Happy New Manure!

'What do I think?' says Entendre slowly. 'Sanitaire, could you enlighten yon lieutenant as to some of the limitations associated with using a pile of manure as protection against siege artillery?'
'That's ... that's a big pile of manure,' whispers Sanitaire incredulously.
'Och, Indeed,' Entendre replies. 'But, like King Wilhelm's belly, the Burgravina of Nabstria's muttonchops, or my incandescent rage, I think we can agree that just because yev an excessive quantity of something does nae necessarily mean that it makes for adequate artillery protection.'
'I mean,' continues Sanitaire with his reverie. 'Fair play to these fellows. Lieutenant Pois, where did yer get a horse big enough to produce this amount of manure? I mean - did the horse provide it voluntarily? Or did yer scare it.' He views the manure pile again, 'A lot.'

Pois frowns. 'Uncle, you seem ... unenthusiastic about this structure.'
'Nephew,' says Entendre, 'There's a reason that none of the great publications of Vauban have a chapter entitled "On Manure." My cat has coughed up furballs with more structural integrity than this ... this ... Vauban plop.'
'Well, sir,' says Pois, 'I see that you are disappointed, even though I have created exactly what your plans demanded. So let us instead consider this, then, a work in progress.'
'Progress towards what?' replies Entendre sharply. 'Getting on my wick? Dragging our family into laughable disrepute? No, no, no - this will not do. Unless you and your men build a regular artillery bastion by tomorrow lunch time, I shall shove a wheelbarrow up your jacksy.'
Sanitaire chokes and then looks around furtively. 'My good Entendre - this is Fenwick. One cannae just go around saying words like "jacksy". Or "wheelbarrow".'
'Or melons,' adds Pois helpfully. 'Or plums, cucumber, sausage or, as it turns out, dumplings which, I don't mind telling you, can make having stew for dinner a surprisingly dangerous activity.'
'I care not,' hisses Entendre. 'Nephew, I'll have that fortification by midday, or you'll suffer a close encounter with a one-wheel cart that'll make yer eyes water!'
Pois splutters - 'But sir, you ask the impossible. It cannot be done.'
Entendre scoffs. 'I assure you laddie that I am entirely confident that I can make that wheelbarrow fit.'
'No sir, the bastion sir,' replies Pois. 'We cannot construct such a thing in only one night. There must be at least,' he looks around for his ruler; can't find it; and proceeds instead to counts his fingers, 'ten or more stone bricks required for its construction.'
'Gather yer men, laddie, and go to it.'
'It cannot be done,' says the lieutenant morosely.
'Build this bastion, nephew,' says Entendre with finality. 'Because if a pile of manure is all that is here tomorrow to defend our outworks, I'll give ye yer own personal demonstration of what happens if one suffers a rapid assault to one's vital parts without adequate protection.'
With that, the two majors leave.

Later, we find Entendre on the battlements of Fort Pippin. He is staring wearily at the sky whilst Sanitaire peers through his telescope.
'Can you see them at work, Sanitaire?' asks Entendre.
'Och, yes Dougal, I can.'
'How much progress have they made?'
'Well,' replies Sanitaire. 'Not so much really. Actually, they now seem to be measuring up the wheelbarrow.'
'Dammit, Sanitaire. We must have that bastion. The enemy are near. I feel a great encounter in the offing!'