“You deal with me better than your word, noble knight,” whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits of [v]buffoonery were not to be overcome even by the immediate prospect of death; “if you give me the red cap you propose, out of a simple monk you will make a [v]cardinal.”
“The poor wretch,” said De Bracy, “is resolved to die in his vocation.” The next moment would have been Wamba’s last but for an unexpected interruption. A hoarse shout, raised by many voices, bore to the inmates of the hall the tidings that the besiegers were advancing to the attack. There was a moment’s silence in the hall, which was broken by De Bracy. “To the battlements,” he said; “let us see what these knaves do without.”
So saying, he opened a latticed window which led to a sort of projecting balcony, and immediately called to those in the apartment, “Saint Dennis, it is time to stir! They bring forward [v]mantelets and [v]pavisses, and the archers muster on the skirts of the wood like a dark cloud before a hail-storm.”
Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field and immediately snatched his bugle. After winding a long and loud blast, he commanded his men to their posts on the walls.
“De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the walls are lowest. Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well taught thee how to attack and defend, so look thou to the western side. I myself will take post at the barbican. Our numbers are few, but activity and courage may supply that defect, since we have only to do with rascal clowns.”
The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on the proceedings of the besiegers with deeper attention than Front-de-Boeuf or his giddy companion.
“By the faith of mine order,” he said, “these men approach with more touch of discipline than could have been judged, however they come by it. See ye how dexterously they avail themselves of every cover which a tree or bush affords and avoid exposing themselves to the shot of our cross-bows? I spy neither banner nor pennon, and yet I will gage my golden chain that they are led by some noble knight or gentleman skillful in the practice of wars.”
“I espy him,” said De Bracy; “I see the waving of a knight’s crest and the gleam of his armor. See yon tall man in the black mail who is busied marshaling the farther troop of the rascally yeomen. By Saint Dennis, I hold him to be the knight who did so well in the tournament at Ashby.”
The demonstrations of the enemy’s approach cut off all farther discourse. The Templar and De Bracy repaired to their posts and, at the head of the few followers they were able to muster, awaited with calm determination the threatened assault, while Front-de-Boeuf went to see that all was secure in the besieged fortress.
V