Becket (1964)

[bunniefuu]

Well, Thomas Becket,

are you satisfied?

Here I am stripped,

kneeling at your tomb

while those treacherous
Saxon monks of yours

are getting ready
to thrash me.

Me, with my delicate skin.

I bet you'd never have
done the same for me.

But, I suppose I have
to do this penance

and make my peace with you.

What a strange
end to our story.

How cold it was
when we last met

on the shores of France.

Funny, it's nearly
always been cold,

except at the beginning

when we were friends.

We did have a few,

fine summer evenings
with the giris.

Did you love
Gwendolen, Archbishop?

Did you hate me the
night I took her from you,

shouting, "I am the King"?

Perhaps that's what you could

never forgive me for.

Look at them lurking there,

gloating.

Oh, Thomas,

I'm ashamed of this
whole silly masquerade.

All right, so I've come
here to make my peace

with their Saxon hero,
because I need them now,

those Saxon peasants of yours.

Now I'll call them my sons,

as you wanted me to,

you taught me that too.

You taught me everything.

Those were the happy times.

Do you remember?

At the peep of dawn

and as usual
we'd been drinking

and wenching in the town.

You were even better
at that than I was.

Shhh, listen.

Upstairs.

She's up with someone.

Well, go on up.

Get up man, get on up there!

Quick, out through the window.

Thank you.

Come on now.

Come on.

Come on.

Come here.

I'll lay my hands on
her, the dirty slut.

Where is he the swine?

You don't,

don't you dare,
don't you dare.

Here catch.

Go on, get in there.

Here take my good boot.

I can't get my boot back on.

Faster now.

Oh, rub harder pig,

I'm cold.

Ah, no one does it
the way you do, Thomas.

Thank you.

I think you actually
like the cold.

I made you a nobleman,

why do you play
at being my valet?

I'm your servant
in the council chamber,

or here in the bath.

My Norman Barons resent it,

they feel it's your Saxon way

of mocking their nobility.

Nobility lies
in the man, My Prince,

not in the towel.

Have you any idea
how much trouble

I took to make you noble?

I think so,

I recall you pointed
a finger and said,

"Thomas Becket
you are noble".

The Queen and your mother
became very agitated.

They're always agitated.

No, I mean trouble
from the Barons,

they hate you, you know?

Of course, one always
hates what one wrongs.

When you Norman's
invaded England,

you seized our Saxon land,

b*rned our Saxon homes,

r*ped our Saxon sisters.

Naturally you hate Saxons.

Don't include me,

it was my great
grandfather William

who was called
"The Conqueror",

I'm an old resident.

I did not mean you.

Didn't you?

You know when I took
you into my service,

everyone predicted you'd
put a Kn*fe in my back.

Did you believe them?

No, I showed them that
you were a man of honor,

and a collaborator.

That was accurate of you.

How do you combine the two?

My Lord?

Honor and collaboration?

I don't try.

I love good living,
and good living is Norman.

I love life and the
Saxons only birthright

is to be slaughtered.

One collaborates to live.

And honor?

Honor is a concern
of the living.

One can't very well
be concerned about it

once one's dead.

You're too clever
for me, Thomas,

but I know there's something

not quite right
about your reasoning.

Honor is a
private matter within,

it's an idea

and every man has
his own version of it.

How gracefully
you tell your King

to mind his own business.

Time for the council
meeting, My Lord.

Ugh.

Will My Lord dine
with me tonight?

On gold plates?

Always.

I am your King,
and I eat off silver.

Your expenses are heavy,

I have only my
pleasure to pay for.

Tonight you can
do me the honor

of christening my forks.

Forks?

Yes, from Florence.

A new little invention,

it's for pronging meat
and carrying it to the mouth,

it saves you
dirtying your fingers.

Then you dirty the fork.

Yes, but its washable.

So are you fingers,

I don't see the point.

Well, it hasn't any
practically speaking

but it's refined,

it's subtle,

it's very un-Norman.

You must order me some.

For my Barons.

I have enough
forks to go around,

bring the gentleman
with you tonight.

I shall.

We won't tell them
what they're for.

They'll probably think
they're a new kind of dagger.

All right, gentlemen,

the Council is open.

Gentlemen,
I've called you here

to find out why
a simple request for taxes

causes such
unpriestly caterwauling.

My Lord...

We must come to
an understanding

about who rules this kingdom,

the church...

My Lord, I wish to ask you...

Just a moment, Archbishop.

The church, or me?

There are many troublesome
issues between us,

which call for a reckoning.

Amongst other abuses

is the claim you make

of judging your clergy

accused of civil crimes

in your own
ecclesiastical courts.

I warn you,

there can be only one
justice in this country,

and that is the Kings.

But before we quarrel,

here is some happy news.

I have decided to revive

the office of
Chancellor of England,

keeper of the Lion's Seal,

and entrust it to
our loyal servant

Thomas Becket.

Yes, my little Saxon?

My Lord?

Well, for once I've
taken you by surprise.

My Lord,

this is a stupendous honor,

for which I may
not be worthy.

I'm inexperienced
in these matters

and frivolous by nature.

Rubbish,

you know more than
all of us put together.

He's read books
you know, its amazing.

He's drunk and wenched
his way through London

but he's thinking all the
time, aren't you, Thomas?

He'll checkmate
the lot of you,

even you Archbishop.

I never did anything
without your advice.

No one knew it,

now everyone will, that's all.

There,

that's the
Great Seal of England,

don't lose it,

without the seal
there's no more England

and we'll all have to pack up

and go back to Normandy.

May I crave leave

to greet our young
and learned friend,

for I noticed him

when he was first
made Archdeacon.

Thank you, Archbishop,

but don't rely
too much on Becket

to play your game,

he's my man.

I'd forgotten you were
an Archdeacon, Thomas.

So had I, My Prince.

Now to business.

The law demands

that every landowner

send soldiers
to give me service

or pay a tax in silver,

is that correct?

I have heard so, My Lord.

We are about
to cross the channel

to force Louis of France

to return the Norman towns
he has taken from us.

I have received
neither soldiers

nor silver from you
gentlemen, for this w*r.

But surely one must
distinguish between

the individual landowner

and God's church?

The law doesn't distinguish.

But this has never
been spoken of before.

I've never been
this poor before.

No, I've made up my mind

and I'm passing
around the plate,

just drop in the money.

Oh, my backside's sore.

Is that all,
count your blessings, Sire.

I don't know
about you, Thomas,

but I'm starving,

have them bring
us something to eat.

The layman who shirks his duty

and fails to supply
his King with arms

should pay the tax,

nobody will question that.

Least of all the clergy.

On the other hand,
a priest's duty

is to assist his
King with his prayers

for Godliness and peace,

he cannot maintain men at arms

without violating
the very essence

of that sacred function

therefore he cannot be
held liable for the tax.

Your priest
fought well enough

in the days of a conquest

when there was
booty to be had.

Sword in fist,
rumps in the saddle,

death to Saxons scum,
it's God's will,

it's God's will.

Those violent days are over.

The priest is back
in his sanctuary

it is peacetime now.

But not for long, pay up,

I don't intend to budge.

Come on Chancellor,
say something,

has your new title
made you tongue-tied?

May I respectfully draw

to My Lord
Archbishop's attention

one small point?

Respectfully but firmly,

you're Chancellor now.

England is a ship,

the King is the
captain of the ship.

That's neat, I like that.

My Lord Chancellor,

in point of fact,

there is also a saying

the captain is sole
master after God.

After God!

Nobody's questioning
God's authority, Archbishop.

Most certainly God
protects the ship

by inspiring the captain

but I've never heard

that he determines
the wages of the crew,

nor instructs the
paymaster in his duties.

God has more
important business.

Our young deacon's ambition

has carried him
away from the church

but he cannot have forgotten
that what is important

is revealed to man
only through his church

in the person of our
Holy Father in Rome,

his bishops and his priests.

Or does the Chancellor
think otherwise?

True, there is a priest
onboard every ship.

He gives God's blessings,

but neither God nor the church

ask him to take the
wheel from the helmsman.

