Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter

So far Fitzarnulph had shown no sign of shrinking from the fate he had defied. But at sight of the gibbet his heart failed him, and as the hangman put the halter round his neck he lost all his self-possession, wrung his hands and beat his breast, bewailed his sad plight, and offered Falco fifteen thousand merks to save his life. The sum sounded enormous, and the eyes of the foreign warrior sparkled with avarice. But it was too late, and he shook his head. The sentence had gone forth, the hangman did his office, and just as the bells of the neighbouring convent were ringing the hour of prime, and as the monks were rising to sing the morning hymn in Latin, Falco gave the signal, and in the twinkling of an eye Constantine Fitzarnulph was dangling between heaven and earth; or, in the language of his contemporaries, he was hung up “an offering to the winds.”

And so ended the last feeble effort to disturb King Henry’s government in the name of Prince Louis, and with Fitzarnulph expired the faction that had survived Pembroke’s wise and vigorous protectorate. From that time no man, save in ridicule of French claims, ventured to shout “Montjoie, St. Denis! God aid us and our Lord Louis!” Whatever the troubles of Henry’s long reign – and they were many – no faction devoted to the French interfered to rouse hostilities between the two antagonistic parties, one of which had been represented by the great barons who forced John to sign the Great Charter under the oak of Runnymede; and the other by the patriot warriors who, to save their country from thraldom to France, fought so valiantly on the memorable day of Lincoln Fair.

A few words will suffice to satisfy any curiosity the reader may feel as to the further career of the personages who have figured in the foregoing history. In due time Oliver Icingla led Beatrix de Moreville to the hymeneal altar, and in due time, also, goodly sons and daughters grew up around them to perpetuate the ancient lines of Icingla and De Moreville, both of which names, however, were soon veiled under the title of one of England’s proudest earldoms. Years afterwards, Icinglas were in the train of Prince Edward when he so rashly chased the London militia from the field of Lewes; and, later still, they followed him in the battle of Evesham, when the life and the faction of Simon de Montfort were both extinguished; when, again, that great prince went upon his crusade, there were scions of the old Anglo-Saxon lords of Oakmede by his side; and, indeed, throughout the whole of the long and wise reign of the first Edward, Moreville-Icinglas were his faithful and cherished friends. As for Oliver himself, he and his friend William de Collingham occupied a foremost place in the field and in the council under King Henry, who, had he paid more heed to their advice, and less to that of the foreign favourites by whom he surrounded himself, might have been saved many of those troubles which distracted his reign. To Ralph Hornmouth was committed the task of teaching the young Icinglas how to govern their steeds and to handle their weapons, and of this business he was as proud as if he had been made Lord High Marshal of England. Wolf, the son of Styr, succeeded to his post. Sir Anthony Waledger, in one of the paroxysms of madness brought on by his deep potations, leaped from the battlements of his castle while in fancied combat with a wild boar, and was dashed to pieces on the stones of the courtyard. Hugh de Moreville, as Abbot of Dryburgh, found a field in which to gratify his love of power and rule, which he exercised so sternly as to be called and be long remembered as “The Hard Abbot.” The other personages who have strutted their little hour upon our mimic stage need not be further noticed.

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Sussex.