Chapter Two
"Let me out of here!" roared de Soto hoarsely. He had been loudly protesting
his arrest since he had been unceremoniously dumped inside a cell nearly
two hours earlier. His throat was feeling scratchy and his head was beginning
to ache. But he couldn't let a little physical discomfort stop him from objecting
to his unfair imprisonment.
"How can you pardon Zorro?" he demanded. "He is an outlaw. A bandit. A agitator
of the people. A thief. A traitor. A saboteur. He is the one who should be
locked up, not me. He deserves nothing less than to swing at the end of a
rope."
The door to the jail opened and Guerrero stepped through it. "What is done
is done, Alcalde," he stated matter-of-factly. "Why can't you just be quiet
and accept his fate. . .and yours."
"I demand to see your papers," Ignacio declared, brushing aside the colonel's
words as if they were a pesky insect. "How do I know you are who you say
you are? You have no right to detain me like this."
"I have the right given to me by the authority of the Mexican Empire," said
Guerrero. "Since you refuse to pledge your loyalty to the new government,
I can keep you here until you can be dispatched on the first ship to Spain."
"What about my men?" the alcalde questioned querulously. "They are soldiers
in the Spanish Colonial Army. Why haven't you incarcerated them as well?"
"Don't you know?" said the colonel. "They all pledged their allegiance to
the Mexican Empire." He chuckled. "Again, it doesn't say much for your leadership,
does it?"
"What? You're lying!" shouted de Soto, gripping the bars of his cell. "All
of them? That's impossible. Surely Sergeant Mendoza would never. . ."
"He was the first one to do so," Guerrero interrupted. He then waved his
hand abruptly. "Enough of this nonsense. You will behave yourself until you
can be transported. Or else you'll find yourself on the other end of a whip.
Do I make myself clear?"
Lightheadedness swept through de Soto. "As crystal," he murmured as he sat
down on his meager cot. He barely noticed the other man had departed until
he heard the door close with a thud.
He felt betrayed. By his men, by his country, and oddly enough, by Zorro.
He wasn't fool enough to hope the masked man would rescue him, especially
now he was a free man. But some kind of gesture would have been nice, maybe
as a nod to an esteemed adversary.
With a sigh, the erstwhile alcalde reclined on his bed, clinging to the thought
of going home to Spain. He may not be returning as the conquering hero, which
was a huge disappointment, but at least he would be shaking the dust from
this dirty little pueblo from his boots forever.
Z Z Z
The fiesta had spilled out of the tavern and into the plaza. People had strung
lanterns, anyone who could play an instrument had been pressed into service,
and makeshift tables of food and drink had been set outside. There was dancing
everywhere, and everyone was joining in, from the smallest youngsters to
the pueblo's oldest citizens.
Diego watched as his father twirled across the tavern floor with the wife
of one of his friends. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a red-faced
Felipe gesturing to a couple of girls who were also blushing fiercely. One
of the young ladies nodded and the young man swept her off into the dance.
Glancing down as his half-empty bowl of albondigas soup, Diego suddenly
lost his appetite, as he remembered a eerie similar scene less than a year
earlier. When everyone thought Gilberto Risendo was dead and were celebrating
the end of his reign of terror. They had been mistaken then. Where they mistaken
now as well?
He had seen the document. It had appeared authentic. But what if they were
being duped again? What if this Guerrero had evil designs of some sort on
Los Angeles? What if his pardon of Zorro was in reality bait to try to capture
the elusive bandit? What if. . .
"Diego, are you all right?" Victoria's cheerful inquiry burst through his
gloomy thoughts like broken glass.
"Yes, of course," he replied automatically. He glanced up at her and was
pained to see the beaming smile on her face. He knew the reason for it. She
thought she was finally going to married the man of her dreams and live happily
ever after.
"Isn't it wonderful?" she asked, sitting down opposite him.
He realized her question wasn't rhetorical and she was looking at him expectantly.
"Si, wonderful," he parroted. He scooped up another spoonful of his
soup, sighed, then let it fall back into the bowl. Getting to his feet, Diego
extended his hand to Victoria. "Shall we dance?"
She nodded, standing as well. He led her over to where the majority of people
were frolicking to the music then swept her into his arms for a waltz. Losing
himself into her nearness and the music, his earlier paranoia fled, replaced
by a hungry desire cause by her scent and softness.
