“My door can never withstand the shock of a ram like this,” cried Walter; “they will force a passage, and out and alas! your highness will be murdered—murdered in the house of Balmeny!”
James was proverbially brave, but it cannot be denied that he looked a little grave as he perceived the ponderous engine borne along, which in all probability would, in a few minutes, lay open the passage to a band of miscreants thirsting for his blood, and against whose rage the bravery of himself and his friends seemed a poor defence.
“Let the worst come to the worst,” said he at length, “we three will make good this staircase for a stricken hour at least; before then the rescue must arrive.”
The king, Colville, and Arthur now sought the floor below; Edith, with the serving-maidens, being stationed above, to be, in case of the Egyptians forcing an entry, still within the defence of the stair.
The door was of massive oak, studded with iron nails, and supported by three iron bolts of considerable thickness. An additional defence was now added in the shape of planks placed diagonally under these bolts, and for a few moments the besieged imagined it might withstand the efforts of the assailants. But a few strokes of the tree soon showed the fallacy of this hope. The door shook under the first blow, and ere a score had been given, the yielding hinges showed that the Egyptians had well calculated the force of their instrument.
“It must be cold steel that saves us after all,” said the king, retreating to the staircase.
“Oh, that I and all my kin were stark dead on this floor, and your highness safe on Falkland green!” exclaimed Colville, wringing his wrinkled hands, and following.
They had scarcely gained their intended position at the upper landing of the staircase, when, yielding to a desperate stroke, the door flew open, and the infuriated Egyptians, shouting, made their way to the interior. Not finding those they sought below, they next proceeded to ascend the stair. This, however, was an ascent fatal to all who attempted it. Corpse after corpse fell backward among the enraged ruffians under the blows of the king and Arthur, until no one could be found daring enough to attempt the passage.
“Let us smeek them in their hive,” at length cried a hoarse voice, “and so let them either roast or come forth.”
A shout of approbation followed this advice, and, while a chosen few remained to guard the stair, the remainder roamed about the house collecting together everything which could assist their diabolical design.