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uncomfortable and was totally unforgettable.
    Thus, if he did not use his hood to conceal his face, every person he passed would mark his doings. And, of course, if he did shadow his face enough to hide his eyes, there was a chance someone would remember that. Still, of the alternatives, the concealing hood seemed better to Hugh because the serfs in this keep did not seem overly curious or likely to run to their master to report an oddity. He had one piece of luck, too. Although Summerville’s herald had brought his demands soon after sunup, the castellan had not called the council to discuss the problem until after they had eaten dinner. Thus, there was no particular place that Hugh would be expected to appear, and his absence might go unnoticed altogether until the evening meal was laid out.
    When Hugh came out the front door of the hall, he was relieved to find that there was more defensive activity in the bailey than he had noticed when he entered the back. Serfs and men-at-arms were soaking hides in troughs of water and dragging the hides up to the walkway built about four feet below the top of the palisade in the areas considered most vulnerable to fire arrows. Other soaked hides were being laid over the roofs of essential storage sheds. Arrows for the short bow and quarrels for crossbows were being piled at intervals around the wall, as were strong poles with forks or hooks at one end for toppling scaling ladders. Last-minute repairs were being made to arms and armor by the harried smith in the small smithy. Men hurried from place to place, carrying items demanded by the smith and by the master-at-arms.
    In the shadow of his hood, Hugh smiled; no one would notice one more hurrying figure. He made his way quickly to the storage sheds, glancing in and passing by one and then another. The third held what he wanted, and he entered and took a coil of rope, which he looped over his shoulder where it was hidden by his cloak. He then walked purposefully to the palisade and climbed to the walkway.
    Once on the wall, Hugh did not hurry. He paused often and carefully examined the disposition of the Scottish troops. Some were settling down and making camp, but small parties were riding out to forage for supplies at outlying farms, and others were in the village that had grown up below the keep. Even as he watched, the thatch of one hut burst into flame. Hugh cursed softly under his breath. The villagers should have been taken into the keep for protection, but there had not been time enough. Either the invasion had truly taken the castellan by surprise, or he had known too much and dared not expose his knowledge by warning the villagers. Hugh shook his head as another roof was set afire. Summerville was growing impatient and had decided to hasten the decision of Wark’s castellan by demonstrating his power to burn out the village.
    Hugh watched thoughtfully while several more fires were set, but he saw that mostly smaller, isolated places were burning. The most distinctive building in the village, the two-storied house of the alewife, was well away from any threat of fire. They would not burn that—at least, not until all the drink was gone. Hugh glanced anxiously at the sky. The morning had been bright, but it was clouding up now and would be dark enough for him to go quite soon. A flicker of movement to his left drew a sidelong glance, and Hugh saw that several men-at-arms were converging on that section of the wall, drawn by the signs of fire in the village. Hugh moved west quickly. Fortunately, the men’s interest in the action to the southeast was intense enough to make insignificant the oddity of Hugh’s hooded form, but when one of the men called the news down into the bailey and the master-at-arms ran off toward the keep to report to the castellan, Hugh felt his period of grace might be over.
    He moved more quickly, dividing his attention between the area outside the walls and the stairway to the motte, and it was not