It might have been convincing to any
other man, but he felt the stern, reproving gaze of Father Montigny still
fixed upon him.
"And what of the ring and the professional swordsman?" said the priest.
"Are you to turn a youth to a gladiator, even as the blessed martyrs were
given to the lions and tigers by the Roman pagans! What of that, Francisco
Alvarez? Are such deeds to be done, here, in our day, in Louisiana, and to
pass unchallenged?"
The priest's voice rose and it cut like the sharp edge of a knife. Never
since his boyhood had Francisco Alvarez flushed more deeply, and he moved
uneasily on his cane chair.
"You give it a name that does not belong to it," he said. "It was play, or
not much more. Romildo, the swordsman, had orders not to hurt him much."
"That may or may not be true, Francisco Alvarez," said the priest,
speaking slowly and precisely. "But I have more to ask you. What of this
plot of yours to set the Indian tribes and a Spanish force with cannon
upon Kaintock? What of your plan to become Governor General in place of
Galvez? What of your intention to make distant war upon the rebel colonies
and therefore commit Spain to an alliance with England? Answer me,
Francisco Alvarez. What of these things?"
The priest rose from his seat, as he spoke, and lifted that stern,
accusing finger.
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