Fulk and Isoult stood listening.
“I slew four here: three by the door and one in yonder. That leaves but five.”
Isoult’s eyes never left the panel of light framed by the heap of faggots and the arch of the doorway.
“All the windows are shuttered.”
“They may try to fire the house from the outside—thrust a torch into the thatch.”
“Let them try it. There is God’s air outside for us. Your bow and my sword can tackle five men.”
“Listen!”
She touched his arm, and he heard what she had heard—the splashing of water down by the mere.
“Are more coming over?”
“No, no; it is on this side.”