“Yes. It was something about the white people. I couldn’t keep her. She was confident we could hold the mob.”
“And your Majesty’s plan———?”
“I will show myself on the wall, and talk to them. At the proper moment I will call you up. If I am stricken down, you and your brother retreat to the palace. Defend it by any means and at any cost.”
His sorrow was too great to be companioned by fear, and it bore an impressive dignity which his haggardness intensified.
“The mob is swelling rapidly,” he said with perfect quiet. “Unless a diversion happens soon, many will be crushed against the gate and the wall.”
Seeing that he stood inactive, I wondered whether he was so numbed as to be incapacitated; but he cleared the doubt.
“If the beam-carriers force their way through the mass, many will be maimed or killed. I am listening to the sounds.”
His coolness and clearness were remarkable. Christopher, unruffled, was studying our surroundings.
“There come the beam-carriers,” said the king. “They are much excited, and are not working smoothly together.... One fell then; he was stepped on and hurt.... Now they are forging ahead. They are blindly ramming the mass before them.... A woman is hurt.”
The king’s back was to the ladder and the wall. He was gazing into space behind me, listening.”... Hark! Yes, that is he,—one of Gato’s captains, a big, strong man, with a great voice. He has just arrived, fighting his way through the crowd, and calling the soldiers, telling them that I have murdered Gato. I have been kind to this man. On the chance of Gato’s being out of the way, he sees his opportunity to step into his leader’s shoes, carry out his plan, and usurp the throne.... The soldiers are rallying. They fight ruthlessly for passage to the captain.... It is bungling, cruel work.”