They returned to the hall, and Fulk dragged the daïs table against the wall. It was a good length, and made a platform from which he could command two out of the six lancet windows.
“I’ll take toll while I can.”
He went into the kitchen and came back with a broomstick, a loaf, and an old piece of dark sacking, and sticking the loaf on the end of the broomstick, fastened the cloth to it with a couple of skewers.
“Nothing like a good use of one’s wits. Show that at the other windows, and bob it to and fro. I wager it will fool them.”
Fulk had laid his arrows ready against the wall, and that battle of the bows began and lasted no more than thirteen minutes. The loaf on the broomstick was slain three times over. Fulk brought down two men and winged another, till Merlin’s men lost heart and took cover in the thickets. They had shot off nearly all their arrows, and had no more than six left between them.
Fulk stood there, waiting for a chance shot.
“Seventeen less three leaves fourteen, without counting Master Merlin.”
He mused, leaning one shoulder against the wall.
“Can you read me this riddle, Isoult? Who has set these dogs on us?”
She had taken off her helmet, and stood looking up at him.