Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter

Moreover, the spoil was regarded as something marvellous, and the English, remembering the multitudinous articles of value that fell into their hands that day as booty, and the ease with which they had obtained it, though so much the weaker party, were long in the habit of talking jocularly of that very memorable Saturday in the Whitsuntide of the year 1217, and with grim humour describing the battle as “Lincoln Fair.”

CHAPTER LIV

AN AWKWARD PREDICAMENT

WHEN the army of the Count de Perche had been routed at Lincoln during Whitsuntide, and the armament of Eustace the Monk destroyed at the mouth of the Thames, on St. Bartholomew’s Day, the position of Prince Louis became desperate, and he felt infinitely more eager to get out of England without dishonour than he had felt to invade it a year earlier. But this proved no easy business; and the prince had to pass several months of such intense anxiety as he was little prepared to experience.

On hearing of the catastrophe of Lincoln, Louis immediately abandoned the siege of Dover, and made for London, perhaps still hoping against hope. But even in the capital, which had been his stronghold, he soon discovered that he was the reverse of secure. Plots and conspiracies to drive out the French were almost every week brought to light, and countenanced by many who had once shouted most loudly, “All hail, Lord Louis!” Constantine Fitzarnulph, indeed, continued true to the end; but, as a body, the rich citizens were most anxious to get out of the scrape into which they had been beguiled by the confederate barons who at Lincoln had surrendered like so many sheep.

Such being the state of affairs, Louis never knew what a day might bring forth; and he became somewhat apprehensive of consequences, as he informed Philip Augustus by letter, saying, at the same time, “Our losses are brought on by God more than by man.”

The King of France, somewhat alarmed, summoned the messengers of Louis to his presence.

“Does William Marshal still live?” asked he.

“Yes, sire,” answered they.

“Then,” said Philip, much relieved, “I have no fears for my son.”

The French king was so far right that the adversaries of Prince Louis had now much more compassion for him than his friends, who blamed him for all their misfortunes; and Pembroke was as moderate in the day of triumph as he had been inflexible in the day of adversity. But he did not, therefore, fail in his duty to the young king or to the country, the affairs of which, as protector, he had undertaken to administer. He was a man who understood not only how to conquer but how to conciliate; and in order to begin the work of conciliation he felt strongly the necessity of ridding England of the invaders without any unnecessary delay. Therefore he marched his army on London, while the mariners of the Cinque Ports sailed into the Thames, and, beleaguering the city both by land and water, so that no provisions could enter it, he reduced the French prince to such extreme distress that he shouted out very earnestly for peace. Accordingly a conference was appointed with a view of settling the terms on which peace was to be concluded.

The 11th of September was appointed for this important conference; and on that day, Henry, attended by the protector, and Louis by such of his nobles as had survived the war, met near Kingston, on an islet of the Thames. Everything went smoothly, for Louis was all eagerness to shake himself clear of his perplexities; and Pembroke, so far from being inclined to bear hard on vanquished foes, was sincerely anxious to convert them into friends. Accordingly, such terms were agreed to as enabled the French prince to leave England without dishonour, and gave the captive barons an opportunity of recovering their liberty and returning to their allegiance.

“It was concluded,” says the chronicler, “that Prince Louis should have fifteen thousand marks for the charges he had been at, and abjure his claim to any interest in the kingdom; and withal to work his father for restitution of such provinces in France as appertained to the English crown, and that when he himself should be king he should resign them in a peaceable manner. On the other hand, King Henry takes his oath, and after him the legate and the protector, to restore unto the barons of the realm, and others his subjects, all their rights and privileges, for which the discord began between the late king and his people. After this, Prince Louis is honourably attended to Dover, and departs out of England about Michaelmas.”

Almost ere the ships which carried the French prince and his surviving comrades from the land which they had hoped to make their own had reached France, affairs in England assumed their wonted aspect, and Englishmen most devoutly thanked Heaven that peace was restored to the suffering country. Nor did Pembroke leave his work half done. The Great Charter having been carefully revised, and so modified as not to interfere with “the king’s government being carried on,” was solemnly confirmed, to the satisfaction of all parties; and young Henry, when he entered London, on the occasion of going to be crowned with the golden crown of the Confessor in Westminster Abbey, “was received with great joy by the people.”

