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.”

Edward Norris—­so soon as might be afterwards—­sent a cartel to the Count, demanding mortal combat with sword and dagger.  Sir Philip Sidney bore the message.  Sir John Norris, of course warmly and violently espoused the cause of his brother, and was naturally more incensed against the Lord Marshal than ever, for Sir William Pelham was considered the cause of the whole affray.  “Even if the quarrel is to be excused by drink,” said an eye-witness, “’tis but a slender defence for my Lord to excuse himself by his cups; and often drink doth bewray men’s humours and unmask their malice.  Certainly the Count Hollock thought to have done a pleasure to the company in killing him.”

Nothing could be more ill-timed than this quarrel, or more vexatious to Leicester.  The Count—­although considering himself excessively injured at being challenged by a simple captain and an untitled gentleman, whom he had attempted to murder—­consented to waive his privilege, and grant the meeting.

Leicester interposed, however, to delay, and, if possible, to patch up the affair.  They were on the eve of active military operations, and it was most vexatious for the commander-in-chief to see, as he said, “the quarrel with the enemy changed to private revenge among ourselves.”  The intended duel did not take place; for various influential personages succeeded in deferring the meeting.  Then came the battle of Zutphen.