The fog from the River Thames is heavy and brooding on a night such as this, December 29, spilling over the walls of the Tower of London and pouring through Traitor’s Gate, swirling about those few visitors who have come out to witness the Ceremony of the Keys, an event that has occurred without interruption for almost 800 years. The most secure fortress in all the world locks down each gate each night in the same way, protecting the Crown Jewels and continuing the tradition and history of England.

The Tower has been the site of many tragic events. Monarchs, Queens, Princes, and even the Lord Chancellor have been held captive within its brick and mortar walls, behind its iron and steel gates. Some have lost their heads on its grounds or nearby. Blood has drenched its walks and stairs, and screams have filled its halls, the wails spilling out like the fog. The Tower has seen the City grow and burn and be bombed, but the Tower remains and, as legend holds, England will stand so long as the ravens remain on the carefully groomed grounds of the Tower.

There are legends here, mixed amidst the blood, gore, and majesty. One of the most famous occurs this December night on the guard’s walkway above the Traitor’s Gate that opens into a slew that drains into the Thames. The story begins in Canterbury, at least a full day’s ride by swift horse from London, eastward towards the coast.

William the Conqueror, who stormed England and changed world history by his conquest, left behind royal descendants of squabbling, contending, and treacherous children, traits which would find full flower in his Plantagenet great-grandchildren and would permeate British royalty until modern times. His grandson, Henry II, who would become King in 1154 and reign 35 years, was among the greatest monarchs to rule Britain. But even this Henry had his weakness, too. A royal pride filled King Henry as the fullness of his power found limitation.

That limitation existed in the form of Henry’s dear friend, Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of England, the head of the Church. Henry and Thomas contended, each in their own way, over the respective authority of their principalities. The Archbishop, residing at Canterbury, refused to accord the King priority over the Church in England, for it would invade the independence of the Church. Thus, a test of wills ensued, during which the King, surrounded by bold knights and a subservient court, would utter his infamous statement, "Will not someone rid me of that man (Becket)?"

Thus it was, on the 29th of December, 1170, as the Archbishop was within the sanctuary of the Church, that armed Knights of the King came within, and there slayed the Archbishop, who offered no resistance and sought only the protection of those clerics in his midst, offering himself to God "by suffering rather than resistance." The brutal murder left the stone floor of the church covered in blood.

The nation was convulsed as news spread of the treachery. Christian Europe was outraged. Henry II accepted his responsibility and undertook a public penitence. The martyr Thomas was beatified by the Church and the lessons of church-state division would quell both sides for 350 years, until another Henry, the eighth, ascended the throne.

The first anniversary of Becket’s death was like any other December night at the Tower. Dank, cold, foggy. The guards made their rounds. And, then, so it is said, walking on the wall above the gate, was the ghost of Thomas Becket. It is said that he returns each year to walk the walls of the Tower as a reminder of the events that transpired so long ago in Canterbury. Some say it’s just a legend of the Tower. Not the guards, however!