LAGRIMA QUIETA
(A QUIET TEAR)
CHAPTER ONE
Deep underneath the de la Vega hacienda, the only son of the house stood
in front of an easel, dabbing at the canvas before him. Diego's brows were
drawn in concentration as he added a touch of white paint. The handsome features
of his father smiled back at him. He was quite pleased with his results and
hoped the elder de la Vega would be, too. The old don's sixtieth birthday
was fast approaching and this portrait was to be his gift to the man who
had given him everything he could ask for. And not just money and privilege.
But courage, strength, and love. Diego knew a painting was nothing compared
to those things but it was the best he had to offer.
Just as he was about to apply another dot of paint, the front door of the
hacienda was thrown open, hitting the nearest wall with a loud bang. "Diego!"
His father's voice boomed out, calling for him again and again.
Diego, who thought the elder de la Vega had planned to spend the rest of
the afternoon in the pueblo, hurriedly rinsed out his brush, then flipped
a paint smeared cloth over the unfinished portrait. He rushed up to the spyhole,
noting for the moment, the library was unoccupied. Seconds later, Diego emerged
from the fireplace, grabbed the first book he could get his hands on, and
plopped himself down on the white satin covered settee. He barely had time
to open the tome when his father, followed closely by Felipe entered the
room.
"Where have you been?" the old don demanded. "Why didn't you answer me?"
He did not give his son a chance to reply before speaking again. "The alcalde
is going to flog Señor Peralta for selling the garrison spoiled meat
and causing half the lancers to get sick."
"The chicken farmer?" Diego queried, interrupting his father's tirade.
"Si," Don Alejandro said impatiently. "Peralta swears the meat was
good when delivered andthe garrison's cook must have waited too long before
serving it. And of course, the cook, who also got ill, swears the chicken
was bad when he got it."
"Then why would he have served it if he knew it was bad?" asked Diego. "Either
way, it seems the cook is the one to blame."
"Unfortunately, de Soto doesn't agree. He's going to give poor Peralta twenty
lashes this afternoon."
"That is truly despicable," said Diego. "But it is the farmer's word against
the cook's. Of course Ignacio is going to side with his man."
"We caballeros have decided to take a stand about this," announced the elder
de la Vega. "We need everyone, including you, Diego." He gripped the gloves
he was holding in his right hand a bit tighter. "Come on."
"Uh. . ." Diego searched his mind for an excuse and came up with nothing,
other than the book in his possession. With a world-weary sigh, he said,
"But I wanted to finish this before I went to bed tonight. I'm only halfway
through it."
"A book? A book is more important than stopping a man from receiving an unjust
punishment?" The old don raked his free hand through his hair, giving the
impression he was about to tear it from his head. "Honestly, Diego. . ."
He seemed to be unable to form words as his face grew mottled. "So be it."
He turned and stormed back out of the hacienda, forcibly slamming the front
door shut behind him.
Felipe, who had done little to that point but stare at his own feet, looked
up then. Diego could see the disappointment in the lad's dark brown eyes.
"What else could I do?" Diego inquired, feeling disgusted himself. "I am
not going to be of much help as myself. This is a job for Zorro."
The lad launched into a series of gestures which Diego interpreted. "Tell
father the truth? So that he will understand and won't get so angry with
me?" He shook his head. "That is not an option, not if I want him to stay
protected. He patted the young man on the shoulder. "Let's go."
With a tap, the back of the library fireplace swung open and the two men
ducked through it and out of sight.
Z Z Z
In the middle of the plaza, most of the pueblo's citizens had formed a circle
around a post driven into the ground near the fountain. There was an angry
buzz in the air, one Ignacio de Soto didn't like. Was he never to punish
anyone, even if they were guilty of the crime of which they had been accused?
A good three quarters of his men became ill after eating the tainted chicken.
The source was obvious. And well, yes, the garrison's cook was possibly the
worst he had ever come across in his entire military career. But the very
fact the man was sick too, was proof he had not knowingly served the spoiled
meat.
Two of the remaining healthy lancers marched the farmer, Peralta, to the
stake, and proceeded to tie him up. Sergeant Mendoza, who had been one of
the first to become ill and who was still looking a little queasy, held out
a whip, which de Soto took and slowly uncoiled. "Sergeant," he barked, "tear
off his shirt.
