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.
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