But of this wondrous tale, not one word had reached the ears of any of the seven or eight contemporary biographers of Becket, most of them his most intimate friends or his most faithful attendants.[2] It was neither known to John of Salisbury, his confidential adviser and correspondent, nor to Fitz-Stephen, an officer of his court in chancery, and dean of his chapel when archbishop, who was with him at Northampton, and at his death; nor to Herbert de Bosham, likewise one of his officers when chancellor, and his faithful attendant throughout his exile; nor to the monk of Pontigny, who waited upon him and enjoyed his most intimate confidence during his retreat in that convent; nor to Edward Grim, his standard-bearer, who on his way from Clarendon, reproached him with his weakness, and having been constantly attached to his person, finally interposed his arm between his master and the first blow of the assassin. Nor were these ardent admirers of Becket silent from any severe aversion to the marvelous; they relate, with unsuspecting faith, dreams and prognostics which revealed to the mother the future greatness of her son, even his elevation to the see of Canterbury.[3] To the Saxon descent of Becket, a theory in which, on the authority of an eloquent French writer,[4] modern history has seemed disposed to acquiesce, these biographers not merely give no support, but furnish direct contradiction. The lower people no doubt admired during his life, and worshiped after death, the blessed Thomas of Canterbury, and the people were mostly Saxon. But it was not as a Saxon, but as a Saint, that Becket was the object of unbounded popularity during his life, of idolatry after his death. [SN: Parentage and education.]