"Ay, I will believe anything," said Juan, in increasing excitement. "And this too! scarce an hour returned from my sufferings, endured for him,—endured to regain his good-will! Ay, and before I had done speaking, he would have sent me to Mexico, to be sacrificed there!—before I had eaten and drunk! before I had rested my wearied body, before I had recruited my exhausted strength!—Tell me, Villafana! was it not by his design I was entrapped into giving shelter to—But, no! that could not be; in that, at least, he must be innocent. But, in the rest, it is oppression, grinding, intolerable oppression!"
"Well, I marvel he did not let thee off with a scourging," said Villafana, swallowing another draught from the neglected flask. "Come, drink, and we will discourse together."
"A scourging!" said Juan, seizing the Alguazil's arm with a grasp which showed that imprisonment and sorrow had not altogether robbed him of strength; "dare you talk to me of scourging?"
"Ay, marry," said Villafana, whose object seemed to be to excite the slumbering fury of the young man, and who now, in the effect of a word used for another purpose, discovered a point on which his equanimity was not impregnable; "ay, faith; for the whole army cries out upon his barbarity, saying that he is murdering you; so that he already talks of letting you off with a scourging.—He was as good with me."
"By the saints of heaven!" cried Juan, snatching up the dagger which Guatimozin had left, and striking it into the table with a fury which split the plank in twain, "were it his own, I would drive this steel into the breast of the man that designed me such dishonour. Scourge me! Thanks be to heaven, that sends this weapon!"
"Oho, señor!" said Villafana, with counterfeited indignation, "you will resist, will you! Hah! and you have a dagger, too! Come, señor, give it up."
"Fool," said the prisoner, "thy bitter words have unchained me at last, and driven me to desperation. I will not yield this weapon but with my life. Wo betide him that comes to me with a scourge, were it Don Hernan himself!"
"You will resist him then?—Why now you are a man again! Sit down; fear not: you shall have a better weapon. Come, let us drink a little: 'tis a raw night, and rainy. Here's success to our vengeance—a quart of blood apiece! Methinks, you are more wronged than myself—Therefore, you shall strike the first blow. I give you this privilege, out of friendship. The second is mine."
While Villafana held forth in these extraordinary terms, Juan, shocked into composure, became aware that the wine, which the Alguazil plied with characteristic infatuation, had already made serious inroads upon his brain. He ogled and smiled, with a stupid contortion of countenance, which was meant to be significant; his articulation was impeded, and his expressions coarser than usual; and without being positively drunk, he was reduced to that condition in which the natural propensities get the better of all artificial qualities. Hence, he became fierce and bloody-minded, without displaying any of the subtle cautiousness and cunning inquisitiveness, that were common to him in his sober hours. It was for this reason that he proceeded to unfold the secrets of his breast, without being in any degree abashed by the looks of horror, with which Juan heard him.
"Know then, brother Juan," said he, "that thou shalt lap the blood of Don Demonios to-morrow morning, at the banquet-table; and afterwards hang up Guzman with thine own hands. Thou art too white-livered, or thou shouldst have known of the matter earlier. Also, thou shalt have thy fair nun again, as before:—that is, upon condition she likes thee better than me; which may be, or may not, for who can tell whether the star will shoot into the marsh, or fall upon the mountain?—Bah! it is a pity I brought thee not another flagon. Busta! I will drink no more; for this is no time to be thick-witted.—Know then, Juanito querido, we have brought our conspiracy to a head; and out of the nine hundred Christians in this town there are two hundred and forty sworn on dirk, buckler, and crucifix, to our whole game,—three hundred, who will wink and stand by, till the play is over,—three hundred who will swear faith to the devil himself, when Don Demonios lies hid in his pocket,—and as for the rest, why we must e'en have some hanging and stabbing."