My Reverend Lord,
the Bishop of London

who I understand
is the son of a sailor

surely cannot
have forgotten that.

I will not allow
personal insinuation

to compromise the integrity

and honor of the church.

Please, Bishop, no long words.

All that's at stake
here is its money.

I need money to
fight the French,

will the church give it to me,

yes or no?

My Lord,

your illustrious ancestor
William the Conqueror

granted these tax
exemptions to the church.

May he rest in peace,

where he is now,
he doesn't need money.

I'm still on Earth and I do.

This is not primarily

a question of money,
Your Highness,

this is a
question of principle.

I need troops, Bishop.

I've sent for 3,000 Swiss

to help me fight
the King of France

and no one has ever paid
the Swiss with principles.

My Lord, Chancellor,

it is pointless to
continue this discussion.

The law has given us
the means of coercion,

we will use it.

You,

you owe everything
to Holy Mother Church.

Would you dare plunge
a dagger into her bosom?

My Lord and King who
rules by the grace of God,

has given me his seal

with the three
lions to protect.

My mother is England now.

Traitor,

Saxon.

My Reverend friend,

I strongly suggest that
you respect my Chancellor

or else I'll call my guards.

Ahh, here they are now.

Oh, no,

it's only my snack.

Now, gentlemen,
if you will excuse me,

at this hour in the morning

I need sustenance

or else I tend to feel weak

and a king must never weaken,

I'm sure you will agree.

I'll have it in my chapel.

Then I can pray
directly afterwards.

Come on, Thomas,
keep me company.

He means it's
time for the hunt.

Not until we have
eaten, my dear Bishop.

Race?

Right.

The Kings hunt.

Eh?

Oh, inside quick.

Let's get under cover

before we're drowned.

We've lost the Barons.

Oh, they'll find us,

here, hold this.

Oh, I'm cold, my pretty.

Go on sit on there,
that's a good girl.

Go on, get on there.

I'm freezing,
get the fire going.

There'll be no
wood in this house.

In the middle of the forest?

These people are entitled

to two measures
of deadwood a year,

one branch more and they hang.

My edict?

Your edict.

Come here, old man.

We need firewood.

Don't be afraid.

Thomas!

Thomas, come here!

Look at this.

She stinks a bit
but we could wash her,

what would you think
of it, cleaned up a little?

She's a child.

What would it be
like when it's a woman.

How old would you
say it was, 16, 17?

It can speak, My Lord,
how old are you.

Eh?

Of course it can speak.

How old's your daughter, dog?

Odd the number of
dumb people I meet

when I set foot
out of my palace,

I rule over
a kingdom of mutes.

They're afraid.

Quite right, too.

Don't stand there,
put the wood on the fire.

Hello, pretty.

Look at it.

The odd thing is it's so ugly,

yet it makes such
pretty daughters.

You're a member of the
family, explain that?

Well, at 20 before
he lost his teeth

and took on that ageless
look the common people have,

he may have been handsome.

He may have had
one night of love,

one moment when he was
a king and shed his fear.

Afterwards, his
paupers life went on

eternally the same.

The moment faded

and he forgot it all,

the seed was sown.

Will she grow ugly too?

Surely.

If we made her a whore

and kept her at the palace,

would she stay pretty?

Perhaps.

Then we'd be doing her
a service, wouldn't we?

No doubt.

Look at it,

it understands every word.

Stop staring at me, dog,

get me something to drink.

I have some
drink in my saddle.

What's the matter, Thomas?

Nothing.

I'm getting you a drink.

Thank you, Thomas.

Our escort.
want some?

What's the matter, you hurt?

It's nothing.

Show me.

Now you know you can't
stand the sight of blood.

My horse bit me.

That is too funny.

My Lord here, makes us all
look silly at the jousts

with his fancy horsemanship,

he goes to his saddlebags

and gets bitten like a groom.

You look quite
shaken, little Saxon.

Funny, I can't bear
to think of you in pain.

All this just
to get me a drink

wounded in the
service of the king.

This deserves a gift.

What would you like?

This girl,

I fancy her.

That's very tiresome of you,

I fancy her myself,

and where that
subjects concerned

friendship goes by the boar.

All right, she's yours.

Thank you, My Prince.

But you will return the
favor equally one day.

At your pleasure.

Equally, favor for favor,

you give me your
word as a gentleman?

I do.

Right, she's yours.

Shall we take her with us

or shall we have her sent?

No, no, no, the
soldiers can bring her.

Wash your daughter,
dog, and k*ll her fleas,

she's coming to the palace

for My Lordship here.

He's a Saxon too,

so I hope you'll be pleased.

Give him money, Thomas,

I'm feeling generous
this morning.

Don't worry
about your daughter,

nobody will come
to take her away,

I'll see to that.

And tell your son

he should stay
hidden in the forest

until he can
handle a Kn*fe better.

Here.

Forgive me,

not for fighting,
my dear Baron,

for eating.

Go on, it's lovely.

Noisy brutes.

You seem to spend
a great deal of time

in their company.

No, I can forget it
when I come to you.

I'm happy that
I can relieve you.

Now don't tease me
tonight, Gwendolen.

I'm off to France
again tomorrow, and w*r.

I am My Lord's c*ptive,

whatever his purpose

and whatever his mood.

I hope so.

It is God's will,

since he gave the Norman's

victory over my people.

And that's the only
reason you're here?

If the Welsh had won the w*r,

I would have married
a man of my own race

at my father's castle.

God did not will it so.

All right.

I'm sorry I was so
late coming to you

but the King is demanding

and the Barons
have to be kept at bay.

I'm lying,

you are My Lord,

God or no God.

If we had won the w*r,

you could just as easily

have taken me from
my father's castle.

I would have come with you

for you had taken my heart

before you captured my body.

Have I said
something wrong?

Somehow I can
never support the idea

of being loved.

I told you that.

Oh, please.

Sit.

Play something,

something sad,

it helps the digestion.

Play.

Oh, sweet and melancholy.

Sit, Thomas,

witness one of
my finer moments.

I behave like a brute,

but I'm as soft as
swan's down inside.

You know, Thomas,

sometimes I think
that you and I

are the only civilized
men in England.

I eat with a fork,

and you've made
me into a man

of the most
delicate sensibilities

and now if you
really love me

you should find me a
beautiful well bred girl

to give me a little polish.

Favor for favor,

do you remember?

I am your servant, My Lord.

All that I have is yours.

But you are also
gracious enough to say

I am your friend.

Yes, that's what I mean,

as one friend to another.

You do care for her then?

You do care about something?

Or do you?

Go on, tell me,

tell me if you
care for her or not?

I said, "favor for favor"

and I asked for your word.

And I gave it to you.

Right.

Well, that's settled then.

May I have a moment's grace?

Surely, surely.

After all, I'm not a savage.

Did you promise me to him?

No.

I promised him
anything he asked for.

I never thought
it would be you.

If he sends me away tomorrow,

will you take me back?

No.

I leave you this,

you've almost
learned to play it.

You've not found anything

in the whole worid
to care for, have you?

No.

We both belong
to a conquered race,

but you've forgotten

that people
robbed of everything

can still have one thing
left to call their own.

Yes,

where honor should be,

in me there is only a void.

I loved you,

Thomas Becket.

My Lord.

Enter.

How careless you are, Thomas,

you had forgotten her.

But you told me
that you fancied her

and I remembered.

You see I really
am your friend

and you're wrong
not to love me.

Goodnight, Sire.

Shall I undress, My Lord?

What?

Shall I undress?

Thomas?

Thomas?

She's dead.

She's k*lled herself.

All this blood.

Help me, Thomas,

I'm frightened.

I'm the King!

Get rid of her.

Guard.

I'm sleeping here tonight.

Give this girl a silver
piece and let her go.

He won't hurt you.

I don't want to
be alone tonight.

I'm here, My Prince.

You'll hate me now.

I'll never be
able to trust you.

You have nothing to fear.

You gave me your seal,

and while I wear it

my duty is to my king.

But I'll never know

what you're thinking.

Sleep now.

