BECKET.
No fear!
GRIM.
No fear, my lord.
[_Crashes on the hall-doors. The_ MONKS _flee_.
BECKET (_rising_).
Our dovecote flown!
I cannot tell why monks should all be cowards.
JOHN OF SALISBURY.
Take refuge in your own cathedral, Thomas.
BECKET.
Do they not fight the Great Fiend day by day?
Valour and holy life should go together.
Why should all monks be cowards?
JOHN OF SALISBURY.
Are they so?
I say, take refuge in your own cathedral.
BECKET.
Ay, but I told them I would wait them here.
GRIM.
May they not say you dared not show yourself In your old place? and vespers are beginning.
[_Bell rings for vespers till end of scene_.
You should attend the office, give them heart.
They fear you slain: they dread they know not what.
BECKET.
Ay, monks, not men.
GRIM.
I am a monk, my lord, Perhaps, my lord, you wrong us.
Some would stand by you to the death.
BECKET.
Your pardon.
JOHN OF SALISBURY.
He said, "Attend the office."
BECKET.
Attend the office?
Why then--The Cross!--who bears my Cross before me?
Methought they would have brain"d me with it, John.
[GRIM _takes it_.
GRIM.
I! Would that I could bear thy cross indeed!
BECKET.
The Mitre!
JOHN OF SALISBURY.
Will you wear it?--there!
[BECKET _puts on the mitre_.
BECKET.
The Pall!
I go to meet my King! [_Puts on the pall_.
GRIM.
To meet the King?
[_Crashes on the doors as they go out_.
JOHN OF SALISBURY.
Why do you move with such a stateliness?
Can you not hear them yonder like a storm, Battering the doors, and breaking thro" the walls?
BECKET.
Why do the heathen rage? My two good friends, What matters murder"d here, or murder"d there?
And yet my dream foretold my martyrdom In mine own church. It is G.o.d"s will. Go on.
Nay, drag me not. We must not seem to fly.
SCENE III.--_North Transept of Canterbury Cathedral. On the right hand a flight of steps leading to the Choir, another flight on the left, leading to the North Aisle. Winter afternoon slowly darkening. Low thunder now and then of an approaching storm_. MONKS _heard chanting the service_. ROSAMUND _kneeling_.
ROSAMUND.
O blessed saint, O glorious Benedict,-- These arm"d men in the city, these fierce faces-- Thy holy follower founded Canterbury-- Save that dear head which now is Canterbury, Save him, he saved my life, he saved my child, Save him, his blood would darken Henry"s name; Save him till all as saintly as thyself He miss the searching flame of purgatory, And pa.s.s at once perfect to Paradise.
[_Noise of steps and voices in the cloisters_.
Hark! Is it they? Coming! He is not here-- Not yet, thank heaven. O save him!
[_Goes up steps leading to choir_.
BECKET (_entering, forced along by_ JOHN OF SALISBURY _and_ GRIM).
No, I tell you!
I cannot bear a hand upon my person, Why do you force me thus against my will?
GRIM.
My lord, we force you from your enemies.