April 29, 1813

Diego had a peaceful night. Felipe himself woke three or four times, but each time he checked, Diego was deeply asleep. In the morning the room was cold again, which meant that at some point Diego had been uncomfortable enough to open the window. Still, he hadn't been troubled enough to disturb Felipe's light sleep.

Despite this encouraging start, the day wasn't particularly good. The house was bustling as the staff got ready for the party. It was a huge, joyous occasion: Don Alejandro's celebration, welcoming his sons home from Europe. Except as far as Felipe could see, Don Alejandro spent the day avoiding Diego. They were hardly in the same room together, and even when they were, Don Alejandro wouldn't--quite--look at his son.

As for his part, Diego was...quiet. Felipe was sure he wasn't feeling ill or weak: he knew what that looked like. No. But he was withdrawn and uninterested. Felipe tried clowning around and practicing magic tricks. He tried asking questions about horse training. He produced a strange, orange rock from the ravine that he'd been keeping in his room because it was pretty. Nothing held Diego's attention for more than two or three minutes.

Felipe wanted to shake him. He wanted to say, "I can't play the piano either. It's not the end of the world." He wanted to say, "You're here with us, and we love you. Why does anything else matter?" He didn't.

Finally, after lunch, in an act of desperation, he retrieved a kitten from the barn. The kitten was too young to wean, and Felipe earned himself a scratch from its mother. He set the kitten in Diego's lap.

Diego lifted it up in one hand and gazed into the round, blue eyes. He glanced at Felipe. "Where is her mother?"

"In the barn," Felipe signed.

Diego frowned. He turned the kitten over and ran a finger along its belly. It grabbed his hand and fastened tiny needle teeth on his knuckle. "I don't see anything wrong? Why...?" he stopped and glanced at Felipe again. Removing his hand from the tiny jaws he slowly said, "Do I seem in such terrible...yes, I suppose I do." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't wish to worry you. I wish I knew what else to say, but I find--" he glanced up and Felipe followed his eyes to see the fireplace door open.

Diego winced dramatically at Gilberto and held up the kitten. Gilberto frowned for a moment, not understanding whatever message Diego intended, then nodded at Felipe. Diego sighed and set the kitten in his lap.

"Well," Gilberto said. "You never used to be moody. He's never seen you bitter and feeling sorry for yourself. Although--I have to admit, it's been nearly a day this time. I'm beginning to worry myself."

"Not you, too...." Diego clinched his teeth. "I apologize if my 'moodiness' is inconvenient. Given what I am facing, I don't think a couple of days brooding are completely unwarranted."

Felipe gave Gilberto a furious look and signed a frantic apology at Diego. Gilberto ignored Felipe and said calmly, "It's not inconvenient. It's terrifying."

"It's unanimous, then. How nice that we all agree."

Gilberto opened his mouth. Then he shut it and turned on his heel. His retreat made it as far as a hand on the mantle before he turned back and folded his arms.

The argument that passed between them was so motionless that Felipe couldn't follow it. Diego looked away first. "I don't know," he whispered sadly.

"All right," Gilberto answered. "You don't know. You don't have to know. Just...try. For me. For him. For Father. Just try."

Diego dropped his eyes. Seeing the kitten, he took it into the palm of his hand and ran a single finger along the fuzzy jaw. "She's hungry, Felipe," he said heavily. "Take her back to her mother."

Felipe was calm and steady until he got the kitten out of the room. That was as far as he made it. Out of sight of the twins, he sank into a chair and pressed a hand over his eyes to keep the tears in.

Around the corner Gilberto said, "It was kittens on the ship, wasn't it?"

"The ship's cat had littered. It was the first time I got him to smile....I didn't think he remembered."

Felipe hadn't. Held the tiny ball of fur to his chest and crept back to the barn.

z

The guests began to arrive in the late afternoon. Some had traveled several hours by carriage. They were shown to guest rooms to refresh themselves. Don Alejandro, Gilberto, and Diego, all in their best clothing, greeted the guests. They were polite and warm, and if Gilberto tended to hover at Diego's side...probably nobody noticed but Felipe.

