This first blush of success caused Munza to lose his head. Eager to fight, chafing at the inaction to which he had been so long condemned, he could not content himself with decimating the hostile battalion at long range by means of arrows, but rushed out against them followed by his small corps d'armée.
The first shock was terrible, for both sides had long yearned to come to close quarters, and eat each other!
Thrice the Walindis, who were fighting under the eyes of the amazons and wanted to gain the day without their assistance, succeeded in driving the Monbuttoos on to their entrenchment; thrice were they in their turn compelled to fall back.
The Europeans could take no active part in this strife. The mêlée was too compact, and the combatants too close together; the bullets might easily have killed an ally or a friend.
Munza, armed with his battle-axe, bore himself like a hero of old Gaul, when hand to hand fighting was the fashion. Not yet quite recovered from his wound, and sometimes unable to stand up, he went on his knees from group to group, struck at the legs of his enemies, mowed them down with his axe, and reaped a goodly harvest round him. Sometimes he managed to stand upright, drawing his figure up to its full height and towering over friend and foe. Then he would cast a long, lingering look towards the European camp, as if seeking for some one, and, forgetting his wound, would hurl himself, with a fearful yell, against the enemy.
Suddenly a cry, more terrible than all that had preceded it, was heard, and the Monbuttoos were seen to break, and run in all directions.
The King had just been mortally wounded.
CHAPTER XX.
A blow from an axe had broken Munza's left knee, a lance head had penetrated deeply into his right side, and from these two wide, gaping wounds the blood flowed in streams. Nevertheless, the King fought on; he no longer attacked, but he defended himself, kept his enemies at a distance, and prevented their coming to close quarters to despatch him. Powerless to rise from the spot where he had fallen, his bleeding body scarce raised from the ground, he still wielded the battle-axe, so terrible in his hands, looked so ferociously at the Walindis, and uttered such fear-instilling cries, that he kept the space around him clear.
Little by little, however, the surrounding host closed in upon him; they knew that their prey could not escape them, but they were not in a hurry to fall upon him. They advanced slowly, cautiously, silently, ready to rush in the moment Munza showed any sign of weakness.