Cristoval surveyed him in astonishment and anger. "Remaineth here, priest! Art mad? Out of the way!"
"Release her!" commanded Valverde, advancing to restrain her. Cristoval interposed his buckler and thrust him roughly back.
"Release her!" thundered the bishop. "Pass me on pain of the wrath of the Church, her holy guardian! Rava, beware this man, and remember thy promise! Peralta, this maiden is for no man."
The cavalier laughed in his face. "Stand aside!" he cried, savagely. "Thou'rt in peril, Valverde!"
Valverde raised his hand in menace. "Excommunicabo te—" he began solemnly; and Cristoval blanched, then replied, fiercely:—
"Excommunicate and be damned! I defy thee! By what right this interference? Aside! lest I forget thy gown." He strode past. Valverde, white with passion, would have sprung upon him, but Mocho, furious at delay, thrust himself between with his sword at the bishop's breast, his eyes blazing with vindictiveness. "Back, Viracocha, or by the great Inti, I will lay thee open!"
Valverde recoiled, and Cristoval hurried to the door with Rava, followed by the women, whom Mocho drove after them with scant ceremony.
They were soon at the gate with all of the household that could be collected. But many of the terrified women had hidden themselves, and there was no time to search. Outside, the conflict was still raging. The Antis were holding the breastwork with desperate valor and determination, Abul Hassan at the front, for the hour a madman, a Moslem fanatic: pity the Spaniard who came within reach of his terrible blade. Ocallo and Markumi, with the other armored Antis, fought beside him, tigers. At the gate the street was a mere madness of warriors struggling to the places of those who fell.
Mocho and Cristoval forced themselves into the throng, leading the convoy of women surrounded by the detail which had followed into the Acllahuasi. It was minutes before they could make an avenue through the tribesmen, but at length they gave way, and leaving the two Spaniards to take the rescued to the rear, Mocho turned back to the rampart, which must be held until the women were in safety. Slowly Cristoval forged through the press, keeping close to the wall, and at length the worst was past. A hundred yards more, and they were at Matopo's barricade and through the breach: Rava was delivered from her peril.
Cristoval sought her in the crowd of hysterical women, and reached her side. No time for words. He embraced her once, and before she knew his purpose he was gone. Now she was safe, his duty lay elsewhere. The Antis must be withdrawn.