Felipe himself was staying out of the way. Even during this huge celebration, he had no duties except to be available to Diego, but he could do that from a spot in the corner. The house was filling with people he barely knew, many of whom were wealthy or well-thought-of. And while none of them were grander than the de le Vegas, all of them were grander than Felipe.

The kitchen perfumed the whole house with the enticing scents of roasting venison, tamales, fish stew, corn soup, wheat pastries, saffron rice....Felipe couldn't remember there ever being this much food, not even for the Day of the Dead or when they broke the fast at Easter. Don Alejandro was absolutely determined to celebrate the homecoming of his children.

By the early evening guests were arriving every few minutes. Felipe began to notice that Gilberto was growing more and more irritated by...something, while Diego--every time Don Alejandro showed guests on into the house, Diego's polite smile would turn to a smirk. While it was a relief to see his mood lighten, Felipe could not figure out what it was that pleased him so.

Don Sebastian--who lived only a half hour away--arrived in the company of his wife and a niece from Santa Barbara. The niece was pretty. She smelled sweet. She was wearing a confection of lace and cream silk. She smiled very coyly at Gilberto and eyed him over her fan--and Diego took a step back and turned his face away. Felipe, from his vantage point, could see him press his lips fiercely together.

Oh. Gilberto was handsome and intelligent and the oldest son of a very, very rich family. Tonight's party would be a battle for his attention. Felipe had to look away to hide his own smile.

But although it clearly was funny, Felipe couldn't have explained why. Gilberto would have his pick of eligible women, surely an enviable position. Lots of men had a hard time finding wives. Maybe it was funny because not all of the girls were pretty and some were unkind or stupid? Maybe it was funny because he could only choose one, and the others would have to be fended off?

Senorita Victoria arrived from the pueblo with Senor Estevez and his wife. She was angry about something. It spilled from her in waves, even as she curtsied formally to Don Alejandro and smiled at the twins. Diego leaned down to say something to her, and Felipe saw her answer, "Something that is apparently not appropriate to discuss at a festive occasion." She looked very sour as she glanced after Senor Estevez.

Don Alejandro said something then, and Senorita Victoria's anger softened to sadness. "Our alcalde has arrested three young men for sedition. He is going to whip them tomorrow, publicly. To make an example, he will do it himself." She bit her lip unhappily. "They're practically boys--just a couple of years older than Felipe over there. And the 'sedition' was calling the alcalde a dirty name. He's giving them six lashes each."

Don Alejandro patted her hand and said something that made her sigh. He pulled her aside and the two murmured together for a moment. The look they were sharing was one Felipe had seen many times in the months since Luis Ramone had arrived to take command of the garrison.

z

The party was splendid. Tables had been set up in the courtyard--the only place large enough to accommodate so many. They'd put out excellent de le Vega wine, and Don Sebastian and Don Carlos had each made gifts of their best as well. The food--platter after platter of it--streamed endlessly from the kitchen. And when the meal was done, the tables would be taken away, and the courtyard was filled with musicians and dancing. For light there were dozens of colored lanterns, and small firepots had been set out for warmth. Between the kitchen garden and the bunkhouse the vaqueros were roasting a pig. Every room was full of people laughing and talking or singing or teasing. Felipe found it completely overwhelming. He kept finding himself edging closer to Diego.

During the meal, Diego sat between Gilberto and one of the young women who was pursuing him. Initially, he sat back and watched with a little amusement while she tried to alternately tease and flatter his brother. At some point during the main course, though, he seemed to grow tired of the game--or perhaps Gilberto had petitioned him for help, because Diego shifted forward to block her view. In a very few minutes their conversation first distracted and then deflated her. She turned away and gave her attention to the person on her other side. Gilberto gave Diego a grateful look.

After dinner, Diego settled himself in a wingback chair in the parlor. He had apparently decided to gracefully play the role of serene invalid. Although guests came and went, paying their respects, the people seated with him were two elderly women and three girls only a year older than Felipe. To the indulgent amusement of the women, Diego patiently began to teach the girls English drafts. One could already play, but her strategy was execrable. Diego, with amazing forbearance, corrected mistakes and explained tactics and laughed at their jokes. Felipe had no idea how he stood it: was there any creature more boring than a fourteen year-old girl? At a formal party in the city, you wouldn't even bring them along.

