What was this mummery? Why was he a spectacle for that mob? All the blood
rushed to Paul's head and the little pulses in his temples began to beat
like hammers. He looked at Alvarez, but the Spaniard had turned his face
into a stony mask, and he could read no meaning there. Then he looked at
Braxton Wyatt, and the renegade's countenance plainly expressed malignity
and triumph.
The great shout that greeted the entrance of Paul died away to a silence
so heavy that it seemed ominous. Then Francisco Alvarez looked toward the
wooden building, at the far side of the ring, and raised his hand. A gate
there was thrown open, and a man, sword in hand, strolled lazily out.
Again a tremendous shout arose, and the mob pressed closer to the bars,
those in front sitting on the grass and those behind standing up in order
that they might look over them.
Francisco Alvarez raised his hand a second time, and instantly there was
silence once more. He was like a feudal lord dispensing justice in the
open air before all his retainers.
"Kaintock," he called in a loud voice, "since you are so expert with the
sword, we give you another chance to display your skill. Defend yourself
from this champion."
Again the approving shout of the mob arose, and Paul looked across the
ring, where the swordsman had come forth.
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