à Becket in the old days of his splendor.
They rode away on horseback, in a very
secret manner, and on the third day after
Christmas Day arrived at Saltwood House,
not far from Canterbury, which belonged to
the family of Ranulph de Broc. They quietly
collected some followers here, in case they
should need any; and, proceeding to Canterbury,
suddenly appeared (the four knights
and twelve men) before the Archbishop, in his
own house, at two o'clock in the afternoon.
They neither bowed nor spoke, but sat down
on the floor in silence; they looking fixedly
at him; he looking fixedly at them.

Thomas à Becket said, at length, " What do
you want?"

"We want," said Reginald Fitzurse, " the
excommunication taken from the Bishops, and
you to answer for your offences to the King."

Thomas à Becket defiantly replied, that the
power of the clergy was above the power of
the King. That it was not for such men as
they were, to threaten him. That if he were
threatened by all the swords in England he
would never yield.

"Then we will do more than threaten,"
said the Knights. And they went out with the
twelve men, and put on their armour, and
drew their shining swords, and came back.

His servants, in the mean time, had shut up
and barred the great gate of the palace. At
first, the knights tried to shatter it with their
battle-axes, but, being shown a window by
which they could enter, they let the gate
alone and climbed in that way. While they
were battering at the door, the attendants
of Thomas à Becket had implored him to
take refuge in the Cathedral, in which, as a
sanctuary or sacred place, they thought the
knights would dare to do no violent deed.
He told them, again and again, that he would
not stir. Hearing the distant voices of the
monks singing the evening service, however,
he said it was now his duty to attend, and
therefore, and for no other reason, he would go.

There was a near way between his Palace
and the Cathedral, by some beautiful old
cloisters which you may yet see. He went
into the Cathedral, without any hurry, and
having the Cross carried before him as usual.
When he was safely there, his servants would
have fastened the door, but he said it was
the house of God and not a fortress.

As he spoke, the shadow of Reginald
Fitzurse appeared in the Cathedral doorway,
darkening the little light there was outside,
on the dark winter evening. This knight
said, in a strong voice, "Follow me, loyal
servants of the King!" The rattle of the
armour of the other knights echoed through
the Cathedral, as they came clashing in.

It was so dark in the lofty aisles and among
the stately pillars of the church, and there
were so many hiding-places in the crypt below
and in the narrow passages above, that
Thomas à Becket might even at that pass
have saved himself if he would. But he
would not. He told the monks resolutely
that he would not. And though they all
dispersed and left him there with no other
follower than EDWARD GRYME, his faithful
cross-bearer, he was as firm then, as ever
he had been in his life.

The knights carne through the darkness,
making a terrible noise with their armed
tread on the stone pavement of the church.
"Where is the traitor?" they cried out. He
made no answer. But when they cried, "Where
is the Archbishop!" he said proudly, "I am
here!" and came out of the shade and stood
before them.

The knights had no desire to kill him, if
they could rid the King and themselves of
him by any other means. They told him he
must either fly or go with them. He said he
would do neither, and he threw William Tracy
off with such force when he took hold of his
sleeve, that Tracy reeled again. By his
reproaches and his steadiness, he so incensed
them, and exasperated their fierce humour,
that Reginald Fitzurse, whom he called by an
ill name, said, "Then die!" and struck at
his head; but Edward Gryme put out his arm,
and there received the main force of the blow,
so that it only made his master bleed. Another
voice from among the knights again called to
Thomas à Becket to fly, but, with his blood
running down his face, and his hands clasped,
and his head bent, he commended himself to
God and stood firm. Then, they cruelly killed
him close to the altar of St. Bennet, and his
body fell upon the pavement which was
dirtied with his blood and brains.

It is an awful thing to think of the poor murdered
mortal, who had showered his curses
about, lying, all disfigured, in the church,
where a few lamps here and there were but
red specks on a pall of darkness; and to think
of the guilty knights riding away on horseback,
looking over their shoulders at the dim
Cathedral, and remembering what they had
left inside.

On the 29th instant will be published, price 5s.6d., neatly
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THE THIRD VOLUME
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"HOUSEHOLD WORDS."
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