When he came to an arbalestrier his eye brightened at the sight of the weapon—by far the deadliest of that day, despite the praisers of the English yew—which he loved. He tested the strong double cords with the moulinet, inspected the squat thick quarrels which lay in large leather quivers, hung to the masonry by pegs, and saw that each steel-lined groove was clean and shining.
The man's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he went his rounds. "Look you, sir," he said to Brian de Burgh, "we are well set up in this fortalice. Never a thing is lacking! Nary castle from here to London is so well found." He pointed to a pile of brassarts, the arm-guards used by the archers, which lay by a trough full of long steel-headed arrows, with bristles of goose and pigeon feathers.
"This is a powerful good creature in attack," he continued, pointing to a heap of lime. "A little water and a dipper to fling the mess with, and a-burneth out a man's eyes within the hour."
A serf came clambering up the wooden scaffolds which led to the walls. He carried seven or eight long ash wands. At the end of each hung a long pennon of linen. He gave them to Huber.
"What are these, Huber?" said young Richard Ferville, as the soldier took them.
"It is a plan I saw at Arques," he answered, "Tête Rouge was head bowyer there. Ma foi, and he could shoot you a good shoot! At Arques, sir, as you may know, strong winds blow from the sea on one side, though 'tis miles inland, and on the other the wind cometh down the valley from Envermeau. Now but a little breeze will send an arrow from the mark. A man who can shoot a good shoot from tower or wall must ever watch the wind. Now Tête-Rouge was a ship-man once, and watched wind in the manner of use. But he could not train his men to judge a quarter-wind as he was able. So he raised pennons like these. 'Tis but a ribbon and every breeze moveth it, so the long-bow-men may shoot the straighter."
As he spoke the archers were fixing the thin poles in staples, which had been prepared for them.
"Holá!" cried Brian de Burgh, "the bastard's flag goes up." Even as he spoke a distant flourish of tuckets came down the morning wind. They leant out over the crenelets and strained their eyes down the hill, fenwards.
A flag hung from a tall pole, which stood before a white pavilion.
"A banneret!" said Huber. "The bastard has grown in roods and perches of late. Can you read it for me, Master Richard?"