JOHN OF SALISBURY. No, to the crypt! Twenty steps down. Stumble not in the darkness, Lest they should seize thee. GRIM. To the crypt? no--no, To the chapel of St. Blaise beneath the roof! JOHN OF SALISBURY (_pointing upward and downward_). That way, or this! Save thyself either way. BECKET. Oh, no, not either way, nor any way Save by that way which leads thro' night to light. Not twenty steps, but one. And fear not I should stumble in the darkness, Not tho' it be their hour, the power of darkness, But my hour too, the power of light in darkness! I am not in the darkness but the light, Seen by the Church in Heaven, the Church on earth-- The power of life in death to make her free! [_Enter the four_ KNIGHTS. JOHN OF SALISBURY _flies to the altar of St. Benedict_. FITZURSE. Here, here, King's men! [Catches hold of the last flying MONK. Where is the traitor Becket? MONK. I am not he! I am not he, my lord. I am not he indeed! FITZURSE. Hence to the fiend! [_Pushes him away_. Where is this treble traitor to the King? DE TRACY. Where is the Archbishop, Thomas Becket? BECKET. Here. No traitor to the King, but Priest of God, Primate of England. [_Descending into the transept_. I am he ye seek. What would ye have of me? FlTZURSE. Your life. DE TRACY. Your life. DE MORVILLE. Save that you will absolve the bishops. BECKET. Never,-- Except they make submission to the Church. You had my answer to that cry before. DE MORVILLE. Why, then you are a dead man; flee! BECKET. I will not. I am readier to be slain, than thou to slay. Hugh, I know well thou hast but half a heart To bathe this sacred pavement with my blood. God pardon thee and these, but God's full curse Shatter you all to pieces if ye harm One of my flock! FITZURSE. Was not the great gate shut? They are thronging in to vespers--half the town. We shall be overwhelm'd. Seize him and carry him! Come with us--nay--thou art our prisoner--come! DE MORVILLE. Ay, make him prisoner, do not harm the man. [FITZURSE _lays hold of the_ ARCHBISHOP'S _pall_. BECKET. Touch me not! DE BRITO. How the good priest gods himself! He is not yet ascended to the Father. FITZURSE. I will not only touch, but drag thee hence. BECKET. Thou art my man, thou art my vassal. Away! [_Flings him off till he reels, almost to falling_. DE TRACY (_lays hold of the pall_). Come; as he said, thou art our prisoner. BECKET. Down! [_Throws him headlong_. FITZURSE (_advances with drawn sword_). I told thee that I should remember thee!