'Are you sure?' she asked again. 'Yes—quite sure; certain.'
Upon that Catalina whisked off the saddle-cloth, and said gaily to the mayor:
'Now, your worship, if you will take the trouble to look, you will see that the horse has nothing the matter with either eye!'
Then she bowed and rode away to look for a dinner.
Catalina's last adventure in South America was a wild ride to the town of Cuzco, carrying on her saddle a lady whose half-mad husband was seeking to murder her. He was following fast behind, and his horse was laden with no double burden, so that in every way he had the advantage. But Catalina was a better rider, and had some start, so, in spite of a wound in her horse's flank, she won the day and placed the lady in safety in a convent. The husband, arriving just in time to see his victim escape him, at once unsheathed his sword, and inflicted some severe wounds on Catalina. Indeed, had it not been for the interference of the bishop himself, it would have gone hardly with her.
But when, half fainting from loss of blood, she was carried into the palace and a doctor was summoned, she knew that the moment she had dreaded had come, and that she must now confess that, in spite of all her exploits and all her daring, she was only a woman. Always prompt to make up her mind, she asked for an interview with the bishop, who listened to her tale with amazement and sympathy. By his advice she entered a convent till he could write to Spain and to the Pope, and obtain forgiveness for having thrown off her nun's habit, nearly twenty years before. As soon as could be expected, though not till after many months, the answer came: Catalina was to be sent back to Spain.
It was at the end of November 1624 that the ship entered the harbour of Cadiz, and saw a gilded barge approaching, rowed by men in royal livery. Who could it be intended for? There was no one on board either great or famous! At least so they thought, but it appears they were wrong, for there was one person whose adventures had thrilled the hearts of both king and people, and that was Catalina herself. As she left the barge and mounted the steps she beheld the famous Minister Olivarez waiting to receive her, and crowds thronged the streets through which she passed on her way to the palace.
Here she was requested to tell her story to the court, and as some reward for her courage in battle and for her loyalty to the crown, a pension for life was settled upon her. Poor Catalina felt very strange in the stiff uncomfortable dress of a Spanish lady, and far more than her honours and her pension did she value the permission of the Pope (whom she visited at Rome a few months later) to wear on all occasions the uniform of a cavalry officer, together with a sword and spurs.