"I am a civilian, and a man of peace," piped the _veedor_, rolling his colorless eyes at Cristoval. "I am an officer of the Crown, and I want it understood, Pizarro, that I’ll accept no challenges. He may meditate a challenge." "I think thou doest him injustice," replied Pizarro, with sarcasm. "Thou ’rt safe. Now return to thy work." Cristoval had turned his back with a snort of contempt, and Rogelio resumed his weighing and figuring, his fear gradually giving place to malicious glances directed toward the back of the stout cavalier. José entered, and Pizarro hailed him. "_Hola_, José! Thou ’rt in good season. I have been hearing of thee from Fray Mauricio. Dost know that he hath denounced thee as a heretic?" "He promised so to do, General." "A serious charge, José! It would bring thee trouble were we at home, and might do so here, had I less authority. The friar saith thou didst utter blasphemies enough to bring thee before the Holy Office. Many a man hath gone to the stake for less." The old armorer’s dark eyes glowed, and he replied bluntly: "If it was blasphemy to defend the Holy Mother and Santiago from the charge of aiding in yesterday’s butchery, then I blasphemed, and would blaspheme again; for I tell you, Pizarro, the work of your men was naught less than hellish." "Have a care, old man!" said Pizarro, with a scowl. "Thy words are more dangerous than blasphemies. Imperil thy soul if it please thee; but understand that, by Heaven, I’ll brook no criticism!" There was no flinching in José as he met the threat in Pizarro’s words and look, and he answered hotly, "Then let me not be put to a defence of my words to Fray Mauricio." De Soto and other officers had entered, followed by the friar, unobserved and in time to catch José’s challenge. The monk moved quickly forward and confronted the armorer. "Thou libeller! Blasphemer! Heretic! What!—hath the Church no power to punish such as thou? But we shall see! We shall see! Officers, seize that man! General Pizarro, I demand his arrest in the name of the Congregation of the Holy Office!" No man moved. All stood for a moment aghast at the friar’s invocation of the dread power of the Inquisition. Its very name carried terror, and they hated it as much as they feared its wrath. They stared in silence at Fray Mauricio, but José alone stood unmoved. He faced the friar with calm scorn, his tall, soldierly figure towering above him like a tree. Cristoval glanced at Pizarro and stepped to José’s side. De Soto and others followed, and the group faced the Dominican. The commander’s irritation at the armorer’s criticism was smothered in resentment of the intrusion of the Inquisition in his affairs, already difficult enough, and in a quick detestation of Mauricio as its avowed agent. "My good brother," said Pizarro, coldly, "thou hadst best reconsider thy demand."