The Emissary
For most of the last decade, Alta California had been subject to a long parade of officials who were cruel, criminally incompetent, corrupt or all three: military commanders, lieutenant governors, alcaldes, royal emissaries, tax collectors....Even with such illustrious company, though, Alejandro thought this Gilberto Resendo stood out. He seemed to have no scruples, no pity, and no respect for either God or man.
Alejandro would have been more confident of the people's ability to protect themselves from Emissary Resendo if he had some idea what exactly the man wanted. As it was, his behavior was brutal and destructive, but erratic. The odd game he was playing with Alcalde de Soto was cruel and pointless. Publically humiliating and challenging the caballeros eroded potential allies. Evicting Alejandro's own family from their home and then giving it back a couple of days later made him look frankly foolish. All these unsubtle acts seemed oddly random. There was no plan or goal Alejandro could detect. Judging from his actions...it seemed as though Resendo's only goal was to bring as much pain as possible to everyone in the territory, particularly the de le Vega family.
And surely no one would be mad enough to sail from Spain halfway across the world for that.
This latest gambit suggested otherwise. The letter Resendo had arranged for Alejandro to 'find' appeared to be in Diego's own hand, so some trouble had gone into its creation. If the contents hadn't been so wildly absurd....
Alejandro and his son had clearly been carefully and specifically targeted. Could Resendo see them as a particularly dangerous threat? Could he know something of Diego's illegal activities and mysterious resources?
No. If Resendo had had any evidence--or even a credible suspicion--that Diego was in league with radicals or revolutionaries or Zorro, he would simply have denounced him and had him shot. Resendo had the authority to order summary executions. So, no. This attack was not motivated by some worry that Diego was an obstacle to his plans--whatever they were--for the pueblo.
Oh, but the pure malice behind this letter was frightening. The letter appeared to be from Diego to the governor, appealing for help because his father was becoming too senile to manage his own affairs. It was obvious, the grief this was intended to cause. If Alejandro had accepted it as authentic, it would have put a violent rift between them.
The only advantage they seemed to have was that Resendo didn't seem to know his enemies well enough to realize the ploy wouldn't work. Diego, for all his faults (and, honestly, Alejandro wasn't entirely sure what his son's faults actually were) could not be called disloyal. Or greedy or cruel, for that matter. Resendo knew them well enough to target them specifically, but not well enough to identify their weaknesses. Thank God.
But this last escape did not mean that he wouldn't try again. He certainly would.
Arson? A poisoned well? There were too many ways a man who had no scruples could make war on the estate.
If the primary target were Diego then at least his weaknesses were less obvious: Felipe. Victoria. The great royal emissary was far to arrogant to notice a servant or a tavern owner, at least not as leverage against a caballero. Everyone in the pueblo knew she could be used against Zorro, but he had already played that card.
Now that he thought about it, though, Alejandro realized that Diego had so many dear friends that Resendo could make a day of it: Sergeant Mendoza, Padre Benitez, Jose Macias, the Neilsons...of all of them, only the priest was untouchable. Sergeant Mendoza was already at Resendo's non-existent mercy, Jose was a poor farmer, the Neilsons were foreigners. Any of them would be helpless against the whim of a Royal Emissary.
He needed to speak to Diego. He returned to the house, but his son wasn't there. Felipe denied any knowledge of where he might be or what he might be doing. This was not the day for a confrontation about their secrets, irksome as it was to be kept in the dark. As urgently as he wanted to be involved in doing something useful.
He hoped Diego was doing something useful.
Restless, he returned to town. Things there had reached a new level of tension. Early that morning Resendo's contingent of Royal Guard had captured Toronado. Everyone was waiting for Zorro to mount a rescue. The peons were circumspect in their eagerness to watch their local hero put this harsh interloper in his place. The other caballeros were, for the most part, watchful. Feelings were running high and if the emissary vented his anger on the villagers when Zorro got the better of him, or if Zorro were--God forbid--to lose this fight, the response from the people might quickly get out of hand.
When the end came--only an hour or so later--it was almost an anticlimax. Zorro fought with Resendo, but on the roof of the cuartel where they couldn't easily be seen. And the end--
Zorro didn't humiliate or restrain the Resendo, he actually killed him. As much of a relief as that was, as much as the worried townspeople were glad, everyone was shocked. Zorro didn't kill. Zorro didn't have to. Zorro didn't believe in it.
The fact that it had been an accident, that Resendo had apparently overreached himself and stumbled on a loose tile on the cuartel roof, hardly eased the shock. Murmuring, the townspeople watched as the Royal Guard collected the body and locked themselves inside the cuarel.
