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and disdain for those beneath him, gave Vargas all the opportunities he needed to enforce his own manner of discipline on the crew, a task Vargas took great pride in. Never in his twenty-two years at sea had there been a man under him whom he could not beat at any game of strength.
    Shortly after dawn, Casca and Juan were sent for. Luis Vargas escorted them personally to the captain's cabin. Knocking on the door with calloused knuckles, Vargas was given permission to enter. He let the two men enter first and then followed after them, closing the door behind him. The captain's cabin was much the same as the captain himself. It was spare in creature comforts; the only furniture was a single narrow bunk and a desk with two chairs in front of it. The rest of the cabin was lined with racks for his charts and ship's papers. Near his bed was a small altar on which an image of the Blessed Virgin waited patiently for his prayers.
    As always, Captain Ortiz was dressed in a black suit with a single white ruff around his neck. He motioned for Casca to take one of the two chairs. When Juan started to take the other, he was brought up short by a jerking motion of the captain’s hand; “Señor de Castro, you are not a paying passenger; therefore, you will remain standing." Casca saw the flush of embarrassment rush to Juan's face, but Juan did as he was ordered, for the captain was correct. Ortiz turned his attention to Casca. "As for you. You, señor, are a passenger. That entitles you to certain privileges aboard my ship, but it does not permit you to interfere with my lawful commands to a member of my crew."
    Juan started to protest, extending his right hand out to draw the captain's attention. This was halted by the thick meaty fingers of Vargas grasping his wrist. An involuntary grunt of pain broke from Juan's lips as Vargas increased the pressure. Vargas was concentrating on the force he was applying and didn't notice Casca rising from his chair until his own wrist was trapped in the sinewy, knotted hand of the one-time galley slave. From Vargas there came an involuntary grunt of pain. Casca sent strength down his arms to his fingers, forcing Vargas's hand open until he released Juan's wrist.
    Vargas tried to twist out of the grip only to find that he was being forced to his knees; tears welled up in his eyes. He could feel the bones in his wrist starting to rub together. If the pressure increased, the bones would snap like green twigs.
    Ortiz rose from his chair only to sit back down once more when Casca pointed his free hand at him, speaking very quietly and gently: "I believe that our problem stems from Juan de Castro not being a paying passenger. Am I correct?"
    Ortiz nodded his head in affirmation. Casca gave Vargas's wrist a bit more of a squeeze, forcing another groan from the man.
    "Then, Señor Captain, I propose that we put this unpleasantness behind us by your permitting me to lend Señor de Castro enough money to pay for his passage from the day we left port in Spain. By doing this, Señor de Castro would have to be considered as a full fare from that time and there could be no hint of disrespect to you or your command."
    One of Vargas's wrist bones began to crack. The pain was so great, he couldn't even strike at the hand holding him. Captain Ortiz made up his mind quickly. After all, money was worth more than another nearly useless mouth to feed. In addition, the logic of the argument was irrefutable. It would save his pride, and he was certain that no word of what had happened in this cabin would be bandied about.
    "Señor Romano, I accept your offer – trusting, of course, in your discretion concerning this matter."
    Casca agreed and released Vargas, who rolled away quickly to rest on his haunches, holding his nearly broken limb with his good hand. From the look in Vargas's eyes, Casca knew that there probably would be trouble yet to come. To try to avoid this, before leaving the cabin, he gave a veiled warning to