Defeats the Champion
The wrestling had lasted till late in the evening, and the moon was shining on the scene when Gamelyn and the champion began their struggle. The wrestler tried many wily tricks, but the boy was ready for them all, and stood steady against all that his opponent could do. Then, in his turn, he took the offensive, grasped his adversary round the waist, and cast him so heavily to the ground that three ribs were broken, and his left arm. Then the victor said mockingly:
“Shall we count that a cast, or not reckon it?”
“By heaven! whether it be one or no, any man in thy hand will never thrive,” said the champion painfully.
The yeoman, who had watched the match with great anxiety, now broke out with blessings: “Blessed be thou, young sir, that ever thou wert born!” and now taunting the fallen champion, said: “It was young ‘Mischief’ who taught thee this game.”
“He is master of us all,” said the champion. “In all my years of wrestling I have never been mishandled so cruelly.”
Now the victor stood in the ring, ready for more wrestling, but no man would venture to compete with him, and the two judges who kept order and awarded the prizes bade him retire, for no other competitor could be found to face him.
But he was a little disappointed at this easy victory. “Is the fair over? Why, I have not half sold my wares,” he said.
The champion was still capable of grim jesting. “Now, as I value my life, any purchaser of your wares is a fool; you sell so dearly.”
“Not at all,” broke in the yeoman; “you have bought your share full cheap, and made a good bargain.”