So I waited at the stair-head, and watched keenly the narrow passage up which the men must come one by one.  I measured my distance with the axe-handle, and made a trial sweep or two, so that I might be sure of clearing the stones on either side.  I could not see that there would be much difficulty in holding the place for a while, if only Prince Karl would haste him and come.  For to me the game of breaking heads and slicing necks would be easy as cracking nuts on an anvil—­at least, so long as they would come up singly.

Presently I heard the roar of burning fuel above me, and immediately after a cry from below.  Through the narrow stairway lattice I could see the uncertain flicker of flames lighting up the street.  Men ran backward across the open square, looking up as they ran.  So by that I knew that Helene had done her work, and was now watching the burning beacon, as the flames flicked upward and clapped their fiery applausive palms.

But at the same moment, from the foot of the stairs, there came the loud report of the explosion beneath the door of the Red Tower, the rumble of stones, and then an eager rush of men to see what had been effected.

“Now for it!” I thought, as I gripped the Red Axe.

But it was not to be so soon.  The iron bars, which my father had engineered so that they sank deep into the wall on either side, still held nobly, and I heard the loud voice crying again for a battering-ram.  The soldiers of the attacking party went scurrying across the yard, and presently returned, carrying between them a young tree cleared of its branches, but with the rough bark still upon it.

Without, in the square, the turmoil increased, and the streets echoed with shouting.  A wild hope came into my heart that Prince Karl had not awaited the summons of the beacon, and that his troops were already in the streets of Thorn.  But even as the thought passed through my brain I knew that it was vain.

On the other hand, it was evident that in the town the general alarm had been given, for the trumpets blew from the ramparts of the Wolfsberg, and the call to arms resounded incessantly in the court-yard.  I doubted not also that many a stout burgher was getting him under arms—­and but few of them to fight for the Duke.

Suddenly the bars of the door jangled on the stones under the swinging blows of the battering-ram.  I heard feet clatter on the stair.  They came with a rush, but long ere they had arrived at the top the pace slackened.  Only one man at a time could come up the stairway, and it is always a drag upon the enthusiasm of an assault when at least two cannot advance together.  The light flickered and filtered in from the torches in the streets, and the reflected glow of the bonfire on the roof made the stair-head clear as a lucid twilight.