At the Hour of Death
A/N: My usual disclaimers; all copyrights go to those who rightfully own them.
Seeing as this is my 30th story, I knew I wanted to do something different and somewhat special. I was going over my older stories and wouldn't you know it, I found myself rereading The Eagle's Gaze. As much as I love to hate Monastario's character, the Eagle is just so ruthless and cruel. He's probably my favorite of Zorro's villains due to just how far he's willing to go to get what he wants.
Anyway, it got me wondering; what would happen if Varga had won and gotten everything he wanted? How would it have ended for our hero and his comrades? As a result, this story is much darker and colder than my usual fare. And, a word of warning, I think I've made Varga even nastier and sicker than he was in both the television series and the fanfiction. Oh and also, this is pretty depressing (box of tissues alert). Just thought I'd let you know.
With that all said, enjoy and destroy!
Hope Slipping Away
Zorro overlooks the survivors in the light of the sinking sun. Their clothes are torn and patched in many places. Tía Marcella and her helpers wrap what clean rags left around the wounds. He can see the exhaustion and hunger on their dirty and unshaved faces.
Garcia walks up to Zorro. His once grizzled beard has gotten thicker and he's lost quite a bit of weight. So much so that his patched and torn lancers uniform hang on his frame like a child trying on his father's clothes. But that isn't what worries Zorro. It's the wounded look in the sergeant's brown eyes. The look of watching comrades die, knowing there's nothing one can do to save them.
The ambush on the supply convoy didn't go as planned.
"Señor Zorro." Garcia says as he smartly clicks the heels of his worn leather boots together and salutes.
"At ease." Zorro says, holding up his hand. Garcia relaxes. He still wasn't comfortable with the idea of anyone saluting him. He's no leader. He's merely a soldier in this never ending fight.
Hard to believe he was once considered an outlaw. A year ago, Garcia and his posse were chasing him everywhere. A favorite hobby of Zorro's was to send Garcia on wild goose chases around Los Angeles. Now the man and what few soldiers of the King left are treating him like a general.
But enough of that. Zorro reminds himself. They have a rebellion to fight. "Report." He orders.
"We managed to recover twenty barrels of gunpowder, several rounds of ammunition, thirty muskets and boxes of medical supplies from the convoy." Garcia says.
That's good. Zorro thinks, relieved. They were running low on weaponry and medical supplies. It's gotten to the point where the rebels are fighting with whatever weapons they can grab. Archery sets. Spears. Pitchforks. Shovels. He's even seen some men swinging sticks like clubs.
Tía Marcella and her helpers do what they can with the few herbs they can grow. But she'll be grateful for the supplies.
The look on Garcia's face still hurts Zorro. "Who did we lose?" He asks.
"Corporal Reyes yelled at us to retreat as Varga's men attacked us. We had to leave him behind." Garcia says, his voice cracking. "I…I heard him cry out '¡Viva la revolución!' right before they…" The man can't finish his sentence.
Zorro's heart sinks.
Another one lost.
That makes nineteen this week alone.
Nineteen brave men and women who gave everything.
Nineteen he failed to protect.
The feelings of despair and hopelessness begin eating at him. He's kept them at bay by focusing on the mission. But now it's coming back and threatening to tear his resolve apart.
Get away. Go to the quiet spot where he can think in peace.
"Zorro?" Garcia asks, the hurt look replaced with concern.
"I'm fine, sargento." Zorro says. Think of the men. Zorro tells himself. They need him to keep a cool head. They can't do that if he breaks down in front of them. "Tell the men to rest and get a meal. They've earned it."
"Si, Señor Zorro." Garcia clicks his heels and salutes again. Zorro is too heartsick to tell him to stop. He turns around. "Zorro?" Garcia calls out. Zorro stops. "Will you be all right?"
Zorro smiles slightly. Despite losing his close friend, Garcia is more worried about him. Garcia still has the kind heart and steadfast loyalty even after their losses.
Far more than what can be said about Zorro himself right now.
"I'll be fine, sargento." Zorro says as he turns back around, putting his hand on Garcia's shoulder. "And I'm sorry about Reyes. I know you two were close."
