“Drink, drink, drink!” roared the old Marshal.  “I tell you I am better born than the best of you.  I have advanced you all too, and you know it; therefore drink to me.”

Sir William was as logical as men in their cups are prone to be.

“Indeed, you have behaved well to my brother Thomas,” answered Norris, suddenly becoming very courteous, “and for this I have ever loved your Lordship, and would, do you any service.”

“Well, then,” said the Marshal, becoming tender in his turn, “forget what hath past this night, and do as you would have done before.”

“Very well said, indeed!” cried Sir Philip Sidney, trying to help the natter into the smoother channel towards which it was tending.

Norris, seeing that the eyes of the whole company were upon them; took the glass accordingly, and rose to his feet.

“My Lord Marshal,” he said, “you have done me more wrong this night than you can easily make satisfaction for.  But I am unwilling that any trouble or offence should grow through me.  Therefore once more I pledge you.”

He raised the cup to his lips.  At that instant Hollock, to whom nothing had been said, and who had spoken no word since his happy remark about the horse’s father, suddenly indulged in a more practical jest; and seizing the heavy gilt cover of a silver vase, hurled it at the head of Norris.  It struck him full on the forehead, cutting him to the bone.  The Captain, stunned for a moment, fell back in his chair, with the blood running down his eyes and face.  The Count, always a man of few words, but prompt in action, now drew his dagger, and strode forward, with the intention of despatching him upon the spot.  Sir Philip Sidney threw his arms around Hollock, however, and, with the assistance of others in the company, succeeded in dragging him from the room.  The affair was over in a few seconds.

Norris, coming back to consciousness, sat for a moment as one amazed, rubbing the blood out of his eyes; then rose from the table to seek his adversary; but he was gone.

Soon afterwards he went to his lodgings.  The next morning he was advised to leave the town as speedily as possible; for as it was under the government of Hollock, and filled with his soldiers, he was warned that his life would not be safe there an hour.  Accordingly he went to his boat, accompanied only by his man and his page, and so departed with his broken head, breathing vengeance against Hollock, Pelham, Leicester, and the whole crew, by whom he had been thus abused.

The next evening there was another tremendous carouse at the Count’s, and, says the reporter of the preceding scene, “they were all on such good terms, that not one of the company had falling band or ruff left about his neck.  All were clean torn away, and yet there was no blood drawn.”