CHAPTER LVI
THE WRESTLING MATCH
It was the 25th of July, and King Henry was keeping the festival of St.James at the Palace of Westminster, and laying the foundation-stone ofthe magnificent addition which he was about to make to the abbey builtby the Holy Confessor, whom he regarded as his tutelary saint.
And on St. James’s Day, after the king had gone through this ceremony,there was a great wrestling match between the Londoners on one side andthe inhabitants of Westminster and the adjacent villages on the other.The match had been got up by the Londoners, and was presided over byConstantine Fitzarnulph, and the scene of athletic strife was a broad,level space hard by Matilda’s Hospital, afterwards St.Giles’s-in-the-Fields, which for the most part were overgrown withbushes and so secluded that even a century and a half later theLollards, having secrecy in view, deemed them the fittest place to holdthe midnight meetings which were so disagreeably interrupted by thetramp of the fifth Henry’s cavalry.
Robert Serle, a mercer, who was Mayor of London, being a wise andprudent person and suspecting ulterior objects, refrained from beingpresent at this wrestling match. In fact, the mayor had a secret dreadof Fitzarnulph, who was now regarded by the rich and reputable citizensas “a great favourer of the French,” and one who had dealings withsorcerers--who was much given to playing on the passions of the populaceand cherishing projects unworthy of a peaceful citizen. In fact, he hadlost nearly all influence with his equals, and, though treated withrespect as “a man eminent for his birth and property,” he was avoided bythem as a dangerous man.
Nevertheless, Fitzarnulph adhered steadfastly to the objects on which hehad set his heart, one being the restoration of Prince Louis, the otherhis union with De Moreville’s daughter, and defied all discouragementsin pursuing the path to which he was tempted by ambition and by love.Deserted by the middle classes, he found adherents on whose prejudiceshe could more easily work, and he exercised his art to insinuate himselfinto the good graces of the unreflecting multitude, and played demagogictricks with such success that he became the popular darling. Everbrooding, ever scheming, and ever aspiring, he was constantly on thewatch for people whom he might use as instruments to advance hisprojects when occasion served, though, in truth, his projects were sovague and fanciful that, if questioned, he would have found difficultyin explaining the nature of the revolution which he intended toaccomplish. In fact, his heart was still with Prince Louis. Hisadmirers, however, being such as they were, made no inconvenientinquiries, but believed that if he had the upper hand toil and povertywould cease, and a golden age come into existence.
And therefore Fitzarnulph was popular, and great was the crowd aroundthe spot railed off for the sport over which he was to preside aspatron. Thither came many grave and sober citizens to enjoy thespectacle; thither the London ’prentices, whose notion of enjoymentcentred in mischief and brawls; thither many of the sons of toil tospend their holiday; and thither also the riff-raff of the capital inthe shape of gamblers, parasites, and desperadoes, who never appearedanywhere without causing quiet and orderly people a good deal ofapprehension. Loud was the shouting, great the excitement, keen thecuriosity; and the feeling of jealousy and rivalry was sharpened by thecircumstance of the steward of the Abbot of Westminster appearing tolend his countenance to the wrestlers of Westminster and other villages.
At the time appointed the contest began by two striplings, who, eachmounted on the back of a comrade, encountered like knights on horseback,each endeavouring to throw his antagonist to the ground. This served asa prelude to the more serious struggle. The spectators, however, soonwearied of this species of sport, which they looked upon as “boys’play,” and manifested their impatience for the more real and manlyencounter.
The real work of the day then commenced, and the wrestlers, in lightclothing so shaped as not to impede their movements, entered the arena.At first there were several couples contending at the same time, butthey were matched two against two, and the rule was that a combatantmust fight three times successively and throw his antagonist at leasttwice on the ground before the prize could be adjudged to him. The greataim of the wrestler was to throw his adversary on the ground; but thatwas not decisive. If the combatant who was down happened to draw hisantagonist along with him, either by accident or art, the contest stillcontinued, and they kept tumbling and twining with each other till oneof them got uppermost and compelled the other to own himself vanquished.
Now on this occasion, though the wrestlers from Westminster contendedkeenly and made every exertion, the Londoners were triumphant in almostevery encounter; and when the contest was at an end, Martin Girder, ofEastcheap, a young man of twenty-five or thereabout, of tall stature andimmense strength, stood in the arena the undefeated victor of the day,having thrown to the ground adversary after adversary, and so dealt withthe Westminster men that they were thoroughly humbled for the timebeing, and that the steward of the abbot was much crestfallen.
