The virgin of the sun

by George Chetwynd Griffith

But when he reached the pass he saw that all the Spaniards were not crossing it, for a line of them were drawn up across the approach, half on horseback and half on foot. He could see that they were wounded and weary, and that their beasts were gashed and spattered with dried blood. One of their mounted men a little in advance of the others was the sorry-looking trooper who had again and again the day before seemed to seek death at his own hands.

Before half Pizarro’s troop was over the stone-encumbered pathway the first of the Inca’s regiments had gained the high ground above it, and instantly the hillside was covered with leaping stones and masses of rock which crashed and thundered into their midst, sending horses and men down with maimed and broken limbs. Hoarse shouts of triumph thundered along the valley, showers of arrows and darts and sling-stones rained rattling upon the harness of the Spaniards, who could strike no blow in return till they had got the trembling, frightened animals, on whom they were depending for their escape, over the stones.

At the same time the Inca ordered another regiment to come down and charge the rear-guard, and on they went, rank after rank, yelling their war-cries and hurling themselves with spear and axe and mace on the thin, ragged line of wounded men.

But, few and wounded though they were, they were made of stern stuff. With the first onset wounds and weariness were forgotten, and the long, keen Spanish swords struck out hard and true, and the heavy Spanish axes swung fast and bit deep, and every warrior who came within their reach went down. But more and more came on, and then one by one the Spaniards, overwhelmed by weight of numbers, began to go down, till at last only the mounted men were left.

But now the last of the troop had passed the stones, and they could hear the shouts of their comrades telling them that all was well and bidding them come and join them. De Molina shouted to his remaining companions to give up the unequal fight and make the best of their way back, and this they did, nothing loth to end it, though only two of them reached the other side alive.

Then de Molina, facing the whole host alone, drove his spurs into the flanks of his jaded, wounded beast, and made for the river brink. But old Ruminavi was too quick for him, and charged him when he was within two yards of it. De Molina, better skilled in horsemanship, swerved aside, and Ruminavi very nearly charged into the river instead, but the next moment the Inca was on him, with axe uplifted.

“Yield, Señor!” he cried, in Spanish. “Whether you be gentle or simple, you are too gallant a man to throw your life away thus. We are two to one, and there are thousands behind us.”

“I have already got my death-blow, so your axe will but make the end a little quicker. Therefore strike, friend Manco, for I could wish to die by no nobler hand than thine.”

As de Molina said this he threw up his vizor, and the Inca saw his face already ghastly with the grey hue of death and his once bright blue eyes already dim and glazing.

“They are safe, are they not?” he said faintly, looking over the pass he had so gallantly held. “Then the work is done. Well, since you will not strike, friend Manco, I yield.”