During their breathless fight across the park, the two men had no words to spend on each other, and Christian’s restless brain raced like driven quarry through the twisted tangle of the day. His interview with Deborah seemed already blurred and far-off; his mother’s fierce monologue a nightmare to be shaken clear. Only one picture stood out brightly on the crowded canvas, sweet and gracious against the troubled bewilderment of the rest. He saw Anthony’s arm go round the woman he loved, and Nettie’s head sink to its place at last.
That was love, then—the thing of which Deborah had said he knew nothing; the going into a place apart of two souls, for whom even the dark avenue of death could hold no fear. Nettie had been his comrade, his strong stay, but for Anthony she would be only a woman, weak for the glory of his strength. Not in comradeship alone lay the secret, not even in mutual reliance and support, unless crowned and welded by the unpurchasable magic, lacking which the highest must stay sealed. Deb had been right; he had not understood—but he understood now. Farmer and horse-dealer’s daughter were priest and priestess of his vision.
“We’re late,” Callander observed, when at last they struggled into the village. “But most of the men would be late too, I expect, so it doesn’t really matter. The Whyteriggers must have had a tough fight for it across the mosses.”
It was with a sense of relief that they stumbled out of the merciless night into the warmth and brightness of the hall, packed from platform to gallery, for it was a special night, and the Crump Silver Belt was up for competition. Moreover, this was the first time that Christian had appeared at a meeting since his brother’s death, and all his admirers were there to greet him. They got to their feet as he came in, and a shower of caps darkened the air on a mighty cheer for Lakin’ Lyndesay. The older men, who had known him from childhood, crowded round him, grasping his hand, while the lads in the background eyed him with reverent awe, for he held a record that could not be beaten by any in the room.
He passed the gauntlet of outstretched hands by gradual degrees, and came laughing to the platform, where a chair had been kept for him, and a morose Larrupper greeted him with a dismal nod. The cheering was still raising the roof as he took his seat in the centre, and the Crump men came out en masse to give him a final yell. Still the familiar faces pressed upon him, and still the welcoming hands went out. Even Larrupper thawed at last in the general enthusiasm, and clapped him cheerily on the shoulder as the oldest Crump tenant worried his way through for a word with the squire.
“Eh, Laker lad, but I be main glad to see thee back!” he quavered, holding to the young man’s hand as much for support in his agitation as for greeting; and Christian laughed and pushed him gently into his own chair, while a dozen eager sportsmen fought and scrambled after another.
The umpires restored order at last, and the ring was cleared. The crowd subsided, and presently the men began to come out in wrestling-kit, white, yellow, or even purple, richly embroidered in many cases, for there was a prize to be won by the best costume. At the edge of the ring the ponderous, but still light-footed umpires, themselves old wrestling champions, grunted curt orders at competitor and partisan alike.
Christian leaned forward after the first clean fall, his breath coming fast as the glamour of the game gripped him afresh. He had all the names of all the great wrestlers by heart, from the Cork Lad o’ Kentmere, who won his Troutbeck home in a tussle before Edward VI, to Jemmy Fawcett, Jackson of Kinneyside, and the best men of his own day. Jemmy Fawcett was one of his favourites in history, a little ten-stone man of five foot seven, who had been known to fell seventeen stone, even with a handkerchief to lengthen his reach. Then there was Belted Will; and Bone-setter Dennison, who dislocated his opponent’s shoulder in a fall, and put it right again before leaving the ring; others, too, whose names rose slowly to the surface of his mind as he watched.
This was not one of the weekly matches, but a competition open to the district and to all weights, though the fact that the men were mainly drawn from Crump and Whyterigg caused the party feeling between the two villages to run high. The Crump men did well at first. Long John Carradus had little trouble with young Harry Newby, a lightweight whose favourite chip was the somewhat dangerous “hank”—dangerous because it has the knack of felling the aggressor instead of the defendant. Lowther disposed of his man with a swift back-heel; and the inside click finished a Whyterigg favourite whose chances had been highly assessed. The brawny Arevar cowman had done himself proud by drawing the pick of the room, and was greeted with uproarious, derisive cheers as his knotted arms went heavily round Gaskarth’s slender waist, his coarse blue shirt and clumsy fustians in striking contrast with the white elegance of the other. He made a great parade of finding his hold, ramming his rough head against his opponent’s cheek, and breathing heavily, while Gaskarth padded lightly round him, taking his time, and smiling gently at the cowman’s mighty lumberings and strenuous efforts to force him to close. He got his hands together at last, swiftly and unobtrusively, and allowed his enthusiastic foe to swing him about the ring for a few moments, for the amusement of the spectators, smiling blissfully all the while; then, suddenly striking inside and lifting at the same time, held the astonished Samson helpless in his grasp before laying him gently and almost affectionately on the mat. Christian uttered a sharp word of applause, and Gaskarth, hearing it through the general laughter, acknowledged it with a lifted finger. He had learned his quiet science from Lakin’ Lyndesay himself.
The following half-dozen pairs gave little sport, and Christian, running his eye over the men, had already come to the conclusion that Gaskarth had no need to fear anybody present, when the last couple of the first round took the mat.