With an oath Detchard skipped back, and, before I knew what he was
doing, had turned his sword against the King. He made one fierce cut at
the King, and the King, with a piteous cry, dropped where he stood. The
stout ruffian turned to face me again. But his own hand had prepared
his destruction: for in turning he trod in the pool of blood that flowed
from the dead physician. He slipped; he fell. Like a dart I was upon
him. I caught him by the throat, and before he could recover himself I
drove my point through his neck, and with a stifled curse he fell across
the body of his victim.
Was the King dead? It was my first thought. I rushed to where he lay.
Ay, it seemed as if he were dead, for he had a great gash across his
forehead, and he lay still in a huddled heap on the floor. I dropped on
my knees beside him, and leant my ear down to hear if he breathed. But
before I could there was a loud rattle from the outside. I knew the
sound: the drawbridge was being pushed out. A moment later it rang home
against the wall on my side of the moat. I should be caught in a trap
and the King with me, if he yet lived. He must take his chance, to
live or die. I took my sword, and passed into the outer room. Who were
pushing the drawbridge out--my men? If so, all was well.
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