoth that holy man, "ready thereto am I, Now for the rights of Holy Church to die were I full fain If so that after this, my death, she should in peace remain. But if, in sooth, 't is me ye seek, I pray ye, in Christ's Name That ye come nigh no other man to work upon him shame, In that none other guilty is of what ye put on me, Blameless are all, save I alone, of that ye sure may be, And therefore, since they blameless be, unharmed now let them wend --" The good man knelt down on his knee, he saw it was his end, And to receive his martyrdom he bowed his head adown, And soft and low, as some men heard, he spake his orisoun; "Now to Our Lord, and Saint Marie, and eke Saint Dionis, And all the patrons of this church where I be slain, I wis, I here in death commend my soul, and Holy Church's right --" While yet he prayed for Holy Church, he had none other might, Sir Rainald de Fitzurse, of all the fiercest there was he, Drew forth his sword, that holy man to smite right speedily, But Edward Grim, of Grantboro', who was his clerk, they say Stretched out his arm, for he was fain to help his lord that day; The stroke his arm hath wounded sore, the blood it ran adown, And with that self-same blow he smote Saint Thomas on the crown, So that the blood adown his face, on the right side, did flow, Then loud he cried, this wicked knight, "Now shall ye smite them low!" Then Edward Grim, and all the men who stood the Bishop near To the side altars then they ran, fleeing for very fear -- For e'en as with Our Lord it fared, when the Jews seized Him there, All His disciples fled away, He wist not where they were -- For in the Gospels it is writ, Christ spake it verily, "When men shall smite the Shepherd, then the sheep shall scattered be --" And Christ for His disciples prayed that no man harm should do To them, and so Saint Thomas, he, prayed for his monks also. Another smote Saint Thomas, in that same wound I trow, And made him look toward the ground, and his face downward bow; In the same place, the third knight, a blow he smote anon And prone he fell, the Bishop, his face upon the stone. The fourth knight, then he smote him, in that same place again And on the marble of the floor his sword point brake in twain, For honour of the holy man who thus his death there met That point, at Canterbury, the monks they keep it yet. That stroke hath smitten off the skull, the crown from off the head, So that, upon the pavement, the brains abroad were spread, White brain, with red blood mingled, lay on the pavement there And tho' 't was pity great to see, the colour, it was fair! And it ran all around his head, e'en as a diadem, And lay, in sooth for all to see, a marvel seemed it them! For men, when they would paint a saint, I trow, forget it ne'er But ever paint around his head a circle fit and fair A diadem, or halo, and so men well might see By this, the diadem of blood, that he a Saint should be. Then, when the holy man was slain, the knights, they cried each one: "This traitor now to death is brought, now go we hence anon, This shall they see, the king's men, and all who with him be, We on this traitor be avenged, as all men now may see, He would be higher than the king, and fain had worn the crown, And all the land have brought to naught, and now is he cast down!" E'en so the Jews spake of Our Lord, when Him they fain would slay, That He would make Himself a King, and Son of God alway. Then when these wicked knights a space had from Saint Thomas gone Robert de Broke bethought himself, and turned him back anon, And thro' the skull he smote his sword, right far the head within So that the skull was empty, no brain was left therein, E'en as the Jews they smote Our Lord, after His Death did take A spear, and thro' His very Heart a fifth Wound there did make, Those wicked men did in that stead Saint Thomas smite, I ween, So that the skull was spread abroad, e'en as the crown had been. For he was ne'er a man who deigned his head to turn aside, Nor yield a foot unto his foe, but would the stroke abide, Nor made he cry, nor uttered groan, but, gracious, bowed his head, And held it steady, tho' his foes would smite it off that stead. Those wicked knights, they wend anon unto his treasury, The doors and coffers there they brake, and wreaked foul robbery. They took his clothes, and eke his horse, and treasure, too, that day, Charters, and private writings, in coffer locked away; Randolf de Broke, he took them then, to the king now would wend To Normandie, and say these knights they did the writings send, Praying him deal as was his