38. Letter
Chapter thirty-eight
Letter to Hugh de Morville
Hugh,
I have begun this letter more times than I care to admit.
There are things a man can say with a sword in his hand that he cannot put easily upon parchment. We were never men given to confession. We spoke of duty, loyalty, and the king’s will because those words were easier to bear than the truth.
So I will give you the truth now. I am happy. I know how those words must sound coming from me. There were years when I believed happiness had become an indecency. I thought Canterbury had ended any right I possessed to peace. Perhaps it did. Perhaps peace is not a right at all.
I have found it nonetheless. I am married to a woman I am not worthy of.
But she has accepted me regardless. She knows everything.
She knows what we did in the cathedral. She knows how often I have called obedience what was truly pride, and duty what was truly anger.
She has seen the worst of me. And still, she chose me.
That is why I am happy, Hugh. Not because I have escaped judgment, but because for the first time in my life I no longer have to hide from it. I have a home.
For years, I believed I wanted only freedom from consequence, but she gave me a reason to live.
I had thought death might one day cleanse me. I know better now. Dying would have been easy. Living honestly is harder. Waking each morning and choosing not to become the man I was is even harder.
But she is worth the labor of it. I love her more than I knew a man like me could love anything.
That is why you will not see me again.
I cannot return to the life we shared. I cannot sit beside you, William, and Richard and speak of the past as though it were only misfortune.
The man who rode with you to Canterbury believed that strength meant never yielding.
The man writing this has learned that sometimes strength is lowering the sword.
If I had it to do over again, I would have spared Becket. Yet had we not killed him, I would never have fled. I would never have my life. I would never have loved. And for that, I would do it all again. Exactly the same.
Tell William and Richard that I remember them. Tell them I do not hate them. I pray for us instead, for what we chose, for what we became, and for all the years we spent calling ourselves damned. There is redemption, Hugh. And I hope you find something that makes you wish to live honestly.
I hope one day you are known completely and do not turn away when someone offers you mercy.
You will not see me again, Hugh. I will not return to England. I belong here now.
God’s peace be with you.
Reginald