Neither warrior nor king can withstand it."
Now Paul's look was wholly that of the prophet. As he said the last words,
"neither warrior nor king can withstand it" his face was transfigured. He
did not see the Spaniard before him, nor Braxton Wyatt, the renegade, nor
the surrounding woods, but he saw instead great states and mighty cities.
The Spaniard, despite his displeasure, was impressed by the words of the
youth, but he took hold of himself bodily, as it were, and shook off the
spell. A challenging light sprang into his cold blue eyes.
"I do not know so much about warriors," he said, "but kings may be and are
able to do what they will. If my master should choose to put forth his
strength, even to send his far-extended arm into these woods, to what
would your tiny settlements amount? A pinch of sand before a puff of wind.
Whiff! You are gone. Nor could your people east of the mountains help you,
because they, on bended knee, will soon be receiving their own lesson from
the King of England."
Francisco Alvarez snapped his fingers, as if Paul and his people were
annihilated by a single derisive gesture. Paul reddened and a dangerous
flash came into his eyes. But the natural diplomatist in him took control,
and he replied with the utmost calmness.
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