But then, Diego had always had an extraordinary amount of patience for the dull, the powerless, the unimportant. Felipe would know that better than anyone.

Hot, his head aching from the noise and the smells, Felipe slipped out into the lee between the house and the barn. It was cooler here. And quiet. Well, quieter. The music and laughing was a senseless roar behind him. He wondered if hearing was such an exhausting chore for everyone. He wondered when he would get used to it...if he would. He leaned his head back against the wall and whished he had some water.

He shouldn't stay long. Diego was alone.

The sound of footsteps, very close, made him shift sideways, deeper into the shadows. He didn't want to speak to anyone or see anyone or hear any questions or accept any sympathy.

"People will talk about this party for years," a man was saying. "I haven't seen the like since I left Mexico City."

"Oh, yes. A magnificent party. I, certainly, will never forget it." Don Alejandro's voice. Felipe cringed inwardly and pushed himself against the wall. He didn't want to hear this conversation, but most of all he didn't want to join it, so he stayed still.

"What could you do?" And if Don Alejandro was speaking so openly the second voice must belong to Don Carlos. "You could hardly pretend they never left? You had to celebrate."

"It feels like a funeral banquet. Diego....Santa Maria, what a good, bright child he was. Absolutely blessed. Ah, Carlos...what I don't understand...I don't understand, if someone has to die...why isn't it me? I've had a good life. Diego had so much ahead of him."

"Well. Don't look at me. I drove Rosalita away--we both know I'm a jackass. I have no children, no sons. I've never done anything worth...anything. Most days I envy you." He shrugged. "Clearly not today."

Like a released spring, Don Alejandro spun around and shoved Don Carlos hard. He tripped and caught himself on a hitching post. "So?" he asked.

"So!" Don Alejandro snarled. "You are still a jackass." He laughed once, bitterly. "But you are also right. There is no cure for birth or death but to live between them."

"You got the quotation wrong."

"I did not--! Ah, Diego....Diego would know."

There was a little silence. The breeze stirred the bushes.

"You said he thinks he might live a long time with his condition."

"Dr. Hernandez...disagrees."

"It's been four years, I admit....But it seems to me that Diego was usually right. About the most surprising things....he was right more often than not."

It was a long time before Don Alejandro answered that. "He suffers so. He is frustrated...and he is afraid."

"Then he will need you to be very strong."

"Ai! Are you drunk? You are never wise when you're sober, you old jackass."

"Go to your guests. Smile at your sons. Celebrate."

Felipe stayed still until they were gone. He felt guilty--partly for eavesdropping, but mostly not. If you were going to hear personal, painful things, it was much better not to get caught. But he should not have been away from Diego so long.

Diego was still in the parlor. They had moved on from the board game and one of the girls was playing the piano. Felipe's stomach clinched as he glanced down at the repaired stool. It seemed unfair, that Diego should have to listen to someone else play the piano.

He didn't seem particularly put out or unhappy, though. Possibly because the chair beside him was now occupied by Victoria Escalante. Diego was staring straight ahead, but his attention was clearly on her.

The girl at the piano wasn't very good. At least, she didn't seem to be, from what Felipe had heard in the past year or so. She was followed by one of the other girls...who was a little better. The room was growing more crowded and someone coaxed Don Armando into playing. Before he had heard Diego play, Felipe had thought Don Armando was quite good.

As Don Armando's first piece finished Senorita Victoria laid a hand on Diego's arm and leaned over and said something in his ear. Felipe saw Diego answer that it would be a pleasure. His rise was slow but graceful, and he formally offered Victoria his arm.

Outside, there was a pause in the music and dancing, but courtyard was still crowded. Diego led her around the edge and through the small gate into the low-walled kitchen garden. Felipe followed at a short distance. He needed to be available, but he didn't want to embarrass Diego by obviously watching over him.

Senorita Victoria sighed and turned to look back at the lanterns, the decorations, the elegantly dressed guests. "It is such a beautiful night."

