The smile died suddenly out from the Saxon's face. "Chastise
me!" he repeated. "You would find it somewhat difficult,
Master Fitz-Urse. Do you think you are talking to a Norman
serf? You will please to remember you are in England; but if
you are not satisfied with my apology, I will ride with you a
few miles into the country, and we will then try with equal
arms where the chastisement is to fall."

The Norman put his hand to his dagger, but there was an
ominous growl from some men who had paused to listen to the
quarrel.

"You are an insolent boor, Wulf of Steyning, and some day
I will punish you as you deserve."

"Some day," the Saxon laughed, "we shall, I hope, see you
and all your tribe sent across the Channel. There are few of
us here who would not see your backs with pleasure."

"What is this?" an imperious voice demanded; and turning
round, Wulf saw William, the Norman Bishop of London, who,
followed by several monks and pages, had pushed his way
through the crowd. "Walter Fitz-Urse, what means this altercation?"

"The Saxon ran against me of set purpose, my lord," Walter Fitz-Urse
said, in tones of deep humility, "and because I complained he
challenged me to ride with him into the country to fight, and then
he said he hoped that some day all the Normans would be sent across
the Channel."