So I swore, and
very soon my oath must be put to the test, for at a motion from de
Garcia the Tlascalans seized me and bound me to the third chair.
Then he spoke into my ear in Castilian: 'Strange are the ways of
Providence, Cousin Wingfield. You have hunted me across the world, and
several times we have met, always to your sorrow. I thought I had you
in the slave ship, I thought that the sharks had you in the water, but
somehow you escaped me whom you came to hunt. When I knew it I grieved,
but now I grieve no more, for I see that you were reserved for this
moment. Cousin Wingfield, it shall go hard if you escape me this time,
and yet I think that we shall spend some days together before we part.
Now I will be courteous with you. You may have a choice of evils. How
shall we begin? The resources at my command are not all that we could
wish, alas! the Holy Office is not yet here with its unholy armoury, but
still I have done my best. These fellows do not understand their art:
hot coals are their only inspiration. I, you see, have several,' and he
pointed to various instruments of torture. 'Which will you select?'
I made no answer, for I had determined that I would speak no word and
utter no cry, do what they might with me.
'Let me think, let me think,' went on de Garcia, smoothing his beard.
'Ah, I have it. Here, slaves.
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