We cross the channel tomorrow.

When we face the French
on the field of battle

there will be simple
answers to everything,

so long as Becket must
improvise his honor

from day to day,

he will serve you faithfully.

But what if one day

he should meet
his honor in truth,

face to face?

But where is Becket's honor?

An early good morning
to you, gentlemen,

I've just ridden
from the town.

I've arranged for
its capitulation.

Well, will there be loot?

No, I want these people

to collaborate
with good grace.

The French Bishop will
deliver the keys of the city

to the King at eight
o'clock in the cathedral.

No fighting,
what are we here for?

To secure King Henry's
possessions in France.

You have three more
towns to recapture.

I'd rather sack the town
and slaughter the lot.

Yes, and have a dead city.

No, I want to give
the King living cities

to increase his wealth.

From dawn this morning

I'm the townspeople's
dearest friend.

And what of England's pride?

England's pride, my dear Baron

is to succeed.

What a mentality.

Chancellor of England.

Who knows what he is,

he's a Saxon.

Release him.

Leave us Sergeant.

My Lord?

Leave us.

What are you, a Saxon
monk doing in France,

they'll k*ll you, you know?

I'm prepared to die.

How old are you?



Hmm, dying is easy at 18.

Your Kn*fe stinks of onions

like every proper
little Saxon's Kn*fe.

You used to be a Saxon.

Now you belong
to the Normans.

I see.

A Saxon Kn*fe

for a Saxon collaborator.

Did you think
that by k*lling me

you could liberate your race?

No, not my race, myself.

From what?

My shame and yours.

The Normans have
occupied England

for a hundred years
since Hastings,

shame is an old
vintage to the Saxon.

Your father and
your grandfather

drank it to the dregs.

The cup is empty now.

No, never.

What's your name?

What is your name?

John.

Sergeant.

Well, Brother John,

I'm going to save your life.

It has no importance for me

but it's very rare for fate

to bring one face to face

with one's own
ghost when young.

My Lord?

Have this monk
returned to England

to the custody of the
Abbott of his monastery.

I want him treated
without brutality,

but carefully watched.

Yes, My Lord.

My Lord?

Good morning, My Lord.

Oh, French wine.

I had a little
too much last night.

It's their major
contribution to civilization.

Here's another.

I must say I adore
my French possessions,

they're certainly
worth recapturing.

What's your name, my pretty?

Name?

Marie.

Marie, very French.

A French luxury
is very luxurious.

And for the moment free.

We take possession of
the town this morning.

Yes, I heard.

You managed that
very well, Thomas.

Personally, I shall
miss the fighting,

meanwhile we have
some business to discuss.

I've been studying the
dispatches from England.

You love work don't you?

If you love anything.

I love doing what I have
to do, and doing it well.

You'd be as efficient against
me as for me, wouldn't you?

If fate had
arranged it that way.

So what in most
people is morality,

in you it's
just an exercise in,

what's the word?

Aesthetics.

Yes, that's the word.

Always, aesthetics.

Yes.

Well now,

look at that.

Isn't that aesthetic, too?

Some people go into
ecstasies over cathedrals

but that's a work of art.

Look at it,

round as an apple.

Want her?

Business, My Lord.

All right, business.

Sit down.

Listen carefully, Marie,

to the droppings of the
greatest brain of our day.

Now piecing together
all the information

I've received from London

there are some unpleasant
deductions to be made.

The power of the
Bishops is increasing

like the pestilence,

soon it will rival your own.

Talk sense, Thomas,

priests are always intriguing

but I can crush
them anytime I wish.

If you don't crush them now,

in five year's time

there will be two
Kings of England,

the Archbishop of
Canterbury and you,

in ten year's time
there will be only one.

And it won't be me?

I fear not.

Grant to horse,
Thomas, to horse,

w*r on the clergy,
death to the Archbishop.

My Lord, I can't breathe.

What are you doing down there,

spying for the clergy?

Be off with you.

Put on your
clothes and go home.

My Lord, am I to come
back to the camp tonight?

Yes,

no,

I don't know.

I'm thinking of priests
now, not you, go away.

Wait, I'd rather be sure

I'm getting
another one as good.

Yes, come back tonight.

You're adorable.

You must always
tell them that,

even when you pay.

That's high politics too.

Only one,

it won't be me?

It won't be you.

But what will God say
if I att*ck his church,

after all they're his bishops?

We must manage the church.

One can always come to a,

sensible little
arrangement with God.

Becket, you're a monster.

You flatter me, My Lord.

But please,
My Lord, dress quickly.

It's, it's inelegant
for conquerors to be late.

You're a monster.

You see, they love us
dearly, these French.

So they should,
we paid them enough.

In that case, we
should have found some

that didn't dress
out of a rag barrel.

The rich are at home sulking.

Supporters of
King Louis of France?

No, it just
would've cost too much.

That sounds real.

Yes, we have soldiers
disguised in the crowd

to encourage enthusiasm.

Why must you destroy
all of my illusions?

Because you should
have none, My Prince.

What do you see?

Reality.

Stop here!

The Bishop is waiting.

As if it mattered what
I do with a Bishop

whose city I've just taken.

It matters.

Am I the strongest,
or am I not?

You are today,

but one must never drive
one's enemy to despair,

it makes him strong

gentleness is better politics,

it saps virility.

A good occupational
force must never crush,

it must corrupt.

Make a note of the house.

Oh, never mind.

My Lord, the Bishop.

Yes, papa.

No, papa.

Put your men at rest, Captain.

Is this William, of Corbeil?

Yes, Sire.

I hardly recognized you

without a tankard
covering your face.

How did they pry
you away from it?

I had urgent messages from
London for you, My Lord.

It seems that God

is on our side
after all, Thomas.

What is that, My Prince?

He's just recalled the
Archbishop of Canterbury

to his bosom.

That frail old man,

he was the first Norman
to take an interest in me.

God rest his soul.

He will, he will

and he'll be much
more use to God

than he ever was to me.

Thomas.

An extraordinary idea
is creeping into my mind.

A masterstroke,

I'm suddenly
very intelligent.

It probably comes
from making love

to that French
girl last night.

I'm subtle,

I'm even profound.

Oh, I'm so profound
it's making my head spin.

Are you listening
to me, Thomas?

I'm listening, My Prince.

We need a new
Archbishop of Canterbury.

I think there is
a man we can rely on.

No matter who it is,

once the Archbishop's
miter is on his head

he will not longer
be on your side.

But if the
Archbishop is my man,

if Canterbury
is for the King,

how could his power
possibly get in my way?

My Lord,
we know your bishops,

once enthroned at Canterbury,

every one of them will
grow dizzy with power.

Not this man.

This is someone who doesn't
know what dizziness means,

someone who
isn't afraid of God.

I'm sorry to deprive
you of the French giris

and the other
spoils of victory but,

are you listening
to me, Thomas?

You're leaving
for England tonight.

On what mission, My Prince?

You are going to
deliver a letter

to all the bishops of England.

Uh-huh.

My royal edict nominating
you, Thomas Becket,

Primate of England,

Archbishop of Canterbury.

Shut up.

Thomas, I'm in deadly earnest.

My Lord,

don't do this.

You have an odd way
of taking good news.

I should think
you'd be triumphant.

But I, I'm not even a priest.

You're a deacon,

you can be ordained priest

and consecrated
Archbishop the next day.

Have you considered
what the Pope would say?

I'll pay his price.

My Lord,

this frightens me.

I thought you had God in the
palm of your hand, Thomas.

I beg of you,

do not do this.

You've never
disappointed me, Thomas,

and you're the
only man I can trust.

You'll leave for
England tonight.

Becket?

Thank you for returning
to us the keys of our city.

The die is cast, Thomas,

make the most of it.

And if I know you,

I'm sure you will.

There you are.

Thank you, My Lord.

Thank you, My Lord.

You're welcome,
it will keep you warm.

He'll only sell it for drink.

Then that will keep him warm.

Yes, Your Grace.

No, not Your Grace,

I will not be consecrated
Archbishop until tomorrow.

I'm sorry, Father.