Nor did the Londoners bear their triumph meekly. Mingled with shouts of“Hurrah for London town!” “Hurrah for Martin Girder!” “Hurrah for thebold ’prentices of London!” and “Long live Constantine Fitzarnulph!”arose mocking laughter and railleries directed against the vanquishedfoes, and now and then bitter denunciations of the men of Westminster,not even excepting the abbot and his steward.
“By St. George!” exclaimed the steward angrily, “the insolence of theseLondoners is intolerable. My lord’s honour and mine own are concerned inhumbling their pride.”
“Sir seneschal,” said Fitzarnulph, with a sneer that was at oncesignificant and provoking, “you see that the Londoners can hold theirown when occasion presents itself.”
The steward’s brow darkened, but he curbed his rising wrath, and spokecalmly and a little contemptuously.
“Good citizens,” said he, “be not puffed up with too much conceit, norimitate the airs of the cock, which crows so loudly on its own dunghill.But hear my challenge. I will hold a match at Westminster this day week,and I will give a ram as the prize; and beshrew me if I produce not awrestler who will dispose of your London champion as easily as agame-cock would deal with a barn-door fowl.”
“Seneschal,” replied Fitzarnulph, with a mock smile and an air of verylofty superiority, “I accept the challenge, and hold myself surety forMartin Girder’s appearance at the time and place you have named. For therest, I wish you joy of such a champion as you have described, when youfind him; but I cannot help deeming that you might as well attempt thequest of the Sangreal; and sure I am that you will have to searchcarefully from Kent to Northumberland before you find a champion whowill not get the worst of it in any encounter with Martin Girder.”
“Good citizen,” replied the steward, scornfully, “leave the search tome, and trouble not thy head as to the difficulties thereof. Credit me,”added he, with a peculiar emphasis, “I will use no sorcery in thebusiness, nor will it be necessary to go out of Middlesex to find ayoung fellow with strength and skill enough to lay this hero ofEastcheap on his back with as little trouble as it has taken him to dothe least skilful and strong whom he has wrestled with this day.”
And so saying, the steward caused a proclamation to be made that awrestling match was to be held at Westminster at noon on the 1st ofAugust, which was Lammas Day, and having then nodded coldly toFitzarnulph, he turned his horse’s head and rode towards Westminster,while the Londoners, conspicuous among whom were the ’prentices, wereescorting the victor in triumph from the arena.
This ceremony over, the eyes of the spectators were gratified with noless exciting a spectacle than the sword-dance of the Anglo-Saxons,which was a sort of war-dance performed by two men in martial attire,armed with shield and sword, who plied their weapons to the sound ofmusic--a man playing on the horn and a woman dancing round theperformers as they fought.
The more reputable citizens then took their way homewards, criticisingthe combats that had taken place, and lauding the athletic prowess ofMartin Girder, not failing, at
the same time, to speculate on the eventthat was to come off the following week at Westminster, and to hazardpredictions very much the reverse of favourable to the steward’s chancesof making good his boast.
But it was not till a later hour that the crowd dispersed. The booths,the gleeman, the mountebank, and the merry-andrew were strongattractions, not to mention the dancing bear, and the tents at whichliquor was liberally dispensed to all who would pay on the nail; and asthe crowd remained, so did Constantine Fitzarnulph. Scenting mischief inthe steward’s challenge, and hoping to turn it to account, he was thatday peculiarly eager to ingratiate himself with the multitude, and toadd to his popularity; and he succeeded so well that he was ultimatelyescorted to Clerkenwell by a riotous mob, who loudly cheered him as heentered his suburban villa, and shouted vociferously, “God and thesaints preserve thee, Constantine, King of the People!”
And Fitzarnulph’s head was so turned with the popular applause andflattery, that he overlooked the probability of any such triflingcontingency as his neck being ere long in danger.
Already he was, at least, a viceroy in imagination, and far too elatewith the visions of power and authority with which he delighted his soulto allow his fancy to conjure up, even for a moment, the gloomyspectacle of gallows and hangman, so likely to figure at the end of sucha career as that on which he was rushing.
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