Then de Soto declared it a holiday and the celebration began. Alejandro stayed for a couple of hours, sitting quietly in a corner of the tavern, watching to see if things were likely to get out of hand, waiting for Diego to show up, since he often did after things settled down.
It was dusk when Diego and Felipe finally appeared. It was clear that Diego had been up to something: his eyes were shadowed and his face was pale and he seemed unhappy and distracted. He danced once with Victoria and drank two cups of wine and then suggested they go home.
It was on the way home that he noticed that Felipe was unhappy and worried as well. Alejandro asked him what was wrong, but of course the boy shrugged and shook his head. Clearly, whatever Diego had been doing had not gone well. Also clearly, the death of the emissary had not solved all of their problems. He followed them into the library, wishing he could put off this discussion, but convinced he dare not.
"Diego--" He broke off as his son turned slowly. These last few days seemed to have worn him down. It was tempting to delay showing him the letter, at least until they'd all gotten a good night's sleep, but he couldn't bring himself to hide this from Diego. He drew the letter from his pocket. "There are a number of questions still unanswered. Whatever Gilberto Resendo was doing in Las Angeles, it wasn't the king's business."
Diego scowled. "I should hope not. What he did here--"
"Look. He was trying to destroy us." Alejandro held out the paper.
Diego took it and unfolded it carefully, his eyes scanning the page. After a moment he gasped and took an actual step backwards. "Father, you can't possibly believe--"
"Certainly not!" Alejandro answered at once. "Not for one moment did I think you wrote that."
Felipe stepped toward Diego, signing worriedly. Diego passed him the letter. Felipe read it, then glanced at Alejandro out of the corner of his eye.
"No," he repeated. "It didn't fool me. Never."
Diego took the letter back. "I don't understand. What would driving a wedge between us accomplish?"
Felipe signed something to Diego.
"I didn't follow that," Alejandro admitted.
"He said that was what Resendo did--sow distrust and resentment."
Alejandro shook his head worriedly. "I hope his plans died with him. We can only guess what he set in motion."
Z
After Diego and his father retired, Felipe retrieved the cactus tea Diego had refused earlier and warmed it up with hot water from the kitchen. He found Diego at the desk in his sitting room cutting the blood-stiffened bandage off his arm. He smiled reassuringly at Felipe and reached for the poultice. "Father didn't mention that Zorro had been shot. Perhaps no one realizes."
Felipe put down the cup and sarcastically signed, "Lucky for us."
"I'm sorry," Diego said patiently. "The Royal Guard are better shots than Mendoza's men."
Felipe took the roll of muslin from him and began to wrap the wounded arm. His fingers fumbled badly and he nearly dropped the bandage. Diego watched him thoughtfully as Felipe finished and tied it off.
"You've been jumpy since we took the hacienda back from Resendo, Felipe."
He shrugged and handed Diego the tea.
Diego put it down. "Felipe, did something happen while the emissary was here?"
It was a stupid question and didn't deserve an answer. Felipe pointed at the cup.
Diego ignored him. "What did Resendo and the lieutenant do while they were here? What happened?"
As quickly as possible, Felipe answered, "They drank the wine. They walked around in dirty boots. They broke some things."
"I'm sure I broke more during the fight."
"He found your paintings. He took them out and burned them."
"Not--not the ones of Victoria."
Felipe shook his head. All the pictures of Victoria were kept in the cave. To have Diego found pining for her would be awkward to say the least. "I'm sorry."
Diego quelled his temper. "I can make more paintings, Felipe. I'm asking if he hurt you."
Felipe lifted his chin and reminded Diego that he had seen what had happened.
"I saw him shout at you. I saw him shove you and grab you. I'm asking if--if anything worse happened."
Felipe shrugged. "Not worse."
Diego closed his eyes briefly. "What about Maria? Constanza? Martina?"
"You saw what happened to your garden?" Felipe asked. A couple of guardsmen had walked their horses through the test garden, letting the animals snack on some of the young plants they hadn't trampled. "Martina yelled at them. She was hit."
"Nothing else? Any of you?"
"No. I promise."
Diego closed his eyes. "Thank you," he said. It sounded almost like a prayer.
Felipe started to reach for the tea and stopped. "It's strange," he signed. "Resendo took the art outside and burned it himself, but he was very angry about the garden and the floors. I don't understand."
"That is strange" Diego agreed. "My painting isn't that bad."
"Not funny," Felipe signed sourly.
"No, of course not. But the more we find out about this man....the idea that we left all of you here at the house with him suddenly seems like a very poor idea."
"I was watching," Felipe answered.
"And you're all right, which is more important." He took the tea and drained the cup. "Satisfied?"
Felipe fetched his nightshirt and handed it to him. Diego made a show of obediently changing and getting into bed. Knowing there was nothing else he could do, Felipe took the dirty cup and left.