Garcia nods his appreciation. "Gracias, Señor Zorro." He gives a weak smile. "Despite being insubordinate at times, the Corporal is…was…one of the bravest and most loyal men I've ever met."
"He was." Zorro says, patting Garcia's shoulder one last time and leaving. Garcia knows better than to follow.
Zorro walks to the top of the valley. Hidden by an impenetrable maze of rocks, trees and ravines, they are safe. The rebels and their families had made something of a life for themselves here. He can see the shacks they've built turning into nice cottages. The few farmers grow what fruits and vegetables they can. Children run and play in the light of the setting sun. Rebels walk to their loved ones to rest and gain strength for the fight that'll surely come tomorrow.
And he's alone. Zorro thinks as he sits on a nearby rock, the patched and torn cape billowing in the warm July breeze. His once fine black suit is as torn and patched as the other rebels that now look up to him.
An ache hits his side. The wound on his abdomen is acting up again. Tía Marcella told him that he was lucky to have survived that bullet. He credited Bernardo for getting him to safety quickly.
It's been one year since Varga's coup…
Zorro sighs and rubs his face. The stubble is growing thick on his face. Maybe he should shave…but he has to go on patrol tonight and plan his next ambush. Best to do it tomorrow.
He hasn't eaten in hours but isn't hungry.
Exhausted but unwilling to sleep.
The faces of the lost confront him as he leans forward, resting his head in his hands.
Private Rumo.
Don Alfredo.
Don Nacho.
Father…
Don't think of them. Zorro reminds himself. But the images of them dangling from the gallows in the pueblo plaza still give him nightmares. He remembers Father shoving Bernardo and Garcia out the back way of Varga's house, yelling at them and Zorro to run and leave him behind. The fifty man army had been overwhelmed as they rode into the pueblo.
What would Father think of him if he could see him now? Would he be ashamed of his son? After all, his last words to him were anything but kind.
Are you so afraid of death, my son?
But he didn't know the truth about Zorro. He couldn't know. Diego de la Vega had done that in a conscious attempt to protect his father from Monastario's retribution.
And look what good that did him. Zorro bitterly thinks. Alejandro de la Vega still ended up on the end of a noose.
And Esperanza…
Zorro's heart aches at the thought of the young woman he loves.
Vibrant.
Loyal.
Beautiful.
The last memory he has of her comes back. Dressed in that white gown, her mother's shawl on her head. Cowering behind the tipped over wagon with her hands bound behind her back. Begging him to flee and save himself. Frightened green eyes trying to be brave…
He had to leave her behind during the retreat, breaking the promise he had made to her long ago.
I won't let him hurt you.
Bernardo and Garcia had reassured him afterwards, saying that it wouldn't be long and they'd have her back. But Varga was proving to be more and more vicious with every passing day. His tightly run group of agents had completely taken over California, sending her governor into hiding if gossip was to be believed.
What few rebel groups left in California are being decimated left and right.
Maybe Zorro's little ragtag band is all that's left. The fox's wits and their determination will only last so long.
Zorro had hoped that the King or the governor of Mexico would send reinforcements. He contended himself on rescuing what few citizens he could and disrupting supply trains to weaken the Eagle, buy time for the King's men to arrive and to keep hope alive.
But days turned into weeks.
Weeks turned into months.
And months have turned into a year.
Mexico and Spain have their own troubles and California is such a small and insignificant territory that whatever happened to it didn't matter.
Except it did matter to her residents, loyal citizens of King Ferdinand of Spain. Loyal citizens who gave the ultimate sacrifice to her country like Reyes, the hidalgos and Father.
He didn't want to admit this for a long time but he can't deny it anymore.
Help is never going to come.
Hope is slipping away despite Zorro's best efforts.
California is still under the control of a tyrant that had killed his father and taken his home away from him.
His countrymen are suffering and dying despite his best efforts.
And Esperanza had been forced to become the Eagle's…at least she's still alive. He would've heard something from the spy he has planted at the hacienda if she was dead.
Although he knows Varga won't hesitate to hurt her if given the opportunity.
Zorro feels an overwhelming sense of self-loathing.
Maybe he's fighting a hopeless cause.
