The night passed without interruption, and shortly after daybreak preparations were made to deliver an assault upon the frowning walls. From the neighbouring woods the besiegers obtained timber, out of which rough ladders were constructed, while the Irish levies, who had tethered their horses at a safe distance from the castle, were kept busily employed in gathering and carrying bundles of straw and faggots to fill the moat.
Clad in complete mail, Sir Oliver, accompanied by his squire and a mounted man-at-arms, rode towards the gateway, while a strong body of archers occupied a position half a bow-shot in the rear.
To all outward appearances the castle seemed deserted, save by the dangling corpses of the unfortunate Irish prisoners, but on Sir Oliver ordering a rousing blast to be sounded, a burly figure, whom Geoffrey recognized from a distance as Sir Denis, appeared on the battlements, wearing a white scarf.
"In the name of the most puissant sovereign Henry King of England and France, I, Oliver, knight of Warblington, summon thee, Denis de Valadour, Lord of Malevereux, to give up the said castle immediately and unconditionally," shouted the English knight.
For an answer, Sir Denis raised his right arm, and pointed derisively at the swaying bodies that hung from the gibbets. This action was the signal for a sudden discharge of cross-bow bolts from the oyelets, while a huge stone hurled by a mangonel cunningly concealed behind a projecting spur of masonry, flew but a few inches above Sir Oliver's head. As for the bolts, one glanced from Oswald's shield, another struck the horse of the man-at-arms to the earth, but the rest either fell short or wide.
Standing in his stirrups the Lord of Warblington shook his fist at the treacherous and recreant Norman, while a flight of arrows, well and truly sped, rattled against the corslet and visor of Sir Denis. Whether any of the missiles took effect or not the Englishmen were unable to see, but the knight quickly disappeared behind the parapet.
Scorning to turn his face from the foe, Sir Oliver, regardless of the bolts that still came from the castle, slowly backed his horse till out of range.
"This will be a right joyous encounter, Thomas," he exclaimed to his companion knight, at the same time dismounting and handing his steed over to the care of an archer. "Is all prepared?"
"Ay," replied Carberry. "The men are like hounds in leash. Look also, I pray thee, at those Irish."
"Sir Brian hath a strange following, yet, methinks they are not lacking in courage e'en though they may err through rashness. But bid the archers shoot."