But the 52-year old Becket was, remember, a cockney, a street fighter, tough as old boots under the cowl. When he stood rooted to the spot, he became physically, as well as theologically, the immovable objects. At such times the kind of talk he'd picked up in his Cheapside childhood came back to him, ripe and abusive. "Whoremonger," he yelled at fitzUrse, who must suddenly have felt ridiculous clanking around in all that armour. What do you do when you can't stand feeling ridiculous any longer? Whoosh goes in the adrenaline, bang goes the gun, or in this case the sword. Down through Becket's attendant's arm, then slicing through the top of the Archbishop's head. The crown hung by a thread of flesh as Becket sank to the floor murmuring, according to his chroniclers, "For the name of Jesus and the protection of the Church, I'm ready to embrace death."


但记住，52岁的贝克特可是个伦敦人，是个街头霸王，跟斗篷下的皮靴一般顽固。只要他站在那里，无论是在身体上，还是信仰上，你都无法让他动摇分毫。在这种时刻，他想起了在戚普塞街的那些回忆，清晰而生动。"皮条客" 他向费泽斯吼道，后者身穿叮当作响的盔甲，顿时感到非常荒谬。当你忍无可忍这种荒谬，你会做出什么举动？肾上腺素涌动，枪响出膛，或者像这一次，剑起血落，先砍下了贝克特随从的胳膊，接着削下了大主教的头皮。当贝克特倒在地上呻吟时，冠冕上还连着未削断的肉。根据编年史记载，他当时说，"以耶稣的名义和教会的庇护，我已准备好迎接死亡。"