Thomas Becket. Father John S. Hogan
just about bearable. However, an incident occurred that brought Thomas to Roger’s defense in the hope that some sort of reconciliation could be effected. John of Salisbury in his biography records accusations made against Roger during his time as archdeacon — that he was involved in a relationship with a young man in Theobald’s household. The young man, Walter by name, began to spread rumors of this relationship, and when Roger heard of this, he pursued proceedings in court against him. The court found in Roger’s favor, and as punishment for what were now regarded as false allegations, Walter had his eyes gouged out. Walter continued to make accusations against Roger in defiance of the court’s judgment; in responding to them again, the archdeacon allegedly persuaded a civil court to condemn Walter, and the young man was hanged.6
In 1152, the case was made public, and Roger found himself in hot water. Though Roger’s enemy, Thomas knew that Roger was entitled to a fair hearing, and so he enlisted the help of colleagues, legal experts among them, to deal with the matter. Theobald heard the case and was persuaded to accept a “purgation” from Roger, in which he denied under oath that any of the charges made by Walter were true. The archdeacon then had to travel to Rome to defend himself before the pope. Following a hearing at the papal court, he was cleared of the charges. He returned to his office, and his career advanced unaffected. In future disputes with Thomas, Roger would conveniently forget what his nemesis had done to help him. Biographers have tried to confirm whether these events occurred or whether John of Salisbury invented them to settle a score with an implacable enemy of Thomas’s who had benefited from his innate magnanimity. Most are inclined to believe that Roger was accused of something and might even have been guilty of an illicit relationship, though John may have exaggerated it in some respects.7 As to whether Thomas’s assistance tempered relations between Roger and himself in real terms, it is doubtful.
By the winter of 1152, Stephen and Eustace were entrenched in a siege at Wallingford, Henry’s base in Oxfordshire; the Angevin was forced to meet them in battle to relieve the castle. The barons, however, were not so keen to see bloodshed. They had much to lose in terms of their holdings in both England and Normandy; regardless of who won this battle, they would have offended one of the two rulers, Henry or Stephen, to whom they owed feudal loyalty. They feared the price they would have to pay for their perceived disloyalty. Eustace berated his barons, as he knew his only chance of wearing the crown was victory in battle, but they ignored him. Henry and Stephen would be forced to negotiate. The two agreed to talk, shouting at each other across the River Thames and trying to agree to a solution. The efforts failed, and both parties rode off, Henry to attack Stephen’s possessions at Stamford and Nottingham, and Stephen to attack Henry’s at Ipswich. Eustace sulked his way to the abbey at Bury St. Edmunds, where he demanded food and money from the monks. When they refused it, the irate count ordered the abbey to be pillaged and the church to be desecrated. On August 17, 1153, Eustace suddenly collapsed and died. He was about twenty-four years old, and while the cause was a heart attack, many interpreted his sudden demise as God’s response to his actions at Bury St. Edmunds. As his marriage to Constance of France was childless, Eustace left no heir.
Eustace’s death seemed an evil omen and removed any hope Stephen had of keeping the throne. The last obstacle to finally ending the Anarchy was removed.8 The king was also battling depression following the recent death of his wife — Queen Matilda, whom he regarded as his strength and most ardent supporter, died of a fever on May 3, 1152. Theobald took the initiative. In the previous months, he had already been in contact with both sides, urging negotiations. They were difficult months, as neither side fully trusted him. Stephen wondered how much of the old loyalty remained after all that had happened; Henry was not quite sure whether the archbishop had really come over to his side. Theobald needed extraordinary tact and prudence — one false step and not only would the little progress he had made be reversed, but the whole venture could come crashing down, soaked with the blood of countless innocent men and women.