That is temporarily correct.

You don't really intend

to give away
your winter cloaks?

Everything, has all
the gold plate been sold?

Yes, the money from the
sales is in those purses.

Excellent, bring me
the rest of the money.

But Your Grace...
I mean, Father...

Everything.

Well, welcome to
Canterbury, My Lord Bishop,

is anything wrong?

May I ask what is
happening here?

Go sell all that thou hast
and give it to the poor

and thou shal't have
treasure in heaven.

I doubt if the Lord, Jesus

meant that to apply
to a Chancellor

about to be
consecrated Archbishop.

Perhaps then it's
a touch of vanity.

A truly saintly man,

I know would never
do all this in one day.

Let us call it
the clumsy gesture

of a spiritual gatecrasher.

Most clever,

an Archbishop who
gives all so dramatically

to the people would be
most popular with them.

Oh no, Folliot,

I'm simply
enjoying all of this.

I'm beginning to
believe he's not a

sad God after all.

Forgive me, I fear my
inexperienced methods

will never meet
with your approval.

I know that you cast
the only vote against me.

In the end I gave way
to the King's wishes.

I don't blame
your reluctance

as Bishop of London
and senior churchman

you should've
been Archbishop.

Now to have to
consecrate me instead

and place the
miter on my head.

I have no choice.

I'm only performing
my function as Bishop.

I see you still wear the seal

of the King's Chancellor.

Yes, I will
continue to wear it,

that and the
Archbishop's ring.

You do not find
this inconsistent?

No, God is best served

when the two rest
side by side in harmony.

These excessive
acts of humility

will not compensate for
subservience to the crown.

Thank you.

We are both aware of the
delicacy of my position.

Let us trust that God

will find a solution for it.

And now,

since humility seems to be

a little hard on the knees,

I trust you will be
comfortable under our roof,

My Lord Bishop.

Dear Lord,

I wish there was something

I really regretted
parting with

so that I might
offer it to you.

But forgive me, Lord,

it's like going on a holiday,

I've never enjoyed myself
so much in my whole life.

Lord,

are you sure you're
not laughing at me?

It all seems far too easy.

It is a Bishop's
duty to pass judgment,

to interpret,

to consecrate,

to ordain,

to offer sacrifice,

to baptize and to confirm.

Let us pray beloved Brother,

let the goodness
of Almighty God

providing for the
well-being of his church,

may bestow upon
this Bishop elect,

the abundance of his grace

through Christ our Lord,

Amen.

May these hands be anointed

with hallowed oil,

with the chrism
that sanctifies.

Even as Samuel
anointed David,

King and Prophet

so may these hands

be anointed and consecrated.

Take this ring,

token of the pledged word.

Yours it is,

donned with
unshakable fidelity

to preserve and guard,

in unblemished honor

God's bride, the Holy Church.

Lord, on the head
of this Bishop

and champion of thine,

I put the helmet of
defense and salvation

that with forehead
thus adorned,

head armed with the horns
of both testaments,

he may appear fearsome

to the enemies of truth.

His Grace, will
receive you here.

It isn't every day
that a Saxon monk

has an audience
with an Archbishop.

Open your eyes.

You'll kiss his ring

and show respect to His Grace,

or you'll get my
foot on your backside.

You're welcome to Canterbury.

Kneel to His Grace.

I see our young Brother
is quite unchanged.

Has he been
troublesome to his Abbott?

Stubborn as a mule, My Lord.

Father Abbott tried kindness,

but in the end
had to have recourse

to bread and water,
even to the whip.

Nothing has any effect.

Except for a good
kick in the rump

if Your Grace will
pardon the expression.

Stand up straight.

Pay attention to your Brother.

As a rule, the sin of
pride stiffens a man's back.

Look me in the face.

Look me in the face.

Now,

what do you have
to say for yourself?

I see.

Now Brothers, we
relieve you for the day

from your rule of abstinence.

Go to our kitchen
before you depart

and I hope you'll do
justice to our cuisine.

And this one?

We will keep him here with us.

He's vicious, Your Grace?

We are not afraid.

Well, now,

wouldn't you rather
have a Saxon Archbishop

than a Norman one?

I hope I won't
regret sending for you.

Why did you?

I'm not sure.

Perhaps in a young,
intemperate way,

yours is a voice that
is good for me to hear.

Then why...

But please, not too often

and not too loud Brother John.

You betrayed your Saxon race,

now you betray God.

Perhaps you will succeed
in teaching me humility,

it's a virtue I've
never really mastered.

Enter.

Your Grace, Bishop Folliot
has just arrived from London,

he wishes to speak
to you urgently.

Well, My Lord
Bishop, what is it?

But, Your Grace?

You may speak freely,

Brother John is
in our confidence.

What is it?

Your Grace, I have a most
serious matter to report,

which requires your
immediate intervention.

Proceed.

A parish priest in
Lord Gilbert's domain,

who is accused of
debauching a young girl,

has been seized by
His Lordships soldiers

and dragged before
the civil courts.

Is the priest guilty?

That is immaterial.

As a consecrated
minister of God

he can only be tried

by our ecclesiastical courts.

You must demand his release

into church
custody immediately.

The principle is a vital one.

Does the King know of this?

He knows, but he
turns a deaf ear.

Lord Gilbert is his friend.

I'm also a friend
of King Henry's.

As Chancellor
you are his friend.

But I wear the miter now.

You also wear the
great seal of England

and I warned you,

you could never
do so honorably.

It is fortunate that I do.

I will plead our
case to the King.

I did not come here to
ask you to plead a case.

I'm asking you to
defend a principle

and you'd better do so
quickly, Your Grace.

Thank you for your warning.

We appreciate your
efforts to chart the course

you would naturally
have followed

had you become Archbishop.

At least, Your Grace,

I could never
have been accused

of divided loyalties.

Should I go now?

Can I go?

No.

See who's outside.

This is
Brother Philip, Your Grace.

He's come with a message
for the Bishop of London.

I told him he just left

but now he
insists on seeing you.

Your Grace,

I wouldn't have dreamed
of disturbing you but...

It's you who are
disturbed, Brother Philip.

What is it?

I believe My Lord Bishop
of London came to you

to demand the custody
of the accused priest.

Yes.

The priest is dead.

Dead?

Yes.

He tried to escape

but Lord Gilbert's
soldiers caught him

and in the presence of
his Lordship, k*lled him.

Thank you, Brother Philip,

you may retire.

Leave us now, Brother John.

My Lord Jesus,

I find it difficult
to talk to you.

What can I say?

I, who have
turned away from you

so often with indifference

I have been
a stranger to prayer,

undeserving of your friendship

and your love.

I've been without honor

and feel unworthy.

I am a weak and
shallow creature,

clever in only
in the second rate

and woridly arts seeking
my comfort and pleasure.

I gave my love,

such as it was elsewhere,

putting service
to my earthly king

before my duty to you.

But now,

they have made me
the shepherd of your flock

and guardian of your church.

Please, Lord, teach me now

how to serve you
with all my heart,

to know at last
what it really is to love,

to adore.

So that I may
worthily administer

your kingdom here upon earth

and find my true honor

in observing your divine will.

Please, Lord,

make me worthy.

You are a creature
of extremes,

aren't you, Brother John.

Get up.

Forgive me.

I didn't know,

I never realized.

Nor did I.

Get up.

You were very good at
admonishing an Archbishop.

Do you think you
could talk to a king?

Yes.

Good.

Then you will
memorize what I write.

Henry?

Henry?

What is it mother?

Why do you keep
gazing out of the window?

Becket won't come you know,

he's much too busy

giving money to the poor

and fitting
sandals on beggars.

I never liked him
as an adventurer,

but now that he puts
on the airs of a saint,

he certainly keeps himself

in splendid isolation

since you made
him Archbishop.

He's in retreat.

It's part of the ritual.

Anyway, I don't need

to be reassured
by his presence.

He's my friend.

More is the pity.

He has a strange way
of showing gratitude.

Your friend,

you mean you went to
the whorehouses together.

It was he who lured you away

from the duties
you owed to me.

