"Helene!" I cried.
She approached, and would have thrown her arms about me. But I held out my hand to keep her off.
"Not now, child," I said; "touch me not. I am unwounded, but wet!"
And so I was, wet with that which had spouted from the neck of Otho von Reuss, as his trunk stood a moment headless in the stairway ere it fell prone—a hideous thing to see.
"Come, Helene," I said, "we must away. There is other work for your husband to-night. You I will place with the Bishop Peter. But my place is with the men of Plassenburg and with Karl, my noble Prince."
And I took her by the hand to lead her out.
"Not that way!" she cried, shrinking back.
For the bodies of the two slain men lay there. And the stairs ran red from step to step in red drips and lappering pools.
So I bethought me of what we should do, and ran forthwith for my father's cord, with which he was used to bind the malefactors upon the wheel.
"Come, Helene," said I, and straightway fastened the rope to the iron bar from which I had made so many descents to the pavement in the old days of the White Wolves.