He stooped to the body. He strove to drag the crushed and mangled remains of
the girl from beneath the carcass, but he could not, and he trembled—for the heart
of man never believes in the utter insensibility of that which it loves—lest he should
hurt the innocent, of whom, in life, he had regarded the lightest curl of hair with a
fondness which would have prompted him to risk life freely in its protection from
the slightest harm or the most casual indignity. He shrunk back from the task—

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

the terrible truth came upon him in frenzy—the sister of his boyhood—the child
whom he had loved almost alone of all the world—the favorite of his aged mother,
and his own, she was dead—and such a death! Crushed, trampled down, and
mangled beneath furious and flying men, and the hoofs of the agonized war-horse,
himself stricken with death, and by his arm. He sank down beside the body—
lifted the long and raven locks which were dabbled and clotted with her own blood,
and gazed upon the terrible spectacle for an instant in speechless horror. Shrieking
and shouting he started to his feet. Fury was in his soul, and he panted for revenge.
What then was the uplifted sword of the tyrant—what the pikes of the
soldiers! He felt them in his flesh; but there was a deeper wound within his soul
which made him indifferent to their tortures. He rushed fearlessly upon the king,
and defied his weapon. Fired with his spirit, and unable to fly, the populace gathered
around him, and answered his shouts with their own. The uplifted arm of
Roderick was grappled by one from behind, and his balanced weapon shone idly in
the air. It was not suffered to descend. Toro rushed upon him while in that situation.
Already his knife glared in the eyes of the monarch—another moment and
it would have been buried in his heart; but with the desperateness of his situation
came increased powers of body and resolve of mind to the beleaguered king. He
dropped his sword which had thus been made useless, and shaking off the assailant
who held his arm, he grasped that of the fierce Gallician. Vindictive and maddened
as he was, his strength was not equal to that of Roderick, and though the latter
could neither overthrow him, nor wrest from him his knife, yet was it equally impracticable
for him to inflict any injury with it upon his regal opponent. Thus they
stood—thu they strove, like two angry demons, contending fearfully, yet in vain,
while all were striving around them. But though Toro could do no harm to his
foe, his grasp kept him in a situation which momently exposed him to the assaults
of others, and but for the desperate devotion of his guards, Roderick must then have
perished. But they clung to him in his peril with a fidelity worthy a far nobler service.
They fought and fell—the plebeian knife was drenched in their blood, without
discouraging those who yet survived. They girded their master to the last—
presenting their weapons like men, and unsparing of their own bosoms while seeking
to cover his. One of them grappled Toro and sought to tear him from his hold;
but he, in turn, was seized by one of the populace, and fell a victim to his boldness.
The crisis was momently becoming more fearful to the environed monarch. His
guards were diminishing—the mob growing proportionably strong, and from their obvious
advantage, more and more resolute and wild. A shudder, but not of fear, convulsed
the frame of Roderick, as he became conscious of this fact. To die thus
ignobly—in such a strife—bound like a slave—without arms—without even a breathing
field and room to struggle; this was not merely to die, but to die shamefully.
Toro felt his convulsion, though it lasted but for an instant, while he grappled him.

“Ha! tyrant! dost thou tremble! Thou hast slain the weak and the innocent—
the trembling innocent; who could not help themselves, nor hurt thee! Yet thou
tremblest!”

“Not with the fear of thee or them, slave!” was the fearless reply of the monarch,
as he strove with renewed but unsuccessful efforts, to extricate himself from
the iron grasp which the Gallician had taken. Toro with clenched teeth replied:

“Slave though I be, it will not be long ere I am thy master—master of thy life.
Look, tyrant! they come. Ho! men! slaves and knaves, hasten! Here is work
for you. Ha! ha! ha! Dost see them—dost see them? Look! they hasten.
What though I strike thee not myself; yet I bind thee for the knife! Ho! there!
Will you not strike?”

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

A gigantic serf from the mountains of Asturia sprang forward, and vainly did the
presented spear of one of the soldiers seek to arrest his progress. An unarmed
peasant of Andalusia threw himself forward upon the extended shaft, and it snapped
like a brittle reed beneath his weight. The arm of the Asturian was lifted; his
knife pointed to the king's bosom, and no seeming hope of his escaped remained. But
nothing daunted, though weaponless, motionless, and at the mercy of the peasant,
the king abated none of his fearless spirit. Gazing steadfastly at the enemy, he
exclaimed with a stern voice:

“Slave! wouldst thou strike thy sovereign? I am Roderick the Goth.”

The very name of his victim appalled the executioner. The mark was too high
for the soul of the peasant, and he sank back among the crowd, with more terror
than had troubled the bosom of him whom he had threatened.

The peril was passed. That moment saved Roderick. A new ally came to his
aid. Shouts rang from the scattered soldiers, who still fought, though feebly, with
different bodies of the populace, unable to help their master, or to extricate themselves.
The shouts went warm and cheering to the almost hopeless monarch. He
turned a quick, momentary glance around him, and beheld charging horsemen. The
sight had its effect, though of a different nature upon the Gallician. Vainly now
did Toro strive to use his knife. The king was invigorated by hope, and his enemy
strove without success. The horseman came on rapidly to the charge, and taken in
the rear, the populace were seized with consternation. They were beaten down on
every side. Two hundred armed and well mounted warriors were upon them,
hewing fiercely among the undaunted and half-exhausted peasants. A voice from
his new allies came to the ears of Roderick, and it no less astounded than cheered
him. It was the voice of one upon whom of late he had not counted. It was the
archbishop Oppas, who came to his rescue, heading his own retainers.

“Rid me of this knave, my lord Oppas, and name thy own reward!” cried the
king, as the archbishop approached him. Toro released his hold upon the king, in
order to encounter the new comer; but Roderick relaxed not his. He held the arm
of the Gallician, while the huge mace of the archbishop descended thrice upon his
head. The second blow had slain him, and the brother lay in death by the mangled
remains of the hapless maiden whom he did not desire to survive. The fight was
ended with the blow; but Toro was not the only sacrifice to the fury which he had
helped to provoke. Nearly three hundred serfs perished, along with a goodly number
of the soldiers by whose arms they fell. Yet, among the carcases that strewed
that unhappy field of blood, they found not that of Romano. Devotion had
achieved its object, and the sacred bones had been carried to a place of safety and
concealment, long ere the strife had ended.