"Now, Sergeant!" he roared as the soldier did not immediately obey his command.
Mendoza jumped, then scurried over to the farmer.
"Sorry, Señor," the alcalde heard him whisper. "I'll buy you a new
shirt, even if it means I will have to go without tamales for a month."
"It's all right, Sergeant," the prisoner replied. "I know you're only doing
your duty."
De Soto, irritated by the exchange, yelled, "Mendoza, get out of the way,
or you feel my lash today as well."
As the portly lancer stepped aside, Victoria and Don Alejandro pushed to
the front of the restless mob. "I have purchased chicken from Señor
Peralta for years," she announced, "and he has never sold me a bad chicken.
Why would he start selling it now?"
"Perhaps the man is getting senile," the alcalde sneered, "and cannot tell
a good egg from a bad one anymore." He chuckled at his own wit. No one else
did, much to his displeasure. "Stand back!" he shouted, rearing his whip
hand back with a flourish.
A split second later, de Soto was screaming in pain as the lash flew from
his fingers and onto the ground. As one, everyone turned to see Zorro, sitting
astride Toronado, and calmly coiling up his own whip.
"How dare you!" The alcalde felt a surge of heated rage course through him
as he nursed his stinging hand.
"I dare because you are punishing the wrong man," Zorro responded in an icy
tone. "It is known fact the cuartel cook would sell his own mother for a
bottle of tequila, not to mention his being one of the most inept people
in the history of the culinary arts to ever don an apron. Señor Peralta,
however, has a reputation as one of the superior chicken farmers in the territory."
"Shoot him!" de Soto yelled, waving at the pitiful few lancers in the plaza.
"Just don't stand there! Kill him!
But before even one of his men could lift their rifle, an authoritative voice
rang out. "Stand down your weapons!"
Once again, heads swivelled as a uniformed man rode into the pueblo, followed
closely by a platoon of soldiers also on horseback. They swiftly surrounded
the people in the plaza, too reminiscent of the arrival of Risendo and his
men for de Soto's liking. The alcalde could sense the crowd's agitation as
the officer dismounted and strolled up to where he stood.
"Untie that man at once!" The man barked out the order as Ignacio scrutinized
him. A colonel, by the markings on his uniform. But it definitely was not
Spanish military issue.
"By whose orders?" de Soto asked defiantly.
"Ignacio de Soto, you have been relieved as commandante of the pueblo de
Los Angeles effectively immediately." The soldier waved his hand and two
of his men came forward, loosening the poor farmer's bonds.
"Why?" the alcalde queried with a terse laugh. "Because of a little flogging?
He is guilty of. . ."
The officer interrupted briskly. "No, because Spanish military personnel
no longer have any authority," he announced, turning to the assemblage and
raising his voice, "under the independent government of Mexico. I am Colonel
Guerrero and I will be taking command of the cuartel. My men and I will also
be conducting a census of the local populace."
"Un momento, por favor," said de Soto. "I demand to see your credentials,
Colonel." He spat out the last word as if it were poison. "You see," he continued,
"lately too many people have come to Los Angeles pretending to be government
officials, when in reality they were nothing but thieves and murderers."
"That does not say much about your leadership abilities, now does it?" Guerrero
retorted. "Take him to the garrison jail."
Two of his soldiers come forward but the alcalde stepped out of their way.
"Jail? But why?" de Soto pleaded. "I have done nothing wrong!"
"Will you make a declaration of loyalty to the Mexican government, and forsake
your Spanish citizenship?" the officer declared. "Do that, and you may remain
a free man."
"What? No, never!" stated de Soto emphatically. "I am and always will be
a citizen of Spain."
"Lock him up." With flick of his wrist, Guerrero indicated to the soldiers
standing next to the alcalde. They grab the other man's arms and proceeded
to march him toward the cuartel.
"No! This is an outrage! You'll regret this!" De Soto fought against his
captors all the way inside the gates and beyond.
"Who is next in command here?" Guerrero inquired, sweeping the garrison's
lancers with a disgusted glance.
Mendoza nervously raised his hand. "Me, sir." He stepped forward and gave
his tunic a downward yank before firing off a salute. "Sergeant Jaime Mendoza,
sir."
"Well, Sergeant," the officer began, "will you make a declaration of loyalty
to the Mexican government?"