"Yes," Diego answered wryly, gazing up, into the darkness pushed away by the lights. "One of the conveniences of California. No matter the date or what you are celebrating, the weather is cooperative."

Something in his answer made her look up and frown. "Diego?"

He regarded her blandly.

Her voice more hesitant, Senorita Victoria began again, "It was good to see you in town yesterday. I hope you enjoyed your lunch?"

"Yes, it was delicious," this answer was bland, too: polite and correct, but distant.

"I hope...that is, Sergeant Mendoza, he means well, I think. And he keeps his men in hand, which I deeply appreciate," she paused, but when Diego didn't respond, she continued, "as you can imagine. But. He is not always...Well, sometimes he is blunt. Or unkind. Without meaning to be--"

Frowning, Diego peered down at her. "What are you talking about? What about Mendoza?"

"I only meant, if he said something yesterday, at lunch, that...well that offended you somehow....I wanted to tell you not to take it too closely to heart."

She had his full--if puzzled--attention. Finally. "Why would you think Mendoza offended me, Senorita?"

"Well, you were just in such a good mood yesterday. And today, here we are at a party and...." she shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable under his unblinking gaze. "I thought, perhaps, well, it would not be the first time he said something thoughtlessly."

"No. No, I found his company very pleasant. Instructive, even."

"Only....It seems to me...that you are very unhappy about something, Don Diego?"

Wearily, Diego turned half-away and rested his hands on the wall. "What do you want from me, Senorita?"

She took a step back. "What do I want from you? You're my friend. I want--" She stopped, suddenly. Her back stiffened with suspicion. "You were my friend when you left, but perhaps Spain changed you." She took another step backward and visibly shored up her dignity. "You were in Madrid for a long time. Maybe you're not the sort of man who has friends in the middle classes now. Or maybe it's women who are now beneath your notice?"

Diego's head snapped up and he gaped at her in unconcealed shock.

"Or perhaps you have decided I'm not the right sort of woman. You wouldn't be the first."

"Victoria!" Diego gasped. "I--no." He broke off helplessly. "I." Felipe had never seen Diego at a loss for words. It would have been funny, if he hadn't looked completely devastated.

"I would have minded my own business, if you'd asked me, but instead you're suddenly so polite--" she all but spat the word out, as though it tasted terrible.

"Victoria, no. no. I...." He made a grab for her hand, thought better of it and clasped his own hands together. "Senorita, you are in no way responsible for my truly foul mood. You have not offended me, and I regard your friendship with the same...do you really believe that I think you're...you're beneath me? In any way?"

She dropped her eyes. "Before tonight I would have said no. Of course not. But I scarcely seem to know you tonight. I've been trying to talk to you for half an hour, and you have been so polite and so...cold." She put a few more feet between them and opened her fan; not to fan herself, but to hide behind. In a small voice, she added, "Your friendship means a great deal to me."

He rested his forearms on the low wall and bowed his head. "And...and to me. Forgive me, Victoria. I...I can see how offensive my behavior seems. As my brother tried to point out earlier today, I am very unpleasant when I'm feeling sorry for myself. It was nothing to do with you."

Slowly, she stepped a little closer and closed the fan. She leaned on the wall beside him and rested her chin on her hand. After a while she said, "Because you're ill."

"Yes."

She looked, studying the top of wall as though it were very interesting or beautiful. "Well. I have nothing comforting or reassuring or...philosophical to tell you. I'm not very wise. I suppose...I should say something pious. And I--I do believe that my parents are waiting, in heaven. And your mother. And, surely, Diego, if there is anyone who has a place--" She stopped and shook her head. Felipe thought she might be about to cry, which was an offense he was going to hold against her. But just then Diego laughed.

He laughed loudly enough that several of the nearer guests turned to look. Senorita Victoria swatted him on the arm with her fan. "Have you lost your mind?" she hissed.

Still laughing, Diego held up his hands in surrender. "It was such a nice compliment. A bit extravagant, perhaps, but you're the first person to claim I was a saint." He laughed again. "Really, I'm touched."

She scowled at him. "Saint? You are a devil! It's not funny."

