The appearance of the Chancellor, however, produced an immediate and extraordinary effect. Clerks upon the outskirts of the crowd took to their heels, flying hither and thither in all directions, uttering cries of warning to their fellows. Of these, some were too drunk and some too wildly possessed with the spirit of devilry to move even for this warning; but most of the men fled as for dear life, the authorities taking note of as many as possible, who felt, as they scudded away under those cold, clear eyes, that they would have to answer for this day's proceedings, probably in a fashion they little liked. The Chancellor strode up to the nucleus of ringleaders, who alone stood their ground. "The King shall hear of this!" he said, in calm, cold accents. "It is a case for his Majesty to decide. Go back to your Halls and lodgings, every one of you. You are a disgrace to the city and to the kingdom!" The abashed clerks obeyed that voice, and retired to their various domiciles; but before three days had passed, Oxford had lost hundreds of her scholars and a considerable number of masters also. An exodus like this not unfrequently followed upon an outbreak of ill-will betwixt "town and gown." Afraid of what the King's verdict might be, and perhaps with a view to greater liberty upon the outbreak of war, scholars and masters alike vacated their quarters, and made their way to Northampton, where fugitives both from Oxford and Cambridge often assembled, and where there was talk of establishing a third University. And so ended the "great riot of 1264." CHAPTER XXI. _KING AND STUDENTS._ Oxford was all in a ferment. The ordinary life of the University was suspended. Lecture-rooms were deserted alike by masters and scholars, and these were to be seen standing in knots about the streets, talking, gesticulating, arguing--excitement written on every face, and generally wrath and scorn as well. In other quarters clerks were to be seen issuing forth from their lodgings with their worldly goods strapped upon their backs, calling out farewells to their friends, and marching away towards the city gates, generally in parties of six or eight, and singing songs in praise of De Montfort or in despite of the King, but betraying beneath their jauntiness of outward mien an inward secret wrath. The citizens, too, looked anxious and perturbed, and there was a prevailing unrest throughout the town. The wealthier scholars might be seen talking earnestly together, looking to their arms and accoutrements, and comparing notes as to their horses. It was plain that something very unusual was afoot, and that, too, of a nature disquieting to all.