will, if there were any there Against his royal right and will he should them straightway tear. Among his treasures did they find two hair shirts rough that day And vilely did they handle them, as worthless, cast away, Yet, natheless, they bethought them there, and were afeared, I ween, And softly spake between themselves, a good man had he been. William of Tracy later told of this good man and true To Exeter's good Bishop, when he was shrived anew, That when Saint Thomas had been slain, and they from hence would go, Well nigh they had waxed mad for fear, such horror did they know, It seemed them, as they gat them hence, that, swift as they might fare, The earth, it gaped to swallow them, all living as they were. Then when Saint Thomas, he was slain, and hence the knights had gone, Thro' Canterbury town, I trow, 't was known by all anon, The folk, with cries so doleful, to church they ran, I wis, Honoured that holy body, and ofttimes did it kiss. The monks, they hasten thither, the holy body take, On a fair bier they laid it, before the altar wake, The face was white and clear enow, no blood was there within, From the left half of his forehead to the left half of his chin A little streak there was of blood, that o'er his nose did flow, But no more blood was in his neck as well the folk did know. The wound, it bled the long night thro', men took thereof, I ween, To-day, in Canterbury church that blood may still be seen. Yet he in no-wise changed his hue, for all that he bled there Clear was he, of good colour, as tho' alive he were, And, somewhat smiling with his mouth, lay as he were asleep -- The folk, they gathered thick around, the blood were fain to keep, And gather up the drops that there had fallen to the ground, And of that earth all soaked in blood, glad was he who it found. That would no man deny them, and much they took away, Who touched that holy body, a glad man he, that day. Then, with the morn, those wicked knights, they arm themselves eftsoon, Without the town took counsel, what now might best be done, Fain had they ta'en that body, with horses drawn it there, High on a gibbet hanged it, and said the law it were, Unworthy he within a kirk or kirkyard for to lie -- The monks o'er much believed this, and feared them mightily, And swift that body buried, in a place near beside, With little pomp or ritual, they durst no longer bide. But in Christ's Minster buried the body there anon, Before Saint Austin's altar, and that of Baptist John. The monks durst wait no longer, nor wash that body dear But all unready, laid it low, and fled away for fear. But, as they stript him of his clothes, the vesture, it did show The clothing that beseemed a clerk, and other garb below, For a monk's habit was beneath, e'en as they found it there The cowl, and woollen robe, I trow, above the shirt of hair; So that within he was a monk, tho' secular without, And no man knew his secret who was with him about. Next to his flesh his girdle bare of knots full many a one That deep into his flesh they ate, some even to the bone. Tho' shirt and breeches he might wear he little ease might feel So tightly was he bound therein from shoulder e'en to heel, Uneasily he needs must sit, uneasily must ride, Uneasy would he lie at night, or turn on either side. And all his flesh was full of worms, to add to other woe, Never another creature so many worms might show, For everywhere within his flesh they were so thickly set That scarce the large ones for the small unto their meat might get, But one upon the other crept, and twined them all about, The small, they clave close to the flesh, the larger were without. He died, eleven hundred years, and seventy and one After Our Lord came down to earth, and took our flesh and bone; And three and fifty years of age were counted to him there And many a fair day had he lived, in woe, and eke in care. The king was aye in Normandy, and of the deed knew naught, But dole and sorrow made enow, whenas the news was brought, In the castle of Argenteyne, he heard the tidings sore And came not forth from out the gate for forty days and more; In privacy he kept him, with weeping, and with woe, And for no need that men might urge without the door would go, Recked naught of this world's doings, while spare his food should be, Such dole and grief as there he made no man I trow, might see. To Canterbury sent anon, all for this doleful deed, And prayed the monks full piteously for him to intercede, He sent them word assuring them that naught of this he bade, The knights had gone forth secretly, and nothing