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 of the magnificent addition which he was about to make to the abbey built by 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 and the inhabitants of Westminster and the adjacent villages on the other. The match had been got up by the Londoners, and was presided over by Constantine 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 with bushes and so secluded that even a century and a half later the Lollards, having secrecy in view, deemed them the fittest place to hold the midnight meetings which were so disagreeably interrupted by the tramp of the fifth Henry’s cavalry.

Robert Serle, a mercer, who was Mayor of London, being a wise and prudent person and suspecting ulterior objects, refrained from being present at this wrestling match. In fact, the mayor had a secret dread of Fitzarnulph, who was now regarded by the rich and reputable citizens as “a great favourer of the French,” and one who had dealings with sorcerers--who was much given to playing on the passions of the populace and cherishing projects unworthy of a peaceful citizen. In fact, he had lost nearly all influence with his equals, and, though treated with respect as “a man eminent for his birth and property,” he was avoided by them as a dangerous man.

Nevertheless, Fitzarnulph adhered steadfastly to the objects on which he had set his heart, one being the restoration of Prince Louis, the other his union with De Moreville’s daughter, and defied all discouragements in pursuing the path to which he was tempted by ambition and by love. Deserted by the middle classes, he found adherents on whose prejudices he could more easily work, and he exercised his art to insinuate himself into the good graces of the unreflecting multitude, and played demagogic tricks with such success that he became the popular darling. Ever brooding, ever scheming, and ever aspiring, he was constantly on the watch for people whom he might use as instruments to advance his projects when occasion served, though, in truth, his projects were so vague and fanciful that, if questioned, he would have found difficulty in explaining the nature of the revolution which he intended to accomplish. In fact, his heart was still with Prince Louis. His admirers, however, being such as they were, made no inconvenient inquiries, but believed that if he had the upper hand toil and poverty would cease, and a golden age come into existence.

And therefore Fitzarnulph was popular, and great was the crowd around the spot railed off for the sport over which he was to preside as patron. Thither came many grave and sober citizens to enjoy the spectacle; thither the London ’prentices, whose notion of enjoyment centred in mischief and brawls; thither many of the sons of toil to spend their holiday; and thither also the riff-raff of the capital in the shape of gamblers, parasites, and desperadoes, who never appeared anywhere without causing quiet and orderly people a good deal of apprehension. Loud was the shouting, great the excitement, keen the curiosity; and the feeling of jealousy and rivalry was sharpened by the circumstance of the steward of the Abbot of Westminster appearing to lend his countenance to the wrestlers of Westminster and other villages.

At the time appointed the contest began by two striplings, who, each mounted on the back of a comrade, encountered like knights on horseback, each endeavouring to throw his antagonist to the ground. This served as a prelude to the more serious struggle. The spectators, however, soon wearied of this species of sport, which they looked upon as “boys’ play,” and manifested their impatience for the more real and manly encounter.

The real work of the day then commenced, and the wrestlers, in light clothing so shaped as not to impede their movements, entered the arena. At first there were several couples contending at the same time, but they were matched two against two, and the rule was that a combatant must fight three times successively and throw his antagonist at least twice on the ground before the prize could be adjudged to him. The great aim of the wrestler was to throw his adversary on the ground; but that was not decisive. If the combatant who was down happened to draw his antagonist along with him, either by accident or art, the contest still continued, and they kept tumbling and twining with each other till one of them got uppermost and compelled the other to own himself vanquished.

Now on this occasion, though the wrestlers from Westminster contended keenly and made every exertion, the Londoners were triumphant in almost every encounter; and when the contest was at an end, Martin Girder, of Eastcheap, a young man of twenty-five or thereabout, of tall stature and immense strength, stood in the arena the undefeated victor of the day, having thrown to the ground adversary after adversary, and so dealt with the Westminster men that they were thoroughly humbled for the time being, 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 the bold ’prentices of London!” and “Long live Constantine Fitzarnulph!” arose mocking laughter and railleries directed against the vanquished foes, 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 these Londoners is intolerable. My lord’s honour and mine own are concerned in humbling their pride.”

“Sir seneschal,” said Fitzarnulph, with a sneer that was at once significant and provoking, “you see that the Londoners can hold their own when occasion presents itself.”

The steward’s brow darkened, but he curbed his rising wrath, and spoke calmly and a little contemptuously.

“Good citizens,” said he, “be not puffed up with too much conceit, nor imitate 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 a wrestler who will dispose of your London champion as easily as a game-cock would deal with a barn-door fowl.”

“Seneschal,” replied Fitzarnulph, with a mock smile and an air of very lofty superiority, “I accept the challenge, and hold myself surety for Martin Girder’s appearance at the time and place you have named. For the rest, I wish you joy of such a champion as you have described, when you find him; but I cannot help deeming that you might as well attempt the quest of the Sangreal; and sure I am that you will have to search carefully from Kent to Northumberland before you find a champion who will not get the worst of it in any encounter with Martin Girder.”

“Good citizen,” replied the steward, scornfully, “leave the search to me, and trouble not thy head as to the difficulties thereof. Credit me,” added he, with a peculiar emphasis, “I will use no sorcery in the business, nor will it be necessary to go out of Middlesex to find a young fellow with strength and skill enough to lay this hero of Eastcheap on his back with as little trouble as it has taken him to do the least skilful and strong whom he has wrestled with this day.”

And so saying, the steward caused a proclamation to be made that a wrestling match was to be held at Westminster at noon on the 1st of August, which was Lammas Day, and having then nodded coldly to Fitzarnulph, he turned his horse’s head and rode towards Westminster, while the Londoners, conspicuous among whom were the ’prentices, were escorting the victor in triumph from the arena.

This ceremony over, the eyes of the spectators were gratified with no less 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 of music--a man playing on the horn and a woman dancing round the performers as they fought.

The more reputable citizens then took their way homewards, criticising the combats that had taken place, and lauding the athletic prowess of Martin Girder, not failing, at the same time, to speculate on the event that was to come off the following week at Westminster, and to hazard predictions very much the reverse of favourable to the steward’s chances of 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 strong attractions, not to mention the dancing bear, and the tents at which liquor was liberally dispensed to all who would pay on the nail; and as the crowd remained, so did Constantine Fitzarnulph. Scenting mischief in the steward’s challenge, and hoping to turn it to account, he was that day peculiarly eager to ingratiate himself with the multitude, and to add to his popularity; and he succeeded so well that he was ultimately escorted to Clerkenwell by a riotous mob, who loudly cheered him as he entered his suburban villa, and shouted vociferously, “God and the saints preserve thee, Constantine, King of the People!”

And Fitzarnulph’s head was so turned with the popular applause and flattery, that he overlooked the probability of any such trifling contingency as his neck being ere long in danger.

Already he was, at least, a viceroy in imagination, and far too elate with the visions of power and authority with which he delighted his soul to allow his fancy to conjure up, even for a moment, the gloomy spectacle of gallows and hangman, so likely to figure at the end of such a career as that on which he was rushing.