He did not answer immediately.
“Good, so be it. But before dawn I will ask you the same question. Think well of death, Isoult. Look in his cold eyes, and think of the worms and the clay.”
The torch on the floor spluttered and went out, and the great hall sank into sudden darkness, for the closed shutters kept out the moonlight. Fulk knew that Isoult was very close to him.
“Heart of mine, we will face it out together.”
“They shall not have thee, Isoult, I swear it. Now that the lights are out we may have these heroes crawling up to take us unawares.”
“There are two oak hutches in the solar. We can pile them one on the other, at the top of the stairs.”
“Well thought of.”
“Hallo, our last torch in there is out.”
They had to grope their way into the solar, feel for the oak chests, and carry them out into the gallery. They set one upon the other, jamming them slantwise across the entry at the head of the stairs.
Fulk went to the window of the solar, guided by chinks of light. It had a central mullion, and two shutters, and there was a drop of about fifteen feet to the ground. He opened one of the shutters noiselessly, and looked down over the window ledge. Something black showed below, three or four faggots laid across two casks that had been set on end. He heard two men whispering in this pent-house, where they were safe from arrows shot from above.