eagued, he said, in a conspiracy against
him; and in a burst of fury he rushed out of the apartment. The next
morning the primate received an order to surrender the honor of Eye
and the castle of Berkhamstead. The King had departed by break of day.

The original point in dispute was now merged in a more important
controversy; for it was evident that under the name of the customs was
meditated an attack not on one, but on most of the clerical
immunities. Of the duty of the prelates to oppose this innovation no
clergyman at that period entertained a doubt; but to determine how far
that opposition might safely be carried was a subject of uncertain
discussion. The Archbishop of York, who had been gained by the King,
proposed to yield for the present, and to resume the contest under
more favorable auspices; the undaunted spirit of Becket spurned the
temporizing policy of his former rival, and urged the necessity of
unanimous and persevering resistance. Every expedient was employed to
subdue his resolution; and at length, wearied out by the
representations of his friends and the threats of his enemies, the
pretended advice of the Pontiff, and the assurance that Henry would be
content with the mere honor of victory, he waited on the King at
Woodstock, and offered to make the promise and omit the obnoxious
clause. He was graciously received; and to bring the matter to an
issue, a great council was summoned to meet at Clarendon after the
Christmas holidays.

In this assembly, January 25, 1164, John of Oxford, one of the royal
chaplains, was appointed president by the King, who immediately called
on the bishops to fulfil their promise. His angry manner and
threatening tone revived the suspicions of the Primate, who ventured
to express a wish that the saving clause might still be admitted. At
this request the indignation of the King was extreme; he threatened
Becket with exile or death; the door of the next apartment was thrown
open, and discovered a body of knights with their garments tucked up,
and their swords drawn; the nobles and prelates besought the
Archbishop to relent; and two Knights Templars on their knees conjured
him to prevent by his acquiescence the massacre of all the bishops,
which otherwise would most certainly ensue. Sacrificing his own
judgment to their entreaties rather than their arguments, he promised
in the word of truth to observe the "customs," and required of the
King to be informed what they were.