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 blade 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. Aye, it seemed as if he were dead, for he had a great gash across the forehead, and he lay still in a huddled mass on the floor, I dropped on my knees beside him, and leaned 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
