XVI. The cleanup
In this chapter, the commandante would like to return to his old ways, but he cannot.
The licenciado learns the new ways and is ready to follow them.
The night was close to the darkest hours just before dawn but it was the night after the battle and no one slept in Los Angeles. Windows of Monastario's quarters were also illuminated with the soft glow of candles and Licenciado Pina, having prepared himself and having gathered all his courage, very cautiously entered the commandante's office. The basic condition of success during the talk with Monastario he intended to have was to not get killed during the first two seconds.
The office was empty, but the licenciado heard some commotion in Monastario's private quarters. He cast a quick glance through the ajar door and noticed Doctor Avila putting stitches on the commandante's arm.
Pina sighed. After the painful treatment, Monastario would be doubly testy. Still, the licenciado had no choice, this conversation couldn't be postponed till the next day. He sat quietly on the chair and waited until he heard the doctor saying:
"It's done, Commandante. Save this arm for a few days and you will be fine."
That was followed by Monastario's irritated remark: "My arm? Did you really notice, that you are dealing with a human limb? I think that the saddler has more grace while sewing the leather."
Pina smirked. It took Monastario a few painful trials, but at least he had finally learnt to wait with insulting the doctor till the last one finished his job.
"Next time you will need stitches, you may call the saddler, Capitán," replied Avila. As the only doctor at the pueblo, he was never easy to intimidate. "Now forgive me, but I am in a hurry. There are many others awaiting my assistance."
When the doctor exited the room and noticed Pina, his eyebrows went high. "Do not tell me, Licenciado, that you also need my services."
"No, gracias," replied Pina. But soon I might need it.
"So, good night. Or good morning. I have no idea what time it is," muttered Avila and left hastily the office.
Monastario emerged from his bedroom pale as a sheet and strode quickly toward the bottle of brandy, pouring himself a generous dose. Seeing Pina, he froze for a moment and exclaimed with mocking cordiality:
"Licenciado Pina! I see that winds of change have blown you now to my office?"
"I am sorry, I know it is not a good moment," muttered Pina. "However, I need to speak with you with no delay."
"No, no. The moment is good," assured him Monastario. "I have waited long enough to get you into my hands. But first, please, enlighten me – how it is that you are walking freely around the town? I know that the viceroy's men already secured Varga's quarters. Didn't they find you there, sitting just in the middle of this little cobweb of yours, like a spider?"
Pina sighed. That kind of discussion was useless. He had to make Monastario leave this mocking manner and start talking seriously.
"Please, Enrique. Stop it," he tried to reason. "I just want to…"
"Call me Enrique once again, and I will shoot you on the spot," said the commandante quietly. He was very serious now, but that was not what Pina wanted to achieve. For a moment the licenciado lost his voice.
"Why aren't you arrested?" asked Monastario. "If there was no more place in the cells, I can arrange something special just for you."
Pina took a deep breath.
"I told the viceroy's men that I worked for Varga as your agent. To spy on him, at your orders," replied Pina. He was proud of himself, that his voice didn't shiver. However, he didn't dare to raise the eyes on Monastario, only stared at the floor.
His words were followed by the very long moment of silence until finally the commandante said in dreadfully calm voice:
"Congratulations, Licenciado. I must now recognize you as the most impudent man I have ever met in my life, the Fox including. But I suppose that at some point I will be asked to confirm your words?"
"Yes," muttered Pina.
"So you should rather use this time and take care of any errands you might have in the pueblo," advised him Monastario. "Because as soon as I speak about you with the viceroy, your walks will end."
Pina swallowed hard. That was the easy part of the conversation. Now they were near the more difficult one. He finally raised his head and looked at the commandante. Monastario was sitting behind his desk with the glass of brandy in his hand. In spite of his mocking remarks, there was no malice in his eyes. He simply looked tired and angry.
Pina gathered all his determination and said:
"I have all the documents from Varga's archives in which you were mentioned as an agent. And all what you gave this woman."
Having said it, the licenciado didn't dare to look at Monastario's face anymore, only kept the eyes glued to the surface of his desk. He saw how the glass was very slowly put aside. Somehow, it scared him even more than if the commandante would simply shatter it at the wall.
