Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter

by John G. Edgar

  CHAPTER XI

  ANCIENT LONDON

  At the opening of the thirteenth century, London, as I have alreadymentioned, was a little city, containing some forty thousandinhabitants, and surrounded by an old Roman wall, with seven doublegates--the fortifications--being in parts much decayed. It was in theform of a bow and string, being much more extensive from east to westthan from north to south, and narrower at both ends than at the middle;and the wall on the south side, along the bank of the Thames, wasstraight as a line, and fortified with towers, or bulwarks, in duedistance from each other.

  At that time London was considered one of the murkiest capitals inEurope. For the most part, the houses were mean, the lower stories builtof plaster, and the upper, which were of timber, projecting over thelower; and, as has been observed, many of the streets were so narrowthat the inhabitants, when they ascended to the roofs to breathe thefresh air, and look forth on the country, could converse with ease, andsometimes even shake hands.

  Nevertheless, London was renowned for its wealth, and ever and anon theeye of a visitor was struck with some edifice rising with lofty dignityfrom among the dingy houses that lined the long narrow streets--theTower Palatine, the Hospital of St. Katherine, the castles of Baynardand Montfichet, reared by Norman conquerors; the half-fortifiedmansions, inhabited by prelates and nobles when they were summoned tothe king’s court; the residences of the richer citizens, who derivedfrom their trade incomes that enabled them to rival the nobles insplendour; and the thirteen conventual, and the hundred and twenty-sixparish churches, which studded the city, and kept alive the flames oflearning and religion.

  Moreover, within and without the walls, there were chapelries, andgardens, and places pleasant to the gazer’s eye. Orchards blossomed andapples grew where now are Paternoster Row and Ivy Lane, and to the northof Holborn, where, somewhat later, John de Kirkby built the palace forthe Bishop of Ely; associated with the memory of John of Gaunt. Outsideof Ludgate, and beyond the bridge that spanned the Fleet, and beyond thehouse of the Templars and Lincoln’s Inn, the town residence of theLacies, was the Strand, overgrown with bushes and intersected withrivulets, having on one side the river, where barges floated and salmonleaped and swans glided; and on the other, gardens and fields, dottedwith suburban villas, and stretching away in one direction to the chaseand palace of Marylebone, and the hills of Highgate and Hampstead; andin another by Clerkenwell and Islington to the great forest ofMiddlesex, which was not, however, disforested till 1218, when thecitizens had an opportunity of purchasing land and building houses andgreatly extending the suburbs.

  Many and various were the sports and recreations in which the ancientLondoners indulged on high days and holidays. It is to be feared thatthey did yield in some measure to the temptations of the maypole, thetavern, the cockpit, the bull-ring, and the gaming-house, and even foundtheir way at times to “the vaulted room of gramarye,” in which thewizard exercised his art. But generally their recreations were of amanly and invigorating kind. They played football in the fields near theHoly Well, wrestled for the ram near Matilda’s Hospital, in St. Giles’sFields, had horse-races and matches at quintain in Smithfield; and, whenthe Thames was frozen over, they tied sheep-bones to their feet--skatesnot having then come into fashion--and tilted against each other withstaves in full career. Nor did they, at other times, neglect suchaquatic exercises as were likely to train them to skill and hardihood.“A pole,” says the chronicler, “is set up in the middle of the river,and a shield made fast thereto. Then a young man, standing in a boat,which, being rowed by oars and driven by the tide, glides swiftly on,while he with his lance hits the target as the boat passes by, when ifhe breaks his lance without losing his own footing he performeth well;but if, on the contrary, the lance remains unbroken, he will be tumbledinto the water, and the boat passes on. Nevertheless, there are alwaystwo boats ready to succour him.”

  Around the walls of London were houses, and churches, and hospitals; andFitzstephen, writing with the scene before his eye, tells us that “onall sides, without the suburbs, are the citizens’ gardens or orchards.”But of all the suburbs, Clerkenwell, where stood the Priory of theKnights of St. John, and the great mansion of the De Clares, was thefairest. In fact, Clerkenwell, then a village some distance from London,was one of the most picturesque places in England, having on every sidebut that towards the city the prospect of wooded hills and uplands,mingled with luxuriant verdure; while the river Holborn, its banksclothed with vines, wound among romantic steeps and secluded dells; andthere, among glittering pebbles, was the fountain called “FonsClericorum,” from which the village took its name, because the youthsand students of the city--and the schools of London were frequented bydiligent scholars--were in the habit of strolling out, on summerevenings, to take the air and taste the water.

  It was at Clerkenwell, in a pleasant garden, which, however, wasevidently intended more for use than ornament, and flanked by anorchard, where fruit trees grew thick, and afforded shady walks for itsmusing and meditative owner, that the suburban villa of ConstantineFitzarnulph was situated; and it was there that, in the spring of 1215,the season of Lent being over, the young citizen gave a supper to someof the Londoners whose wealth and influence were greatest, such as theHardels, the Basings, and the Fitz-Peters, the kind of men of whom,thirty years later, Henry III., when advised to sell his crown jewels,and told that, if no other purchaser could be found rich enough to buythem, the citizens of London could, exclaimed, “Yes, by God’s head, Isuppose that if the treasures of Augustus Cæsar were in the market,these clownish citizens, who call themselves barons, could lay downmoney enough to buy them.” But in one respect Henry was wrong. Thecitizens of London were not “clowns;” their hospitality was proverbial,and intercourse with foreigners refined their manners and enlarged theirminds. Neither in point of breeding or intelligence were the guests ofFitzarnulph at all inferior to the Bigods and Bohuns who set kings atdefiance, and wedded kings’ daughters.