As the song came to an end, Diego noticed his father approaching them. "Son,
I'm going to head back to the hacienda," he announced.
"Why? Is everything all right?" Diego was instantly worried. The elder de
la Vega did look tired, but considering it was a little after midnight, and
it had been long, tumultuous day, that was not a surprise.
"Miguel and I are going to check on the pregnant mares in the north pasture
in the morning," Don Alejandro said.
"Do you want Felipe and me to leave with you?" Diego could stay or go, he
didn't really care. Felipe might be a different matter, however. He glanced
over to the where the young man was flirting with the girl he had been dancing
with earlier. Someone would either have to drag the lad away, or remain behind
to keep on eye on him.
"I am not yet so decrepit I cannot find my way home, Diego," said the old
don grumpily. "No, you stay and have a good time. Buenas noches, Victoria.
Son."
Both Diego and Victoria said good night to the elder de la Vega as he turned
to leave. They each took a deep breath as they looked at each other. "Another
dance?" Diego suggested.
"Maybe later, Diego," she replied. "I need to go check my kitchen. I left
Mendoza making tamales an hour ago and I can only imagine the mess he has
made since." With a wry smile, she walked off in the direction of her tavern.
Z Z Z
It was almost two in the morning before Diego and Felipe finally left the
pueblo. Don Alejandro had not been the only person who had to be up early
the next day. But there were the usual stragglers and those like Diego, who
had volunteered himself and Felipe to help clean up the worst of the night's
revels.
Diego had found himself alone with Victoria as they washed dishes in the
tavern's kitchen. "I wonder if Zorro has heard he had been pardoned yet,"
she had mused aloud. "I wish I knew how to get a message to him."
"Oh, I am sure he already knows," he had said, hiding a grin. "He seems to
have eyes and ears everywhere."
"Si," she sighed wearily. Then her eyes lit up. "He asked me to marry him."
"Did he now?"
"Oh, yes, several months ago," she replied, a dreamy expression on her face.
"He even gave me his mother's ring." Picking up several plates, she stacked
them into a pile near the sink. "Now that he has been pardoned, we can be
married as soon as the banns have been read."
"What if this pardon is just a ploy?" Diego had asked, not sure why he found
her chatter about Zorro and weddings so annoying, "another trap to capture
Zorro and hang him for his crimes?"
"You didn't hear what Colonel Guerrero said," Victoria had snapped at him.
"He said as long as Zorro didn't ride against the new government, he would
escape punishment."
"But what if this new regime proves to be as corrupt as the last one?" Diego
couldn't help but play devil's advocate. "What if Zorro is needed more than
ever? What then?"
"Diego, no one could be as evil as the last two alcaldes," she stated crossly.
She then glared at him. "You act as though you want there to be more trouble
so that Zorro's pardon is rescinded, and he and I will never be together."
"Of course not," he had countered. "I want peace as much as the next person.
Even more so. But you have to admit, we have been taken in by phony and dishonest
officials on more than one occasion. I would hate for you to get your hopes
up, only to see them dashed.
"And let's be honest," he continued, "you don't even know who Zorro truly
is. You might not want to marry him once he reveals himself to you."
"That is what he said to me when. . ." She paused, narrowing her eyes. "You're
not jealous, are you?"
"Me? No." Relief had filled him as he had been worried for a split second
she had figured out his dual identity on her own. Although, he told himself,
it no longer actually mattered. If he was really and truly pardoned, she
would learn it soon enough. Maybe as soon as the next evening. Suppressing
another grin, he had started pumping clean water into the sink so she could
soak the worst of the dirty pots and pans.
So deep was Diego in his thoughts he barely noticed as he and Felipe trotted
up the small rise which led to the de la Vega hacienda. As soon as they reached
its peak, however, he was torn from his reminisces as they could see the
house was ablaze with light.
Felipe flung him an anxious glance. "I don't know," Diego replied. "But I
think we should find out. Vámanos." They urged their mounts
faster, reaching the courtyard in a matter of minutes.
Diego dismounted and strode quickly to the front door. Yanking it open, he
took one step inside then came to a stunned halt. It seemed as if all the
servants and ranch hands stood in the foyer, the women and girls dabbing
at their eyes and the men and boys stoically holding their hats over their
hearts.
