"Ai! forgive me, dear lord! I thought only of my leech,--my luckless, murdered Kosru!" wailed Fastrada, and she flung herself at his feet.
"Rise, dear one," he said gently.
"Not until the warriors go to take the slayer of that helpless greybeard! Ah, the good old leech! Many's the bitter pang he has eased for me. Only the bloodiest of wretches could have slain so helpless a one! How came the cruel Dane in my morning-room--beside Rothada's chamber? Oh, my lord, could it be that the base outlander came skulking in the darkness to--to-- And Kosru, the luckless greybeard, sought to dissuade him from his evil deed! Send warriors, dear lord! Let the bloody slayer be dragged before your judgment-seat! The mire-death were light doom for such a foul slaying!"
The queen's voice, quivering with agony and horror, broke into wild sobs. Karl stooped over, as though to raise her; only to tower up again and stare about in angry indecision. It was a luckless moment for the sea-king and his betrothed. Before the memory of the Northman's calm face and the little maiden's pleading could blunt and turn aside the poisoned shafts of the witch's daughter, other feet came leaping upon the stair. Again Karl's hand went to the hilt of Ironbiter, and his frown deepened as Worad of Metz rushed into the room, covered from helmet to buskin with travel-grime.
"Lord king!" he gasped--"I could not wait--my horse fell at the gate, outspent--but I--"
"Another bearer of ill tidings," muttered Karl.
"What? I do not understand, sire. I--"
"You come late. Already I have word of Rudulf's death and of the Thuringian plot--from Olvir's lips."
"Plot--Thuringian plot!--and from him!"
"I have said it, dolt."