All language subtitles for Becket (1964).1080p.en

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.

Hmm.
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 girls.

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.

Shh. Listen.

- Huh?
- Upstairs.

- She's up with someone.
- Well, go on up.

Shh.

- Get up, man, get on up there!
- Quick, out through the window.

Thank you.

Oh. Ah. Ooh.

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.
- Ha! Ho! Hyah! Ah!

Go on, get in there.

Here. Take my boot.

I can't get my boot back on.

Faster now.

Whoo!

Whoo! Whoo!

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 Normans invaded England,
you seized our Saxon land,

burned our Saxon homes,
raped 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 knife in my back.

- And did you believe them?
- No.

I assured 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.

New little invention. It's for pronging
meat and carrying it to the mouth.

- It saves you dirtying your fingers.
- Well, then you dirty the fork.

- Yes, but it's washable.
- So are your fingers. I don't see the point.

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 gentlemen 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 king's.

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. It's 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 war.

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.

Ooh. My backside's sore.

Is that all? Count your blessings, sire.

I don't know about you, but I'm starving.
Have them bring us something to eat.

A 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 priests 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 Saxon 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 on board
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.

Hyah!

Get!

- The king's 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,
clean her 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.

At 20, before he lost his teeth and took on
that ageless look 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 pauper's life
went on eternally the same.

The moment faded, and he forgot it all,

but 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.
- Ooh.

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 subject's 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 kill 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 knife better.

Here.

Ooh!

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 war.

I am My Lord's captive.

Whatever his purpose
and whatever his mood.

- I hope so.
- It is God's will,

since he gave the Normans
victory over my people.

- And that's the only reason you're here?
- If the Welsh had won the war,

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 war,

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.

Uh, 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 swans 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
world 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.

Good night, sire.

Shall I undress, My Lord?

What?

Shall I undress?

Thomas?

Thomas?

She's dead.

She's killed 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... I'll... 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.

Will there be loot?

No, I want these people
to collaborate with 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 kill you, you know?

- I'm prepared to die.
- How old are you?

- 18.
- Hmm. Dying is easy at 18.

Your knife stinks of onions,
like every proper little Saxon's knife.

You used to be a Saxon.
Now you belong to the Normans.

Ah, I see.
A Saxon knife for a Saxon collaborator.

Did you think that by killing 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 abbot
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.

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.

I'm piecing together all
the information I've received from London.

There are 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 years'
time there will be two kings of England -

the Archbishop of Canterbury and you.
In ten years' time, there will be only one.

And it won't be me?

I fear not.

Grant to horse, Thomas, to horse.
War 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,
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 attack 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 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 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 girls

and the other spoils of victory, but...

- Are you listening to me, Thomas?
- Mm-hmm.

- 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 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, sir... 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 shalt 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.

Amen.

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 abbot?
- Stubborn as a mule, My Lord.

Father Abbott tried kindness,
but 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.

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 mastered.

Enter.

Your Grace, Bishop Folliot
has 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.

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, killed 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 only

in the second rate and worldly 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.

- Oh!
- Come on, victory!

Shut up, the lot of you!

- Which one are you?
- Henry 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
with 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 killed
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 murder. "

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 murdered 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
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 my clergy to be thrown into
prison and tried by the civil authorities.

Neither can I stand by
and let my priests be murdered.

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 more to answer for
than killing 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
attack my nobles, you attack me,

and when you attack me,
you attack 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 war
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 died 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 murder.

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?
- 40,000 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 worldly 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 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 murder 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 carping 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,
madam,

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
10 minutes before 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 war.

Psst!

My French knight
takes your English bishop.

- Your Majesty's adroit.
- Pardon, sire.

Too 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 the 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 it isn't.

No, sire. I'm only 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 admittably.

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 hotheaded

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 you 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 relieve 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 too 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.

- You cold?
- I'm frozen stiff.

Chilblains are killing 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 boor 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 weapon
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 a 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?

Insofar 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
when I've given 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 III.

Henry 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.

Ah, 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'd 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 retch
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 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 excommunicate 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.

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 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 kill one Norman first,
just one,

that'll seem fair
and right enough to me.

- Are you so set in killing 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 world, 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?