“That’s what I think, sir. There’s them here wouldn’t be above taking possession of a pig, or a sack of my oats or barley; and there’s bigger rogues who like bigger things, and would give their ears to get Sir Granby’s fine estate. You mark my words, Master Roy; you’ll see.”
Roy did mark those words, thinking deeply of them during the following busy month, by which time the castle was in a fine state of defence, its little garrison of twelve or fourteen men, who kept watch and ward in regular military style, being relieved every day; while at the first bad news of danger, Roy was ready to summon his whole force from farm and mill, hoist the drawbridge, drop the portcullis, and with his stores of provisions set any beleaguering force at defiance, whether large or small.
“There, sir,” said Ben one morning, “I begin to feel now as if I could breathe. There’s a lot as wants doing yet, and I should dearly like to do away with that garden as spoils the court-yard, so as I could have a proper march round; but they won’t come and catch us quite asleep.”
“No, Ben; you’ve done splendidly. It’s wonderful to see what smart fellows you have made of the men.”
“Ay, and don’t they know it too, sir?” said Ben, chuckling. “See the way they all marched past her ladyship this morning? There wasn’t a man as didn’t feel as if he was twice as big as he was a month or two ago. And see those big lads looking on?”
“Yes; there were forty or fifty across the moat.”
“Ay, looking on as hungry as could be. Look here, Master Roy, I’m thinking a deal of getting say forty of ’em together—picked ones—as soon as I’ve more time, and knocking them into shape.”
“I think it would be wise, Ben. They’d do well to work the guns.”
“They would, sir; but we’ll see. Any more news?”
“No, Ben; only rumours.”