"What is going on?" he asked brusquely. A sense of dread welled up in his
chest. There could be only one thing which made sense. No, he told himself,
pushing the thought from his mind. Anything but that.
Maria, the housekeeper, came forward, wiping at her face with a lace trimmed
hankie. "I am so sorry, Patrón," she said, laying her hand on his
arm. "Your father is. . ."
"No!" cut in Diego with a shout. "No!"
"I'm sorry, Diego," said Miguel, the stablemaster, who had come up to stand
beside Maria. "Don Alejandro is dead."
"How. . .?" He glanced around although he could take in nothing. This was
a nightmare. It had to be.
Another hand was laid upon his free arm and Diego jerked his head around
to see Felipe standing next to him. Tears were flowing freely down the youth's
face. He turned away, unable to deal with the anguish he saw etched on the
youth's face.
"He was in the stables, he had just come back from the pueblo," Miguel said
in answer to Diego's choked query. "He was handing his horse over to Paco
here." The stableboy shrank back as he was pointed out. "Then he clutched
at his chest and made a horrible gasping noise, then collapsed. He was dead
before he hit the ground."
Diego began shaking his head. "No, no, no." He kept repeating the word, thinking
if he said it enough times, he would wake up and this would all be just a
terrible, terrible dream. They had to be wrong, he thought angrily. They
were just stable hands and serving girls. How could they tell if someone
was dead or not?
"Where is he?" he demanded. "I want to see him for myself."
"Of course, Patrón," said the housekeeper. "We put him in his
bedroom." She led the way down the hallway. Numbly, Diego followed, vaguely
aware Felipe walked a few steps behind him. Maria unlocked the door, then
opened it wide so the two men could enter ahead of her.
Diego only took a couple steps into the room before stopping. His father
was lying on his bed, still dressed in the clothes he had been wearing when
he had left the fiesta. The elder de la Vega looked as if he were sleeping
peacefully.
He was afraid. Afraid what they were saying was true. But it couldn't be.
He refused to believe it. He would know. He would feel it. It would be as
if a large piece of his heart had been torn away. Wouldn't it? Of course
it would. But he couldn't feel anything at all. It was like he was in someone
else's body. With all the courage he could muster, Diego moved closer.
He reached out, noticing calmly he was trembling like a sapling in the wind,
and touched his father's hand. He nearly jerked away, its unexpected coldness
startling him. Bracing himself further, he moved his fingers up to Don Alejandro's
wrist to search for a pulse. Nothing. Not even a flutter.
Diego fell to his knees beside the bed. Why? Why now? Things were finally
taking a turn for the better. There was a new government, a new hope justice
would once more prevail over Alta California. That the people would be allowed
to grow their crops and raise their children and not have to live in fear
of an unfair alcalde who decided their fate on his whims and tried to tax
them into oblivion.
There was so much he regretted. He had never told his father he was Zorro.
He had never become the son his father could be proud of. He had never married
and given him the grandchildren his father had wanted so badly. And now he
never would. It was all too late.
Grief rolled onto him like a giant boulder, crushing him so he could hardly
breathe. He got unsteadily to his feet.
"Patrón," said Maria from her place by the door. "We've sent
for Padre Benitez but he is on another sick call and. . ."
"Fine. Whatever," Diego interrupted her, unable to deal with her prattle.
Then he realized how she was addressing him. She never before called him
patrón in his father's presence; the servants and vaqueros
had always acknowledged his father was the one in charge. Now that mantle
fell on his shoulders. It weighed heavily and he wanted nothing more than
to throw it off. But one look at the housekeeper's face told him it was his
permanently.
He had to get out of here. Now. Spinning abruptly, he practically ran from
the room. "But, Patrón, you need to. . ." He was out of earshot
before the woman could tell him what he needed to do. The people in the front
rooms were a blur as he passed by them on his way out the door.
Excellent, his horse was still saddled and waiting in the courtyard. Diego
swiftly swung himself onto Esperanza's back and nudged her through the gate.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Felipe rush down the front steps. Heartlessly,
he turned away. He couldn't deal with his own devastation right now, let
alone someone else's. He would handle it later. Much, much later.