to him said, He sent a message bidding them turn again speedily But ere the man might come to them they were far out at sea. And, as 't was good, unto the Pope, the king, he sent right soon And prayed his counsel piteously, what now might best be done? And for the love of God besought, in this his anguish, rede, That he be shriven and absolved of this right wicked deed. The Pope, I trow, had pity great in that he thus did send And great joy, too, that he, his life was willing to amend, Two cardinals he sent him, wise men they were, those two, That he be shriven of this sin, and be absolved also, And to absolve those bishops, who 'neath the ban yet lay -- Right welcome were those cardinals unto the king alway! Then, dolefully, he prayed them absolve him of this deed, That he would stable stand, and swear to follow all their rede. And there upon the Hallows sware that he therein did naught, Not by his will, nor his behest, Thomas to death was brought. Nay, never for his father's death had he such sorrow sore, Nor for his mother had he felt such grief as now he bore. And that he would, with willing heart, the penance take and bear That they should lay upon him, however hard it were. For he was cause of this, his death, and of his woes also, In that his knights, to please him, had brought him thereunto. Then, when the cardinals, they saw he did repent that wrong They shrived him there, and laid on him a penance stern and strong, But all in secret, as 't was right that no man of it spoke But this that I now tell ye was known to all the folk. That he should send to Holy Land two hundred knights, to fight A year long with the Templars, for Holy Church's right. The Statutes, too, of Clarendon, he should revoke them all 'T was for their sake that holy man did thus, a martyr, fall. And that, to Canterbury's See he wholly yield again That which, wroth with Saint Thomas, he erst from it had ta'en. And that those men should freely, and wholly, be forgiven Whom of ill-will, for Thomas' sake, he from the land had driven. The king, he granted all their will, the while he wept full sore And said it was too little, prayed they 'ld lay on him more; And saith: "Now here, of my good will my body may ye take Give me a penance sharp enow, I will it not forsake." Unto the church door did he go, to be absolved, I ween, Holding himself unworthy within it to be seen. Without the church door, piteous, he knelt him on his knee, The cardinals, they willed not his body stript should be But in some wise, above his clothes, they did absolve him there, I trow, full many wept for grief of those who round him were. Upon his son he laid behest with sorry cheer, that he Fulfil his father's penance, if that unfit he be; That, should he fall on feeble state, ere to the end he came, He take the penance on himself, of good will, at that same. Thus that good man, Saint Thomas, to martyrdom was brought And since then many a marvel for his sake hath been wrought. Men wist in far Jerusalem that he to death was done Within a fortnight of the day his earthly race was run, For that a monk of that same land in his death-struggle lay His abbot came unto him, ere yet he passed away, Conjured him solemnly, that dead, he should, without debate, Return again to him, and say what there should be his state. The monk, he died soon after, e'en as it was God's Will, And to the abbot came again, his bidding to fulfil, And told him that, among the saved, in Heaven's joy was he, And spake much of the gladness that he in Heaven did see, And told him, in that self-same time that he to Heaven did come Of Canterbury th' Archbishop had suffered martyrdom, And that his soul, that self-same hour, to Heaven did ascend And fair was the procession that did to greet him wend; Of Patriarchs, of Angels, Apostles, too, also, Martyrs, Confessors, Virgins, they did to meet him go, They met and brought his holy soul unto Our Lord, anon, With great rejoicing as He sat upon the Great White Throne. His crown, it all was smitten off, and bloody was his head, No brain was left within it, all with his blood was shed. "Ah, Thomas, Thomas!" quoth Our Lord, "this lot is fallen to thee To come thus to thy Lord's own Court, and in such guise to Me! For thy good service will I give to thee such joy and bliss As I gave to Saint Peter, who mine own Apostle is." He set upon his head a crown, of gold so bright and good, And well it showed, the gleaming gold, upon the crimson blood! And greater joy there ne'er might be than was in Heaven withal For Canterbury's Archbishop, whom men Saint Thomas