Further author's notes at end, but for immediate clarification, this is an AU set at the very beginning of the series, and in terms of timeline, starts maybe a few months after Ramone took office as the alcalde.
Prologue:
Gilberto pressed his heels into his horse's flanks and felt the animal surge forward beneath him. The horse kicked forward with gratifying speed. Gilberto dropped his head back and closed his eyes, giving himself to the wind. After a moment he dropped the reins and spread his arms wide, feeling nothing both the power of the animal beneath him and the sun on his face. With a second kick with his heels, his horse moved into a wild gallop. He could feel them bouncing all over the uneven terrain, but his perfect balance in the saddle kept him there with no strain. He could hear the others calling after him, their small voices trying to tie him back to the earth, but he just laughed and leaned back further. His horse could find a small hole and break its leg, Gilberto could be thrown from the saddle and break his neck. But that only made it so much better. He was young, and free, and what was life worth if you never used it?
Gilberto was flung forward against his horse's neck as his horse suddenly bucked and stumbled, and only a wild grab at the horse's mane kept him in the saddle. There in front of him sat Sazon Correa on his heavy drab horse. Gilberto's much finer gelding slid to a lurching stop just a few inches from hitting him.
"You are going to get yourself killed, de la Vega," Sazon said, frowning. "You are going to get us all killed."
His expression was fierce and dour, surely enough to scare sense into anyone with reason, but fortunately Gilberto had been born without that dreaded disease. That had been entirely left for his twin. He laughed, thinking of the comparison. For if Diego were here, he might have said the same thing, only with that wry exasperation that he saved for most of Gilberto's wilder schemes.
But thoughts of his brother stole the smile from his face as quickly as they had conjured it. Because Diego wasn't here. Would never be here, and even after seven years, Gilberto could still not quite believe it. He was so used to it being Gilberto and Diego. Diego and Gilberto. But then Diego was gone, fled to Spain. He had been left, simply Gilberto, and he didn't know who that was. He'd only ever known where he was in relation to Diego. Without that compass, all he had left was the reflection he saw in other people's faces--Father's, Victoria's, the sons of the other wealthy caballeros: the charming son, the brave adventurer, the natural horseman and finest blade in the pueblo. Only to Diego, and possibly his mother, had he ever been anything else.
Gilberto tried to force these thoughts from his head, but try as he might, they wouldn't go. Diego had been much in his thoughts in the last few days, his mind turning there again and again. But it did little good. Diego wasn't coming back. In the first year, feeling Diego's lost presence everywhere like a phantom limb, he'd been so certain that it had all been a misunderstanding. Father and Diego would come to terms, and Diego would come back to Los Angeles where he belonged. Gilberto would marry Victoria and Diego would find some overly educated heiress with whom he could discuss boring points of philosophy deep into the night and everything would work out as it should. But the years went on, and there was no Diego, no frighteningly intelligent daughter of some wealthy nobleman, no serious dark eyed children who knew more at five than Gilberto was ever destined to.
"We are getting close to the pueblo," Gilberto said, forcing heartiness to match the perfect falseness of his smile. "It is time we changed."
The others had caught up by now. Most of them wore tight grins of anticipation, but a few looked worried. And of course there was Sazon, doleful as ever.
"Just because this scheme of yours has worked a time or two does not mean we will get away with it forever," Sazon said, jowly face settling into lines like his father's. "The alcalde looked the other way because he couldn't yet afford to annoy our fathers. But now with more soldiers in the town, and his position secure, he isn't going to tolerate much more."
Gilberto frowned. "If you're going to be like this, Sazon, you can just go home. We don't need you here."
But Sazon remained, inert as a boulder, before him. "I will only go if Benicio will come with me."
Gilberto turned to consider Benicio's reaction to this. Though they were brothers, Benicio and Sazon Correa could not be more different. Sazon was dark and solid, a practical, responsible man, though admittedly good with a sword in a tight spot. Benicio had his mother's lighter hair and attitude, with a sense of restlessness that outdid even Gilberto's.