The silence prolonged. Only when Pina felt short of air, he realized he was holding his breath all the time.
"Well, Tomás, if I didn't know better, I would say that you are trying to blackmail me," said finally Monastario in a changed voice.
"I am trying to… make amends," replied quietly Pina.
"You have a strange way to do it."
"I am merely trying to help, that's why I took care of all the evidence that could incriminate you," said Pina, feeling the blush of shame burning his cheeks. Perhaps he indeed was the most impudent man in the word, but it didn't come easy.
"Didn't you notice, that I can take care of such things myself?" There was something very unpleasant in Monastario's voice when he said it.
"I did notice," was all that Pina managed to reply. Fear strangled his throat and made his insides clamp in a knot. He had to clench his teeth so that they didn't chatter. Yes, he saw Varga's body.
But I know Monastario, he thought desperately struggling with panic. He was always very cautious about his career. These documents could cost him not only his career but also his freedom. He realizes that and he will relent. He will cast a few threats, a few insults, but finally, he will relent…
"However, Licenciado, killing you here would involve too much trouble than such cockroach like you is worth," said scornfully the commandante, but that menacing tone in his voice faded somehow.
He will relent. I just have to be humble enough, so that he could do it keeping his face.
"I am really sorry, Capitán, for what happened with our… cooperation," started slowly Pina, trying to sound as meek and apologizing as he could. "I made some wrong decisions and I regret that but things were simply happening and I was…"
"Enough of this," Monastario interrupted him angrily. "Do you think that I am a child? That I will let you cheat me again, just as you used to? Had it been Varga, who won this battle, you wouldn't regret anything."
The licenciado looked at his former employer with surprise. That sort of bitter sincerity was very much unlike Monastario. They were just in the middle of important negotiations concerning the commandante's career, he should concentrate on it, not reproach Pina for… disloyalty.
It seems that I really hurt him, realized suddenly the licenciado.
"I will write in my report that you acted on my orders," stated Monastario coldly. "Then I want all these documents back. And I want you out of this town."
"I was going to leave anyway," muttered Pina.
He stood up and cast the last glimpse at the commandante. Monastario sat behind his desk absently playing with the empty glass and didn't even raise his head to look at the licenciado.
I got what I wanted, thought Pina. I should be satisfied.
However, he wasn't.
With the hand already on the doorknob, he suddenly turned back.
"You are wrong, Enrique," he said decisively, ignoring the sudden bridle of the commandante. "I would have regretted if Varga had won this battle. I didn't wish him victory since I understood what kind of man he is. Here are your documents," the licenciado retrieved a packet of files from the internal pocket of his overcoat and put it on Monastario's desk. "I have only some maps and censuses left in my room, that were too big to take with me. I will bring them later. You may write in your report, what you want."
Monastario looked at the letters and then at Pina in disbelief.
"But you are in disadvantage," he said shaking his head. "You shouldn't give them to me unconditionally."
"I told you I am trying to make amends."
Monastario raised his eyebrows and slowly flicked through the documents. However, Pina felt that he was only pretending to read them. Perhaps for the first time, he managed to make the commandante speechless.
Finally, Monastario neared the documents to the candle and kept them close to flames until the fire started to devour the papers. Then he threw them into the empty fireplace, where they burnt for a moment, until fully charred.
For a long while both the commandante and the licenciado silently stared at the glowing ashes.
"I will confirm your words to the viceroy," said finally Monastario. The tensed edge disappeared from his voice.
That fire purged a bit of the past, thought Pina and realized that that was exactly what he wanted to achieve.
"I am sorry," he said on the spur of the moment and for a second expected that the commandante would say something like 'I am sorry too.' However, Monastario only replied:
"So you should be," and added generously: "But let's concentrate on the future."
Pina sighed and nodded, accepting that these were the most direct words of reconciliation he could hear from the commandante.
In the meantime, Monastario continued: "Now I must rest for a few hours. However, come to me tomorrow, Licenciado… I mean later today. I want to hear precisely what happened in this tavern during the battle. Especially what Diego de la Vega was doing there," he finished with the beginning of his usual malicious smirk.
