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.
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.