"Someone must teach this Ramone a lesson," Benicio said grandly. "We are sons of important men. He cannot just order us about like peasants."
Gilberto smiled and pushed his horse around Sazon's to ride up to Benicio.
"Good man," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "That is exactly right."
Gilberto turned his horse around to face the rest of the men. "Come on, boys. Don't listen to this old man here. What would be doing at home, eh? Riding around, looking for lost sheep, going to lunches to 'accidentally' meet some hideous daughter of one of your father's friends? Is that how you want to spend your life? Or would you rather be here, sword in your hand, fighting for justice?"
Sazon's granite face only settled into something more rock-like, but the rest of them were back with him now. Gilberto dug into the bag near his right knee and pulled out the mask and heavy velvet cape Diego had sent him. The mask was a cleverly fashioned eagle's head, complete with gilded beak and glowing yellow glass eyes. Gilberto had laughed to receive it, thinking of the usually solid and dependable Diego in the wild streets of a Carnival-mad Venice. He could almost picture it: Diego, set loose by a mask's peculiar freedom, tumbling through canals and back streets, going to midnight banquets, getting ensnared in the toils of an infamous courtesan. It was all too amusing.
He couldn't see well out of the eagle mask, but it was too perfect for this adventure to be left behind and brought such jealous stares. The others had their own disguises, but these were simple face masks of felt or cheap ceramic that had been made for local festivals.
When Gilberto put on the eagle's face and cape of rich deep golden velvet he felt like one of the great lords from Diego's letters, powerful and commanding. From the looks on his friends' faces, they agreed. He'd never really been in charge of men before. Oh, there were his father's people, but these were men of his own class, sons of wealth and privilege. He found it unexpectedly exhilarating--to give orders to men like these, to know they looked to him and no one else to lead them.
Gilberto spun his horse around and sent it towards town again. The soldiers would be out on patrol on this side of town by now. They were always good for a spot of fun, and Victoria was always so admiring when they found a pack of them bothering some poor peasant and sent them running. They'd been playing this game for weeks now, the masked adventurers out for justice, and there had never been any trouble. Only the tolerant amusement of their elders and the cheers of the townspeople.
Sure enough, there on the road sat a farmer and his son on their cart, being harassed by a pair of the new soldiers. Gilberto drew his sword and signaled his horse for greater speed. The well-trained animal responded beautifully, sending Gilberto ahead of all of the rest.
The soldiers startled upon his arrival, reaching for their guns. Gilberto ran his horse straight into them, slashing first at one's girth and then the other's. The saddles slipped, and one of the soldiers tumbled onto the ground.
"Release these men!" he shouted. "This new tax has not been approved by the governor, and the defenders of Los Angeles will not stand for it."
The others rode in, swords drawn, and surrounded the soldiers in a bright circle.
"We have warned you before," Gilberto said, enjoying the authoritative tone to his voice. "The common people may not be able to defend themselves, but that does not mean they are without protection."
The soldier on the ground scrambled to his feet, and his partner swung down from his saddle gingerly, careful of the damaged girth.
"Not so bold with men who can fight back, are you?" Nikola said.
But the soldiers weren't looking concerned. Usually by now they were running, or at least looking as if they'd like to, particularly after they'd forced that one group to march back into town in just their boots.
"Oh, we're willing to fight you," the second soldier said, eyes hard. "It's just that we were waiting for the right moment."
A gunshot rang out, and Gilberto heard a cry of pain behind him. He spun around, vision hampered by the mask, but saw Benicio lurching in the saddle. Sazon shouted, voice hoarse with denial.
More gunfire. Noise and smoke filled the bright careless day. A small group of soldiers on horseback had appeared from up over the small ridge beside the road and were bearing down upon them.
"What was it you said about courage when your prey fights back?" the hard eyed soldier said. Gilberto looked about in confusion. Most of his men were fleeing, scattering across the fields and into the scrub like frightened pigeons. A few stayed, fighting off the men in the cart who had thrown off their peasant cloaks to reveal themselves soldiers as well.
A trap. It was a trap. And Gilberto had led them straight into it.