Just like the old days! thought Pina shaking his head, as he was leaving the office.
This time Monastario slept firmly, without any dreams and when he woke up, it was close to noon. He felt stiff and sore after yesterday's efforts, and his arm ached, but as a soldier, he was used to suffering such discomfort from time to time. The more important was the exhilaration and triumph filling his soul. When he recalled the last events, he laughed aloud. Varga was dead. His conspiracy was fallen. The most menacing plot aimed against the Spanish control and King's sovereignty over California was defeated.
And that's all thanks to me. Without me, Los Angeles and California would fell Varga's prey.
A quiet voice of reason reminded that perhaps without the lancers led by the viceroy, Varga would be the victor, but it was a troubling thought he didn't want to explore. Of course, that his – Monastario's – actions were crucial to the success of the whole operation. The viceroy himself admitted it.
The viceroy.
For a moment his gloating mood fell down a little.
Don Estevan de la Callas, the viceroy, arrived at the pueblo yesterday at night, just after the battle. His behavior toward Monastario was nothing, but muster of courtesy. He congratulated the commandante in front of the whole pueblo, praising his bravery and the conduct of his lancers.
And yet there was something in this behavior that made Monastario feel unsure. Considering the circumstances of their meeting, even the viceroy should behave with more openness, if not cordiality. But no – Don Estevan remained official and distant.
If Monastario wasn't so assured he knew how to make a good impression, he would suspect, that the viceroy didn't like him.
Yesterday, the commandante managed only to learn that the viceroy and his troops arrived at the Mission San Gabriel just in the moment when the rancheros were about to set off. They quickly coordinated an attack at the pueblo, while the viceroy was sending warnings to other presidios. However, their arrival just at the day of Varga's coup couldn't have been only a lucky coincidence. Don Estevan seemed to be the very well informed man.
Having such esteemed guest is the great opportunity to boost my career… but I will feel better when he leaves, thought Monastario.
He exited his quarters and looked around the cuartel. The cells were overfilled with Varga's men, packed tight like the sardines. Well, no one cared too much for their comfort. Those who didn't fit in the cells were kept in chains, under the guard of viceroy's lancers.
The lancers were bustling in the yard, occupied with cleaning and repairs, under the supervision of Sergeant Garcia. Monastario sighed, seeing how few soldiers were able to perform duties. The price of victory was high. Many lancers were wounded, some of them severely. Five met violent death yesterday. Perhaps it was not that much considering the ordeal they were through, but for such scarce crew, these were high losses.
Monastario slowly walked through the yard, noting heavier damages, when suddenly his eyes fell on the pile of muskets and rifles stocked under the wall. He almost gasped and froze for a while, reliving that moment from yesterday, when he looked at barrels aimed at him from a distance of a few steps.
"Sergeant," he called, struggling to regain his composure. "Are these our firearms taken by Varga?"
Garcia came quickly, with strangely unsure expression.
"Si, we just brought them. But, Capitán, they are of no use anymore, because… because…" he stuttered, hesitated, looked around in search for help and exclaimed, seeing Reyes: "You did it, so you explain it, Corporal!"
"Their locks are damaged," explained frightened Reyes. "But I didn't…"
"You damaged the locks before handing the weapons over to Varga? So that's why they misfired!" called Monastario. "Excelente! I would never suppose that you would have such daring idea, Corporal!"
Well, if the soldiers were afraid that the commandante would be angry at the loss of the firearms, they were deeply mistaken. He valued his life much higher than a few pieces of scrap.
"But, Capitán, I didn't…" started again Reyes clearly confused, yet the commandante interrupted him, patting his shoulder.
"Don't be too modest, Corporal. Your performance yesterday was exceptional. I also saw you taking shots from the tavern's roof. Most probably you saved my life with one of them."
"Gracias, Capitán," this time Reyes straightened proudly. "That was my idea. However, as for the muskets…"
"And you organized our escape from the cellar," recalled Monastario. He didn't want to talk about muskets anymore. It was enough that this moment when he saw the barrels aimed at him will certainly return to him in the nightmares. "I should thank you for it as well. That was very clever."
