The Incas could but succumb to the sovereign will. Some retreated beyond the mountains, leaving indelible traces upon the people of the jungle. Some were thrown into fortresses, which “their ancestors had built for ostentation of their glory.” On the authority of Garcilasso, thirty-six males of the blood of the Sun, who had been condemned to live in Lima, the Spanish City of the Kings, had in three years’ time all died. Sayri Tupac, a nephew of Atahualpa, had come to Lima for the privilege of renouncing his sovereignty. The _amautas_ had consulted the flight of birds as to whether he should surrender himself to the Spaniards, but as Garcilasso says: “They made no inquiries of the devil because all the oracles of that country became dumb so soon as the sacraments of our holy mother, the church of Rome, entered into those dominions.” “Ah!” said Sayri Tupac, as he lifted the gold fringe of the table-cloth, “all this cloth and its fringe were mine, and now they give me a thread of it for my sustenance and that of all my house.” He was allowed to withdraw to the beautiful valley of Yucay, “rather to enjoy the air and delights of the pleasant garden formerly belonging to his ancestors than in regard to any claim or propriety he had therein.” But he sank into a deep melancholy and died within two years. The Spaniards were occupied with duels and assassinations of friends, bloody civil wars and religious disputes, usually about the Immaculate Conception. One can read volumes of such proceedings. Indian revolts were a constant interruption. The Spaniards gradually discovered that it was impossible to keep the Indians quiet while an Inca remained alive; so in 1571, less than forty years after their arrival, Tupac Amaru, the last of the Incas, was put to death by the Spaniards in the following manner, as described by Garcilasso de la Vega in the words of his first English translation (1688).