“Let them alone, they have had enough. ’Tis cowardly to fight a dozen to one. Listen, the row is on in the Quatre Voies again. We shall find more there.”
The two were left alone.
Martin raised his wounded companion, whose head was bleeding profusely.
“Art thou hurt much?”
“Not so very much, only dazed. I shall soon be better. I am close home.”
“Let me support you. Lean on me, I will see you safe.”
“You came just in time. Where did you come from? I never saw you before—and where did you learn to handle the cudgel so well?”
“From the woods of merry Sussex, and later on, the tilt yard of Kenilworth.”
“Oh, you are a true Southerner, then. So am I, the second son of Waleran de Monceux of Herst, in the Andredsweald.
“Here we are at home—come in to Saint Dymas’ Hall.”