"As for the escape, it wasn't…"
"But that's true, Corporal!" chimed in Garcia, with a proud smile. "We did a good job yesterday!"
"We, Sergeant?" frowned Reyes. "Indeed, we did a good job, but not 'we', with you being the part of it."
"Of course I was the part of it, stupid!" exclaimed the sergeant. "And who used your plan to perform an escape? The plan of escape would be nothing without someone using it, would it?"
"That's true. Without you being locked in the cellar, there wouldn't be any plan," agreed Reyes with a certain dose of surprise in his voice.
Monastario laughed aloud, amused, but very content. It was not every day that he had an occasion to be proud of his soldiers.
"Sergeant, Corporal, you are the living proof that professional command can turn the most sloppy… material into a shrewd soldier," he stated merrily. "And now… just get rid of these muskets. I do not want to see them anymore."
Having said that he slowly walked into the plaza. Here the cleanup would require more efforts. The commandante saw men gathering discarded weapons or trying to remove stains of blood from buildings and ground. However, suddenly Monastario stopped paying attention to the remains of the battlefield. He recalled how it looked like on the day when Varga came to Los Angeles.
It has been less than two weeks, since his arrival, he realized with disbelief. He had to count it a few times, to be sure. Two weeks! It seemed like years!...
So, it has been less than two weeks since that day when he exited the cuartel with the lancers, ready to arrest Diego de la Vega.
He stood in the same place, obsessed with the need to get his revenge, to humiliate his enemy, make him suffer, both body and soul – and destroy him. And yet he had to subdue his burning hatred and wait, till the threat posed by the Eagle would be prevented.
The commandante couldn't deny that his feelings have changed during these days.
From the blind rage, caused mostly by the humiliation of being cheated so spectacularly, he came to the point where he acknowledged the recognition for the Fox. If the measure of a man is the quality of his enemies, he does compliment me, admitted Monastario without bitterness. He is an exceptional opponent. The biggest challenge I had, and probably will ever have in my life.
Of course, this didn't change the goal the commandante was going to pursue, only the means he intended to use.
I will destroy him, thought Monastario dreamily, but with respect.
For a moment he wanted to send the lancers to the de la Vega hacienda with the orders to arrest Diego de la Vega immediately, but then he hesitated. Such action could be considered… tactless at the moment, when the pueblo was dealing with aftermaths of Varga's coup, especially that Varga did almost the same only yesterday.
Of course, the commandante didn't care for the outrage of the pueblo. However, he didn't want to be considered tactless by the viceroy.
I must wait a while longer. And in the meantime, I will gather all the evidence against him.
Monastario would perhaps stay longer in front of the cuartel, relishing past and future victories, when his moment of reflection was interrupted by the familiar voice of Don Augustin.
"Capitán," he said sharply as usual, but the impudence almost disappeared from his voice. "I must admit you know how to take care of the horse. Regalio is in perfect condition."
Monastario saw that the haciendado was leading his horses, which he borrowed him and Garcia yesterday. As soon as the battle was over, the commandante asked to take the mounts to the cuartel's stables and tend to them properly. Now Monastario smiled, rubbing Regalio's nose.
"These are splendid animals, Señor. Especially Regalio," he said politely. "If you ever considered selling him, I would gladly purchase this horse for myself."
"Gracias, but I told you, he is my champion," Don Augustin shook his head. "I wouldn't sell him."
"Well, anyway, thank you for your assistance. Your horses were of great use," bowed Monastario.
He regretted having to part with the swift stallion. The idea of forfeiture for military needs passed through his mind, but this would have to wait, at least till the viceroy leaves.
As for now, the commandante calmly watched at Don Augustin leading the horses. Some other haciendados also arrived at the plaza, and when they greeted Monastario, he acknowledged them with a polite nod.
He noticed unsure, confused glances directed at him. Only yesterday morning he was the most hated person in this pueblo. And yet, during the last day, the traitor revealed himself, bringing death and violence to Los Angeles, and it turned out that Monastario was right to oppose him. What's more, he gave the display of courage and spilt his blood during the fight, and people in Los Angeles appreciated nothing as much as the prowess in battle.
