Up went his visor, out rang his voice in fierce appeal,—
“Together let us bide, gentlemen. We are Spaniards, and in our saddles, with swords and shields. The foe are the dogs who have bayed us so to their cost for days and weeks. On the right and left, as ye are! Remember, the woman we have here is a Christian; she hath broken the bread and drunken the wine; her God is our God; and if we abandon her, may he abandon us!”
Not a rider left his place. The division went to pieces, and rushed forward, sweeping all before it except the palanquin; as a boat in a current, that floated on,—fierce the current, yet placid the motion of the boat. And nestled warm within, Nenetzin heard the tumult as something terrible afar off.
And all the time Hualpa kept the fight by the canal. Hours passed. The dead covered the slopes of the causeway; on the top they lay in heaps; the canal choked with them; still the stream of enemies poured on roaring and fighting. Over the horrible bridge he saw some Tlascalans carry two women,—neither of them Nenetzin. Another woman came up and crossed, but she had sword and shield, and used them, shrilly shouting the war-cries of the strangers. Out towards the land the battle followed the fugitives,—beyond the third canal even,—and everywhere victory! Surely, the Aztecan gods had vindicated themselves; and for the ’tzin there was glory immeasurable. But where was Nenetzin? where the hated Tonatiah? Why came they not? In the intervals of the slaughter he began to be shaken by visions of the laughing lips and dimpled cheeks of the loved face out in the rain crushed by a hoof or a wheel. At other times, when the awful chorus of the struggle swelled loudest, he fancied he heard her voice in agony of fear and pain. Almost he regretted not having sought her, instead of waiting as he had.
Near morning from the causeway toward the city he heard two cries,—“Al-a-lala!” one, “Viva á Christo!” the other. Friend most loved, foe most hated, woman most adored! How good the gods were to send them! His spirit rose, all its strength returned.
Of his warriors, six were with the slain; the others he called together, and said,—
“The ’tzin comes, and the Tonatiah. Now, O my friends, I claim your service. But forget not, I charge you, forget not her of whom I spoke. Harm her not. Be ready to follow me.”
He waited until the guardians of the palanquin were close by,—until he heard their horses’ tread; then he shouted, “Now, O my countrymen! Be the ’tzin’s cry our cry! Follow me. Al-a-lala, al-a-lala!”
The rough riders faced the attack, thinking it a repetition of others they had lightly turned aside on the way; but when their weapons glanced from iron-faced shields, and they recognized the thrust of steel; when their horses shrunk from the contact or staggered with mortal hurts, and some of them fell down dying, then they gave way to a torrent of exclamations so seasoned with holy names that they could be as well taken for prayers as curses. Surprised, dismayed, retreating,—with scarce room for defence and none for attack, still they struggled to maintain themselves. Sharp the clangor of axes on shields, merciless the thrust of the blades,—cry answered cry. Death to the horse, if he but reared; to the rider death, if his horse but stumbled. Nevertheless, step by step the patient Indian lover approached the palanquin. Then that which had been as a living wall around the girl was broken. One of her slaves fell down, struck by a stone. Her scream, though shrill with sudden fear, was faint amid the discordances of storm and fight; yet two of the combatants heard it, and rushed to the rescue. And now Hualpa’s hand was on the fallen carriage—happy moment! “Viva á Christo! Santiago, Santiago!” thundered Alvarado. The exultant infidel looked up: right over him, hiding the leaden sky,—a dark impending danger,—reared Bradamante. He thrust quickly, and the blade on the lance was true; with a cry, in its excess of agony almost human, the mare reared, fell back, and died. As she fell, one foot, heavy with its silver shoe, struck him to the ground; and would that were all!
“Ola, comrades!” cried Alvarado, upon his feet again, to some horsemen dismounted like himself. “Look! the girl is dying! Help me! as ye hope for life, stay and help me!”