Before Hugh could answer the Marshal rode to his side.
"That was a pretty bicker you fought by the crossroads," Villehardouin said warmly. "These forest varlets are no mean foes. Where got you those huge arrows I marked sticking in some of the rogues?"
"My follower here shot them from his long-bow," explained Hugh. "Ralph, do you show how 'tis done."
The Marshal cried out in wonder at the great yew bow, a man's-length tall.
"Never have I seen such a weapon," he exclaimed. "Certes, it must be stronger than a cross-bow. Is it common in England?"
"Not so, Lord Marshal," returned Hugh, while Ralph grinned sheepishly, proud to have his pet noticed by the French knight. "Ralph's father served in the wars on the Welsh March. The Welsh are a mountain people, very nimble and swift of foot, and they make bows somewhat like this, but not so big. Ralph's father took the Welsh bow and made it longer and stouter, until he had this."
The Frenchman shook his head as he tried to draw the strung bow to his shoulder.
"Never saw I the like," he repeated. "Arm a peasantry with it, and they would be invincible."
"Mayhap some day we shall," said Hugh lightly.
"I would we had some companies of your archers for service against the Paynims," replied the Marshal. "Our ranks are none too full, Messers."