And so it was. Unable to shake off the superincumbent weight of the young Inca, Herrera had felt for his poniard, and aimed a desperate stroke at the bosom of Manco Capl. But the active youth caught him by the wrist, and with a dexterous turn forced the steel from his hand. The clutch of the dragoon was by this time fastened in his hair, and no means of extrication were left save to use the weapon. The steel flashed thrice, and each time it was buried in the throat of Herrera. Gradually he relaxed his hold, his huge frame quivered strongly, a film gathered over his eyes, and he lay a senseless corpse. The black blood flowed lazily from his wounds—the jaguar crept forwards, and purred as he licked it up.
Meanwhile, where was Oneiza? Pale as death, she had been clinging to her father while the conflict lasted; but now, when her husband was victorious, and standing, brave and beautiful, over his prostrate foe, his large eye flashing with indignation, and his nostril dilating with triumph, she sprang forward, and threw her arms around him.
"Back!—back, Oneiza!" cried the Inca; "this is no place for women! To the temple all of you, save those who have strength to fight for their Emperor and their homes! These are no gods, but bloody, desperate villains, whom it is ours to punish. See!—one of them is already smitten down, and his blood is sinking into the floor. Gods do not bleed thus. O my friends! be true to yourselves, and we may yet save our country! Away—away, Oneiza, if thou lovest me! Axtloxcl, carry her hence! To the temple; and if we join you not there, fire dome and shrine, and leave nothing but ashes to the invader!"
The women and the priests obeyed, and none save the combatants remained in the palace. The Peruvians, though numerically superior to their opponents, were yet at a great disadvantage in point of arms. Unaccustomed to warfare, they carried such weapons only as were more useful for show than for defence, whilst every one of the Spaniards was armed from head to heel. At one end of the hall stood Atahualpa, surrounded by his native chivalry, each eager to shed his lifeblood in defence of his beloved monarch; at the other was gathered the small phalanx of the Spaniards, to whom retreat was impossible, and remorse or pity unknown.
"Why wait we further?" cried Pizarro: "the blood of Herrera calls out for vengeance. Be firm, men—unsling your hackbuts—fire!" and the first deadly discharge of musketry thundered through the Peruvian hall.
Several of the Peruvians fell, but their fall was of less moment than the terror which seized the survivors on witnessing the effect of these unknown engines of destruction.
"The gods! the gods are wroth with us! We have seen them in the smoke and the fire!" cried several, and they fell unwounded on their faces, in fear and consternation, among the dead.
Manco Capl alone stood unappalled.
"Be they gods or no!" he cried, "they are our foemen, and the enemies of Peru! Can those be of the sun, who come hither to massacre his children? Let us meet fire with fire—kindle the palace—and try how these strangers will breathe amidst the roar of the devouring elements!"
So saying, the intrepid young man, as if actuated by the spirit of his great ancestor, the indomitable Judge of Israel, caught up a torch, and applied it to the hangings of the wall. Quick as thought, the flames ran up—their fiery tongues licked the ceiling—the beams began to crackle and to blaze—the smoke descended in thick spiral wreaths throughout the room. Once again, and but once, sped the volley of the Spaniards: next moment they were engaged hand to hand with Manco Capl, and a body of the young Incas, whom his words had roused to desperation. The struggle was terrible, but not long. The Europeans, trained to the use of arms from their infancy, made wild havoc among their slender assailants. One by one they fell, vainly defending their king, who was soon within the grasp of Pizarro.