Maybe the only end for this rebellion was everyone dangling at the end of a noose.
Pray. That's the only thing he hasn't tried lately. Maybe the Holy Mother would take pity on him and intercede on their behalf. Zorro crosses himself and bows his head in reverence. Images of Esperanza and Papa praying their rosaries haunt him…
"Ayúdanos, Madre de Dios." He prays.
Help us, Holy Mother.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nuc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.
Esperanza moves her fingers to the next bead on Elena's rosary, keeping her eyes on the crucifix and the statue of the Holy Family next to it.
Ave Maria, gratia plena…
Today marks the one year anniversary of the Eagle taking over California. One full year since Papa died. The pain has gotten a little easier to bear. But she still misses him.
Everywhere in the de la Vega hacienda, she sees reminders of him and of the happy life she once used to live.
The comfortable chair in the sala where Papa used to sit and read…now she wants to scream every time she sees her husband sitting there. That is Papa's chair and he has no right to be there!
The empty bedroom where Diego and Bernardo comforted her after the Eagle intruded her bedroom…don't think of them!
Because Varga refuses to let her leave his sight, she can't go to church and hear the Mass said for the souls of Papa, the brave hidalgos and rebels who were butchered…she promised the day she saw Varga unceremoniously dangle their bodies on the cuartel wall that she'd have Mass said every year for the repose of their souls.
She prays Papa and the others will understand that she isn't able to keep her promise this year.
Or maybe ever…
Dominus Tecum. Benedicta tu mulieribus…
There's no burial in hallowed ground for these brave men, women and children. After their bodies rot away, they are unceremoniously tossed into a pit and covered with quick lime.
Fray Felipe and Padre Mateo tried saying prayers and sprinkling holy water on the pit in an attempt to bless it and give the souls a chance at salvation. They were promptly rewarded with imprisonment for showing support to the rebels. Esperanza remembers how furious Varga was at this and vowed the two men would dangle from the gallows. How she tried to plead for mercy…
It was only the reminder that Rome would surely excommunicate him that Varga granted them a rare clemency. They're still languishing behind the cuartel's stone walls but at least they aren't choking on the gallows like the others.
As a child, she was taught that the soul of the deceased would never rest, even after the Final Judgment if it was buried in unhallowed ground. The thought of Papa and the others eternally languishing torments her.
These were good people who died for their beliefs! Surely God would make an exception in this case.
Or rather, she hopes that He'd make an exception. The only thing she can do is pray.
Indeed, prayer is the one of the few things Varga has allowed her to do. Praying, gardening and sewing are her only refuge from him. But she fears he'll take them away from her eventually.
No reading.
No tending to the sick and dying.
No horseback riding or fencing.
Indeed, she can't even go anywhere without Varga there.
A new presence comes into the room. Keep praying. Esperanza reminds herself, moving her fingers again. But she can't hide the fact that her hands are trembling.
Dread fills her tightening stomach.
She can tell by his slow and deliberate step that it's Varga.
Her husband. The man she gave herself to in a vain attempt to keep her loved ones safe.
Don't think of them. Esperanza sharply reminds herself. It's not worth the pain.
What does Varga want with her now? To remind her that she's forever under his control? For her to remember the wifely duty he expects her to perform tonight…?
Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus…
Memories of their wedding night and every night they've spent together come back. Esperanza's throat tightens and her heart races. She dreads the pain that'll surely come tonight.
Tía Marcella had spoken to her at length about the act between a husband and wife during her schooling days as a curandera. It could be a little painful at first. But once they grew comfortable, it would be enjoyable.
In Tía Marcella's words; "It is the greatest blessing God can give to a couple because it'll lead to children."
Children…a year since becoming Varga's wife and she still hasn't become pregnant. He blames and berates her every time she has her monthly course. He constantly reminds her that her role as wife is to be subservient to him and bear his heirs.
Once she wanted many children. She planned on decorating their rooms with the beautiful poppy blooms as her own mother did long ago.
Now she dreads the idea of motherhood. She's found herself asking God to keep her barren.
Esperanza doesn't want to bear that monster's children and subject them to the pain and fear that she feels around him.
It would be another reminder that he owns her life and she has no control.