The next day de Soto declared a holiday in the pueblo. Probably he was still sleeping off the effects of his party, which Diego said he found tasteless: Celebrating a death, surely that was almost as great a sin as the killing...or carrying a bitter hatred for a man who was dead.
Two men had already died fighting Zorro: Luis Ramone and the outlaw Saragosa, and Diego had grieved both times. Although Diego spent the day working--keeping himself busy--Felipe was sure he was suffering over Resendo's death too. It would have been better if Diego had rested that wounded arm, but he would have none of it. Felipe tried to get him to relax and then to talk and then finally to go speak to Father Benitez, but Diego only patted Felipe's shoulder and told him not to worry.
The next morning word came that there had been a terrible mistake and Resendo was still alive.
The vaqueros and the garrison soldiers (who rarely agreed on much) both wondered if witchcraft or demons might be involved. There was a strange women with him--she might be a witch.
Felipe's first response was relief: one less death for Diego to unjustly blame himself for, one less crime against Zorro in the eyes of the law.
His second response was a flash of regret that Felipe had not killed Resendo himself when he'd had the chance. He'd had weapons and was using them to distract the Royal Guard while Zorro made his escape. It would have been the work of a moment to put a musket ball into Gilberto Resendo, and all their problems would have ended then.
It lasted only a moment. Diego would be horrified if he found out that Felipe had thinking of cold blooded murder. The padre would be horrified at Felipe's next confession. Would he have to confess in detail, or did this count as 'wrath' and 'being tempted to violence?'
Resendo announced that he was willing to offer a truce to Zorro and called for a meeting outside of town. Felipe was disgusted that he would try something so crude and obvious. He was more disgusted that Diego was clearly going to take the offer.
"It's a trap!" Felipe gestured broadly. "You can't go. This is crazy."
"Of course it's a trap. But I'm not going to discover what his game is without springing it."
"On his terms? While you're wounded? It's mad to do this."
"Resendo is wounded as well," Diego answered. He seemed to think he was being reasonable.
"Don't go."
"While we are ignorant about his strategy or goals, we are at a disadvantage, I must--"
"Let him stew in the cuertel, wondering about your goals." Felipe argued while he rebound Diego's arm. He argued the whole time Zorro was dressing. He argued while saddling Toronado (which he briefly threatened not to do at all, but Diego pointed out that having to lift thirty pounds of tack would do his arm no good).
An hour and a half after Zorro rode out of the cave, a rider appeared speeding toward the front gate. Don Alejandro frowned and stood up slowly. "Is that Resendo?" he asked. "Better go inside, quickly. Prime a pistol, just in case. Hurry."
Constanza was washing the floor in the dining room. Remembering Diego's worries from the last time the emissary had been here he franticly signed, "Get out of sight. Run," as he turned in the other direction. Constanza dove toward the kitchen.
Felipe was just loading the pistol when Resendo caught him from behind. "Where is de le Vega?" he demanded. Felipe only cursed at him, but since Resendo couldn't read the sign, the meaning was lost. Resendo swung Felipe into the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him, tied his hands and feet with the silken rope that held the draperies, and stormed back toward the front of the house.
Felipe twisted, trying to free his hands. Zorro--had the offer of a truce just been a ruse to get Zorro out of the way while Resendo came to take care of his enemies? Or had he left Zorro to come here?
Diego would never have allowed this. Not if he was alive.
Felipe couldn't reach the ropes with his fingertips and he couldn't slip free. The slick material dug into his wrists, and his shoulders burned with the force of his struggles, but nothing gave.
Resendo was very nearly as good with a sword as Zorro--never mind that he had a small army behind him, never mind that he spoke with the voice of the king, never mind that death could not defeat him--and Alejandro was only 'competent' with a sword. Resendo would kill him.
Felipe kicked out franticly, which brought down small table and did nothing else.
"Felipe!"
Diego. Felipe threw himself sideways with a sob tearing out of his throat. Diego was already dropping down beside him. He looked exhausted and bruised. He hadn't even bothered to comb his hair after taking off the mask.
Felipe pulled back, shaking head desperately.
"Felipe-what--"
Outside. Go. Run. But the words caught in his throat, twisting him, choking him.
"Let me--"
Felipe jerked. "Outside. Now." A sob tore free. "Your father--"
Diego was already running.
Felipe sagged against the floor, his eyes drifting closed and releasing the tears that had been stuck before.
Diego might well have gone outside to find his father already dead.
Felipe struggled against his bonds again, his eyes on the doorway, wondering who would come, afraid that it would be Resendo.