Oh, yes, there were some men shouting "Bravo commandante!" yesterday at the plaza.
The fact that he shot Varga only helped. Perhaps citizens of Los Angeles with burdensome obstinacy used to demand the right to fair trial, but somehow in Varga's case, they all agreed that it would be an unnecessary nuisance.
All in all, yesterday evening, Monastario was a hero. Today, when the people started to cool off, they weren't sure what to think about him. Perhaps it was a good point for a new start in his relations with the community. These hot-headed men were easy to quarrel, but also easy to forgive. By any sign of the good will of the commandante…
Monastario smirked contemptuously. Good will, indeed!... Nonsense.
He was in good humor today because he defeated Varga and victory over the Fox was also at hand. Besides, he had to behave until the viceroy was near. But once the viceroy leaves and this town will be mine again…
"Licenciado!" called Monastario, having spotted the dark overcoat of the lawyer circling around the plaza. Pina heard him and neared obediently, even if with a certain reluctance. "Licenciado, have you forgotten I asked you to visit me as soon as possible? Come, there are many things we need to discuss," he said and scooped Pina, leading him toward his office.
He was fully oblivious to the fact that people at the plaza observed with anxiety both the sudden renewal of their cooperation and the all too familiar devilish smirk on Monastario's face, indicating that the commandante has many plans spinning in his head and none of them would bring any good for Los Angeles.
If Monastario got to win the battle at least once a week, he would be the most charming man in the world, thought bitingly Pina, seeing the commandante laughing with soldiers and greeting the haciendados.
Himself, he felt very unsure. Everybody at the pueblo knew that he worked in Varga's office. True, people didn't know the details of their cooperation. Some of them might assume that he was doing only the usual office work related to the administrative tasks. After all, Varga kept the appearances of an official assignment, acting as the administrado for Southern California. The fact that the viceroy didn't arrest Pina together with other Varga's men worked in his favor.
However, Pina noticed the suspicious glances directed in his direction. While he went through the plaza toward the cuartel, he felt them stabbing his back like arrows. Once people dealt with the most direct aftermaths of Varga's coup, the glances would turn into questions. And whatever he did to thwart Varga's plans, it was too… subtle to convince citizens of Los Angeles.
Nothing less than chopping with the sword through the battlefield would convince them about my good intentions. I will indeed have to leave this town, he thought without regret. After all that happened, he wasn't sure whether he would like to plan his future in this pueblo anyway.
Besides, there was still the matter of Diego de la Vega.
"Licenciado, I want to speak with you about the Fox. About Diego de la Vega," précised Monastario, once they reached his office and the commandante cautiously locked the doors behind them.
"What do you mean?" asked cautiously Pina, taken aback by the commandante's direct manner. He sat on the chair he used to occupy during his conferences with Monastario, when they together carefully planned the intrigues disturbing the calm life of Los Angeles. Well, more precisely, when Monastario came with one devilish idea after another, and Pina ripped his hair from the skull to make them appear legal at least from the distance.
It seemed that these meetings were back on the agenda.
"What do I mean?" mocked him Monastario. "Don't play innocent, Licenciado. You denounced him yesterday to Varga."
"That was a mistake," replied dryly Pina. In more ways than only one.
"It was a mistake yesterday, but it isn't today, I hope you see the difference," observed coldly the commandante. As usual, when he wanted to underline the solemnity of the power entrusted to him, he sat behind his desk and started to play with a seal. "Now speak, Licenciado. What proofs have you got against him?"
"None," replied the licenciado without hesitation. He has no proofs indeed. Besides… he had a feeling that he and Zorro somehow made even yesterday. He didn't want to reopen the accounts with the Fox. "I have no proofs. I had a hunch, but perhaps I was mistaken. You said for yourself, that I have been proved wrong…"
Monastario hit the desk with a clenched fist, making Pina jump on his chair. What happened with the commandante's good humor?