Gilberto saw one of the soldiers start to raise his gun to aim at the backs of his friends. He kicked his horse into motion and sent it on a collision path. The soldier jumped at finding one of Gilberto's party attacking rather than trying to flee and lost his aim. Gilberto gathered his legs beneath him and leapt off his saddle, catching the soldier around the waist and sending them both tumbling out of the saddle. A solid punch finished the job, leaving his opponent senseless upon the ground.
Gilberto swore and pulled off his mask, throwing it to the side. One of his friends lay upon the ground not far away. He could spot Sazon in the near distance shoving Benicio on the horse with another man. There were only about ten soldiers, but with the muskets, his own men had no chance against them.
He picked up the unconscious man's gun and aimed it carefully at the soldiers' horses. He hated to wound an animal, but he could think of no other way to give his friends time enough to escape. One of them fell, screaming, sending its riders tumbling into the dust. His fingers fumbled at the gun, awkward and too large in his haste to reload. A hard sharp blow to his left shoulder sent him spinning around. He looked down, almost surprised to seeing a crimson stain blooming. The pain hit him a moment later, hot and fierce. He swayed, fighting down waves of nausea.
A soldier was running towards him, bringing up his musket. He stopped, took careful aim, but when he squeezed the trigger nothing happened. He swore, throwing aside the locked gun, and drew his sword. Gilberto only looked at him for a moment, the thought that he must defend himself only reaching his brain a moment before it was too late.
He dove to the side, tumbling as best he could to where he'd dropped his own blade when he'd tackled the other soldier. His reaching hand found the hilt, bringing it up just in time to block a swing from the charging soldier.
Gilberto trained with the sword daily. There was no one to match him in all of Los Angeles, perhaps not even in California, but his arm felt like it was weighted with great stones, and the bright sunlight dizzied him. For a moment it was all he could do to hold his own.
He could hear Diego's voice in his head, telling him not to give up, that he had to keep going. Diego never did give up, no matter what, and he'd never let Gilberto fall behind either. Gilberto took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and pressed harder.
With a few quick strokes, Gilberto found his own ground again and began to force the soldier back. The pain was there, still, but he could manage it. No nameless military stooge was going to have the best of Gilberto de la Vega. He found his smile returning and increased the speed of his attack. No, when he told this story, it would be all about how Gilberto had fought back a pack of soldiers, wounded though he was, and saved the day. The others would never look at him the same again.
An unexpected lunge forward sent his opponent stumbling backward. Gilberto pressed his advantage and in a few short steps he had the man on the ground, hands raised in surrender.
"You cannot kill me. I am a soldier of the king!"
"I am not that foolish, I promise you," Gilberto said, trying to force an assured superiority to his tone that he did not feel. "I have defeated you on the field of battle. You must retreat and trouble me no more this day."
The soldier nodded hastily and Gilberto raised his sword. The soldier scrambled backwards, turning on his knees to claw his way to his feet. Gilberto started to turn to assess the rest of the field when he felt a second hard blow low in his back. He stumbled forward, his dizziness sending him to his knees. He felt like someone had shoved a burning brand all the way through him.
There were voices behind him. The pain was so very bad now, each breath became a hard, wet struggle.
"You shot him from behind!"
"He's a criminal."
"That's Gilberto de la Vega."
There were footsteps, and the hard eyed soldier came into Gilberto's fading vision. Gilberto tried to raise his sword, but the soldier just kicked it out of his hand.
"I don't care who he is," he said, looking down. "He attacked a company of the king's men and for that he's a traitor."
The man raised a boot and sent Gilberto sprawling on his back. The sun overhead in its clear blue sky burned into his eyes.
"He's done for. I'll not waste another bullet on the likes of him."
He could hear them, going away. Gilberto coughed, tasting the coppery thickness of blood. He knew what that meant. He'd heard too many of his father's stories not to.
Oh Victoria, oh my dear love, I am so sorry.