Madam,
in matters of debauchery

it was I who lured him

and I didn't need
anyone to lure me

away from the
duties I owe you.

I made you four children
very conscientiously,

thank the Lord
my duty is done.

I pray heaven he
stays away from you.

When you realize
how he has used you,

you may appreciate the
joys of family life again.

The joys of family life
are limited, madam,

to be perfectly
frank, you bore me,

you and your
everlasting backbiting.

Stop this.

And this eternal
tatting of yours.

In God's name how long does
it take to make a tapestry

and it's mediocre
beyond belief.

One performs
according to one's gifts.

Yes.

Shut up, the lot of you!

Which one are you?

Henry the III.

Not yet, sir,

number two is in
the best of health.

A fine way you bring up
your children, madam.

Do you see yourself
as regent already?

No wonder I shun your bed,

it's not amusing to make
love to one's own widow.

Who's that?

A messenger

from Canterbury

if you can spare the time
from bullying your children.

Messenger?

Is your master ill?

No, Your Highness,

I have a message
from His Grace.

A message?

These are Becket's words.

"Whereas men at arms
of the Lord Gilbert

under his orders
and in his presence

have seized and k*lled
a priest of the church,

I Becket,

Archbishop of Canterbury,

Primate of England,

do now ask that Your Highness

in accordance with
the law of the Realm

apprehend Lord Gilbert

and charge him with
the crime of m*rder."

Well, my son,

now you have heard
from your friend.

Get out!

Get out, both of you!

Take your royal
vermin with you!

Your Highness,

is there a reply
for the Archbishop?

Your Grace.

Yes?

The King is here.

Are you certain?

He came mounted and alone,

but I'm sure it's he.

My Prince.

Why did you send a messenger?

Canterbury's only
five hours from London.

I've just ridden it in four,

I'm frozen stiff.

Would you like some wine?

No.

Give me a reason.

Why did you send a messenger?

What answer did you give him?

You've arrived
here before he has.

I detect ill,
devious Becket here.

What game are
you playing, Thomas?

No game, My Prince.

Lord Gilbert
m*rder*d a priest.

I want the guilty punished.

The guilty of what?

This priest was
a scandal to his parish.

That was never proved.

Gilbert should've
handed the accused

over to the church
for process of law.

If guilty, we would have
determined his punishment.

I am the law.

Gilbert will recourse to me,

I gave him leave
to arrest this priest.

I can't allow any of my clergy

to be thrown into prison

and tried by the
civil authorities.

Neither can I stand by

and let my
priests be m*rder*d.

You?

You can't allow?

You can't stand by?

Are you taking yourself
seriously as Archbishop?

I am the
Archbishop, My Prince.

By my grace.

Are you demented,
you're Chancellor of England,

you're mine.

I'm also the Archbishop

and you have introduced
me to deeper obligations.

And if I won't charge Gilbert?

I can't force you,

but there is always
a final judgment

beyond the King's justice.

Oh that, Lord Gilbert
will face his fate

on the day of judgment,
as we all will.

I'm sure he'll have a
great deal more to answer for

than k*lling
a felonious priest.

Lord Gilbert will
come to that judgment

already damned, Sire.

I intend to excommunicate him.

You are demented.

Don't you understand

that when you att*ck
my nobles, you att*ck me,

and when you att*ck me,
you att*ck England!

There is more to
England than the crown.

You must learn to face
that eventually, My Prince.

Damn you, don't lecture me!

You once told me

you didn't know what honor
was, and I laughed at you.

But now to betray me,

to challenge my power.

I do not seek
power, My Prince.

It is only that
I finally discovered

a real honor to defend.

Whose honor?

Whose honor is
greater than the King's?

The honor of God.

Forgive me.

Hmm,

you give the lions
of England back to me,

like a little boy who
doesn't want to play anymore.

I would have gone to w*r

with all England's
might behind me

and even against
England's interest

to defend you, Thomas.

I would have
given away my life

laughingly for you,

only I loved you

and you didn't love me

that's the difference.

Stay away.

But thank you for this
last gift as you desert me.

Now I shall learn to be alone.

Bishop.

What do you want, Philip?

Your Majesty,

alone without an escort?

The King nevertheless.

Bishop, I wish to confess.

The King has
his own confessor.

It is an important
court prerogative.

Don't be nervous, Bishop.

I'm not asking for absolution.

I have something far worse

than a sin on my conscience.

A mistake,

a crass mistake.

I ordered you
to vote for Becket

in the election at Canterbury.

I repent of it.

I bowed beneath
the royal hand.

Very reluctantly, I know.

I'm told this compromise
with your conscience

made you seriously
ill afterwards.

God cured me.

Very good of him.

You wear his uniform
and have his ear.

He's let me fall ill

without lifting a finger

and I must cure myself.

I did not know of this...

I have the
Archbishop on my stomach,

a big, hard lump

I shall have to vomit back.

I think you are a man
one can talk to, Bishop.

I believe I misjudged you,

friendship blinded me.

Is the King's friendship

for Thomas Becket
dead, Your Highness?

Yes, Bishop,
it d*ed quite suddenly,

a sort of heart failure.

A curious phenomenon,
Your Highness,

but quite frequent.

I hate Becket now.

I hate him,

as much as you
are jealous of him.

He's like an animal
tearing my guts,

I can't bear it anymore.

I shall have to
turn it loose on him.

But I am the King

and my office
stands in my way.

I need someone to help me.

My only interest
is for the church.

Oh, come, Bishop.

We're alone and
the church is empty.

The church is never empty.

The little red lamp
burns in the chapel

signifying God's presence
in the tabernacle.

Do you take me for one of
your sheep, Holy Pastor?

I like playing games,

but only with
boys of my own age.

The one for whom that
little red lamp burns

has seen into
your innermost heart

and mine a long time ago.

Of my hatred
of Thomas Becket

and your envy of him,

he knows all there is to know.

Strange, I'd always
taken Your Highness,

for a perennial adolescent

who cared only
for his pleasures.

One can be wrong
about people, Bishop,

I made the same mistake.

Now, if it could be proved

that Becket had committed some

gross impropriety
as Chancellor,

say embezzlement,

what would the church do?

If that were established,

I say if,

the Bishops could
legally dissolve

their allegiance to him

pending their
report to the pope.

And beyond that?

You,

you would go beyond that?

The whole way.

In his guilt,

if he were found guilty,

he would then be
charged under canon law.

And the penalty?

That would be for
Your Majesty to decide.

Thomas.

You love him don't you?

You still love him.

That impostor,
that Saxon guttersnipe,

that mitered hog.

Hold your tongue, Priest.

All I confided to you

was my hate, not my love.

For England's sake,

you'll help me get rid of him,

but don't ever
insult him to my face.

He will be accused,

and you will play
your proper part.

According to law.

I would spit,

if I were not
in God's house.

My Brothers,

as you have been told

your presence
here is voluntary.

If any of you have
second thoughts

you may retire now.

Thank you for attending.

Good day, My Lords.

I did not expect to
see you at Canterbury.

Do you still disagree
with my decision?

Your Grace, can nothing
persuade you to delay?

Oh, yes, the King's
arrest of Lord Gilbert

on the charge of
sacrilegious m*rder.

There will be an arrest

but not Lord Gilbert's.

The sheriff of London
is waiting in the sacristy.

He has orders to summon you

before the King's
grand justicer,

the instant you pronounce
the excommunication.

How curious, on what charge?

Embezzlement.

The King finds that there are

large sums of money
missing from the treasury

during your
administration as Chancellor?

How much?

Forty thousand
pounds in fine gold.

There was never that much
gold in the whole treasury.

I beg of you do not do this.

You will strike a blow

that will split church
and state for a generation.

If I do not strike it now

the church as we know it

will not survive a generation.

God will see that it survives.

No, the Kingdom of
God must be defended

like any other Kingdom.

Gentlemen,

it is a supreme irony

that the woridly Becket,

the profligate and libertine

should find himself

standing here at this moment.

But here he is

in spite of himself.

But the King for good or ill,

chose to pass the burden
of the church onto me

and now I must carry it.

