Arriving in London, the King took to his bed, suffering from a
dangerous fever, but a few days later, hearing from Richmond in
Yorkshire that the Scots had been defeated and driven north, he
recovered rapidly, believing implicitly, after the manner of his age,
that this success was attributable to the penance he had undergone on
the day before the battle.

And so, through the savage murder of an archbishop and the severe
penance of a king the archiepiscopal capital of England began to
resound all over Europe, and the annual procession of pilgrims
commenced to traverse the hills along the old road from Winchester to
the little Norman city. Not by that way only did the vast crowds reach
Canterbury, for there was scarcely a road that at some period of the
year did not send its contribution to the throng which jostled through
the gates into the narrow streets leading to the monastery gateway.
Year after year wealth poured into the Cathedral coffers, and pilgrims
went away lighter in spirits and in purse, but each carrying with them
the little leaden bottle in which the infinitely diluted blood of the
martyr mixed with water was distributed.

Scarcely two months after Henry's penance the splendid choir of the
Cathedral caught fire, and the townsfolk, in a state between grief and
rage, found themselves unable to stay the progress of the flames until
nearly everything that could burn had vanished. The nave suffered less
than Conrad's splendid choir, and in that less ruined portion of the
building a temporary altar was erected. But for this fire it might
have been possible for the modern pilgrim to see the building as it
appeared during the stirring events just recounted; for,
notwithstanding the wealth of the monastery of Christ Church, it would
have probably been thought desirable to retain the fabric as much as