“At the _Quatre Voies_, fighting for your honour against a drove of northern oxen.” “And whom hast thou brought with thee to help thee mend it?” “The fellow who knocked down the _bos_ who gave it me, as deftly as any butcher.” “Let us see him.” “What name shall I give thee?” whispered Ralph. “Martin.” “Martin of—?” “Martin from Kenilworth,” said our bashful hero, blushing. “Thou didst say thou wert of Sussex?” “So I am, but I was adopted into the earl’s household three years agone.” “Then he is Northern,” said a listener. “No, he came from Sussex.” “Say where? no tricks upon gentlemen.” “Michelham Priory.” “Michelham Priory. Ah! an acolyte! Tapers, incense, and albs.” “Acolyte be hanged. He does not fight like one at all events.” “Come up into my den. “Come, Hugh, Percy, Aylmer, Richard, Roger, and we will discuss the matter deftly over a flagon of canary with eke a flask or two of sack, in honour of our new acquaintance.” “Nay,” said Martin, “now I have seen you safe home, I must go. It is past curfew. I am a stranger, and should be at my lodgings.” “We will see thee safely home, and improve the occasion by cracking a few more bovine skulls if we meet them, the northern burring brutes. Their lingo sickens me, but here we are.” So speaking, he opened the door of the vaulted chamber he called his “den.” It was sparingly furnished, and bore no likeness to the sort of smoking divan an undergrad of the tone of Ralph would affect now in Oxford. Plain stove, floor strewn with rushes, rude tapestry around the walls, with those uncouth faces and figures worked thereon which give antiquarians a low idea of the personal appearance of the people of the day, a solid table, upon which a bear might dance without breaking it, two or three stools, a carved cabinet, a rude hearth and chimney piece, a rough basin and ewer of red ware in deal setting, a pallet bed in a recess. And the students, the undergraduates of the period, were worth studying. One had a black eye, another a plastered head, a third an arm in a sling, a fourth a broken nose. Martin stared at them in amazement. “We had a tremendous fight here last night. The Northerners besieged us in our hostel. We made a sally and levelled a few of the burring brutes before the town guard came up and spoiled the fun. What a pity we can’t fight like gentlemen with swords and battle axes!” “Why not, if you must fight at all?” said Martin, who had been taught at Kenilworth to regard fists and cudgels as the weapons of clowns. “Because, young greenhorn,” said Hugh, “he who should bring a sword or other lethal weapon into the University would shortly be expelled by _alma mater_ from her nursery, according to the statutes for that case made and provided.” “But why do you come here, if you love fighting better than learning? There is plenty of fighting in the world.”