Free Lucifer's Crown by Lillian Stewart Carl Page A

illuminating St. John 1:1: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Below them stood a lead cross covered with misshapen capital letters. “ Hic jacet sepultus inclitus rex arturius in insula avalonia , Here lies buried the famous King Arthur in the island of Avalon. This is a copy of the cross which turned up in 1191 in Arthur's grave in the Abbey, isn't it? Not that the grave really was Arthur's, but if you can't prove it was you can't prove it wasn't, either. The cross was probably a twelfth-century forgery...” Maggie spun round. “This can't be the original!"
    "Can there be an original of a forgery?"
    "Sure. If this cross was made in 1191 it would be an important antiquity. It would be a truth, just not the truth you expect."
    "The cross was given to me. I couldn't say whether it's the original or not, to tell you the...” Thomas busied himself with the tin of tea. “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free."
    "To thine own self be true,” she replied, “thou canst not then be false to any man."
    Speaking with this woman was like speaking a litany. “Sometimes the truth depends upon your point of view."
    "From the Bible and Shakespeare to Star Wars ?"
    "Every age re-writes the old myths, but they remain valid."
    "Yes,” Maggie said, but her brittle tone said, maybe . Stiff as a crab, she sidled past the fireplace to another bookcase, where she stared into a flat box. She groped in her pocket for her glasses. “Good Lord, you've got a set of his seals."
    The kettle whistled. It took Thomas a moment to realize what the shrill noise was. He rinsed the pot with boiling water, then added a spoonful of tea leaves and more water. Steam wavered upward and caressed his cheeks, but his face was already warm.
    "Beautifully preserved,” Maggie went on, her nose almost touching the two oblongs of gold. “In the official one you can see each wrinkle in the robe and the ribbons on the miter. And each little letter is perfect: Sigillum Tome dei gratia archiepiscopi cantuariensis . The seal of Thomas by the grace of God archbishop of Canterbury."
    Odd, his hand was trembling. Still, Thomas managed to pour milk into a pitcher without spilling it.
    "And the second one here, with the Roman figure in the middle—Mercury?"
    Mercury , thought Thomas. The patron of alchemists. And liars.
    "This one says sigillum Tome Lund big as anything. ‘Lund’ being short for ‘Londoniensis.’ Thomas of London, which he was before he became a V.I.P. I bet there have been lots of Thomas Londons over the years, not just the ones in your family."
    There's only ever been one Thomas Maudit . He placed cups and saucers on the table.
    "But we know him as Thomas Becket. Becket was his father's name, a place name, ‘Le Bec’ in Normandy maybe. Or a nickname, ‘Beaky,’ like a prominent nose, you know?"
    Thomas knew.
    "I always liked the Norman ‘fitz,’ son of, from the Latin filius . Often the bastard son, although you have Henry FitzEmpress, who was thoroughly legit. Good old Henry II. Or, in this context, bad old Henry II. Have you seen the movie Becket ? The one based on Anouilh's play? Terrible history, but a good story, even though Becket himself is played way too detached. The real man had to have had ambition and the guts to match to rise from merchant's son to Chancellor of England. You have to feel sorry for Henry, he thought if he put his buddy the Chancellor into the Archbishopric he could manipulate the church. But Becket turned against him, whether out of a higher loyalty or an excess of pride is hard to say."
    Yes , Thomas thought, that is hard to say . The pride that was self-respect all too easily became the pride that was arrogance.
    Again she spun round, her enthusiasm loosening the defensive set of her shoulders. “I doubt if Henry meant for his knights to kill Becket, let alone inside Canterbury Cathedral, he was just so frustrated he went into one of his