ears."

"Yes, but Earl Simon loves the English."

"Or he wouldn't degrade us by bringing louts from the greenwood
amongst us--boys whom our fathers would have disdained to set to
mind their swine," said Drogo.

"Probably your ancestor himself was a swineherd in Normandy, while
mine were Thanes in England, and their courteous manners have
descended to you," retorted Martin; whereupon Drogo laid his
bowstring about his daring junior.

Forgetting all disparity of age, the youngster flew at him, and
struck him full between the eyes with his clenched fist; the other
boys, instead of interfering, laughed heartily at the scene, and
watched its development with interest, thinking Martin would get a
good switching. But they forgot one thing, or rather did not know
it. Boxing was not a knightly exercise, not taught in the tilt
yard, and Drogo could only use his natural weapons as a French boy
uses his now. But in the greenwood it was different, and young
Martin had been left again and again, as a part of a sound
education, to "hold his own" against his equals in age and size, by
aid of the noble art of fisticuffs; what wonder then that Drogo's
eyes were speedily several shades darker than nature had designed
them to be, of which there was no obvious need, and that victory
would probably have decked the brows of the younger combatant had
not the elders interfered.

"This is no work for a gentleman."