A MEDIÆVAL RESTAURANT
Among the wonders of London at the opening of the thirteenth century,
when Constantine Fitzarnulph ranked as “one of the noblest citizens,”
was a restaurant on the banks of the Thames, which satisfied every want
of the stranger or traveller, and seemed to old Fitzstephen to realise
Plato’s dreams.
“Here,” says the chronicler, going into details, “according to the
season, you may find victuals of all sorts, roasted, baked, fried, and
boiled; fish large and small, and coarse viands for the poorer sort, and
more delicate ones for the rich--such as venison, fowls, and small
birds.
“In case a friend should arrive at a citizen’s house much wearied with
his journey, and chooses not to wait, an hungered as he is, for the
buying and cooking of meats, recourse is had to the bank before
mentioned, where everything desirable is instantly procured. No number
of knights and strangers can enter the city at any hour of the day or
night but all may be supplied with provisions; so that those have no
occasion to fast too long, nor these to depart the city without dinner.
“To this place, if they are so disposed, they resort, and there they
regale themselves, every man according to his abilities. Those who have
a mind to indulge need not hanker after sturgeon, or a game fowl, or a
_gelinotte-de-bois_--a particularly delicate bird--for there are
delicacies enough to gratify their palates. It is a public eating-house,
and it is both highly convenient and useful to the city, and is a clear
proof of its civilisation.”
At one of the tables of this celebrated eating-house, on the last day of
July, the day for Lammas, a young warrior, strong and handsome, rather
brilliantly attired as a squire of noble Norman birth, was seated with a
companion somewhat his junior, whom he called Rufus. They had finished
their meal, which had been of the most costly description, and were
indulging, though moderately, in the most expensive Bordeaux wine which
the establishment boasted, the squire justifying his extravagance by
quoting--
“Nullus argento color est,--
---- nisi temperato
Splendeat usu,”
when Constantine Fitzarnulph entered, and cordially saluted them.
“Welcome back to England and to London, fair sir,” said the citizen,
seating himself, and addressing the elder of the two, while he helped
himself to a cup of wine. “You have come in the very moment of time to
serve your country; but, as my trusty messenger doubtless informed you,
I have much to say of a private nature; and this place being somewhat
public, and the drawers, moreover, being parlous spies, I would fain
conduct you to my own house that we may converse more freely.”
“Thanks, good Fitzarnulph,” replied the other, nodding easily as he
raised a wine-cup to his lips; “I arede your meaning. But, in sober
earnest, I am free to confess that, the business being of such a nature
as your trusty messenger gave me to understand, I see not how it can
have other than a disastrous issue. Credit me,” added he, looking round
cautiously to assure himself that he was not overheard, “it is vain to
expect the country to come around you unless your enterprise be headed
by a man bearing a great and renowned name, and one about which clusters
a halo of associations to dazzle the multitude.”
“Faint heart never won fair lady,” said Fitzarnulph, “and men must run
some risks in regenerating a nation. Besides, there will not be wanting
such a leader as you picture, if once it is known that there exists a
ladder by which such a man may climb to a splendid eminence.”
“In the days of my youth,” said the other, almost sadly, “I had great
faith in the Lord Hugh de Moreville. By St. John of Beverley! he was a
great man, and of high lineage, but he made a false step and fell; and I
could almost weep when I think how the feathers drooped from that day,
one by one, from the De Moreville eagle.”
“Wherefore not recall Louis of France, a prince who has both the will
and the power to aid us?” asked Fitzarnulph, cautiously.
“By the Holy Cross!” replied the other, striking the table in his
enthusiasm; “as soon would I consent to invoke the aid of the Sultan of
Egypt, or the King of the Tartars. No foreign prince for me, least of
all a Frank, and of all Franks, least of all a Capet.”
“The Lord Robert Fitzwalter yet lives,” suggested Fitzarnulph, in a
significant tone.
“He lives, indeed,” said the other, half scornfully; “but he lives with
a reputation much the worse for the wear. The man who played towards
England the part which Count Julian played towards Spain is not the man
to head Englishmen when hazarding everything to regenerate their
country. Therefore let us speak no more of Robert Fitzwalter.”
“By St. Thomas! fair sir,” exclaimed Fitzarnulph, testily, “you are
somewhat difficult to please in the choice of a leader; and, since the
names I have mentioned are so ungrateful to your ear, I know not who is
capable of assuming the truncheon of command in this great
enterprise--for great it is destined to be--unless, indeed, it be a
Norman lord, young in years, but already well known to fame--I mean
Walter Merley.”
The young warrior smiled complacently, cast his eyes up to the roof, and
then around him, with the air of a person contemplating his own
perfections, and then looked Fitzarnulph in the face.
“Good Constantine,” said he, with his colour slightly heightened, “I
know not whether you speak in jest or earnest, and, in good sooth, it
matters little. But this I do know, and say fearlessly, that I have not
fought for the Venetian Republic and for the Emperor of Constantinople
without making my name, in some degree at least, known to fame; and that
had I castles, and baronies, and manors, and retainers, I should little
fear to occupy an eminence even more perilous than that to which you
allude. But a younger son, without land and without followers, I feel
strongly that Fortune beckons me to other lands than that of my birth,
and that there are many countries in Christendom where my sword would be
welcome. All over Christendom are wars and rumours of wars. Not to
mention what the Venetians and the Emperor of Constantinople are doing
against the Greeks, I know that in France war is going on against the
Albigenses; in Spain against the Moors; in Germany, Otho and young
Frederick, a prince of rare promise, are contending for the imperial
crown; in Sweden, King Eric, surnamed the Lisper, is at war with the
Tole Kungers; Waldemar, King of Denmark, is contending with Albert of
Lauenburg, who is essaying to make himself master of Holstein; Lescus,
the King of Poland, is valiantly resisting the Tartars; John de Brienne,
King of Jerusalem, is defending himself desperately against the Turks.
Mayhap I have some difficulty in choosing, under such circumstances,
whither to direct my course; but no fear have I of finding a welcome
wherever swords are drawing and blows being exchanged. It is only in
mine own country that I am without honour; and, by the mass! I see not
wherefore I should sacrifice the prospects of carving out a principality
with my sword in order to risk my head in an enterprise into which, as
it seems to me, you are being hurried rather by the promptings of
despair than the beckoning of hope.”
Fitzarnulph sat for a few moments in an attitude of reflection, and
appeared to muse deeply; then suddenly he raised his head, and
addressed the young warrior with an expression of peculiar earnestness
on his countenance.
“Accompany me to my house,” said he, “and I will there show such reasons
for venturing upon this enterprise that you will not only agree to take
part in it, but consent to do so in the character of its leader.”
Walter Merley smiled as if gratified, so far as his vanity was
concerned, with the prospect of heading an enterprise for the
regeneration of England, and, rising with his companion, they attended
Fitzarnulph to his house. When, three hours later, Walter Merley left
Fitzarnulph’s house, and walked through the narrow streets, he was the
wily citizen’s dupe.