call. The Tuesday after Christ's Own Mass, the next as it did come, That holy man, Saint Thomas, he suffered Martyrdom. And when thou hearest of his death from English men, in sooth, Thou shalt remember this my tale, and know 't was very truth!" The abbot, on the morrow he of Saint Thomas thought, The tale unto the Patriarch of Jerusalem he brought, So that they, later in the year, right well did understand Whenas the pilgrims thither came out of the English land, And that these pilgrims told as truth all that the monk had seen The very manner of his death, and when he slain had been. Thus, in Jerusalem, I trow, Saint Thomas' death was known Within a fortnight of the day that he to death was done. When five years he had martyred been, so doth the story tell, Between King Henry and his son a contest great befell, The son waxed proud of this, his power, since he as king did reign But lightly held his father, to war with him was fain. Of England all the greater part they with the son did hold, The kings of France and Scotland too, so in the tale 't was told, Then this old man and feeble, much pain and grief he knew, And laid it on his wicked deed, that men Saint Thomas slew. From Normandy to England he gat him at that tide, Ere he to Canterbury came nowhere would he abide. When he was far without the wall from horse he 'lighted down And all afoot, and barefoot, did wend him to the town, And with his kirtle all ungirt, as folk might see that day, He took his way unto the place wherein Saint Thomas lay. His hands outstretched in sorrow, mercy did aye implore And at his tomb he knelt adown with sighs and weeping sore, In Orisons, with weeping, and fasting, there he lay And thus beside that good man's tomb abode a night and day. And each monk of the Minster he prayed to scourge him there Each with a rod, and yet he thought the pain too little were. And dolefully he prayed them, each one, for him to pray, The evil laws that he had made he sware to put away; And then he bade them sing a Mass, ere that he thence might wend, In honour of Saint Thomas, that grace to him he send. And even while this Mass was sung, as God did grant it so, The King of Scotland, he was ta'en, who was his fiercest foe, And many another too with him, who were his foes anon, And they who thus were captive ta'en power against him had none. So this king old and feeble, who had the lower place, Was raised again to honour all by Saint Thomas' grace. His son was put beneath him, little he won that tide By warring 'gainst his father thro' this, his sorry pride. By this a man may warning take that never, hastily, He give his lands unto his son, while yet in life he be! King Henry's son, thereafter, much evil hath he wrought, And long before his father died he to his death was brought, Full sore he pined in sickness, his life it seemed him long, And died at last a doleful death, in bitter pains and strong. His brother too, Sir Geoffrey, the Earl of Brittany, He fell in the same sickness, the self-same death had he, So when he died, King Henry, of heir remained there none Save this, their brother Richard, and after him was John. But yet, Sir Geoffrey's children, by rightful law of land, Were heirs unto the kingdom, so do I understand; Of Brittany the maiden, his only daughter, she, For this cause all her lifetime a prisoner must be. And all four of those wicked knights, who did Saint Thomas slay Died an ill death, and painful, small wonder 't was alway! They were each one repentant, nay, never men were more, For mercy on Saint Thomas, I trow, they cried full sore. Soon after they had done this deed they from their goods did wend To Holy Land betook them, their lives they would amend. But William Tracy fared not forth with these his fellows three, Deeming that he, in England, a penitent might be. But very soon thereafter in sickness sore he fell His flesh, it rotted on him, and evil did it smell; So foul the stench, I trow me, that dole it was to see, And for its very foulness no man might nigh him be. His flesh, it rotted on him, each day it fell away, Till that his bones were waxen bare, his joy was all away. His flesh, with his own hands he tare from off him at the last, And piece by piece he took it, and far from him he cast. He tare, I trow, his hands and arms, till there was left thereon No trace of flesh, but nothing more save sinews, and bare bone. And many men, they deemed in truth he bare it willingly To pay sin's debt, that so his soul in lesser peril be. At last in bitter pain his soul did from his body wend And, as it were God's Will