town the University gained money, privileges, and halls at low
rental. These were precisely the things that the University wanted.
About these matters there was a constant strife, in which the Kings,
as a rule, took part with the University. The University possessed
the legal knowledge, which the monarchs liked to have on their side,
and was therefore favoured by them. Thus, in 1231 (Wood, Annals, i.
205), "the King sent out his Breve to the Mayor and Burghers
commanding them not to overrate their houses"; and thus gradually the
University got the command of the police, obtained privileges which
enslaved the city, and became masters where they had once been
despised, starveling scholars. The process was always the same. On
the feast of St. Scholastica, for example, in 1354, Walter de
Springheuse, Roger de Chesterfield, and other clerks, swaggered into
the Swyndlestock tavern in Carfax, began to speak ill of John de
Croydon's wine, and ended by pitching the tankard at the head of that
vintner. In ten minutes the town bell at St. Martin's was rung, and
the most terrible of all Town-and-Gown rows began. The Chancellor
could do no less than bid St. Mary's bell reply to St. Martin's, and
shooting commenced. The Gown held their own very well at first, and
"defended themselves till Vespertide," when the citizens called in
their neighbours, the rustics of Cowley, Headington, and Hincksey.
The results have been precisely described in anticipation by Homer:

[Greek text which cannot be reproduced]

Which is as much as to say, "The townsfolk call for help to their
neighbours, the yokels, that were more numerous than they, and better
men in battle . . . so when the sun turned to the time of the loosing
of oxen the Town drave in the ranks of the Gown, and won the
victory." They were strong, the townsmen, but not merciful. "The