"Pizarro! Pizarro!" he cried, his peculiar falsetto rising to a squeak. "That man meditateth violence! He contemplateth doing me an injury! I see it in his eyes! Restrain him, Pizarro! I am an officer of the Crown, and call upon you to protect me with your sword. I have a wife and five small—"
"Be done, Rogelio!" commanded Pizarro, who had small liking for the timorous member of his civil staff. "Thou talkest too much. Learn to hold thy tongue. Come! Get back to thy work, and I'll vouch for thy safety."
"I am a civilian, and a man of peace," piped the veedor, rolling his colorless eyes at Cristoval. "I am an officer of the Crown, and I want it understood, Pizarro, that I'll accept no challenges. He may meditate a challenge."
"I think thou doest him injustice," replied Pizarro, with sarcasm. "Thou 'rt safe. Now return to thy work."
Cristoval had turned his back with a snort of contempt, and Rogelio resumed his weighing and figuring, his fear gradually giving place to malicious glances directed toward the back of the stout cavalier.
José entered, and Pizarro hailed him.
"Hola, José! Thou 'rt in good season. I have been hearing of thee from Fray Mauricio. Dost know that he hath denounced thee as a heretic?"
"He promised so to do, General."
"A serious charge, José! It would bring thee trouble were we at home, and might do so here, had I less authority. The friar saith thou didst utter blasphemies enough to bring thee before the Holy Office. Many a man hath gone to the stake for less."
The old armorer's dark eyes glowed, and he replied bluntly: "If it was blasphemy to defend the Holy Mother and Santiago from the charge of aiding in yesterday's butchery, then I blasphemed, and would blaspheme again; for I tell you, Pizarro, the work of your men was naught less than hellish."