It was Don Alejandro. He was bleeding from cuts on his arms, his legs. Too many: Resendo had played with him. Red spattered the carpet as he turned Felipe over and began to tug at the rope. After a long, terrible minute, he cursed and stormed around the corner into his office, returning with a dagger he used to saw at the ropes. "Diego is fighting Resendo. If he can hold him off for a few minutes--"
The ropes around Felipe's wrists gave and he reached for the ones binding his ankles. "He's mad, I think," Don Alejandro panted, hacking at the heavy chords, "Resendo. I don't understand." The last of the strands parted and Don Alejandro abandoned the dagger in favor of his dueling pistol and the powder.
In the doorway, Diego's father came to such a swift stop that Felipe nearly tripped over him. Diego and the emissary were caught in a fierce, desperate battle. The adobe walls rang with the force of their blows as they tore at one another. "Out of the way, Diego," Don Alejandro said, trying to sight on Resendo."
Diego's sword never faltered. "No, Father. He's mine." The anger, the pure spite in his voice--it scarcely sounded like Diego.
Surprisingly, Don Alejandro lowered the pistol and stepped back in confusion. Mouth open, he watched Diego dance behind a glittering wall of steel. It was a beautiful sight, even to Felipe who had seen it many times. But Don Alejandro had never seen it before. "He's magnificent," he gasped. "Felipe! Where did he learn to fight like that?"
Felipe couldn't even begin to answer.
Diego was angrier than Felipe had ever seen him, but he was controlling it. His attacks weren't wild, his defense was a shimmering waterfall. This was right. Resendo was good, but Diego was better. Even tired, even wounded, he could take him.
On the next pass they swung around and Diego's right arm turned toward them. The bullet wound in his arm had opened, staining the white linen shirt with a patch of red. "Dear God, he's been hit." Don Alejandro started to step forward, but Felipe caught him. Closer, they could only be a dangerous distraction.
And then suddenly the clash of steel sang wrong, and Resendo's sword was flying, and Resendo himself was awkwardly on his arse in the dust. Diego kicked the fallen sword away. "This is finished," he said.
Resendo glared spitefully up at him. "Go ahead. Kill me."
Diego ground his teeth. "Murder is a coward's solution." He sounded like he was reminding himself.
Resendo laughed. "Do you believe that? Really? I once told our father that you have much to learn about the world."
"Our father?"
Smiling, still so spiteful, Resendo replied, "That's right, Diego. You're my brother."
Don Alejandro had been right. Resendo was insane. As though anyone would believe Alejandro de le Vega had left the countryside littered with bastards! The pure madness of it made Felipe's breath catch.
"Brother?" Diego nearly laughed. "This is absurd."
"It's true." The woman's voice, cracking through the silent courtyard was so unexpected that everyone turned. A well-dressed matron stood at the main gate, flanked by two guardsmen. "What Gilberto says is true. I am Inez Resendo."
Don Alejandro took a step toward her and stumbled. He would have fallen if Felipe hadn't caught his arm. He looked positively ill. "Inez Resendo," he whispered.
"My mother," Resendo said. "The woman who raised me after you tossed me away."
"No," Don Alejandro whispered. "No. No."
"He was born two minutes before Diego. He is the true heir to your property."
Don Alejandro drew himself up. "I don't know who you are, Gilberto Resendo, and I also don't know what lies this woman has told you. If you had been my son, no power on earth could have taken you away from me."
Impatiently, Diego snapped, "If he had been your son, he would not have tried to kill you."
The woman stepped toward Diego. "He is your brother and he can prove it," she said haughtily. "You have a birthmark just there, on your inner thigh, in the shape of a cross"
Diego's sword flashed and Resendo's trousers parted to reveal a crossed stain that Felipe had seen before. Just there. On Diego's own leg.
Don Alejandro stepped back, choking in horror. Diego glanced at his father, and in that moment, Resendo slid a small pistol from his boot.
He pointed it squarely at Diego's head. At this distance even a small pistol couldn't miss. Smirking, Resendo glanced at Don Alejandro. ."You see father? Your precious, perfect, beloved son? Say goodbye, old man. And I have one more secret for you: when I kill Diego de le Vega, I also kill--"
The sound of a shot made them all jump--the front garden had been so quite and they had all been so transfixed on the drama before them. For half a second more, the silence resumed, and then Resendo gasped and fell backwards into the packed earth of the garden.
A small red stain began to spread, turning the brown dirt to red. Someone had shot Resendo.
Alcalde de Soto stepped unsteadily through the side gate. He glanced from the pistol in his hand to the body. "I...I had to do it. Didn't I? It was Resendo or Diego. I had to do it."
"My son!" The matron rushed forward, throwing herself down on the dusty courtyard. "Gilberto, Gilberto!"
