Late one night, after he had been some three months in prison,
Espinosa was roused from sleep by an unexpected visit from the
Alcalde. At once he would have risen and dressed.
"Nay," said Don Rodrigo, restraining him, "that is not necessary
for what is intended."
It was a dark phrase which the prisoner, sitting up in bed with
tousled hair, and blinking in the light of the torches, instantly
interpreted into a threat of torture. His face grew white.
"It is impossible," he protested. "The King cannot have ordered
what you suggest. His Majesty will take into account that I am a
man of honour. He may require my death, but in an honourable
manner, and not upon the rack. And as for its being used to make
me speak, I have nothing to add to what I have said already."
The stern, dark face of the Alcalde was overspread by a grim
smile.
"I would have you remark that you fall into contradictions.
Sometimes you pretend to be of humble and lowly origin, and
sometimes a person of honourable degree. To hear you at this
moment one might suppose that to submit you to torture would be
to outrage your dignity. What then . . ."
Don Rodrigo broke off suddenly to stare, then snatched a torch
from the hand of his alguaziles and held it close to the face of
the prisoner, who cowered now, knowing full well what it was the
Alcalde had detected.
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