Henry now tries to carry out his reforms, and make all men, priest and layman alike, answerable for their crimes to the king’s court. For a moment Becket wavers; the king shall have his wish. But a day’s reflection convinces him that in yielding he is betraying the Church. Then his resolution stiffens. He prays the Pope to release him from his promise, and when he is absolved he boldly defies the king. Picture Henry’s rage. You must know the man to imagine the fury of it. When thwarted, he is wont to fling himself on the floor and bite the rushes with which it is strewn. Becket has made many enemies by his arrogance in the old days, and now they take care to fan the king’s wrath. Some one accuses him of having denied justice, and forthwith he is found guilty and heavily fined. Other punishments are in store for him; but he sweeps into the Council chamber in full robes, with his crosier in his hand, and dares them to pass sentence upon him. He and the Church, he says, are in the keeping of God, and the Pope, and none other, shall judge him. Angry indeed are the king’s friends at these bold words. One of them shouts “Traitor!” and others take up the rushes from the floor and fling them at him. Turning to one of his assailants, he fiercely cries, “If I might bear arms, I would quickly prove on you that you lied!” With this he leaves the hall. Full well he knows that there is no safety for him in England, so, disguised as a simple monk, and calling himself “Brother Dearman,” he hastens from the kingdom, and for seven long years he dwells abroad. Discontented nobles in Henry’s wide French dominions—he is lord from the Pyrenees to the Tweed—threaten to take up arms in Becket’s cause, and at length a kind of peace is patched up between archbishop and king. But ere Becket can return home, Henry does a deed which again angers the proud archbishop and rouses all the old enmity between them. Following the French fashion, Henry desires to have his son crowned king in his lifetime. The Archbishop of York is persuaded to undertake the ceremony. Now, the crowning of the king is the privilege of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and of him alone. Becket’s anger flames up at the slight, and he crosses to England in a bitter frame of mind. And now you stand in the streets of Canterbury watching his return. The people welcome him gladly, for they remember his old kindnesses to them. The nobles, however, stand aloof; they dread his reappearance, and rightly believe that it means trouble to the realm. Becket passes on to his cathedral, and in solemn tones excommunicates the Archbishop of York and the bishops who have crowned the young prince.