Sancta Maria…
Hatred and fear burn. If she still had Mama's dagger, she'd slit Varga's throat before he could hurt anyone else.
But she'd be caught and immediately executed. As much as she detests Varga for his cruelty and herself for being a coward, she's too afraid to die.
She doesn't know how she can look God and Papa in the eye and explain why she gave up without sounding selfish.
That's because she is. She's thinking of her own survival rather than of others. After all, keeping their values had earned Papa and the others a death sentence.
Mater Dei…
Diego would be angry at her if he knew. He'd come for her sooner or later. He promised he'd protect her.
Indeed she tried to hold on to her sanity and escape whatever way she could. It had earned Varga's wrath and anger but she promised herself that sooner or later she and Diego would be reunited, forever free of Varga's wrath. Eventually, she chose to put on the mask of faithful and obedient spouse in the hopes Varga would see her as less of a threat and give her more opportunity.
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus…
But days turned into weeks.
Weeks into months.
Now a whole year has gone by and she's still trapped with Varga. No opportunities have come and she fears Zorro has forgotten about her.
Nuc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen…
At least he's not dead. She'd know if he was. Varga would never stop bragging about it. Like when he captured her long ago…
She detests lying and fears that she's becoming the character she's pretending to be.
How did Diego do it with Papa? She remembers how hurt he was that he couldn't tell his own father the truth about Zorro. Then again, he had her and Bernardo there to keep him sane.
Who does she have? No one.
Isadora is long gone, there's no need for her to be there seeing as her charge is now married. Esperanza doesn't want to know if Varga had sent her off to a convent somewhere or had her killed. Neither would surprise her.
Tía Marcella vanished, rumors abound that she's working with the rebels. Esperanza hopes that's the case.
Bernardo and Garcia fled along with Zorro…don't think of him! Esperanza reminds herself, feeling a tear slip down her cheek.
She won't cry in front of Varga. She knows how much he enjoys seeing her in distress.
But she feels her resolve slipping away.
Maybe she should just admit the truth now.
Help is never coming.
What's the point of hoping anymore?
Pray, mi chiquita. She hears Papa's voice in her head. Ask our Holy Mother to intercede.
She's said over a million prayers and shed many more silent tears. What's one more? Esperanza bitterly thinks. Probably never going to get answered anyway.
Ave Maria…
Help me.
Varga watches Esperanza pray. She's trying to keep a serene look on her face. But he sees the tear falling down her face. He knows that she's trying to not cry in front of him.
He feels his smile grow wider. It's been a good year. Everything he and the others have worked have come to pass.
A fruitful and prosperous kingdom.
A luxurious and comfortable hacienda.
A beautiful and submissive wife.
Esperanza continues to finger the black beads, a lock of black hair falls across her still face.
True, she was insubordinate the first few months after their marriage. She tried to escape and pleaded for mercy for whatever captured rebels she could. He had to teach her what it meant to be the Eagle's wife. Memories of the lessons make his ego bloom. It's more than paid off.
She's proving to be such a tending and submissive wife. True, she's still barren but she'll be carrying his son soon enough. Maybe by the end of the month…
Varga steps closer to her. Esperanza doesn't look up but he can tell from her trembling hands that she knows he's there.
This would make tonight enjoyable.
He can smell the rosewater she uses as a perfume along with the scent of those damn flowers. Varga doesn't understand why she loves those weeds. It's difficult to get rid of like those rebels.
Still…it's intoxicating.
Varga leans into her neck and begins kissing her. She flinches and tries moving her head away.
But she's never going to escape him. He's made sure that she knows that.
There's a sharp rapping on the doorpost. Varga groans and turns around. Just when he's able to enjoy some time alone with his wife… Standing in the doorway is a young mercenary. What was his name? Ramirez. That's it. "What is it?" He barks.
Ramirez's dark eyes flinch as he salutes. "Your Excellency, I'm sorry to disturb you and Señora Varga. But there's been an attack on the convoy." He holds up a piece of paper.
What?! Varga walks over, feeling his anger blooming. He rips the piece of paper from the young man's hands and studies it. The report is brief. Convoy of supplies attacked. Twelve men injured. Several supplies taken by rebels. One rebel killed.
