The roof was blazing, and flames began to creep round the walls.
The Turks, now passive, waited, with a kind of awe, for the Swedes to leave the doomed building; they had ceased their cries and shouts, and their excited faces were all turned towards the flaming house.
The King’s position was indeed becoming untenable; driven from room to room by the darting flames the Swedes were forced to take refuge on the ground floor.
Even this was invaded by smoke and large sparks from the burning woodwork.
The fumes were becoming blinding, choking. They could hardly see each other’s faces; only the King, Görtz, and Grothusen continued to fire from the flaming window.
A soldier, with singed clothes and hair, staggered up to the King and cried out, with his arm flung up to protect his eyes, that they must surrender.
“Surrender!” cried the King, looking over his shoulder. “Who dared say that word?”
“Sire,” answered the wretched guard, “we shall burn alive!”
“Here is a strange man,” said Karl contemptuously, “who thinks it is better to surrender than to die!”
Another soldier, who was near the King now, ventured to speak.