Unsteadily, Don Alejandro dropped to the ground as well, reaching out with shaking hands.
Felipe spun and raced for the house. They kept a doctoring bag in the cave: a pouch that would fit in a saddle bag, with a sharp knife and tweezers, whiskey, an iron rod, rolls of bandages.
When Felipe came hurtling back out the front door, Resendo's body was motionless and abandoned, while Diego and the alcalde bodily held Don Alejandro back from the woman.
Felipe let the strap slide from his fingers. He looked down at the body, the brother--maybe the brother--who had been stolen from Diego. The eyes were open and staring blankly at the sky.
Felipe went back into the house for a blanket. When he returned with it, Diego had settled his father on a bench under the hanging geraniums. He had his hands on Don Alejandro's shoulders, as though he were afraid he would try to escape.
The two soldiers were in the corner giving one another anxious looks as they stood guard over the weeping matron.
De Soto had gone back to looking at his pistol. "I've killed before," he said dully. "In battle. And I've presided over hangings." He looked down at Felipe, not really seeing him. "It's not the same, shooting a man in the back. But it was either him or Diego."
Felipe handed him one end of the blanket and signed, "Help me." Together they wrapped the body.
The next argument began just as they finished. The matron demanded the body. Don Alejandro exploded from his seat, pushing Diego aside, cursing and threatening her. She had stolen his son in life, and by God, she'd not have him in death.
The two soldiers protested; Resendo was their commander, their responsibility. It was de Soto who stepped between them all, shaking his head. "We can take the body to the mission," he said calmly. "Neutral ground, surely, and appropriate. No, Don Alejandro, you cannot keep him here. After yesterday--we cannot simply announce that the emissary is dead and not produce a body. I think there would be a riot." He appealed to Diego. "You know I'm right."
By the time the body was loaded on a wagon for the short trip into town, the first group of vaqueros was returning from the range. Don Alejandro sent Juan into town to warn the Padre they were coming and then climbed into the wagon to sit with the body. Diego joined him, while the alcalde rode on the seat with Felipe. No one said anything.
Padre Benitez met them in front of the church. He blessed everyone. He quieted the small crowd that was gathering. He signaled several of the mission workers to come forward and carry Gilberto Resendo away.
Diego looked slightly ill. The red stain on his arm was growing no larger, though, which was something.
"I am now reassuming full command of this pueblo." The Alcalde signaled to two of his lancers. "Take his woman away," he said. "She is a confessed kidnapper. Little good it does to arrest her now. Sergeant, report to me in my office. We have much work to do." He sighed. "Don Alejandro...I had no idea he as your son. I am...Allow me to extend my regrets for your loss."
"None of us did," he whispered. His eyes strayed to Diego. "You also saved a son of mine. That I will never forget."
He nodded slowly. "If you will forgive me...I have a compelling need to see Father Benitez."
Almost timidly, Victoria crossed the plaza and approached them. "Diego? Don Alejandro?" She looked at them uncertainly. "What they're saying is true, then? I am sorry. I don't...I have no idea what to say, but you should know that your friends...your friends will stand by you."
Don Alejandro gratefully grasped her hands. "Thank you, Victoria." He swallowed. "I gained a son--and lost him in the same hour...."
Diego was staring toward the church, though the body was long since lost from sight. "I never knew him as a brother, only as an enemy."
"Perhaps if he had had a different life, you could have been proud of him, Diego," Victoria said gently.
And then things started to unravel: Diego's father asked him about the fight with Resendo, and Diego, exhausted and confused, started to tell them all the truth: "Yes, there is something I've been meaning to tell you all for some time. Now would seem an appropriate moment." He glanced around nervously. "Felipe? With your permission?"
Felipe cringed inwardly. This was a bad idea. Everyone had already been through too much, absorbed too many shocks. And doing it here, in the plaza, would only invite disaster. But this was Diego, and he always knew what he was doing, so he didn't object.
"I am. I am." Diego swallowed. Felipe saw the moment he panicked. "I am going to adopt Felipe."
And suddenly Victoria was saying, "Oh, how wonderful," and Diego's father was congratulating them and hugging Felipe and Diego was beaming. Somehow, Felipe managed to blink the shock away and smile shyly. He was supposed to already know about this. He was supposed to be happy about this announcement.
"I have, that is, I have a number of other things to discuss with you all, but now is not the time."
"No," Don Alejandro glanced at the church. "We need to discuss...arrangements." The two of them turned away. Felipe started to follow, but Victoria caught his arm.
"Are you all right?"
Felipe nodded because that was easier than discussing it.
"Felipe--have you eaten today? You look terrible!"
He couldn't remember if he'd eaten or not.