"Si, si, Colonel, sir," Mendoza agreed with only a second's hesitation.
"You will be my second in command," the other man declared. "Now, if you
would show me the alcalde's office. . ."
Taking a step forward, Don Alejandro interjected, "Wait a minute, Colonel."
The soldier turned to stare intimidatingly at the elder de la Vega. "What
do you mean?" the old don inquired undauntedly, "Mexico is independent?"
"And you are. . .?"
"Alejandro de la Vega."
"Ah, yes. Pleasure to meet you, Señor de la Vega." Guerrero snapped
his fingers and one of his subordinates scurried over, carrying a roll of
parchment, which the officer handed over to the old don.
"You find all the details contained within," the colonel stated. "Actually,
it has been four months since the Army of the Three Guarantees rode into
Mexico City and proclaimed the independence of the Mexican Empire."
"Four months?" queried Don Alejandro, looking up from the scroll. "Why are
we just now hearing of it?"
"It takes time to hammer out all the details."
"Four months?" the elder de la Vega repeated. With a shake of his head, he
then began reading the pronouncement aloud. "All military personnel will
be obliged to take a loyalty oath. Those who refuse will be deported to Spain.
Citizens other than military personnel will become automatic citizens of
the Mexican Empire. They do have the option of returning to Spain if they
wish. All those who have been accused of crimes against the Spanish crown
are hereby pardoned."
Victoria's eyes lit up. "What about Zorro?" she asked. "Does this mean he
has been pardoned?" She glanced around excitedly, as did many of the others
assembled. The man in black was nowhere to be seen. He must have slipped
away during the early chaos. With a disappointed pout, Victoria directed
her attention back to the colonel.
"Zorro? Ah, yes, the famous fox of Los Angeles," said Guerrero. "He was an
outlaw in the eyes of the Spanish crown. As long as he behaves himself under
the laws of the Mexican Empire, he can consider himself pardoned and the
price on his head revoked."
Victoria bounced happily on her toes. She clutched Don Alejandro's arm to
balance herself, unable to conceal her glee. All the years of waiting were
finally over. Zorro would be free to marry her at last. Too bad he hadn't
stuck around to hear the news himself. Victoria shivered with anticipation
at what the masked man might do when he learned of his acquittal.
Her romantic musings were interrupted by the arrival of Diego and Felipe,
who had made their way to the front of the crowd to stand next to her and
Don Alejandro. The colonel and his men, led by Mendoza, made their way to
the cuartel.
"What's going on?" Diego asked blandly. "Who are these men? Where is the
alcalde?"
His father answered his last question first, "de Soto is in jail." He then
handed the parchment to his son. "We now live in the Mexican Empire,"
the elder de la Vega declared, "and Zorro has been pardoned of all his crimes.
Read for yourself."
Diego quickly perused the document. "It doesn't mention Zorro specifically,"
he pointed out.
"Si, but Colonel Guerrero said that he was," Victoria replied a bit
giddily. "As long as he doesn't cause any trouble for the new government."
"Hmm, very interesting."
"That's all you can say?" Victoria spouted angrily. "He's free!"
"We'll see," said Diego mysteriously.
"What does that mean?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
"I think this calls for a fiesta," announced Don Alejandro, an intrusion
for which Diego was extremely grateful.
Choruses of "Si!" and "Let's celebrate!" filled the air around them,
along with shouts of "Viva la Mexico!" and "Viva El Zorro!"
People started streaming toward the tavern.
"Oh, dear." Victoria swirled away from the de la Vegas and headed toward
her business.
Don Alejandro clapped his hands onto Diego's and Felipe's shoulders. "We
should probably go help," he proposed in a tone which brooked no argument.
The old don joined the others moving toward the inn.
A sharp tug on his sleeve by Felipe turned Diego's attention to the lad.
"Yes," he agreed in response to the youth's signs. "It's a relief Zorro no
longer has a price on his head." Elation filled his heart. He could marry
Victoria. He could be the son his father always wanted him to be.
His joy turned to insecurity in a instant. He wanted Victoria to marry him,
not Zorro. He wanted his father to be proud of him, and not just because
he was Zorro. Would they even believe him if he told them the truth without
having to show them proof? He highly doubted it.
Zorro might be a free man, he thought bitterly, but he, Diego de la Vega,
was still shackled by the many masks he had worn for so long.