Diego's laughter softened to something more serious. "No. I suppose it's not."

"No--wait." She started to reach for his hand and then froze. "Don't. Laugh if you want to. I didn't mean...just...laugh if you want to."

Diego's only answer was to take her hand. It wasn't the formal gesture of a gentleman addressing a lady, but two children clinging to one another. The stood that way, silently, for a long time.

The musicians returned from their break. People began dancing again. Felipe sat cross-legged on the ground next to the gate. From his position he could see both the party and Diego, who was safe enough where he was. And content, at least as much as he was going to be.

Another dance started. Felipe wondered how anyone could remember to move their feet, when the music itself was so distracting.

"I suppose you saw people waltzing, when you were in Madrid?" Senorita Victoria said, thoughtfully.

Felipe couldn't see Diego's answer, but Senorita Victoria's eyes widened. "How scandalous! And you practically a saint, and everything."

Diego drew himself up primly. "The church doesn't forbid it in Europe!"

"Oh. There is that, I suppose. Still...is it as bad as people say?"

He nodded cheerfully. "Every bit." His smile faded. "I'm sorry, Victoria. I can't ask you to dance."

She blushed and glanced away before stammering, "I--I would have declined anyway. I mean...these shoes. They're so uncomfortable. I can barely walk, I'm sure I couldn't... dance."

"And here I let you stand so long," Diego said, not acknowledging the kindness she had pretended he didn't need. "Here." He lifted her neatly to sit on the wall.

For a moment, she looked startled and pleased. Then it was gone, and so was the brief regret that had chased it away. "Oh! Look who's dancing with Dona Isabella. Don Bernardo--"

"Oh, yes. I remember. He was trying to press his suit when I left--don't tell me she still hasn't--"

"Not yet. Perhaps she thinks it's unseemly...at their age. I think they're adorable."

They gossiped for a while, easily picking up threads of the endless web of observations and assumptions that ordered life in a small community. Felipe had heard it all before. He leaned his head against the gate post and listened to the music instead.

When, sometime later, a hand closed around his arm, he jumped. Senorita Victoria was leaning over him, her face serious. "Diego has asked for you," she said. "He seems very tired. I'm a little worried."

Nodding to show he understood, Felipe leapt to his feet. Pushing past her, he paused to sign a hurried thank-you and rushed on.

Diego had stepped into the shadow of a rose arbor. "I'm not ill," he answered Felipe's worried look. "Just...suddenly exhausted."

"Bed?" Felipe asked.

Diego nodded, and Felipe led him around the edges of the party and in through the kitchen door. Inside, in the light, Diego didn't look too pale, but he was drawn with fatigue. Felipe led him down the back hall and into his bedroom.

Many of the guests would be staying the night. A few who had traveled most of the day would go to the homes of nearer neighbors and some would stay up and party all night, but to accommodate the rest, families would be sharing the bedrooms here. Even Don Alejandro's own room was to be used. In fact, the only room that wasn't included in the sleeping arrangements was Diego's--and even he would be sharing with Gilberto, assuming that Gilberto actually planned to sleep at all.

Felipe set the candle on the table and guided Diego into the comfortable chair. Diego didn't protest when Felipe helped him change and then tucked him in to bed. In fact, as he settled back into the pillows, he was still holding Felipe's hand. And he didn't let go. Felipe snared the stool with his foot and dragged it over so he could sit down. The candle was on the other side of the bed, but there was no help for it. He let it burn.

He wasn't particularly tired. It couldn't be very late. Well, later than he was usually awake, but still nothing like the night they'd stayed up building Zorro's glider. The musicians were still playing outside, so people were still dancing. Nobody had left yet. Anyway, looking after Diego wasn't very taxing, as work went. There just wasn't that much to do. Felipe wasn't sleepy....

He began to pray. He wondered--he frequently did--if the prayers worked better in Latin. He wondered if it mattered, that he couldn't speak them at all. He wondered why God had allowed this terrible illness to seize Diego, when there were so many evil men who deserved to suffer, so many no one would miss.

