So he and Lewin laid their plans together. Dom Anselm slept on the cool side of the wall, all undisturbed by the noise around. The appearance of the courtyard had quite altered by this time. Sloping scaffolds of wood, connected by plank galleries, ran up to the walls and made it possible to instantly concentrate a large force of men upon any given point which should be attacked. The fantastic arms of the mangonels and trebuchets, and other slinging instruments rose grimly above the battlements. A great crane upon the top of a tower, slung up piles of rocks and barrels of Greek fire with steady industry. Shields of wood, covered with damp hide and pierced with loopholes, frowned on the top of the battlements towards the outside world. Great heaps of a sort of hand grenade, made of wicker work and full of a foul concoction of sulphur and pitch, were arranged at intervals, and iron braziers, standing on tripod legs, were dotted here and there, so that the soldiers could at once obtain a light for a pitch barrel or grenade. A large copper gong with a wooden club to beat it was being fitted to a stand of ash-wood. The harsh reverberations of this horrid instrument could be heard above the din of any fight, and made a better signal than trumpets. Amid all the metallic noises, the dishonoured priest slept sweetly. He was roused by two startling events. The first was this. With a great clatter a soldier rode into the courtyard. His horse was foam-flecked, his furniture and arms all powdered grey with dust. He swore with horrid oaths that he had one great overpowering desire, and that not to be denied. It was beer he said that he wanted, and would have before he spoke a single word. He bellowed for beer. When they brought it him, in a crowd, for he was a scout with news from the Norwich road, he gurgled his content and shouted his news. Lord Roger had pressed on with great speed, and was now close at hand. Probably as evening fell that day, certainly during that night, his force would camp round the walls. They took him away to Fulke's chamber, where that worthy, who had been up all night, was snatching a little sleep. They thronged round him clamouring for more news. Dom Anselm once more sat him down in the cool shade of the draw-well, this time with a feeble pretence at reading in his dirty drink-stained little breviary. It was curious to see how early habit reasserted itself in this way. Then the second startling event occurred. There came a burst of distant cheering, an explosion of fierce cries at the gates, and a little mob of men-at-arms rushed into the bailey, followed by half a dozen sentinels with pikes in their hands. In the middle of the crowd a man stood bound, dressed in a leathern jacket, and the soldiers were beating him over the head with the shafts of their pikes. His face ran with blood and there was an awful stare of horror in his eyes. So Hyla came back to Hilgay.