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experimentally at the long piece of gut and listening to the music of the string. Here and there a man began to curse the wet South Welsh weatheras if it were different and drier in the northand unstrung his bow to adjust it. |
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Simon found no fault with his own, but he was not the perfectionist about the bow that his men were. Although he was a fair shot and respected the bow and the bowmen from the bottom of his heart, Simon was still primarily a Norman knight. His weapons were the lance, sword, and mace, and it was there that his pride was fixed. That showed in his next move, which was to hook the bow over his shoulder so that it could not fall and loosen his sword in its scabbard. His shield, with its snarling black leopard on a silver groundchosen to blend into the light and shadow of a Welsh forestleaned against the merlon in front of him. |
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The sound of footsteps behind brought his head around. He nodded to Siorl, the leader of his troop, who was shepherding a number of serfs, each of whom carried a large wicker shield. One thing Usk did not lack was men. These churls could not fight, but they could protect the archers from the arrows of the opposing force. It was a most excellent idea, for the merlons of Usk were a little less than a man's height. Simon stood at a crenel opening roughly in the center of his troop. At the far end of his section of wall, Siorl divided his attention between the enemy, who were clearly forming to attack, and his master, who would give the word to shoot. At the other end, Echtor, the underleader, also watched the enemy and Simon, while smiling and running his hand as lovingly up and down the smooth, silken wood of his bow as he would over the side of a beloved woman. |
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The serfs chattered excitedly. They were not much afraid, knowing they would be behind the shields until the arrows stopped flying. If and when men came against the walls, they would be sent down |
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