"Licenciado, you are trying my patience," hissed the commandante. "That man is Zorro and we both know it. Now answer me, and treat it as the formal hearing. If you won't speak the truth, you will be held liable for it, do you understand?"
"Yes," replied Pina. I must leave this town as soon as possible, he thought again.
"All right. Why did you say yesterday that he is the Fox?"
"Varga forced me to name someone," replied Pina honestly. That was a truth, even if not the kind of truth Monastario wanted to hear.
"But why Diego de la Vega?"
"You know that I always had the feeling, that there is something special…" started Pina, but Monastario interrupted him angrily:
"Licenciado, your feelings are hardly proof enough! I need something concrete!"
He sounds just like Varga now, mused Pina. They are not that far from each other. Perhaps Enrique is on the path leading him to the very same place where Varga ended yesterday…
"Did you see Diego de la Vega yesterday at Varga's quarters?" asked Monastario impatiently.
"No," replied Pina slowly. That was true. Varga's quarters were on the second floor. De la Vega never ascended the stairs.
The commandante raised his eyebrows, but continued:
"Did you see him fighting with Varga?"
"No," replied Pina again, blessing the moment he turned his back to the men dueling in the sala.
"Do you know what happened with Varga during the battle?" asked Monastario, but without waiting for Pina's reply raised his hands and said with irritation: "Let me guess – no."
"I was sitting in the office!" defended Pina. Almost all the time. I went out only once.
"How thoughtful," snorted Monastario. Then he rubbed his temple and sighed. "I am certain that de la Vega dueled with Varga and defeated him."
Pina remained silent. He truthfully replied to all questions of the commandante. He didn't have to comment his remarks.
Monastario sighed again, stood up and poured himself a glass of wine from the carafe standing on the little table under the window. He even raised the second glass with a silent question, but Pina shook his head.
"When I call out Diego de la Vega and bring his double life into light, will you help me to prepare the bill of indictment?"
"I can help you with the legal framework," replied cautiously the licenciado, "But I do not think that accusing Diego de la Vega is a good idea."
Even if Pina's advice was sincere, just as the commandante wished, it wore out the remains of Monastario's patience. He turned toward the licenciado with dark glitter in his eyes.
"Tomás, if you are afraid of el Zorro, let me remind you, that he is not the only one you should fear. What's more, there are some boundaries he won't cross, whereas I – perhaps will."
And here we are, in a familiar place again, with you bullying me, thought nostalgically Pina. These were good old times indeed!...
"I am afraid of Diego de la Vega," he shrugged his shoulders. "And his father. I won't conflict with the most influential family in the region."
"If this family shelters a traitor…" started Monastario vehemently, but Pina interrupted him, not wanting to hear another tirade aimed at lawlessness of landowners, who defy the rightful power of the devoted commandante.
"Actually, at the moment this family shelters a viceroy," stated coldly the licenciado. "He accommodated himself at the hacienda this morning, didn't you hear? Don Alejandro is his old friend. And Diego de la Vega studied with his son in Madrid. Perhaps you would join them for a dinner at the hacienda? When they exchange the news concerning their families and finish recalling the good old days, you could present to the viceroy your bill of indictment. He will certainly sign it without hesitation and send de la Vega straight to the gallows," concluded ironically Pina.
Monastario measured him with heavy sight and commented gloomily: "I didn't know that the viceroy has moved to their hacienda. You are extremely well informed, Licenciado."
Pina shrugged his shoulders. "I have to."
Monastario walked through his office here and back again a few times. Pina knew that he was struggling a tough internal battle. To be forced to wait again! That was against Monastario's nature. However, finally the reason won over the impatience.
"Well, I already had the feeling that it would be wiser to wait with pressing charges against de la Vega until the viceroy leaves," sighed the commandante. "I only hope that he leaves quickly. His presence here is getting increasingly uncomfortable."
And that's what he says after one short talk with the viceroy when they only exchanged courtesies, thought Pina. Feeling that the conference with the commandante was finished, he stood up to leave, when Monastario stopped him:
"Licenciado, the funeral services will be held today at the evensong at the mission," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "You may ride with me if you are afraid that you would feel… awkward."