It was only two months now, till the wedding. He knew they'd already started on the dress, even if he wasn't to know that. He held her image tight. There were supposed to have been children. They'd talked about it, so many times. He could see them, these children who would never be. Fierce brave daughters and wild beautiful boys, maybe twins, who would delight in driving their father crazy. He wanted to reach out to them, but his arms had no strength.
The pain in stomach grew with every heartbeat, a fierce tight pressure that stole his little remaining breath.
He'd never seen anyone die, not even his mother. He hadn't had the strength to watch her go, he didn't know what it was like to cross over. Gilberto had fled out into the field, out into his father's bright world, unable to look at what had become of their beautiful mother. Diego knew. Diego had been there--to hold her hand through the worst of the pain, to free her from her sick bed, his calm voice going on and on telling story after story. Gilberto had sat in the hall sometimes, listening to Diego spin stories of knights and dragons, of kings and heroes. He had run out of mother's familiar tales quickly. After that, for all Gilberto knew, he was just making them up. At night Diego would just fall into bed, pale and exhausted. Gilberto had rambled on, telling nonsense stupid stories about the horse he road that day, about the things he did with the other boys in Diego's absence, until the white pinched look left Diego's face and he was able to sleep. After the funeral, Diego's voice had been so hoarse he couldn't speak for three days.
In Mother's tales, the heroes always died bravely. She'd never said it was like this, cold and alone. He didn't want to die alone. He could face it, could be brave like his father would want him to be, but not like this, not alone.
He wanted Diego. Diego would hold his hand and tell him some ridiculous story about the strange people in the Spanish court like the ones that filled the letters he sent so often. The letters Gilberto so rarely answered, because he didn't know what to say besides I miss you, Come Home. Diego wouldn't judge him, if Gilberto was scared and cold. He never did, not when Gilberto had first broken his arm, not when Mother was so sick and they all knew she wouldn't get better. He wanted his brother.
Someone fell to their knees beside him and took his hand. He could barely feel it, but it was warm and solid. A dark shape leaned over him, blocking the too-bright sun.
"Diego?" he choked out.
The shape above him hesitated. "Yes."
But no, not Diego, someone . . .
"Sazon."
"Yes, de la Vega, it is me. The others have fled, the cowards, but I could not leave you to this."
Gilberto blinked, and somehow his eyes found focus. Sazon's face was covered in blood, and his free hand was tucked tight against his ribs.
"Benicio?"
"He'll live. Rest easy, de la Vega. Benicio made his own choice to come here. I place no blame on you for what happened to him."
There was something in Sazon's voice. It might almost be grief, but Gilberto knew Sazon held no love for him.
"The wound in your shoulder—it is nothing, but the other—I am sorry. I do not think there is anything that can be done."
Sazon, blunt until the end. It was almost funny.
"Is there anything you want me to tell Victoria?"
What could he tell Victoria? Beautiful, funny, sharp Victoria, who he'd never dreamed would say yes.
He shook his head as best he could.
"Tell Diego," he paused, struggled for breath that would not come. "Tell Diego to take care of her."
The hand in his pressed harder. "You have my word."
He couldn't see any more. Everything was getting cold and dark. He couldn't feel Diego's hand anymore. But that was wrong, wasn't it?
"Diego? Diego . . . where are you?"
Diego's hand tightened until Gilberto could feel it again.
"I'm here, brother," Diego said hoarsely. "You need to rest now."
That was okay, then. Diego would take care of things. That was what he did. Everyone always thought Gilberto was the stronger one, but he knew better. Gilberto closed his eyes. He didn't feel cold anymore and he was so tired.
Diego would wake him when it was time to go home.
Author's Notes:
So those of you who were unfortunate enough to have slogged through my previous story "All the King's Horses" while I was writing it are probably aware that I cannot precisely be called the swiftest writer in history. I do have a good chunk of this story written, but will likely not be posting any more of it until the story is done. I'm just far more disciplined about writing if I know people are waiting for new chapters. For those wondering where this story is going, it's largely an exercise in seeing what Diego would be like if he'd grown up with a brother and if his mother had died much later. There will, of course, be an explanation for the fall out between Diego and Alejandro, but not for a ways yet.
