Then Sir John, satisfied with having proclaimed his will, died with Christian resignation, leaving his little son Gamelyn in the power of the cruel eldest brother, now, in his turn, Sir John.
Since the boy was very young, the new knight, as a natural guardian, got the control of Gamelyn’s land, vassals, education, and nurture; but he did not fulfil his duty, for he clothed and fed the boy badly, and neglected his lands, so that his parks and houses, his farms and villages, fell into decay[29]. The boy, when he grew older, noticed this and tried to change it, but did not realise the power in himself with which he tried to redress the wrongs[30]. Later, though, he fully understood what injuries he could inflict others, so no man would dare to face him in fight when he was angry, so strong a youth had he become.
While Gamelyn, one day, walking in the hall, was thinking of the ruin of all his inheritance, Sir John came in, and, seeing him, called out: “How now: is dinner ready?”
Furious at being addressed as if he were just a servant, Gamelyn replied angrily: “Go and do your own baking; I am not your cook.”
Sir John was astonished. “What, my dear brother, is that the way to answer? You have never addressed me so before!”
“No,” replied Gamelyn, “because until now I have never considered all the wrong you have done me. My parks are broken open, my deer are driven off; you have deprived me of my armour and my horses; all that my father left to me is falling into ruin and decay. God’s curse upon you, false brother!”
Sir John was now angry beyond all measure[31], and shouted: “Stand still, vagabond! What right do you have to speak of land or vassals? Thou shall learn to be grateful for food and the roof above your head.”
“A curse upon him that calls me a vagabond! I am no worse than yourself; I am the son of a lady and a good knight.”
In spite of all his anger, Sir John was a careful man, thinking of his own safety. He would not risk an encounter with Gamelyn, but called his servants and told them to beat him well, till he should learn better manners. But when the boy understood his brother’s intention he promised that he would not be beaten alone—others should suffer too, and Sir John not the least. Leaping on to the wall, he got a pestle standing by the wall, and so boldly attacked the servants, that he drove them into a heap. Sir John had not even got that small amount of bravery: he fled to the next room and shut the door, while Gamelyn cleared the hall with his pestle, and chased the cowardly grooms.
“Brother,” said Gamelyn, when he finally saw where the latter was hiding, “come a little nearer, and I will teach you how to play this merry game.”
“No, I will not come till you put down that pestle. Brother, be angry no more, and I will make peace with you. I swear it by the grace of God!”
“I was forced to defend myself,” said Gamelyn, “I could not let grooms beat a good knight’s son; but now grant me one gift, and we shall soon be at peace with each other.”
“Yes, certainly, brother; ask for your gift, and I will give it readily. But indeed I was only testing you, for you are so young that I doubted your strength and manliness. It was only a pretence of beating that I meant.”
“This is my request,” said the boy: “if there is to be peace between us you must give to me all that my father left me while he was alive.”
To this Sir John agreed with apparent willingness, and even promised to repair the decayed houses and restore the lands and farms; but though he showed content with the agreement and kissed his brother with affection, yet he was inwardly planning a treachery against the unsuspecting youth.
Shortly after this quarrel between the brothers a wrestling competition was announced, the winner of which would become the owner of a fine ram and a ring of gold, and Gamelyn decided to try his powers. Accordingly he asked a horse from Sir John, who offered him his choice of all the horses in the stable, and then curiously questioned him as to his purpose. The lad explained that he wished to compete in the wrestling match, hoping to win honour by bearing away the prize; then he mounted his horse and rode away merrily, while the false Sir John locked the gate behind him, praying that he might get his neck broken in the contest.
The boy rode along, rejoicing in his youth and strength, singing as he went, till he drew near the appointed place, and then he suddenly heard a man’s voice crying, “O grief! Alas!” and saw a venerable yeoman wringing his hands[32].
“Good man,” said Gamelyn, “why are you in such distress? Can no one help you?”
“Alas!” said the yeoman. “Woe to the day on which I was born[33]! The champion wrestler here has overthrown my two sons, and unless God help them they will die of their injuries. I would give ten pounds to find a man to avenge on him for my dear sons.”
“Good man, hold my horse while my groom takes my coat and shoes, and I will try my luck[34] and strength against this champion.”
“Thank God!” said the yeoman. “I will do it at once; I will guard thy coat and shoes and good horse safely—and may Jesus Christ help you!” When Gamelyn entered the ring, barefooted and ready for wrestling, all men gazed curiously at the reckless youth who dared to challenge the best champion, and the great man himself, rising from the ground, went across to meet Gamelyn and said imperiously: “Who is your father, and what is your name? Truly you are a young fool to come here!”
Gamelyn answered equally imperiously: “You knew my father well while he lived: he was Sir John of the Marches, and I am his youngest son, Gamelyn.”
The champion replied: “Boy, I knew your father well in his lifetime, and I have heard of you, but nothing good: you have always been in mischief.”
“Now I am older and you shall know me better,” said Gamelyn.
The wrestling had lasted till late in the evening, and the moon was shining over the scene when Gamelyn and the champion began their fight. The wrestler tried many wily tricks, but the boy was ready for them all. Then, in his turn, he grasped his rival round the waist, and cast him so heavily to the ground that three ribs were broken, and his left arm. Then the winner said mockingly:
“Shall we count that, or not?”
“By heaven! No man will survive in your hands,” said the champion painfully.
The yeoman, who had watched the match with great anxiety, now broke out with blessings[35]:
“Be blessed, young sir, that ever you were born!” and, turning to the fallen champion, added: “It was young ‘Mischief’ who taught you this game!”
“He is master of us all,” said the champion. “In all my years of wrestling I have never been used so cruelly.”
Now the winner stood in the ring, ready for more wrestling, but no man would dare to compete with him, and the two judges who kept order and awarded the prizes asked him to 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 haven’t yet had enough fun,” he said.
Later, when the judges returned to their seats, they formally awarded the prize to Gamelyn, and now came to him, bearing the ram and the ring.
Gamelyn took them gladly, and went home the next morning, followed by a cheering crowd of admirers; but when the cowardly Sir John saw the people he shut