I've rolled up my sleeves,

and taken the
church on my back.

Nothing will ever make
me set it down again.

Now, Lords,

if you will forgive me.

Lord Gilbert,

Baron of England, by
the grace of His Majesty,

King Henry the II,

seized upon the
person of a priest

of the holy church

and unlawfully did
hold him in custody.

Furthermore,

in the presence
of Lord Gilbert

and by his command,

his men seized
upon this priest

when he tried to escape

and put him to death.

This is the sin of
m*rder and sacrilege.

In that,

Lord Gilbert has rendered

no act of contrition
or repentance

and is at the moment
at liberty in the land,

we do here and
now separate him

from the precious body
and blood of Christ

and from the society
of all Christians.

We exclude him from
our Holy Mother Church

and all her sacraments

in heaven, or on earth.

We declare him excommunicate

and anathema.

We cast him into
the outer darkness,

we judge him
damned with the devil

and his fallen angels

and all the reprobate

to eternal fire

and everlasting pain.

So be it.

As the Lord
Sheriff of London,

I'm commanded to summon you,

Thomas Becket,
to the King's court

on the charges
herein set forth,

stamped with the King's seal.

I Robert de Beaumont,

Duke of Leicester,

Grand Justicer of the Realm,

do now summon Thomas Becket

to this court of law,

for the third and last time.

Thomas Becket, step forward.

He's doomed, isn't he?

Yes.

At last.

I forbid you to gloat.

At seeing your enemy perish.

Why not?

Becket is my enemy

but in the human balance

traitor that he is

and naked as
his mother made him,

he's worth 100 of you madam,

with your crown
and your jewels

and your august uncle the
emperor into the bargain.

I'm forced to fight
him now and crush him

but at least he gave
me with open hands

everything that is
at all good in me,

and you have never
given me anything

but your coping mediocrity

and your everlasting obsession

with your puny little person

and what you
thought was due to it!

That's why
I forbid you to smile

while Becket
is being destroyed!

I gave you my youth,

I gave you your children.

I don't like my children!

And as for your youth,

that withered flower

pressed between the
pages of a hymn book

since you were 12 years old

with its watery blood

and stale insipid scent,

you can bid farewell
to that without a tear.

Your body was an
empty desert, Madame,

which duty forced
me to wander in alone.

But you have never
been a wife to me,

and Becket was my friend,

red blooded,

generous and full of strength.

Oh, my Thomas.

And I?

I have given you
nothing I suppose?

Life, yes.

Thank you.

But after that
I never saw you

except in a passageway
on your way to a ball,

or in your crown
and ermine mantle


official ceremonies

when you were forced
to tolerate my presence.

No! No one on this earth has
ever loved me except Becket!

Call him back then,

absolve him if he loves you,

give him back his power,

but do something.

I am.

I'm learning to be alone.

By the authority granted me,

I, Robert de Beaumont,

servant of the crown,

do now before this council,

charge Thomas Becket
with the crimes of...

Robert.

I charge you, Thomas Becket...

Robert de Beaumont,

hear me for the
sake of your soul,

which is in
the gravest danger.

All in this assembly

know how faithfully I've
served My Lord the King.

It was he who willed
that I be Archbishop

and it was for love of
him alone that I accepted.

I am innocent
of any wrongdoing

in my administration

of the King's treasury
as Chancellor,

or at any other time.

I therefore refuse to plea
to these trumped up charges.

I will be judged

by the Pope alone,

to whom before you all

I now appeal and place myself

and my church
under his protection.

As head of the
Church of England

and as your spiritual father,

I forbid you to
pass judgment on me.

I command you

and all who would charge
me to hold your peace

on pain of endangering

your immortal souls.

Well played, Thomas.

Do you think you can

carry this off
indefinitely you fool?

We are all God's
fools, My Lord.

Becket,

you are a liar!

You are a traitor!

Sheathe your sword Morville

before you impale
your soul upon it!

It's funny,

it's too funny.

He's made mincemeat of them.

I'm surrounded by fools!

Becket is the only
intelligent man

in my kingdom
and he's against me!

Your Highness,
it was impossible...

Shut up,

get to your feet.

Did you hear him,

he appeals to the Pope.

If he gains the
Pope's ear, Bishop,

we may find the
entire kingdom

under Papal interdict.

I could be
excommunicated myself.

But, Your Highness,
I do not think that...

I want no more thinking!

Becket must not
cross the channel.

King Louis of France

would be the first to
help him get to the Pope.

The Archbishop must not
leave England, see to it.

From now on, Bishop,

it is total w*r.

Psssst...

My French Knight

takes your English Bishop.

Your Majesty's adroit.

Pardon, Sire.

To snug.

Why do all tailors want
to strangle one's armpits?

Your Majesty, the English
ambassador's extraordinary

insist that I convey
their compliments.

They've already done that.

I'll see them when I'm ready,

that's my job.

They wish respectfully Sire,

to call your
attention to the fact

that they have been
waiting for three days.

Let them wait,
that's their job.

Ambassadors are paid to
pace about in anterooms

especially in these
times of uneasy peace.

But they have an
urgent communication

from Henry of England, Sire.

The King of England
and his ambassadors

can drown themselves
in what they are

impertinent enough to
call their English channel.

But, Your Majesty, the
extradition of a criminal

is a courtesy due

from one crowned
head to another.

My dear man,
crowned heads are free

to play a little
game of courtesy,

but nations owe
one another none.

Oh.

All right, show them
in, show them in.

No, you may stay.

The ambassadors can
share our attention

with our tailor.

It will demonstrate
to the English

that exact social
status of our court.

May I be permitted to
present to, Your Majesty,

the two envoys extraordinary

from His Highness,
Henry of England,

His Grace,
the Bishop of London

and Robert de Beaumont,
Duke of Leicester.

Welcome My Lords.

Fresh from England?

How is our good King Henry?

He was well, Your Majesty,

when we left him
two weeks ago.

Two weeks to cross
the channel, gentlemen?

We have been waiting upon
Your Majesty, for three days.

Why was I not informed?

Girot.

Your Majesty?

See what I have
to contend with.

But perhaps I can
make it up to you.

Would you permit
me to furnish you

with some French garments

made by our craftsmen here,

it will only take two weeks?

We thank, Your Majesty,

but we have urgent
business in Rome.

Too bad.

Well, is there anything
else I can do for you?

I wish to deliver a message

from Henry, King of England

to his friend Louis,
King of the French.

We are all ears.

He wishes you to know...

Oh, just one moment.

Yes, do continue.

He wishes you to know
that Thomas Becket,

Archbishop of Canterbury,

has been found
guilty of treason

and has forthwith
fled his kingdom.

He therefore entreats you

not to allow this criminal

to reside within
your territories,

nor to permit
any of your vassals

to give counsel
or support to him.

He solemnly declares
that your enemies

would receive none from him,

nor from his subjects.

Henry, King of England,

Duke of Normandy.

Gentlemen, we have
listened most attentively

to your sovereign's
gracious request,

and we shall
shortly be drafting

a formal reply to it.

In the meantime, however,

we can only express
our astonishment.

No news has reached us

of the Archbishop
of Canterbury's

presence in our domains.

But Sire, we have word

that he is in your domains.

He's taken refuge in
the Abbey of San Martin

My Lord Bishop,
we flatter ourselves

there is some
order in our kingdom.

If he were there,

we should most certainly
had been informed.

Bring in Thomas Becket.

Rise, Thomas Becket,

and greet us as the
Primate of England.

The bow would've been enough

and if I know my etiquette

you were entitled to

a slight nod of
the head from me.

That's done.

I might also be
required to kiss the ring

if this visit
were an official one

but I am under the
impression that isn't.

No, Sire.

I'm on an exile.

That too is an
important title in France.

I'm told you are
a dangerous one.

I'm afraid so, Sire.

How delightful,

shall we discuss
it in private.

We enjoy danger Becket,

it keeps us alive.

Do you value candor?

I do, Sire.

Then let me tell you that
were you a French official

I might have kept you
into prison myself.

