“It is not,” I broke in.

“I believe you,” he answered, bowing his head, “but will it not be the desire of that fair-faced harlot who has betrayed our Lord the Sun?”

At this word I started and bit my lip.

“Ah! that stings you,” he went on, “as the truth always stings, and it is well.  Understand, White Lord who were once my brother, that either you must fight me to the death, or I declare war upon you and upon the Chanca people, which war I will wage from month to month and from year to year until you are all destroyed, as destroyed you shall be.  But should you fight and should the Sun give me the victory, then justice will be accomplished and I will keep the peace that I have sworn with the Chanca people.  Further, should you conquer me, in the name of my people I swear that there shall still be peace between them and the Chancas, since I shall have atoned your sacrilege with my blood.  Now summon those lords of yours and I will summon mine, and set out the matter to them.”

So I turned and beckoned to my captains, and Kari beckoned to his.  They came, and in the hearing of all, very clearly and quietly as was his fashion, he repeated every word that he had said to me, adding to them others of like meaning.  While he spoke I thought, not listening over-much.

This thing was hateful to me, yet I was in a snare, since according to the customs of all these peoples I could not refuse such a challenge and remain unshamed.  Moreover, it was to the advantage of the Chancas, aye, and of the Quichuas also, that I should not refuse it seeing that whether I lived or died, peace would then reign between them who otherwise must both be destroyed by war.  I remembered how once Quilla had sacrificed herself to prevent such a war, though in the end that war had come; and what Quilla had done, should I not do also?  Weary though I was I did not fear Kari, brave and swift as he might be, indeed I thought that I could kill him and perhaps take his throne, since the Quichuas worshipped me, who so often had led their armies to triumph, almost as much as did the Chancas.  But—­I could not kill Kari.  As soon would I kill one born of my own mother.  Was there then no escape?

The answer rose in my mind.  There was an escape.  I could suffer Kari to kill me.  Only if I did this, what of Quilla!  After all that had come and gone, must I lose Quilla thus, and must Quilla lose me?  Surely she would break her heart and die.  My plight was desperate.  I knew not what to do.  Then of a sudden, while I wavered, some voice seemed to whisper in my ear; I thought it must be that of St. Hubert.  It seemed to say to me, “Kari trusts to his god, cannot you trust to yours, Hubert of Hastings, you who are a Christian man?  Go forward, and trust to yours, Hubert of Hastings.”

Kari’s gentle voice died away; he had finished his speech and all men looked at me.

“What word?” I said roughly to my captains.