"I am not quite a match for Bertram yet; but I will be anon.

I must learn to be quicker in my defence.

Thanks, gentle mother; belike it will be better for it to be bound up.

It bleeds rather too fast for comfort, but thy hands will soon stop that." The other boys fell upon the fruit with right good will, whilst the mother led her second son to the small pump nigh at hand, and bathed and dressed the rather ugly wound in his head.
Neither mother nor son thought anything of the hurt.

It was easy enough to give and receive hard blows in the tilt yard, and bruises and cuts were looked upon as part of the discipline of life.
As soon as the dressing was over, Edred joined his brothers, and did his share in diminishing the pile of luscious fruit.