Gay indeed was the city of London on that day, and gladly the citizens, rejoicing in the restoration of peace – with the exception of Constantine Fitzarnulph, who muttered vague threats about “biding his time,” and shut himself up in his high, large dwelling – decked their houses, and rushed to window and housetop to witness the procession, which certainly contrasted marvellously with the procession which, twelve months earlier, had been witnessed, at a period so gloomy, by the citizens of Gloucester. Keen was the curiosity of the dames and damsels to see what they could of the pageant; and even Dame Waledger, albeit looking somewhat sullen, and Beatrix de Moreville, albeit looking somewhat sad, came forth to view the magnificent cavalcade from the balcony of the great mansion of the De Morevilles, in Ludgate. De Moreville himself was away in the far North, shut up within the strong walls of Mount Moreville, his mind alternating between vague hopes and desperate resolutions, never even mentioning his daughter to Ralph Hornmouth, but one day forming a project for placing Alexander, King of Scots, on the English throne, another day vowing by the bones of St. Moden to raise his own banner and make an effort to redeem the lost cause of Louis, and on a third declaring that his career was run, and that nothing remained but to take the cowl and become a monk in the great abbey which his ancestor had founded at Dryburgh, on the Tweed; but Sir Anthony Waledger, who, freed from his captivity and solaced by the wine-cup, bore defeat more easily, was, though carefully concealed, looking scornfully out on the triumph of those against whom he had fought, if not with chivalrous courage, at least with fiendish malevolence.

And grand and brilliant indeed – with its banners, and martial music, and heralds – looked the company of earls and barons and knights and squires who attended the boy-king in his procession, their plumes and mantles waving and their bridles ringing as they rode haughtily along, their steeds stepping proudly, as if they disdained the ground. But no one looked that day higher and braver than Oliver Icingla, who, side by side with William Longsword, Salisbury’s young heir, rode gallantly along on his black horse Ayoub, no longer wearing the white jacket in which he had made himself so terrible to the French, but arrayed, as beseemed his rank, in cap and white feather, and gay mantelet of scarlet, now and then, also, recognised by the crowd, and cheered as “The Icingla,” and as the boy-warrior whose axe had been wielded with such good effect against England’s foes.

And as the cavalcade reached Ludgate, on the way westward, the gate presented a slight impediment and there was a brief halt in the procession, and as Oliver raised his eyes to that balcony where De Moreville’s daughter was under the wing of Dame Waledger, they encountered that marvellously fair face, with eyes like the violet and hair like the raven’s wing, which had haunted him in all his adventures, and, as he gallantly raised his cap, his heart for a moment leaped with the emotion of a young lover suddenly face to face with her he adores. But it was only for a moment. Quick as the lightning’s flash his memory recalled that terrible dream, the recollection of which he had in vain endeavoured to banish, and so powerful was the impression which it had left, that he almost involuntarily breathed a prayer to be delivered from temptation. As he did so the procession resumed its course towards Westminster, and Oliver rode on, musing silently, and all that day and all that night his thoughts were gloomy, and he was still in melancholy mood next morning when, having been roused at sunrise, he mounted to accompany William de Collingham to take possession of Chas-Chateil in King Henry’s name.

And Beatrix de Moreville became more sad. Part of her sadness arose from the belief that Oliver Icingla had all but forgotten the fair kinswoman whose presence had cheered his heart in captivity as sunshine lights up the landscape in latest October, or only remembered to think of her with dislike as the daughter of a man by whom he had been deeply injured. But this was not all that preyed upon the mind of Beatrix de Moreville, and brought the tears to her eyes. She was aware that Constantine Fitzarnulph, known to her only as a person of strong will and violent ambition, had become madly enamoured of her; that he had vowed that the Norman maiden should be his bride. She was aware that he had secured the co-operation of the Waledgers, male and female, who, reflecting on De Moreville’s harshness in other days, and deeming him now ruined and powerless either to benefit or to injure, had neither scruples nor fears so far as the Norman baron was concerned; and she was aware, also, that Fitzarnulph had, in all the confidence of untold wealth and municipal influence, sworn by the blood of St. Thomas, citizen as he was, he should wed the proud demoiselle, even if it cost the country a revolution and ten thousand lives to fill up the social gap that separated them.

Such being her position, and being endowed with all the sensitive delicacy of a flower reared in a forest, De Moreville’s daughter, finding herself abandoned by her sire, shut up in that great house in Ludgate, worried daily by Dame Waledger, pestered by Sir Anthony, and with no one of her own age, and rank, and sex to sympathise with her woes, brooded pensively as she recalled the past, with all its romance, and sighed heavily as she thought of the future, with all its hazards.

It was, in truth, a woeful termination to the sweet and fanciful musings of which Oliver’s captivity at Chas-Chateil had been the origin. Why, O why, did the heir of the Icinglas dream that frightful dream in the Sussex forest?