Tucking her arm through his, she led him back to the tavern and into the kitchen. "It has been a terrible day, I'm sure," she said. "Here, have a seat in the corner, and I'll get you some soup." She also set down a wedge of bread and a cup of wine. "You could use this, I think. But just one."
Felipe signed, "Thank you," and reached for the spoon. He hadn't realized that he was hungry.
She sat on the stool across from him and waited patiently while he ate, her hands folded in front of her. It was a little odd: Felipe had rarely seen her sitting still.
"It's still so hard to believe! How could that evil man be Don Alejandro's son? No, don't say anything, just eat. And Diego's brother? Diego, who writes poetry and carries spiders outside so he doesn't have to crush them! He is kind to everyone!"
Felipe shook his head helplessly and took another swallow of soup. He had not a single useful thought on the matter. He could barely think past the idea that they were--somehow--all alive.
"I have to go, I'm afraid. Customers are starting to arrive, and it will be busy tonight. But take your time." She bustled over to the wine rack, removed four bottles, and took them into the main room.
Diego passed her on his way in. "Well," he said, "You are favored. Diego never gets invited to eat in the kitchen." He slid into the seat Victoria had vacated.
Felipe drew a "Z" in the air.
"Ah. Yes. Eleven times, and yes, I have kept count."
Felipe shook his head with a look that said that Diego was completely hopeless. Diego smiled back. Then he sighed. "Are you all right?"
Felipe shrugged and signed that he wasn't hurt.
"I'm glad, but I wasn't talking about Resendo. I mean--what I said, before, about adopting you--are you angry? We've never discussed it, and I was presuming a great deal."
Felipe shrugged and put down his spoon to answer. "You had to say something. You couldn't tell them in the middle of town."
Diego shut his mouth sharply. Then he said, very softly, "I mean to say, I never asked you if you wanted to do it. And I should have asked you first." He paused for a moment, and when there as no response, asked, "Do you want to do it?"
Felipe was thoroughly confused. He looked at Diego. "Do you?"
"Do--Yes. Of course. Of course I want to."
Oh. "You never said."
Diego's face fell. "Always," he whispered. "Almost from the beginning. But I couldn't before I came of age, and then, when I returned from Spain...it seemed so much safer to keep you invisible. I had already put you in so much danger. If I made you my son...my discovery would mean your death as well. But I wanted to." He looked away. "This last week your anonymity didn't protect you. The de le Vega name may make you a target, but it can also be a shield. And so, perhaps...that is, I want...."
Felipe thought about that. "You don't have to. I don't need it."
Diego jerked as though Felipe had hit him. At once Felipe realized his mistake and shook his head vigorously. "Listen, listen," he signed urgently, and patted Diego's arm. "I don't...." this was hard to admit, and for a moment Felipe froze, his hands refusing to move. But these were things he'd never told Diego, and it seemed that Diego needed to know them. "I don't remember my parents. Maybe...there is something wrong with me, or maybe I was just too young. But I don't remember them. I remember you. My mother, my father," his hands were shaking, but Felipe went on anyway, "are only you. You are my family. Already my family. I don't need your name."
"I understand," Diego whispered. He swallowed hard and scrubbed the back of his hand across his face. "But I think maybe I do need it. So perhaps I'm asking...if you wouldn't mind?"
Felipe patted his arm again. "Why? Why now?" he asked.
Diego lowered his head. "I almost died twice today, and I can't--"
Felipe's head snapped up and he thrust two fingers in Diego's face.
"Resendo was waiting for me with an explosive charge and a rockslide. If not for the grace of God and Toronado, I would be crushed at the bottom of Diablo Canyon right now." He snorted. "And if not for the grace of God and my 'dear friend' Ignacio I would have been shot shortly thereafter. And I can't...I can't bear to keep delaying everything that is important to me. I can't keep playing this game with Ignacio, though God knows I haven't figured out yet how to end it. I will not allow my father to learn who I am at Zorro's funeral. I will not continue to pretend that Victoria Escalante isn't the love of my life. And I certainly will not continue to pretend that you are not my son."
Felipe rubbed his arm, slowly, up and down. "My family," he signed with his free hand, and, "yes."
Z
Diego took his father and Felipe home late in the afternoon. All of them were exhausted. Diego allowed himself to enlist Felipe and Maria in helping clean and bind his father's cuts, but because the re-opened injury on his arm was caused by a musket ball and not a sword, he and Felipe had to tend it alone. By the time they were finished and clean, Maria had set out dinner: beans and rice and cold chicken. No one had any appetite and there was nothing to say. Don Alejandro wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.
Diego supposed he should go to bed and hope tomorrow would be better. He didn't think it would. They were burying Resendo.