In that summer of 1153, Theobald and his entourage, with Thomas at his side, had come looking for Stephen and Eustace to see whether they could be persuaded to agree to some form of negotiation. Later, Theobald met with Henry to see if he, too, could be coaxed to meet Stephen. By this time, Henry was more inclined to listen to Theobald; the archbishop had mediated a quarrel Henry had had with the bishop of Salisbury, so he had proven himself. Theobald had come to the decision that Henry must end up with the crown, regardless of how that was negotiated. In his efforts, Theobald found he had an unexpected ally: Stephen’s brother, his old nemesis Bishop Henry of Winchester. Perhaps through the wisdom of old age or a dawning realization that it was the only way to peace, Bishop Henry had come to regret his part in assisting his brother to seize the throne, and he was now a willing and generous servant of the archbishop in his efforts to bring the whole sorry episode to an end.
For six months, Theobald, with Thomas’s able assistance and shrewd diplomacy, went back and forth from Stephen to Henry. Stephen, heartbroken after Eustace’s sudden death, was no longer as fiery and insistent. At this stage, it seemed he just wanted to keep the crown for himself; he was no longer concerned about the succession. This opened the way to reconciliation. With the agreement of both parties, Theobald arranged a meeting. On November 6, 1153, Stephen and Henry met face-to-face at Winchester and there agreed to end hostilities and settle their differences. Theobald proposed a compromise that might satisfy both parties.
The peace was carefully choreographed. In a grand procession, Ste phen led Henry through the streets of Winchester to his palace, where a great council had gathered. Before them, Stephen declared Henry to be, for all purposes of the law of succession, his son and his heir, the lawful successor to the throne. In doing this, Stephen excluded his younger son William from any claim. Henry would require an oath from Stephen and his supporters to confirm William’s exclusion. The agreement, which Theobald had brokered, would allow Stephen to reign until his death, when Henry would succeed him. In terms of property that had been seized by either side during the civil war (castles and lands), these were to be returned to those who had held them during the reign of Henry I, thus establishing a principle Henry Angevin would seek to use to his advantage during his reign.
It took six weeks to formalize the agreement in writing, and the treaty enshrining the new arrangement and succession was signed when the royal court met for Christmas at Westminster Palace.9 Stephen took his oath excluding William from the succession, and William did homage to Henry as his father’s heir and future king. Stephen’s knights did likewise, with the proviso that their fealty lay with Stephen until his death. Important castles such as the Tower of London and those at Windsor, Oxford, Lincoln, and Winchester were given into the temporary possession of neutral parties until Henry succeeded. The bishops then took oaths of fealty to Henry.
Officially and legally, there was no mention of Thomas during these conferences; he was a mere clerk. Yet, his part in the negotiations was indispensable. Theobald had relied upon him and trusted him implicitly, and Thomas had excelled. The archbishop was, once again, vindicated in his decision to hire this Londoner and invest so much in him; he had received a mighty return. At the first opportunity, Thomas would be rewarded with even greater responsibility and greater trust. There was another who noticed this clerk’s ability — Henry — and perhaps he, too, filed away what he had seen for future reference.
As negotiations to end the civil war were being conducted, Henry Murdac, archbishop of York, died on October 14, 1153. Having failed to win the loyalty of the clergy of his archdiocese, he had had a difficult tenure. He was succeeded by his rival, the much maligned but innocent William FitzHerbert. William had traveled to Rome to plead with the new pope, Anastasius IV, to restore him to the see. The pope agreed, and William was reappointed archbishop on December 20, 1153, returning to York in May 1154. William’s period of office was to be short; he died suddenly a month later, on June 8, Trinity Sunday, after offering Mass. Initial investigations into his death revealed that he had been murdered — the chalice at Mass had been poisoned, and a culprit had been identified: the archdeacon of York, Osbert de Bayeux. Osbert had been a supporter of Henry Murdac and opposed to William’s succeeding to the office. Murder charges were brought against Osbert, and he stood trial in 1156 when the case was transferred to the papal courts, but no record of judgment exists. God’s judgment of William FitzHerbert’s life and character was revealed by the miracles that began to occur when he