Only one man had enough gall to attack him in broad daylight. The one who never seems to die despite Varga decimating his rebels left and right.
"Zorro!" Varga shouts, crumpling up the message and throwing it back at the young man. It harmlessly falls to the floor. "I ordered you to take any rebels alive! This was our one chance to figure out where they're hiding!"
"I'm sorry, Your Excellency but I'm just the messenger." Ramirez says.
God, he's surrounded by incompetence! Varga grabs the young man by the collar and holds him up to his face. "Young man, you will do exactly as you're ordered…"
There's a noise of rustling fabric and the sound of someone walking over. A hand touches his shoulder. "José, maybe he doesn't know anything." Esperanza begs.
He can hear Greco's voice on her words. Greco, the traitorous toady who told him that everything was failing. The one who ended up with a bullet in his back.
And like Greco, he's going to make sure she learns her lesson.
He lets go of Ramirez. "Get out of my sight and don't bother me again unless and until you've captured a rebel. Alive." He says. "Entendido?!"
Ramirez salutes and runs out of there.
Now they are alone.
Varga closes the door before he turns to Esperanza. She cowers into a nearby corner.
The fear in her green eyes is satisfying.
He's going to enjoy every moment of this.
The sun has gone down and the moon rising as footsteps run up to Zorro. Drawing his rapier, he whips around. Too many close calls have resulted in him being ready at all times.
Standing there is Bernardo, his clothes as neatly tended to as possible. He looked at Diego in surprise and fight. "Bernardo! Oh good God, you scared me!" Zorro said, sheathing his rapier.
His heart pounded. He could have killed one of the few friends he had left.
Don't think about that. Figure out what's going on. Zorro tells himself.
Bernardo patted his shoulder, a sympathetic look in his eye. He knew what he was asking without him having to sign anything. "Yes. I was thinking of her. But enough about that. What's going on?"
Bernardo points down to the small shack Zorro had built as his headquarters and sleeping bunk. Zorro can see that there are a couple of unfamiliar horses standing there by Tornado. Fear pricks at him. Was it possible Varga and his men had found a way through the maze? He doubts they'd be able to survive another attack. "Who is it?"
Bernardo pulls an invisible hood over his face. "They're cloaked." Zorro says. Bernardo nods and points at him. "And they'll only reveal themselves if they see me." Bernardo nods again and holds his palms up, asking him what he's going to do about it.
There was only thing he can do about it.
"I'll go down and see who it is." Zorro says as he begins walking down the hill.
He knows it could be a trap.
But that's why he has his rapier and pistols always at the ready.
He walks into the small shack. It's a far cry from the days where he was Don Diego. The pine wood walls are bare and gray. A lone cot sits in the corner, covered with an orange blanket. In the center of the room, bathed by the light of a whale oil lamp, is a large table covered with battle plans and maps.
Garcia and two other rebels are standing beside the two cloaked figures, pointing their pistols at them as a reminder to not move. As standard procedure called, burlap sacks cover the guest's heads. "Have they said anything?" Zorro asks.
"No, Señor Zorro. They've been silent since they've arrived." Garcia says. "I have no idea how they knew the code word to get through."
Zorro touches the handle of his holstered pistol. Please God, let them be friends…he didn't want to take care of them if they weren't.
But if it called for it…
"Remove the sacks." Zorro orders.
The rebels nod and pull the hoods off of the heads of the two. Their hoods are down, covering their faces completely. Zorro pulls out his pistol, feeling his hazel eyes furrow. "I was told you wanted to see me." He asks in a firm voice. "Who are you and whose side are you on."
"Yours, Señor Zorro." The shorter of the two figures speaks. His voice is so familiar.
No…Zorro thinks.
It can't be.
Garcia's eyes and mouth widen in shock as the two men lower their hoods. Zorro recognizes them instantly.
Reddish-brown hair and deep blue eyes. Graying gold hair and light green eyes.
"Capitán Toledano! Your Excellency!" Garcia says, quickly saluting.
"At your service." The Viceroy says, looking at Zorro with a smile.
A/N: Yeah, as I warned, probably my darkest story yet…hope this proves to be a good one!