For the moment, however,

we are pleased to grant
you our royal protection.

I humbly thank
you, Your Majesty,

but I'm bound to tell you

that I cannot buy your favor

with any act
hostile to my country.

You do us an injustice,
that was understood.

I believe that in
the past however,

you have been no stranger

to the art of
political maneuver.

That is true, Sire.

Well, speaking frankly,

you suit our purpose
in our chess game.

England is splitting
into the Henry camp

and the Becket camp

and that suits us admittible.

We ask nothing further of you,

but, there is always a but,

as I'm sure you are aware?

I am aware.

I am responsible only for
France's interest, Becket.

Unfortunately, I cannot
afford to shoulder

those of heaven as well.

For the moment it suits me

to shelter any fugitive
from Henry's court.

His recent impertinence
in claiming and capturing

some of our frontier towns

must be well known
to you, Thomas,

since you more than
distinguished yourself

in several of
these engagements?

In a month or so, however,

my dealings with Henry

may require a
different tactic.

I might even be obliged

to ask you to leave France.

I hope to have a solution
to such a dilemma.

Oh?

I intend to go onto Rome

to put my case
before the Holy Father,

if you will give
me safe conduct.

You shall have it, of course,

you're the ideal guest.

But might I be permitted
to give you a word of advice.

I would appreciate it.

The Pope is a most holy man,

but like so many
lofty personages

he is surrounded by men

of a somewhat inferior stamp.

They need money

and King Henry might
be willing to provide it.

Keep your eyes open.

I will.

But permit me to
show you my aviary.

That man Becket smacks
of too much sincerity.

A practice that is
most disconcerting.

Fiddlesticks.

Sincerity is a
form of strategy

just like any other.

In a pinch I have been
known to use it myself.

The trouble is,
if your opponent starts

being sincere at the
same time you do,

then the game becomes
horribly confusing.

Shh.

I assure you, Your Holiness,

it's a simple matter.

No, no, no, Zambelli,

I don't agree,

it is impossible.

If we take the money
from King Henry,

I cannot possibly
receive Becket.

Receive the money from
the King, very Holy Father,

and receive the
Archbishop too.

The one will
neutralize the other.

You know what they say,

Becket is going to ask me?

No, Holy Father.

Zambelli, don't play
the fox with me.

It was you who told me.

I beg your pardon,
Holy Father.

I had forgotten,

or rather as Your Holiness
asked me the question

I thought you had forgotten

and so I took a chance and...

Zambelli,

if you start out maneuvering
yourself to no purpose,

we'll be here all night.

Well, bring him in.

His Holiness
will receive you now.

I'm sorry to be
importunate, Your Holiness,

but time is running out
and my course concerns

the very life of the
church in England.

I know, I know,

and your cause is worthy

but nevertheless, Becket,

the church must seek
to exist peacefully

within the framework
of the state.

I sought that with
desperation, Your Holiness.

Precisely, Becket.

You are new to God's service

and perhaps for that reason

you were somewhat hot headed

and intemperate
in your methods.

You have proved
your moral worth,

but you have also split

the church in England
into two parties

and that is regrettable.

Holy Father, I fear
this may be true

and it has given
me much agony.

If I'm guilty,
if my judgment was wrong,

then I am most
sincerely repentant.

unfortunately that
doesn't solve the problem.

Holy Father,

relieve me of the
title of Archbishop,

let me be an ordinary priest.

All right, done.

Zambelli.

Why do your request this?

Then, Your Holiness, could
make a free and open decision.

The protection of my position
as head of the English church

may prove an embarrassment

I would like to relive you of.

No, that would mean

our total surrender
to the state.

You will maintain
your status as Archbishop

but you will, for the present,

maintain it in
a monastic retreat.

Where do you wish
us to send you?

To the Abbey of
San Martin in France.

I ask only that
my former servant,

Brother John
be allowed to accompany me.

Of course,

God grant you
peace, Thomas Becket.

That man is obviously

an abyss of ambition.

How long a retreat?

A very long retreat.

I wouldn't count on it.

Wait till he tastes
the food at the monastery.

You look concerned,
Your Grace?

Is something wrong?

No, Brother John.

You are unhappy here?

No, perhaps I'm too happy.

Can I help?

No, only God can help.

Lord,

what do you
really want me to do?

To remain here, a poor monk

in simplicity of spirit,

is it a path to bring
me nearer to you?

Or is to easy a way,

perhaps even a luxury?

The path to holiness
in this monastery

is too effortless.

I think it would be too
easy to buy you like this.

Bargain price.

It has pleased you
to make me Archbishop

and to set me
like a solitary pawn

face to face with the
King on the chessboard.

I think you mean me
to defend your honor,

peacefully if I can

with argument
and with compromise

and if I cannot

then with the full
challenge of my office

and the soaring force

of what I know to be right.

So,

I shall take up
the miter again

and the golden cope

and the great silver cross

and I shall go back

and fight with the weapons

it has pleased you to give me.

All the rest,

thy will be done.

Look, Thomas,

your King awaits you.

I'm glad you weren't born

on this side
of the channel, Thomas,

you'd have been
a thorn in my side too.

How did you bewitch me
into doing this for you?

I convinced you that if
the King and I reconciled

he will be placed
in your debt.

True.

Why does he hate you so?

He's never forgiven me
for preferring God to him.

Go, Thomas.

You know, it's
a strange thing

but Becket's safety has
become quite dear to me.

You look older, Thomas.

So do you, My Prince.

Are you cold?

I'm frozen stiff,

chilblains are k*lling me.

You love it of course,

you're in your
element, aren't you,

just that Monk's habit.

I always told you
one must fight the cold

with the cold's weapons.

Strip yourself naked
every morning and...

splash yourself with cold water.

I used to,

when you were
there to make me.

I never wash now, I stink.

How's your son?

he must have come of age.

He's an idiot

and sly like his mother.

Thomas, don't you ever marry.

You took that
matter out of my hands

when you had me ordained.

If we start on that
we're sure to quarrel.

Talk about something else.

Very well.

Has Your Majesty
done much hunting lately?

Yes, every day.

It doesn't amuse me anymore.

Becket, I'm bored.

My Prince,

I wish I could help you.

What are you waiting for?

For the honor of God

and the honor of the
King to become one.

That may take long.

Yes, that may take long.

I'm the King, Thomas,

and so long as
we are on this earth,

you owe me the first move.

I'm prepared to
forget a lot of things

but not the fact
that I am King.

You yourself taught me that.

Never forget it, My Prince,

you have
a different task to do,

you have to steer the ship.

And you, what do
you have to do?

To resist you
with all my might

when you steer
against the Lord God.

What do you expect of me then?

Are you hoping I'll weaken?

No.

I'm afraid we must only do

absurdly, what it has
been given to us to do

right to the end.

Look suppose we
come down to earth

and use words that make sense

to a bore like myself

otherwise we'll
never get anywhere.

And there'll be
two frozen statutes

trying to make their peace

in a frozen eternity.

My Lord, I was doing my best

to make you understand.

I'm an idiot then,

talk to me like an idiot.

Will you lift
the excommunication

you pronounced
on Lord Gilbert?

No, because it's the
only w*apon I have left

to defend what was
given into my care.

Will you agree to
the ten proposals

which the Bishop's
accepted in your absence,

particularly, to the
surrender of priests

who seek the
protection of the church

to escape
my courts of justice?

No.

My role is to defend my sheep

and they are my sheep.

But I shall agree to
the nine other articles

in the spirit of peace

and because I know
you must remain King

in all and of all,

save the honor of God.

All right,

I will give way
on this one point

in memory of
our past friendship.

You may return to England.

Thank you, My Prince.

I meant to go back in any case

and give myself
up to your power.

For in all things
that concern this earth,

I owe you obedience.

We're finished now,

and I'm cold.

I feel cold too,

now.

You never loved
me did you, Thomas?

In so far as
I was capable of love,

yes, I did.

Did you start to love God?

You mule!

Answer a simple question!

Yes.

I started to love

the honor of God.

I should never have seen you.

It hurts too much.

