Little remains to be said. Robert died, and Matilda found that she had lost her best and most gallant champion. Her son Henry, however, was now of an age to take his part in the strife. Strong, able, and rich, he sailed from France with an army, but was too wise to fight a pitched battle. He could afford to wait; and so he made peace with Stephen, who was to reign in England until his death, when Henry was to succeed him. A year later Stephen died, and all good men rejoiced. Peace was coming to the distracted realm, and the old days of “war, wickedness, and waste” were over, men fondly hoped, never to return. [Illustration] THE GREAT ARCHBISHOP. “_Fame’s loudest trump upon the ear of Time_ _Leaves but a dying echo; they alone_ _Are held in everlasting memory_ _Whose deeds partake of heaven._” Once more the scene changes. We are standing in the High Street of Canterbury watching a notable procession pass by. Listen to the clanging bells, and when they cease, hear the organ rolling forth its waves of harmony from the cathedral. The old timbered houses are decked with streamers and garlands; groups of priests with banners are threading the street towards the ancient gate. It is very evident that some great personage is about to visit the city. Is it the king? Not so; it is some one even greater than the king—it is the archbishop, Thomas Becket. You wonder that an archbishop should be more powerful than a king, but in these early days the Church is the greatest power on earth. Even kings must submit to its decrees. Now the trumpets blow, and a long procession winds its way towards the cathedral. As the archbishop comes in sight loud shouts of welcome rend the air. Look at him as he sits his charger, prouder than the boldest knight in the land. There was a time when he could joust and use sword and lance with the most skilful warrior in the kingdom. Ah! he was a boon companion of the king’s then. What merry jests, what jovial days and nights they spent together! They were Jonathan and David in their friendship. Becket was the king’s right-hand man in all affairs of State. Clever and learned, he seconded the king in all his strenuous endeavours to rid the land of lawlessness and misery. In return, Henry heaped riches and honours upon his chancellor. What state and ceremony he loved in those days! His palace was far grander than the king’s; a hundred and forty knights followed in his train. None wore such magnificent robes as he; none made so brave a display. As for the king, he cared nothing for those things in which Becket’s soul delighted. Often when the chancellor sat down to feast with his followers, Henry would gallop up to the door of the palace, toss his bridle to a groom, stride into the great hall, vault the table, and in his rough riding-dress take his place by the side of his gorgeous chancellor.