Not Resendo. His brother. The thought made his stomach hurt. He hoped there was some possibility it wasn't true. He was restless, he wanted to play the piano or take Toronado out, but it was too late at night to play and Toronado had been ridden hard enough today. He contented himself with currying the horse and tidying the laboratory until he thought he his thoughts calmed enough to let him sleep.
The scream that woke him was wild and unfamiliar, almost inhuman. Diego was standing up before he was fully awake, but as he oriented himself in the pitch darkness he realized he had no idea what or where the problem was.
The only weapons in the room were the practice blades he kept under the bed. As the scream sounded again, he snagged one and bolted--barefoot and in his nightshirt--out the door
He nearly ran into his father, who didn't slow down but only grabbed Diego by the arm and hauled him down the hallway toward the back of the house. Only then did Diego realize where they were going and who was screaming.
Diego threw the door open so violently that he heard the knob crack the plaster. Felipe, only a shadow in the darkness, was sitting up in his narrow bed, screaming. He didn't respond to the bang the door made or to Diego's hand on his shoulder. Tossing the sword into the corner, Diego grabbed him by both arms and shook. "Felipe! It's all right! Wake up!"
Felipe raised his head and took another breath. This time, though, it wasn't another scream but a string of broke sobs.
"Felipe. My God. It's all right."
"Diego, Diego," he wailed again, and it was heartbreaking.
"I'm here. It's all right."
"No," Felipe shoved him back, straining to see Diego's face in the dark. "K-k-k-killed you. Diego!"
"No. No, I'm here. You had a nightmare. A dream. It's all right." Diego ran his hands over Felipe's hair, his shoulders. "I'm fine. I'm here."
Finally, finally, Felipe sagged against him, clinging.
Diego sighed. "That's right. I'm right here." He glanced at the door, unable to discern his father's expression in the darkness. "I'm right here."
Diego's father retreated back to the hallway. Diego dearly hoped he wouldn't make a fuss about this now. He couldn't manage both of them. Dear God. This terrible day simply would not end.
Diego could hear his father in the hallway, speaking to Maria. Well. There was nothing to be done for it.
He cradled Felipe's head against his shoulder and whispered, "Can you tell me?"
Felipe only shuddered.
Father returned then. He had a candle and a cup of water. "Here," he said. "It will help."
Diego eased him back and helped him raise the cup. When he'd drained it, Father exchanged it for a damp handkerchief. Felipe wiped his face.
"I'm sorry," he signed with shaking hands.
"Don't apologize. Not for this. You've carried so much weight for so long, it's not such a terrible thing to have it come out."
Felipe wiped his eyes again. "Diego," he whispered.
"I know. It's all right. I promise."
Felipe sighed wretchedly.
"Here. Lie down now. It's all right." He eased Felipe back onto the pillow. "Don't worry. Hmmm? Try to go back to sleep. I'll stay right here for a while."
"I'm sorry," he breathed.
"Don't worry about that," Diego whispered back. He brushed Felipe's hair back. "Just relax."
Diego sat calmly through the long minutes while Felipe's breath evened and deepened. He almost wished it took the boy longer to fall asleep, but all too soon Felipe had left Diego alone with his father. Carefully, softly, Diego stood up and motioned Don Alejandro to precede him out the door.
He did not, of course, go back to his room, but led Diego to the sitting room, where he lit a lamp and settled himself on a chair. "How long?" he asked calmly.
Diego pulled a chair closer and sat down. "The talking is really quite new, but his hearing...since just before I returned from school."
Suddenly, Father looked very old. "And he didn't tell me."
"He was confused and frightened. He didn't know how."
"He managed to tell you!" he said bitterly.
"No. He made a mistake and I caught him. He didn't tell me."
"That should make me feel better, I suppose? That you kept it from me?"
Diego snorted bitterly. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I had no idea it would go on so long."
"No doubt."
"Father, this wasn't personal. It was a tactical decision."
Don Alejandro nodded sharply. "Of course. For el Zorro."
Diego's mouth fell open, but nothing came out.
"I saw you fight today, Diego. For the first time I have seen the truth of you. When are you going to admit it? Not in the plaza, you said. Well where, Diego, and when? Who else was Resendo going to kill?"
"All right, now. Yes. Zorro." He sighed. "I needed Felipe for Zorro."
Father sat back in his chair and sighed. "Ah. What a spy he must make."
Diego ruefully shook his head. "You cannot imagine how effective he has been, in every way. But I didn't do it for that. Initially, I only wanted to keep him above suspicion. So that if I were caught...."
"If you were caught, it would only be you hanging."
"I'm sorry."
