"Thou couldst arm a troop!" he exclaimed. "What goodly weapons are these!"
"Wartmont hath held a garrison more than once," said Richard. "Pray God that our good king may keep the land in peace. But it needeth that his hand be strong."
"Strong is it," said Guy, "and the young prince biddeth fair. I like him well. But, my Lord of Wartmont, the noon draweth nigher and we have far to ride."
"Aye," said Richard; but he was taking down from the wall piece after piece and weapon after weapon, eying them as if he loved them well but was in doubt.
"No plate armor, my lord," said Guy. "It were too heavy if thou went on foot. Let it be good chain mail; but take thee a visored headpiece. With thy visor down strange eyes would not know thee too well. Leg mail, not greaves, and a good, light target rather than a horseman's shield. This is a rare good lance."
"That will I take," said Richard, as he tested a sword blade by springing it on the stone pavement of the hall. "I will hang a mace at my pommel."
"Thou art a bowman," said Guy. "Thy bow and quiver also can hang at thy saddle. Nay, not that heavy bit of yew. Thy arms are too young to bend it well. Choose thee a lighter bow."
"I will string it, then, and show thee," replied Richard, a little haughtily. "Yon is a target at the head of the hall. Wait, now."
The bow was strung with an ease and celerity which seemed to surprise the brawny forester. He took it and tried its toughness and handed it back, for Richard had taken an arrow from a sheaf beneath a window.
"Good arm, thine!" shouted Guy, for the shaft was drawn to the head and landed in the very center of the bull's eye of the wooden tablet at the hall end. "Thou art a Saxon in thy elbows. Canst thou swing an axe like this?"