onto the fine Turkish carpet. The king’s right hand opened and he reached out suddenly to catch me by the ankle. There was a horrible, hateful look in his eye. I tried to pull free of his grip and he groaned, still holding on to me. Kicking at him put me off my balance and I tumbled forward to land on his bloody back. The king coughed again as I pushed myself away, my hand on the hilt of the dagger.
Then the king sighed, a high-pitched sound almost of satisfaction, and he was dead. I rolled off his corpse and lay on my back beside him. Men called out in the distance, fear in their voices. The air was hazy and ashen and it was difficult to breathe. I sat up.
“Father?”
It was the prince. He stood in the doorway, half dressed, his hair in a tangle. A fur cloak fell over one shoulder and he held a rapier in his left hand.
“Soren? Is that the king? Is that my father?”
He came into the room and knelt by his father’s head. His hand touched the king’s face and then his fingertips lightly followed a path down the king’s back to the handle of the dagger.
“Oh, my poor lord,” Christian said. “This is a most foul murder. Most foul.”
He raised his right hand and touched his bloody fingertips to his cheek.
“I am king now. I am king. Am I not king?”
Christian turned to me and narrowed his eyes. I noticed the smell of wine on his breath.
“How long ago did you find him?”
“Find him? It was but a moment ago, my lord.” I put a hand on the prince’s arm. “Christian, I mourn with you. This sight is miserable.”
“Was any man with him?”
“He was as you see him, my lord. Is he truly dead?”
“Aye, he is. The noble lion of Denmark hath fallen, Soren. Oh, treachery! Look you here! A knife in his back, and he unarmed. This was done by a man my father trusted, a false man.”
“Perhaps.” I moved away from father and son, getting my feet under me. Something else fell outside the chamber and I thought of escape.
“My lord, we must leave the castle. The fire will consume us, I fear.”
The prince looked down and stroked his father’s hair.
“A fell wound, this. Stabbed from behind, a cowardly murder. The man whose hand was on this knife is no man at all, but a worm, a craven snake crawling on his belly. Oh, it hath made me mad, Soren! And now I am king. My wrath is the force of law. Here he lies, he who was Denmark, and now here am I, and I am Denmark.”
Christian leaned over his father’s back and pulled the dagger free. Blood ran down the blade and for a moment I remembered how it felt to thrust it into the king’s flesh, and my vision swam as if I were swooning. The moment passed. Christian held the dagger at arm’s length.
“It were better my father had died in the fire than be given this coward’s death,” he said. “It is an insult to the man he was, to the life he lived.”
“Was it so unmanly a death, my lord?”
“It is to spit upon the king to do this! It is to deny his manhood! See you, he was putting on his armor to march forth against an enemy, and that very enemy kills him at the only moment the king will be vulnerable.”
“His yeoman, maybe?”
“Nay, his yeoman is dead. I saw his body in the corridor. This was some other foe, some coward in the castle.”
“My lord, we had best flee this castle.”
“You think me a coward? I am king.”
“My lord, the castle is burning. I am afraid, and I admit to it. Stay if you will, my lord, but prithee let Soren escape.”
“Escape to your bright future?”
“I know not what you mean.”
“I have not forgotten our last conversation.”
“Nor have I, my lord.”
“I declared you no Dane.”
“Then I beg your leave to go, my lord.”
“Are you not my friend, Soren?”
“My lord, I have ever hoped I was.”
“Then look at this dagger!”
“My lord?”
“Look you here, this is a Swiss bodkin. All of Bernardo’s officers carry such weapons. They have betrayed us! I was right not to trust them.”
Christian stood and looked down upon his father’s corpse. He let drop the dagger and cast aside his own rapier. Crossing the room, he reached into the armoire to take up his father’s great sword.