"I know not whether I can win the peacock or not," answered I, trying not to appear too vain of my skill; "but I hope to do so; and, in any case, I'll do my best."
[CHAPTER III]
WINNING THE PEACOCK
On the forenoon of St. John the Baptist's Day the Londoners crowded to Smithfield to celebrate the festival with sports and diversions; and thither I, mounting my horse, accompanied my grandsire and Thomelin of Winchester.
Various were the spectacles there exhibited to please the populace; and much was I interested with what I beheld. At one place a glee-woman was dancing round an unmuzzled bear, which endeavoured to seize her, while the keeper scourged the animal to excite its fury; at another, two men, in warlike attire, armed with brand and buckler, were playing at the sword-dance of the Anglo-Saxons to the sound of music, while a woman danced round them as they combated; at a third, wrestlers were exercising their skill in various attitudes; in one of which, said to have been derived from the ancient Greeks, two men, each mounted on the back of a comrade, encountered like knights on horseback, and endeavoured to secure victory by pulling his antagonist to the ground.
But the chief point of attraction was a broad space, inclosed with railings and covered with sawdust, where the youthful Londoners, in imitation of apprentices to chivalry, were about to display their dexterity at the quintain. In the courtyards of princes and feudal magnates, the quintain was a wooden figure, made to resemble Saladin the Great, or Bibars Bendocdar, or some other famous Saracen, holding a shield in one hand, and brandishing a sabre in the other. However, that erected in Smithfield was of a humbler description. In fact, it was very much like a turnstile with two arms, which revolved on a spindle, on one of which was a painted board resembling a shield, while from the other hung a bag filled with sand.
Mounted on horseback, the youth, armed with a long staff or blunt lance, rode at the quintain, and aimed at the wooden shield. If he failed to strike it, all the spectators laughed him to scorn; and if he struck it without making an escape in time, he was exposed, not only to the ridicule of the spectators, but to the inconvenience of receiving a severe blow on the neck from the sand-bag.
In other days, when the game of quintain was played at Smithfield, squires and pages of the king's household had taken part in the diversion, and added interest to the competition. Such was no longer the case. On the present occasion, however, the crowd flocked to witness the contest with more than the ordinary curiosity; for it was known that John Hammond, Mayor of London, was to be present to award the prize; and it was rumoured that the mayor was to do so because the Prince of Wales intended to ride from Westminster to witness the competition.
As the hour when the competitors were to mount approached, the crowd, pressing, surging, and swaying, gathered round the inclosed space, and manifested their interest in the coming contest by shouting the names of their favourites. My grandsire, whose high head and white hair commanded so much reverence that the spectators instinctively made way for him, guided me to a place near the lord mayor's chair, and was evincing much anxiety to lay before that functionary my claim to compete for the peacock, when suddenly all attention was withdrawn from the quintain by a cry of "The prince comes—long live the Prince of Wales!"
I turned as the shout rose; and as the prince, with a train of young nobles, and squires, and pages, rode up to the lord mayor, I gazed for the first time, and earnestly, on the young hero, who, ere long, was to prove himself the flower of all the chivalry of his age. At that time Edward was not more than fifteen; but he was tall for his years, fair to look upon, and distinguished by the manly beauty and the intellectual air of the great Plantagenet race. Trained to feats of strength in the tilt-yard and in the forest, his frame was strong and vigorous, and his face glowed with health; and, as he rode forward and uncovered his head, his grace and elegance of bearing moved the admiration of the multitude, who, with one voice, renewed their shouts of welcome and applause.