The battle began with great appearance of success. On the right, the Portuguese, led by old and veteran officers, destroyed and overturned every thing before them with their fire-arms: but on the left, where the king commanded, things went otherwise, for the whole of this division fled, excepting a body of nobility, his own officers and companions, who remained with him, and fought manfully in his defence. Above all, the king himself, trained to a degree of excellence in the use of arms, strong and agile in body, in the flower of his age, and an excellent horseman, performed feats of valour that seemed above the power of man: but he and his attendants being surrounded by the whole army of Za Selassé, and decreasing in number, were unable to support any longer such disadvantage. Laeca Mariam, solicitous only for the king’s safety, charging furiously every one that approached, was thrust through with a lance by a common soldier who had approached him unobserved. The king, desirous only to avenge his death, threw himself like lightning into the opposite squadron, and received a stroke with a lance in his breast, which threw him from his horse on the ground. Grievous as the wound was, he instantly recovered himself, and, drawing his sword, continued to fight with as much vigour as ever. He was now hemmed in by a ring of soldiers, part of whom, afraid of encountering him, remained at a distance, throwing missile weapons without good direction or strength, as if they had been hunting some fierce wild beast. Others, wishing to take him prisoner, abstained from striking him, out of regard to his character and dignity; but the traitor, Za Selassé, coming up at that instant, and seeing the king almost fainting with fatigue, and covered with wounds, pointed his lance, and, spurring his horse, furiously struck him in the middle of the forehead, which blow threw the king senseless to the ground, where he was afterwards slain with many wounds. The battle ended with the death of Za Denghel; many saw him fall, and more his body after the defeat; but no one chose to be the first that should in any way dispose of it, or care to own that they knew it. It lay in this abject state for three days, till it was buried by three peasants in a corner of the plain, in a little building like a chapel (which I have seen) not above six feet high, under the shade of a very fine tree, in Abyssinia called _sassa_: there it lay till ten years after, when Socinios removed it from that humble mausoleum, and buried it in a monastery called Daga, in the lake Dembea, with great pomp and magnificence.