"No!" thundered Cristoval. Pedro shrugged. "_Amigo_, thou ’rt an ass!—with asinine propensities for thorns and thistles." He pegged across the room and seated himself with some violence, muttering, "This is what cometh of being a cook." Mocho entered. "My friends," said he hastily, after their greetings, "we move in an hour toward Cuzco. The Inca hath gone to Ollantaytambo with Quehuar and Yumaquilque, who came this morning. The Antis are on the march." "We, my Lord Mocho!" said Cristoval. "We—Pedro and myself—are prisoners. The Inca refused liberty to leave the palace." Mocho shook his head with a smile. "No, Viracocha Cristoval. There was a council at dawn when the generals arrived, and the Inca hath accepted your service. In truth, you were not prisoners. The Inca could not so soon forget." Within the hour the two Spaniards were leading down through the park to the valley with Mocho, and the latter said, "Viracocha Cristoval, the Antis are to take the Sachsahuaman." Cristoval nodded. "Count us with them, Lord Mocho," he said briefly. A few days later a foraging party of Spanish pikemen and Cañares leaving Cuzco by the Cuntisuyu road at dawn found its way opposed outside the suburb of Chaquill-Chaca by a body of Peruvian archers. The sergeant in command halted in astonishment, then with an imprecation ordered his men forward to cut a way through. Before half-a-dozen paces had been covered a flurry of arrows whizzed into their ranks. The sergeant ordered a charge, met at quarter bow-shot by a volley, and the head of his detail melted. Another discharge, and the foragers reeled, broke, and stampeded toward the city. They dashed through the dim streets crying the alarm and reached the square just as the garrison of the Sachsahuaman rushed into it from the north in wild disorder. The fortress had been surprised by an overwhelming force, and the Spaniards had fled without a blow. A few minutes later half a score of wounded straggled in, some borne by comrades. A number had been left within the fortification, dead or captive, and others had dropped along the road. Now, from the suburbs on the west and south came the distant howling of the Cañares. A soldier burst into the sleeping-room of Hernando Pizarro, admitting with him a confusion of shouts from the square and the blare of trumpets sounding to arms. "We are attacked!" cried the soldier. "The fortress hath fallen, and the city is surrounded."