Menendez de Avilés abruptly broke the silence.
“Captain Juan Ribao,” he said with an air of command which jarred strangely upon his courteous demeanor, “further subterfuge between us were now a sin and a lie before the face of God our Lord. Are you Catholics or Lutherans?”
“We are Lutherans of the New Faith,” returned Ribault, staunchly.
The Spaniard sucked in a long breath between his teeth.
“Gentlemen, your fort is taken and in it all are put to the sword.”
He spat the words out mercilessly and hatefully.
There was a dreadful stillness, and then we started up with one accord, looking around from the one to the other. The Sieur de la Notte tried to speak, but the words would not come forth from his throat, at which he clutched and would have gone to the ground had he not fallen back into my arms. The Admiral was bewildered. La Caille, only, did not tremble. He stood up, straight and fearless.
“Señor Pedro Menendez de Avilés,” he said calmly and distinctly, “it is my belief that you lie.”
Menendez seized his sword at this insult and the Spanish officers rushed forward. They thought surely the Adelantado would run the valiant Frenchman through the body.
But the devil was not ready yet. It was too pleasant a torture to have been ended so soon. He thrust his sword back until it rung in the scabbard and folded his arms, laughing.