Then Fulk did a rash thing. He leapt on to the daïs table, and from it to the floor, and charged the men at the end of the hall. They stared at him stupidly, and then, turning like sheep before a sheep-dog, tumbled out of the great doorway with Merlin at their heels. Fulk had left three spare torches in the solar. He called to Isoult, bidding her throw them down, and as he waited he could hear Merlin cursing his men outside the porch. “What, eight to one, and no fight left in you!” They answered sullenly. “The man is a devil.” “And that harness of his is too good.” “As for the woman—hell take her!—she shoots like Robin of Sherwood.” Fulk kindled fresh torches and set them in the brackets, and, returning to the stairway, climbed over the wreckage and the dead men, and sat down on the topmost step. “Well fought! well fought!” She came and knelt behind him, her bow laid ready. “Those arrows of yours saved us. By Heaven, I am thirsty.” She went into the solar, found a piece of clean linen, and, soaking it in wine, took it to him so that he might quench his thirst. “They are accursedly quiet out yonder. Merlin is dangerous when he is quiet.” “I would have put an arrow through him, but he kept behind his men.” Silence held, yet it was a silence that was not absolute, but rather a cautious suppression of sound that hinted at movement going on out yonder in the darkness. The two on the stairs strained their ears, knowing well that some fresh mischief was brewing. Isoult held up a hand. “Did you hear that?” “This helmet muffles things.” “It was like the sound of dry sticks breaking.” Fulk started up. “Faggots! There is a big pile behind the house.” As he stood listening something flew from the porch across the hall, struck one of the torches, and knocked it out of the bracket. It was a cunning hand that had thrown the stick—a hand that had knocked over many a pheasant roosting low down on a tree on a windy night. A second stick brought down the other torch. One flared on the floor; the other went out instantly. Luckily, it was a stone-paved floor, or the house would have been alight. They still had a torch burning outside the doorway of the solar. Then they heard Merlin’s voice. He stood in the porch, just screened by the door-post from one of Isoult’s arrows. “Fulk Ferrers, a word with you and with the woman.” “Stand forward like a man.” Merlin laughed. “I take no risks, since this business must be ended. Fulk Ferrers, you are dead already. We shall use cunning, my friend; we shall not rush like fools on your sword. Since you must die, I come to speak with you and with Isoult.” “Say your say.” “The doom has gone out against you, Fulk Ferrers, but not against this woman. Let her choose, or choose you for her. Shall she die or live? For if she bides with you, by all the saints, she shall not be spared.” Fulk felt Isoult’s hand upon his arm.