The candle had burned low when the door opened slowly and Gilberto slipped in. Silently, he stripped off his boots, jacket, and sash, and crept across the room in his stocking feet. He twitched aside the curtain and nodded when he found the windows completely closed. He turned and studied Diego thoughtfully.

"I'm fine," Diego said quietly. He freed the hand that Felipe was still holding and opened his eyes. "I just needed to lie down for a while. How much have you had to drink?"

Gilberto growled irritably. "Firstly, Little Brother, I am not an idiot. I've had enough to be a little sleepy and not enough to give me a hangover. Believe me, I have the sense not to go out tomorrow indisposed. Secondly, will you stop being such an old woman! You worry about every little thing. Yes, I am sober."

Diego turned his face away and said something too quietly for Felipe to hear. Perhaps that had been deliberate, because whatever the words were they completely incensed Gilberto, who shoved past Felipe and grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "And you're asking if I'm drunk? What have you been drinking? How could you say something so purely stupid--"

Gilberto was huge--nearly as tall as Diego and every bit as broad. Felipe grabbed him from behind anyway and tried to pull him away. It was like trying to shift a tree. Gilberto turned on him and pushed him back onto the stool. "Oh, no. Sit down and I'll tell you what he said. He said I had to be careful because I was all Father had left."

Felipe's eyes darted to Diego's face. Diego did not deny it.

"Giving up so easily? That odd doctor you liked so much said you had every chance to see forty or even forty-five. You're as likely to be burying him as...."

"Yes," Diego said tightly. "What a lovely idea. A nice, long, pointless life. I'm useless to my community, a burden to my family--"

"Just how do you expect me to manage this Zorro scheme without you?" Gilberto asked incredulously.

Felipe barely heard him. A huge and terrible wave of...something was washing over him. It was cold and empty and terrifying. Fumbling, he pushed between the twins and signed at Diego, "I need you. I need you. I don't know how to be a man. You were...teaching me...Diego...." The wave didn't recede. It inundated everything, filled his lungs so he couldn't breathe, filled is brain so he couldn't think, filled his throat so it burned.

Diego closed his eyes.

"Oh yes. Close your eyes so you can't hear him. Well, you brought the little pest home, and he isn't nearly grown up yet. He's your responsibility."

Oh, yes, Felipe thought, Oh, yes. Gilberto had understood. The courage Diego didn't have anymore for himself he could find for the people who loved him. Help me. Make him listen. But Gilberto was silent, and Felipe gave him an angry look. When he turned back to Diego, though, he understood why Gilberto had relented. He had stopped fighting because they'd already won. Two slow tears slid free and left shining tracks on Diego's cheeks.

Gilberto climbed the rest of the way onto the bed and seated himself at the headboard beside Diego. He put an arm around his brother and produced a handkerchief. "I know what we're asking. The courage and forbearance you've already shown....I know, I know. But, Diego, you aren't alone. You don't have to face this alone."

Diego wiped his eyes and then reached for Felipe with his free hand. "I feel so....helpless. It is difficult to imagine anyone so desperate as to need me." He tried to smile it into a joke, but Gilberto had to carry it for him:

"I was desperate enough to fly in an artificial bird you'd never tested at full size. That should have made the point right then."

Felipe tapped Diego's hand until he opened his eyes. "Not all of the days are bad," he signed. "I've seen you...happy."

"And there are more good days now then bad. I know, Diego, it has already been so long. But you're still getting stronger." He sighed. "Enough. This kind of upset, it won't help you at all. Are you calm enough? Or should I dose you."

Diego's eyes popped open. "Not tonight. Tomorrow, I'll need a clear head...is the saddle ready?"

"Almost."

"I can finish it tomorrow while you're at mass. I'll plead exhaustion, no one will question it."

"As though I would let you go, anyway. But it is convenient. I'll race home directly after to 'check on you.' It's the only way I can see to manage the timing."

Felipe tapped the bed. "What are you talking about?"

Gilberto smiled broadly. "Zorro has an appointment tomorrow; he's going to see a man about a whipping."

Oh. Good.

"And speaking of, I'd like a little sleep between now and then. Put out the light and go to bed. If we need you, I'll call."

TBC