My Prince.

No, no pity,

it's dirty.

This is the last time
I shall come begging to you.

Go back to England.

Farewell, My Prince.

I sail tomorrow.

I know that I shall

never see you again.

How dare you say that to me

when I've given
you my royal word.

Do you take me for a traitor?

Thomas!

Sit.

Come here you.

Sit here.

You look to me, sir,
not your mother.

Sit, you witless baboon.

What is the meaning of this?

Henry, what are you doing?

I know very well
what I'm doing madam.

Out.

Before you fill your bellies,

we have something to announce.

Reviving an ancient custom,

we have decided
to have our successor

crowned in our lifetime.

We do this to
protect the kingdom

from future
pretenders to the throne.

Henry, this...

Shut up.

Stop dribbling while
I raise you to glory.

To my successor,

Henry the III.

Henry the III.

When will the
coronation take place?

As soon as we
arrive in England.

Where, may I ask?

You may well ask.

At York.

Not at Canterbury?

My good mother, gentlemen,

is hinting with her
customary delicacy

that there is a double
purpose to this mummery.

There is.

We are going to show

our freshly
reinstated Archbishop

that we can still
do without him.

A coronation of
the English King

is the most jealously guarded

privilege of Canterbury.

I'd give anything
to see Becket's face

when he learns he's lost it,

and that York has got it.

That will fix him.

Get out of there,
you young cretin,

you're not crowned yet.

What a look.

Filial devotion

is a beautiful thing.

You'd like to
be the real king,

wouldn't you, you little pig.

With that number
three after your name

and papa good and
stiff in his tomb.

Well, you'll have
to wait a bit.

Papa is well,

papa is very well indeed.

My son, you know
I've always been against

any reconciliation
with that wretch Becket.

You know I understand
your hatred for him,

but do not let it lead
you into an action,

which you may
bitterly regret.

This boy is not clever

ambitious men will
use him against you

long before you
cease to reign.

I'm still very
much alive, madam,

and in control.

Henry, for all our
sakes, think of England

and not of your disappointed
love for this man.

Love?

Love?

A moment ago it was hate.

And what gives
you the right madam

to meddle in my
loves and hates?

You have an
obsession about him,

which is unhealthy

and unnatural,

and now that he no
longer gives you comfort...

Oh, God.

If Thomas Becket
were a faithless woman,

you'd behave no differently.

Sweet Jesus, you tear
him out of your heart.

Oh, if I were a man.

Thank God, madam,
he gave you breasts.

An asset from which I derived

not the slightest benefit.

I was let out to be
suckled by a peasant girl.

That no doubt
is why it is so difficult

to see the king
beneath your crown.

So you have something
to add my lady.

Well go on, add it,

add it, get it out of you,

once and for all
in one great whine.

Let's hear the poison
you've accumulated.

I pity you.

I tolerated your
mistresses, sir,

but do you expect me
to tolerate everything?

Becket!

Always Becket!

I am a woman,

I am your wife,

I am a Queen!

I'll complain to my father!

I'll complain to
my uncle the Emperor!

I'll complain to
all the Kings of Europe!

I'll complain to God!

If I were you, madam,
I'd start with God!

Go to your chapel
and see if he's at home!

Get out the pack of you.

I wretch with boredom
at the sight of you!

To the devil,

with my whole family
if he'll have you!

And as for you,

young Henry the III,

here's my royal foot

up your royal buttocks!

Ah,

that's better.

Let us drink, gentlemen.

Let us drink,

till we roll under the table

in vomit and oblivion.

My faithful hounds.

It's warm beside you,

like beasts in a stable.

Good sweat.

Comfortable nothingness.

Not the least glimmer inside

to spoil the fun.

And to think before
I met Becket I was like you,

a well oiled machine,

for belching,

whoring and punching heads.

What did you put
in mine, Thomas,

That stopped the machine?

Tell me, do you ever think?

Never, Sire,

a gentleman has
better things to do.

Here, drink up.

What's the news from England?

Has Becket landed?

He has landed, Sire.

Was no one there
to receive him,

Lord Gilbert for example?

Oh, he was there,

damned and
excommunicated as he still is.

But there were
seven bishops there

charging his soldiers
not to cause bloodshed

and give the light
of the safe conduct

you gave Becket.

Yes,

I gave him safe conduct.

The peasants escorted him

from village to village.

They cheered him

all the way to Canterbury.

Not a single gentleman,

not a single Norman
showed his face.

Only Saxons?

Yes.

Swarms of them.

Becket left
England a fugitive,

an exile.

He's returned there
to find an affection

that people have always saved

for their king.

A man who ate my bread.

A man I raised from nothing.

A man I loved.

Yes,

I loved him.

I loved him,

and I still do.

Enough, oh God, enough.

Stop.

Stop.

I can do nothing,

I'm as useless as a woman.

So long as he's alive,

I tremble,

I shake.

I'm the king,

and yet I shake.

Will no one rid me

of this meddlesome priest?

A priest who mocks me.

Are all around me cowards,

like myself?

Are there no men
left in England.

It's my heart.

It's too fast,

too fast,

it's too...

Thomas.

Make haste.

It's difficult with
all these little laces,

it warrants a woman's hands.

A man's hands
are better today.

What's worth doing,
is worth doing well.

Yes.

If it's worth doing,

it's worth doing well.

Do up all the laces,
every one of them.

I must look my best today.

God will give us time.

There, that's done.

But I just as soon had cleaned
out our pigsty at home,

it's not half
so much hard work.

Are you fond of your pig?

Yes, I was.

At my father's house
we had some pigs too

when I was a child.

Did you now?

Will it...

be today?

It's possible, my son.

Are you afraid?

Oh, no,

not if I have time to fight.

All I want is the chance

to strike a few blows first,

so I shan't have done nothing
but receive them all my life.

If I can k*ll one
Norman first, just one,

that'll seem fair
and right enough to me.

Are you so set
in k*lling one?

Yes, I am.

I don't mind if I am

just a grain of
sand in a machine

because I know

by putting more and more
grains of sand in a machine,

one day it'll come
grinding to a stop.

And on that day,

what then?

Well, we'll have a fine,
new, well oiled machine

in place of the old one,

and this time we'll put
the Normans into it instead.

That's what justice
means, doesn't it?

Now give me my silver cross,

I must hold it.

My Lord, it's heavy.

A good swipe with this
and they'd feel it.

Lucky little Saxon,

for you that would
settle all accounts

in this black worid,
wouldn't it?

There Lord,

I am ready,

adorned for your festivities.

Come,

let us go to the altar.

Your Grace.

Your Grace.

There are armed
men at the doors.

I bolted the doors but...

It's time for vespers.

Does one bolt the
doors during vespers,

I've never heard of it?

But Your Grace?

Open them.

Everything must
be as it should be

for divine service.

It is here now,

the supreme folly,

this is its hour.

One does not carry
arms into God's house.

What do you want?

Your death.

We will continue
with the service.

Saxon!

Dog!

Traitor!

Oh Lord,

how heavy thy
honor is to bear.

Poor, Henry.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Yes, yes, it was all agreed.

I forgive you, pigs.

Saxon pigs.

They certainly wanted
their money's worth.

Is there a
large crowd outside?

Yes, Sire.

There's nothing more
certain to win them over

than the sight of
a king doing penance

and humbling himself
under the lash.

The honor of God, gentlemen,

is a very good thing

and all things considered

one gains by having
it on one's side.

Thomas Becket our friend,

always used to say so.

Tonight in council,

we will determine
what punishment

his murderers should receive.

Sire, they are unknown.

Our justice will
seek them out,

you may be sure.

It is a time my dear Barons,

for all of us to do penance.

Hear me!

People of Canterbury

and citizens of England.

As I have submitted
myself to the lash,

so have I petitioned the Pope.

And this day,

I have received his answer.

Thomas Becket,

former Archbishop
of Canterbury

and martyr to the cause

of God and his church

shall henceforth be honored

and prayed to in this kingdom

as a saint.

Is the honor of God

washed clean enough?

Are you satisfied now, Thomas?