CHAPTER LV

SUNSHINE AND CLOUDS

ALL now went well with King Henry and with England under the auspices of the old Earl of Pembroke, and the Christmas of 1217 was celebrated with gladness and festive mirth alike in court and city, in castle and in cottage, and people breathed more freely than they had done for years, and thanked God and the saints that the country was free from the terrible mercenaries whom Prince Louis had brought to conquer them. The protector administered affairs so wisely and vigorously that general satisfaction was felt throughout the country, so lately torn by civil war and ravaged by foreign foes. No man was treated with harshness on account of the part he had taken in the struggle, and when the barons who had adhered to Prince Louis appeared at court, they were so graciously received that they did what they could by their influence and example to aid Pembroke in the patriotic course of policy which he was pursuing. Even the King of Scots and the Prince of Wales perceived the necessity of making peace with the government. Accordingly, Alexander came southward and did homage to Henry at Northampton. Llewellyn, after compromising with his savage pride by indulging in a little delay, condescended to go through the same ceremony at Worcester.

Meanwhile the protector laboured earnestly to execute the treaty to which the king had sworn, and on all points scrupulously maintained faith with those who had been his adversaries. Having restored castles and manors to the barons who had returned to their allegiance, he took measures for securing the observance of the Great Charter, as revised, and modified, and confirmed. Not content with issuing orders to all the sheriffs to do their duty as regarded the Charter, he no sooner found that these orders had not the effects he intended than he intrusted the business to justices-itinerant, and sent them into the various counties of England, with instructions and power to hear complaints and redress grievances. His determination to redeem all his pledges was evident, and nobody capable of forming an opinion could entertain any doubt of his sincerity.

In fact, the conciliatory spirit, good faith, and moderation displayed by Pembroke wrought marvels; and the course of policy he pursued did so much to popularise the monarchy which he had rescued from destruction that ere long young Henry reigned over a loyal people, “the evil will borne to King John seeming to die with him, and to be buried with him in the same grave,” and there was every prospect of England enjoying a long season of peace and prosperity. But unfortunately a change was at hand, and a change for the worse. Almost as Henry’s throne appeared to be firmly established, there occurred an event which opened up a new scene, and which was destined to lead to fresh troubles.

Pembroke, as has been mentioned, was an old man at the time when he, in the autumn of 1216, applied himself to the terrible task of saving his country from foreign dominion, and, while occupied with the good work of healing his country’s wounds, his days were “dwindling to the shortest span.” Perhaps the protector’s great exertions hastened his end. At all events, in May, 1219, he breathed his last at his manor of Caversham, and his body, having been carried to the abbey of Reading, where mass was solemnly celebrated, and afterwards conveyed to Westminster Abbey, where mass was again solemnly celebrated, was finally borne with all honour along the Strand, and laid in the Temple Church on Ascension Day.

Naturally the great protector’s death was much bewailed by the nation, and patriotic Englishmen mourned as if each of them had lost a near and dear friend. Nor was it possible for reflecting men to speculate on the future without feeling uneasy as to what might be the consequences of the sudden removal of a ruler of patriotic spirit, and firm heart, and strong hand. For a time, however, the inspiration of his example was strong enough to influence his successors in the government, Peter, Bishop of Winchester, enacting the part of regent, and Hubert de Burgh, who had won so high a reputation by his defence of Dover and his naval victory over Eustace the Monk, holding the high office of justiciary. Moreover, peace was rendered more sure on the side of Scotland by the marriage of Alexander, King of Scots, with Joan, Henry’s sister, and by the marriage of Hubert de Burgh and Margaret, one of the sisters of the Scottish monarch, and at first matters went on satisfactorily. As time passed over, however, a reaction in public opinion took place, and the voice of discontent was again heard; and, to make matters worse, the Bishop of Winchester and Hubert de Burgh, at a crisis when union was so necessary, began to quarrel, and to struggle desperately for the mastery.

Most unfortunate for the king and country was this contention under the circumstances, and the evil effects soon became visible. Men who were at daggers drawn were not likely to be very happy in their efforts at governing a nation of all others most difficult to govern, and the Londoners began to show their old spirit of insubordination, and to shout loudly against everything bearing the semblance of a grievance. As usually happens in such circumstances, persons of restless spirit and violent ambition were not wanting to fan the flame; and in the city of London there was one person, at least, who was too vigilant not to recognise the opportunity for mischief, and too earnest in his discontent not to seize the occasion and turn it to account. This man was Constantine Fitzarnulph.

And so the sunshine departed from around Henry’s throne, and clouds began to gather over the boy-king’s head.

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!”