Lancers of the Royal Canal

Behold the king of the boat jousters. The man-mountain stands silhouetted against the Mediterranean sun, gliding past spectators lining a canal.

Aurelien Evangelisti aka “The Centurion'' is the heavyweight champion of a sporting spectacle that has defined Sete, the hard-working French port town, since the 17th century.

Evangelisti plants a trunk-like leg behind him on the tintaine, a platform atop the stern of a boat propelled by ten oarsmen.

Gaze fixed on his oncoming opponent, wooden lance at the ready, head low, he goes into a statue-like crouch behind his shield, all 365 pounds of him.

It is as if Moby Dick has sprouted arms and legs and gotten hold of a harpoon.

Oboes and drums play a fanfare aboard the boats as they converge, bringing the jousters face to face. The crowd murmurs. Battle!

Lances slam shields with the force of slow trucks colliding. Evangelisti's opponent finds himself lifted off his turret, lance flying, face filling with the fear of being suspended like this in time and space forever.

Then Evangelisti finishes him with a blow from the shield and the vanquished jouster drops a dozen feet into the water.

This ritual of les joutes, or “the jousts'', of the Languedoc region of southern France is a bit like bullfighting, or sumo wrestling.

It is an art of controlled, codified violence, testing strength, skill and courage. The origins date to medieval times.

When the port of Sete was founded in 1666, the ceremonies featured a boat-jousting tourney.

The competition evolved among the knights of the waterfront proletariat: fishermen, dockworkers, masons and other labourers, mostly Italians and Spaniards, who settled in the region in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Aquatic duels became a rite for integration of immigrants and initiation of young men, a stage for brawn bred by physical toil.

The appeal has widened beyond the docks. These days it seems everyone wants to heft a lance — psychologists and journalists, “bankers and bank-robbers'', says Germinal Rausa, president of a league formed by seven clubs in the region.

Jousters are the beloved musketeers of Sete, a cheerful, weathered city of 40,000 that spreads across canals and lagoons beneath Mont St Clair about 23 km from the city of Montpellier.

Tournaments are held through the summer, culminating in the five-day, jam-packed Saint Louis festival, the Super Bowl of jousting, in the Royal Canal in downtown Sete.

But it is a point of pride that no one, except the musicians, makes money off jousting. “It's for glory, it's for honour, like in the days of the chevaliers,'' Rausa says.

“The guy who wins the Saint Louis tournament … becomes a star, a local idol to the children. He represents discipline, morality, respect. So it has a social and sociological role—respect for combat, respect for life.''

Equally wet

Rausa is a tanned, animated 58-year-old with corded arms and legs. He was born in Sete to one of the many Spanish families that fled into exile after fighting on the Leftist side in the Civil War of 1936-39.

Each year in late August, he becomes the voice of the Saint Louis festival. He spices up his play-by-play with political sniping and sly digs at rival towns.

He particularly relishes taking shots at Frontignan, a village whose jousting prowess makes it the nemesis of Sete.

“What I like about jousting is the equality. Everybody gets wet the same as everybody else, no matter who they are,'' he says. “You are not a real Setois unless you have jousted,'' Rausa declares.

Fights among combatants or spectators, too, are a fixture. The official account of the 2004 Saint Louis heavyweight tourney mentions an interruption of “more than 20 minutes as the result of unacceptable incidents around the jury table'' after which “a semblance of calm was restored''.

The finals of the tournament bring surprises. As twilight descends, the audience cheers over an upset. A cagey veteran from Frontignan, Claude Massias, 45, brings down Evangelisti.

“Look at the champion now,'' Rausa says. “See what I told you? Everyone ends up in the water sooner or later.''

But redemption does not take long. On August 25 Evangelisti and Massias battle once again: this time in the grand prize finals of the Saint Louis festival.

After two clashes without a victor, Evangelisti manages to knock Massias's lance out of his grip. It is over.

Evangelisti has won his fifth Saint Louis championship. He raises his lance in triumph, gliding through the spatter of flashbulbs lighting up the Royal Canal and the thunder of the crowd hailing him the king of the boat jousters.