  Nor did the villa of the Fitzarnulphs lack any of the luxuries which atthat period could be found in the castle of prince or feudal noble. Inthe hall where the guests were assembled appeared the enamelled work ofLimoges, the linen of Ipres, then celebrated for its manufacture--hence“diaper”--and the products of Spain and Italy, and the spoils ofConstantinople, recently seized and plundered by the crusaders underBaldwin of Flanders and Dandolo, the blind Doge of Venice. On the table,around which they sat on chairs curiously carved, were saltcellars ofrare workmanship, and copper candlesticks, engraved and gilt, withenamel of seven colours let into the metal, and displaying figures ofanimals, and dishes, cups, and boxes ornamented like the candlesticks.The walls and wainscot were painted with subjects from history or fable;and more than one image and more than one picture recalled to memory therecent sack of that rich city on the Bosphorus to which the eye ofNorman and Frank had for centuries been longingly turned.

  The supper was not placed on the board, but, according to the fashion ofthe day, served to the guests on spits. At first the company appearedunder constraint and silent; but when supper was over, and theattendants were ordered to leave the apartments, and the doors wereclosed, so that the conversation might be strictly private, and whenFitzarnulph had pointed significantly to the rose on the roof-tree,surrounded with the legend--

  “He who doth secrets reveal Beneath my roof shall never live;”

  and when the wine, which had neither been produced on the banks of theHolborn nor in the vineyards of Gloucester, flowed freely, their tongueswere loosened, and they expressed themselves without hesitation as tothe crisis which public affairs had reached, not by any means sparingKing John, whose character they evidently viewed in the very worstlight. Two of the party, however, preserved their discretion. One wasJoseph Basing, a cautious man, who had been Sheriff of London in theprevious year; the other a youth of patrician aspect, in a half-martialdress, with handsome features, and a keen eye which kindled withenthusiasm when noble words were spoken, and a pr
oud lip which curledwith scorn when a mean sentiment was expressed.

  “Sirs,” said Joseph Basing, after listening silently and with an air ofalarm to remarks which, if repeated, might have cost ten lives, “I willnot take upon me to dispute that there is some truth in much that hasbeen said, and especially that, in the matter of taxes and imposts, theLondoners have of late had burdens laid on their shoulders which mencannot and ought not to bear with patience. Nevertheless, we must lookbefore we leap, lest we should meet the fate of William Fitzozbert, whowas hanged at the Nine Elms, in Richard’s time, for calling himself Kingof the Poor, and speaking ill of the powers that be. For myself, I carenot to place myself in jeopardy, even for the weal of myfellow-citizens, unless I see a way of getting safely out again; and,for the king, I believe it is said in Holy Writ, ‘Curse not the king,no, not in thy thoughts, for a bird of the air shall carry the voice,and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.’ My masters, let us becautious. King John may be less wise and less merciful than he might be;but a king’s name is a tower of strength. He is still a king, and as yetlacks neither the will nor the power to punish those who rebel againsthim. Therefore, I say again, let us be cautious, and set not our livesrashly on the cast of the die.”

  A murmur, in which all present joined, intimated to Joseph Basing thedissatisfaction which his speech had excited. But, however timid as tohis life, he was evidently not a man to surrender his judgment to hiscomrades merely to please them.

  “Besides,” continued he, speaking in a resolute tone, “who are thesebarons, that peaceful citizens should cry them ‘God speed?’ How and whydid they cease to eat the bread of wickedness and drink the wine ofviolence? Who does not know that, up to the day when King Henry came tothe throne, they taxed their ingenuity to invent instruments of tortureto wring gold from their unoffending neighbours? and the Earl of Essex,who was rather better than his fellow-barons, used to send about spiesto beg from door to door, that he might learn in what house there wasany wealth to plunder. Verily, my masters, we ought to be careful lestwe bring back such evil days, and find ourselves at the mercy of suchruthless men.”

  “Sir citizen,” said the young noble, speaking for the first time, “theseare old stories, and such crimes as you impute to the Earl of Essexcannot be laid to the charge of the barons forming the army of God andthe Church.”

  Joseph Basing was about to answer sharply, but Constantine Fitzarnulphindicated by a gesture his desire to be heard, and there was silence.

  “My friends,” said Fitzarnulph, in a tone which he hoped would preventany argument, “it seems to me that this discourse is unprofitable, andthat it would be more to the purpose to come to a decision on the pointwe are met to decide. The barons calling themselves the army of God andthe Church are at Bedford, ready to march to London, if assured of afavourable reception in the city. Such reception we here assembled haveinfluence sufficient to secure, if we so will it; and there is herepresent a young Norman noble--Walter de Merley by name--who is ready tocarry your decision to them as rapidly as horse can carry him. Is ityour desire--yea or nay--that the army now at Bedford should march toLondon?”

  Joseph Basing was silent: all the others with one accord shouted “Yea;”and, almost as the sound ceased, Walter de Merley, having exchangedsignals with Fitzarnulph, vanished from the hall.

  “By our Lady of Newminster,” said the young warrior, as he mounted hissteed and set its face towards Bedford, “it was no more than prudent tomake these citizens pledge themselves to secrecy by an oath which theycannot break without risking eternal perdition. Not one of them but willwaken up at sunrise to-morrow, repenting of and trembling at therecollection of the scene that has just been enacted.”

  And while he rode on, congratulating himself on the success ofFitzarnulph’s attempts to induce the leading citizens of London to makethe cause of the barons their own, the doors of Fitzarnulph’s hall werethrown open; and wine and spices were served to the guests; and eachdeparted to his own home to seek repose, and probably to dream of thedanger in which he might be involved should the secret ooze out beforethe arrival of “the army of God and the Church.”