"I’ faith, Ralph," said Dicky Cheke, "there’ll be war anon, and Bowerman shall grin. What do you think? After you had gone, and the Captain had gotten well away, that rogue ’Pig’s Eyes’ got Bowerman to attack us; but we gave them enough work before we gave in, and that’s why his eye’s so wadged up, and Bowerman’s nose looks so red about the bridge." "Now, Master Cheke," called out Tom o’ Kingston, "are you going to give over gossiping? I hear there’s talk of a tilt toward, and that Sir John thinks two of you young men can break a lance in it. Now I’d be loth you bore yourselves boorishly, so please to give heed to all I’ve to say to you. Master Bowerman, you look but sadly this morning; what’s come to your nose?" "Never mind my nose, Tom," said that youth sulkily. "It’s no business of yours if my nose is well or amiss. Let me have a run at you with the lance; I want to practise against a live man." "Not this morning, Master Bowerman; you’ve enough to do to hit the Saracen fairly. Now are you ready. Go!" The boys were all mounted on their hackneys horses that formed part of the stud of the castle garrison, and which were trained for the work. Each boy carried a lance about thirteen feet long, and they were this morning going to tilt at a large and roughly-made figure of a Saracen, who held a shield in one arm, and a loose club in the other. The figure, when hit on the shield, spun round, and, unless the performer were quick in his movements, caught its assailant a more or less violent blow in the back, depending upon the force with which the shield was hit. At the word of command of Tom o’ Kingston, Bowerman dug his heels into his horse’s side and rode at the figure. He hit the shield fairly, and galloped past untouched, raising his lance as he trotted round. "That’s well done, but give him a harder buffet next time. Now, Master Newenhall!" cried the instructor.