Pina frowned. That was strange for the commandante to be so... considerate. Never before he neither noticed, nor cared how the licenciado was perceived by the citizens of Los Angeles. Perhaps he also was trying to make amends.
"Gracias, but I think that I'll better stay at the pueblo. Yet I appreciate your offer," replied quietly Pina.
Padre Felipe insisted to hold one funeral service for all killed in battle, no matter at whose side they fought.
"We all stay equal in the face of Lord. Behind the threshold of death, He is the only one to judge us," the padre said firmly to those who objected. Many were unpleasantly surprised by such decision – the viceroy himself included – but as the burial of the dead belonged to the church domain, this time the Crown had to relent to the Cross.
Monastario's gloating humor was gone and forgotten as he stood in the church during the Holy Mass, and then on the graveyard, when the coffins, one by one, disappeared under the earth and the bells of the mission ringed.
The weather underlined the despondent atmosphere of the moment. Sun was already behind the horizon, dark clouds covered the sky and sharp wind struggled with clothes and hair of the gathered people. Monastario, like the others, kept his hat in the hands but at least wrapped his cape tight around his shoulders. Why did the glory of battle have to be followed by such gloomy event?
The commandante always felt off during ceremonies like this. It is not that he was prone to regrets. No. He stood in front of Varga's coffin, with no remorse for the life taken by his hand. However, he felt unsure, thinking of this man, only yesterday striving for so much – and now needing so little.
Monastario was too bound to the earthly affairs to like to be reminded how fragile and passing his pursuits were. All these prayers about ashes and dust… He didn't like them. He was no coward and used to risking his life, yet he didn't like to consider the feebleness of his existence.
That should be left for priests, he bridled, angry at feeling so despondent. For monks and women. Men should do more than sit and pray!
The lancers shot the courtesy salute and Monastario thought about the soldiers who died yesterday, especially those from his garrison. It was the first time when he lost so many lancers under his direct command and he couldn't help wondering, whether these deaths could have been avoided.
Five men.
No. Actually, these were seven lancers from Los Angeles garrison that died yesterday. Only that two of them fought for the Eagle.
Joaquin Herrera was killed by the musket bullet, just at the beginning of the battle. It was Reyes who shot him and later the corporal got congratulated for this specific shot by each soldier from the Los Angeles garrison. All lancers were shaken seeing Herrera fighting at the side of Varga's men, against his former comrades, even if he was still wearing the Spanish uniform.
And the second one was Sepulveda. His body, pierced by the rapier thrush, was found after the battle and accidentally recognized by one of the lancers. His presence at the pueblo was a riddle for the commandante. Didn't Sepulveda escape both from Los Angeles and from Varga? Why did he return? Monastario sighed, recalling the man who used to be his special henchmen. I told him not to come back, he thought. 'There is still higher justice above us all', said the Fox. Apparently, the higher justice claimed Sepulveda's life after all.
The church and the cemetery were full of people. A few civilians also lost their lives in battle and their families and neighbors paid them the last respects. After the funeral ceremony, most of them remained at the cemetery, recalling their relatives and friends they buried. People around were chatting in small groups, finding the comfort after the loss in the company of friends.
Monastario shrugged his shoulder. He didn't have friends here and he didn't want to be comforted. He didn't need to. So, the commandante stood alone, his sullen expression keeping everyone at distance, until suddenly he noticed the only man he found worth talking to.
Diego de la Vega left the group of rancheros and was speaking now to his lancers, remaining a bit longer by Garcia and Reyes… He was wearing some unusually for him dark suit, which looked too alike the Fox's black attire. At first, the commandante got seized with anger, reading it as a deliberate challenge on his account, then, however, cooled off realizing that most of the people present at the ceremony were wearing dark clothes.
When de la Vega finished the conversation, Monastario – himself not sure why – approached him.
"Don Diego," he nodded a greeting, noticing that the face of the young man was greyish with fatigue as if he had a sleepless night behind him. Probably that was the case. Monastario left to the viceroy and his men dealing with Varga's couriers around Los Angeles. Apparently, the Fox wasn't so trusting and had to see the things done by himself.
