“Who can tell?”
His face had grown grim, though she could not see it.
“Treachery somewhere! Or was it chance? I would trust Knollys and Cavendish to the death. No; chance has it. Some underling has blabbed on the road and Merlin got wind of it. They have a blood debt against us, Isoult. But for us these scullions might be lording it in London.”
He half raised his bow, but dropped it again.
“I thought I had a shot. When night comes the game will begin.”
“They will have to cross the water.”
“Merlin has wit enough. They will cut down trees and float over. We shall have to hold the house against them.”
The day brought no further adventures, and Fulk and Isoult made ready against a probable siege. They fastened the shutters of all the lower windows, and carried a store of food and water up into the solar, Fulk foreseeing that he might have to make his last stand there if Merlin’s men broke in. The gentry across the water kept close in the thickets. Fulk saw the smoke of a fire rising and guessed that they would lie hidden till night came.
About sunset they heard the sound of men felling timber in the wood nearest the mere. Fulk and Isoult were supping at the daïs table, and they looked at each other meaningly.
“Axes! Merlin is getting ready.”