10

       Archdeacon

      With Roger on his way up north, Theobald now had a position with which to reward his most able clerk and ensure that his talents could be used to greater effect within the Archdiocese of Canterbury and the Church in England. Thomas had been reaping the rewards of his labors in other ways; of late, he had been gathering benefices from a number of churches.¹ This had been supplementing his income and was beginning to provide him with a comfortable lifestyle. His first benefice came from the abbot of St Albans who conferred the church of Bramfield in Hertfordshire on him; later, a grateful bishop of Worcester also conferred the church of Saint Mary-le-Strand in London on him for his assistance in various matters.² Theobald then granted him the benefice of Otford in Kent as a reward for his work at the Council of Reims. A number of others followed, including one from St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. These “livings” provided Thomas with additional income, which became more necessary as he rose up through the ranks and his expenses increased. Now, with Roger out of the way, he was called into the archbishop’s pres ence to learn that he would receive the greatest office in Theobald’s gift: the archdeaconry of Canterbury. Apart from being a promotion to an important position, the archdeaconry brought with it a very generous income and the hope of even more benefices to come. Life was good for Thomas.

      Already in minor orders, Thomas now needed to be raised to the subdiaconate and then ordained to the diaconate in order to take possession of his office.³ The exact date of his ordination is not known, but it is believed to have happened around October or November 1154. When he was in minor orders, marriage was still possible; but now Thomas had to embrace a life of celibacy, though that was not a barrier for some who held such offices. Roger de Pont L’Évêque, for example, is known to have fathered a child at some point in his career. To Thomas’s credit, though he was ambitious and was very happy to accumulate wealth and enjoy the lifestyle he could now afford, he would remain true to the promises he made at his ordination. As he donned the dalmatic, Thomas’s ambitions were finding fulfillment at last.

      In terms of dignity, the archdeacon of Canterbury, the most senior archdeaconry in England, was almost on a par with bishops and abbots. The office came with an income of more than one hundred pounds a year, which was a serious sum of money in 1154 and, ironically, was more than the archbishop of York would receive — Roger had to take a cut in salary with his move to the higher office. While the office brought great prestige, it was usually seen as a “suggestive” appointment — the one appointed to the office was marked out for even higher office. Thomas knew without a doubt that unless some disaster should fall upon him, he would in time become a bishop. As his predecessor had become an archbishop, that too was a real possibility. Thomas brought a wealth of experience to the office and, by now quite adept at meeting whatever challenges arose, was quick to gain even more experience in the daily exercise of this high ecclesiastical position.

      Like every deacon, Thomas had a role to play in the sacramental life of the Church. While he could not offer Mass, hear confession, or administer the Sacrament of the Sick, he could baptize, marry, preach, and preside at various ceremonies. While historians correctly plot Thom as’s progress in status and wealth, his spiritual response to these steps in his elevation is not usually highlighted. For all his ambition and love of mammon, Thomas never lost the simple piety his mother had taught him or forgot his duties to the poor as his lot in life improved. His resolve to stay true to his promise of celibacy when many others in his position were happy to forget it in the throes of passion and opportunity reveals that his simple piety was made of stern stuff and could steer this young man in the right direction morally. As an archdeacon, Thomas was not merely an ecclesiastical official and an administrator; he was also an ordained minister, with duties and responsibilities that were as much spiritual as they were political and administrative. The key to understanding the complexities of Thomas Becket’s character lies in realizing that his Christian faith mattered to him even when his adherence to some of its tenets may not have been ideal.

      On October 25, 1154, around the time of Thomas’s ordination, King Stephen died. His peaceful reign was short, just ten months; he contracted what appears to have been dysentery while staying at Dover Priory. He was buried at Faversham Abbey with his wife and son Eustace. The king’s death would prove to be an advantage for Henry; his position in Normandy was not as secure as he would have hoped, and any number of events could have weakened his position. A long, peaceful reign for Stephen could well have seen a reversal of fortune for the beleaguered king and his young son William.

      When Stephen died, Henry was in France assisting Louis VII, who was now pacified after his rant over Henry and Eleanor’s hasty marriage. As a feudal subject of France, Henry was fulfilling his duty to stand with his king in a war with some of Louis’s unruly vassals. When news came to him that Stephen had died, he immediately proclaimed himself Henry II of England and enjoyed the victory not only for himself but for his mother, still living her life in the monastery; she was finally vindicated in her claim, though she would never wear the crown herself. Despite his pleasure at his succession, Henry was in no hurry to get to England. He tarried in France and made arrangements to sail back in early December. In the meantime, Theobald took the reins and governed as regent until Henry condescended to gift England with his presence.

      King Henry and Queen Eleanor arrived in England on December 7, 1154, landing near Southampton and making their way to London, where preparations for the coronation were already advanced.⁴ On December 19, Henry and Eleanor were anointed and crowned by Theobald at Westminster Abbey;⁵ Henry was twenty-one years old, his queen thirty-two. They already had a son and heir, William, Count of Poitiers, just over a year old, and Eleanor was pregnant again — a second son was due in February. It seemed a new dynasty was about to be founded and secured. Flush with victory, Henry was confident in his ability to rule with skill and security. He sought peace and unity, and assured his new subjects that he would restore England to her former glory after almost two decades of war, strife, and death. A new age had begun; he hoped the days of tyranny were over.

      Such too were the hopes of the people of England, who were worn out after civil war and the tense reign of the usurper. They were sure that they now had a great prince, and Henry was keen to confirm that impression. He wanted peace and stability, and he planned to deliver them. In his coronation charter, the new king made his subjects no promises, but he assured them that he would grant them all the concessions, liberties, and freedoms that his grandfather, Henry I, had allowed them.⁶ That in itself should have rung warning bells — Henry I had been more an autocrat than a generous libertarian. The new young king looked back on his grandfather’s reign as halcyon days when the iron fist, neatly nestled in a velvet glove, ensured that the crown jealously guarded its rights, liberties, and assets — with an uncanny ability to dip into the assets of others when the need arose.

      Among those serving at the coronation was the new archdeacon of Canterbury, assisting the archbishop in the various liturgical actions of the ceremony. Henry would have noticed Thomas, now dressed splendidly in the dalmatic and no doubt as professional in his liturgical role as he was in the vital role he had played in the tense negotiations of 1153. Did Henry muse on the fact that he in large part owed the crown he was wearing to the deacon now standing before him in the abbey? He may well have done so, perhaps even speculating that this servant of the archbishop might prove an effective servant of the crown. Henry would need help to usher in this new age and to bring about that restoration of royal power and privilege he desired; he needed formidable and able counselors and advisors, and he saw before him the newly ordained archdeacon of Canterbury, who had been so deft in the negotiations for peace.

      As the palace at Westminster was deemed uninhabitable, having suffered damage during the Anarchy, Henry and Eleanor spent