"Commandante," replied de la Vega. He looked at Monastario with slight uncertainty but continued calmly: "I am sorry for the men you lost. If it may come as the consolation for their families and friends, they had a noble death."
Monastario wanted to reciprocate the condolences, but he couldn't recall whether any of de la Vegas' close friends fell in battle. He felt something close to shame that he didn't get interested in the losses among civilians.
"Strange, that Varga after all what happened gets to stay in Los Angeles forever," observed de la Vega after a moment of silence.
"Perhaps," agreed obliviously Monastario. Varga belonged to the past already. Driven by the sudden impulse – he couldn't tell himself, whether it was inspired by recognition, or, on the contrary, by something very unpleasant – he looked at the tired face of the man standing next to him and stated: "His fall is also your doing."
De la Vega, apparently also at a loss how to read the commandante's intention, turned to him with cautious consideration in his eyes.
"Gracias. My father and other rancheros were ready to put their lives…" he started slowly, but Monastario interrupted him:
"I am not speaking about your father and rancheros, only about you, Don Diego," he said, deciding that it was not the recognition that made him start this conversation with the Fox. Feeling the ire waking up in his soul, the commandante continued with voice tinted with malice: "I know you fought with Varga and defeated him. That's quite an exploit. Perhaps he wasn't such master as this Frenchman, but his hatred and ruthlessness must have made him a dangerous opponent. Am I right?..."
Diego de la Vega kept his sight without flinching.
"Capitán, if you are so interested in Varga's whereabouts during the battle, perhaps you shouldn't have killed him. Then he would be able to tell you about it himself," he said with his usual composure. Monastario rather felt than heard the challenging tone in his voice.
The commandante, however, struggled hard to keep his anger on the leash. How could I ever doubt, whether he is the Fox? he wondered. It was so obvious. It was enough to look into his eyes.
"Why this evasion, Diego?" he asked quietly. "Wouldn't you like someone to finally see who you really are? Aren't you proud of yourself?"
De la Vega remained silent for a moment, to reply only: "I do not understand you, Capitán."
Monastario smirked, seeing that this time his taunt touched the right chord. He is proud. A hidalgo, like his father. But he has to fight his pride, each day. It is not easy, to denounce yourself all the time.
"But you do, Don Diego," he stated. "You understand me perfectly."
After this small victory, the commandante finally realised why he needed to talk to de la Vega. It was to… explain the situation. Deep in his heart, he admitted that – after all that happened in the last days – Diego de la Vega might expect Monastario to change his intentions toward him. To forget the past, forgo his revenge.
This needed to be explained.
"It is time to end this game," said the commandante looking straight into the eyes of his enemy. "Now I know you too well. I know how to settle the scores I have with you."
To his surprise, de la Vega laughed and Monastario understood with relief that he didn't have to explain anything.
"But I know you too, Capitán," replied Diego, with a very Fox-like mischief in his eyes. "You are just… too determined. This determination may easily lead you astray."
Monastario narrowed his eyes and smiled too, preparing to reply. If the Fox was out, he would gladly stand up to him.
"Capitán, Diego," said quietly Padre Felipe, appearing in front of them. "I hope you both remember that you are still in the graveyard. On the holy ground."
Monastario flinched as if waking from the spell. He didn't notice the padre coming and didn't understand why he found it necessary to intervene. Diego de la Vega sooner grasped the situation and immediately returned to his usual, meek self.
"Of course, Padre. We were only talking," he said apologizingly. "Now, I think I am needed elsewhere. Capitán," he bowed shortly and left.
Padre Felipe measured Monastario with scrutinizing glance. "I heard that the viceroy was searching for you, Commandante. He should be now in front of the church," he said and the capitán had no choice but bid farewell to the padre and look for Don Esteban.
The viceroy looked equally tired as de la Vega and didn't prolong the courtesies.
"Commandante, I need to talk with you. I will visit your office tomorrow morning," he said shortly.
"I will be honored, Your Excellency," bowed Monastario, full of hope, that after this conversation the viceroy would leave and Los Angeles will be only his again.