Father shook his head heavily. "Not for doing it, surely. Not for what you've done for all of us. My Diego. You have managed to accomplish so much."
Diego released his breath. It felt like he'd been holding it for six years. "I was following your example. Papa, I can't tell you how badly I wanted you to know--"
"Oh, no Diego. Not my example. You are a far better man than I." He swallowed hard. "When I think of what you've risked, what you've sacrificed. Not just your own desires and plans, but your safety, your dignity." He blinked and reached for a handkerchief, but of course he wasn't carrying one. "I scarcely know what to say. 'Thank you' is not enough, 'I'm proud of you' is inadequate." He laughed sadly. "For years I have nagged you for not fulfilling your potential, but even these last few months I could not--quite--believe that you had this in you. I am so sorry, my son."
"Don't, Papa, please."
He took a deep breath and sat up straight. "Yes. You're right, of course." He wiped a stray tear with the back of his hand. "As terrible as today was, I must remember that I have been blessed; we nearly lost you this afternoon. I have nothing--nothing--to complain about."
"I'm almost disappointed," Diego said, trying to tease. "I've been imaging my dressing down for several years now. I expected it to be quite impressive."
"Ah. Well." Father took a deep breath. "Later perhaps. Right now we have more urgent matters to discuss."
"Oh?" Diego tried to rally, but he was almost afraid of where this might be going.
Mercifully, it was a problem Diego was already aware of: "The other house servants heard Felipe screaming. It will be all over the pueblo by tomorrow."
"And if we are caught trying to conceal it now, it may well bring everything down when the truth finally comes out."
"And eventually it must," Father agreed. "But just now there is so much chaos and worry that people might have little time to dwell on it."
Diego nodded. "The chaos may even provide our explanation. The strain of the situation? A blow to the head? A miracle? As long as we are confused and delighted, I think our friends and neighbors will take their cue from us."
"I don't see a choice, apart from fleeing the territory."
"It's as good a plan as any I've devised so far," Diego admitted wryly. "And truthfully...I'm very glad it's finally happened."
Into the quiet that followed a night bird began to trill. They listened for a while. Father said, "It will not be you adopting Felipe. It will be me."
"No."
"Yes. Fate intended me to have two sons. God gave me two sons. I failed Gilberto unspeakably. What I could not do for him, I will do for Felipe."
Oh. "You don't know...you don't know that Gilberto was my...brother. You have that woman's word for it, but she is clearly mad. A birthmark? It could be faked, or a scar. You don't know."
Father's eyes filled and the tears slipped free unheeded. "Diego, you only needed to look at him. Once you knew...Gilberto had my eyes and your mother's nose. From behind, his build, his strength...he looked so very much like you. And he is the only man I have ever seen who was nearly as good with a sword as you."
My brother. As much as Diego wanted to hope it wasn't true, it was time to accept that there was no explaining this away. He bowed his head in concession.
"That woman stole him from me, from you. She poisoned him and warped him and led him to his death--No, don't ask me right now. I'll tell you why. I promise you. But not tonight.... There is nothing I can do for Gilberto now. But for Felipe? Yes, I can do something."
"He is mine," Diego said gently.
Father gave him a sharp look. "You will not enter into a marriage with Victoria Escalante already a parent. It would be unfair to her."
"Victoria is fond of Felipe. And I will not choose her over him."
"He would have duties as your eldest son. He wouldn't be as free to practice law. Any more than you have been free to become a physician."
With a pang of guilty disappointment, Diego realized that Gilberto had been his older brother. The bulk of the estate would have fallen to him. Diego swallowed.
"He would take precedence over Victoria's children. Which would be a shame, because what Felipe has always wanted from you is certainly not this ranch."
For the first time, Diego hesitated.
"I was to...I was to have two sons, Diego. You were meant to have a brother."
"If he agrees." Diego shook his head. "One way or another he will have our name, our protection. I cannot imagine...I simply can not imagine loving a child 'of my own' more than I love him, or that somehow I could possibly do 'better.'"
"No, come to think of it...I cannot imagine what I could possibly have done to be blessed with the two of you. What you have done together, Diego, is nothing short of amazing." He managed a weak smile for only a moment before giving in and dropping his head and hiding his tears behind his hand. "Dear God, Gilberto! That woman! She told him...she told him he was born imperfect and so I cast him aside. He believed I had rejected him. He died believing.... As though for anything I would turn away my son."
Helpless, Diego rose and went to the window. The sky was beginning to grow pale to the east. Tomorrow was coming too quickly, and there was the funeral to bear. And his father's discussion with Felipe. And--somehow--Diego was going to have to talk to Victoria. But for right now, there was nothing he could do, and Diego lowered his head and wept himself. Somewhere outside the night bird stopped singing.