From the walls of Viana his resplendent armour renders him still discernible, until, like a sun to its setting, he passes below the rim of that ravine, and is lost to the watcher's view.
Death awaited him amid the shadows of that hollow place.
Unhorsed by now, he fought with no concern for the odds against him, and did sore execution upon his assailants, ere a sword could find an opening in his guard to combine with a gap in his armour and so drive home.

That blade had found, maybe, his lungs.

Still he swung his sword, swaying now upon his loosening knees.

His mouth was full of blood.
It was growing dark.

His hands began to fail him.