alway, he made a godly end. Thus, for their wicked deed, these knights, full soon they died each one And in the third year after there was left living none. For even as the Psalter saith, the men who treacherous be They shall not live out half their days, and so we surely see; E'en tho' they be repentant, as these knights were, I ween, They shall not live out half their life, on them this well was seen. Saint Thomas, now, that holy man, in earth he buried lay Ere men might lay him in a shrine, I trow, for many a day; For forty years therein he lay, and half a year should be With eight days added thereunto ere brought from earth was he. For God would wait a fitting time for such a holy thing Till to a good archbishop was joined a godly king. The king who came before him, and wicked was also, He little thought within his day such godly deed to do; But his young son, King Henry, he would not long delay, Tho' young he was when made a king, the saint in shrine to lay. Scarce thirteen years, I trow, had he, when that he did this thing And in the fourth year this befell since that they made him king. The good Archbishop, Stephen, he counselled him thereto So it was by the rede of both that they this deed did do. Honorious, he was Pope then, and thither would he send From Rome, the Legate Pandolf, to bring this thing to end. The Pope decreed a pardon to all who there would go That for long years in England men no such pardon know. To honour this, his body, the folk they came ere long Of bishops, and of abbots, full many thither throng, Of priors, and of parsons, and many a clerk also, And many an earl and baron with knights did thither go; The squires and serjants flocked there, and husbandmen enow, And of the simple land folk, so many came, I trow, That all the land about there, the country far and wide, Might scarce contain the people who flocked from every side. So these high men, and noble, elect this deed to do, Were much in care, lest, for the press, they come not thereunto; So the Archbishop, Stephen, of whom but now I told, And Salisbury's Bishop, Richard, they did a council hold, E'en with the Prior Walter, head of the Convent he, And thus they took their counsel to do it privilie; So as men lay and slept by night, thereof had little thought, They took those holy bones up, and in a coffin brought, And set them in a secret place until the day they see That it was cried throughout the land the grave should opened be. July, the month, I think me, upon the seventh day, It fell upon a Tuesday, so all the folk they say, On that day to the Minster in order have they gone with the young child, King Henry, the high men, every one. And on that day, at underne, they to the body come, And Pandolf, he hath gone the first, the Legate he, from Rome. And the Archbishop Stephen, and from beyond the sea From Rheims came the Archbishop, to this solemnitie. Hubert de Brom, he followed, High Justice was he then And four great lords came with him, all wise and noble men. And they, upon their shoulders, the body take anon, Of bishops, and of abbots, have many with them gone. And thus to the High Altar of the Trinity they bare The holy bones, and laid the chest in stately shrine and fair. He was so young, King Henry, that there he durst do naught, Nor help them bear the body lest that it hurt him aught, The holy bones, they raised them on Tuesday, as men tell, And all his life's chief happenings, on Tuesdays all they fell. For on a Tuesday was he born, from mother's womb he came; And even as men bring a thief, so was he brought with shame On Tuesday to Northampton, to stand before the king, And to receive his judgment -- they say, who saw the thing, That even worse than any thief the folk they served him there -- Banished was he on Tuesday, from England forth must fare; At Ponteney, on a Tuesday, Our Lord to him did come And to him spake a gracious word of this, his Martyrdom: Saith Our Dear Lord: "Now Thomas, thro' shedding of thy blood Shall all my Church be honoured!" Methinks these words be good. Then back again to England on Tuesday did he come, After he had been banished, to take his Martyrdom. And thus at Canterbury, on Tuesday was he slain, At last, upon a Tuesday, enshrined within that fane. Thus seven things on Tuesday befell from first to last, And therefore on a Tuesday doth many a man keep fast And eat no flesh on Tuesday, others but one meal eat, And go to Canterbury, to do him honour meet. Now Jesu, for that great Love, on which Saint Thomas thought Bring us unto those self-same joys that he so dearly bought! |