PART FIVE – MEXICAN AFTERNOON
THIRTY-SEVEN
Six weeks later found Diego riding Rojo at the head of a short, four-wagon caravan piled with women, children, belongings, and as much food as they could cram in.
The decisions made the day after their personal declarations went much the way Diego had suspected they would. Paulo and Juanita, older than the rest and long past fighting, elected to remain in Valle Perdido as permanent residents; and they were joined by three other families, all with several children. The knowledge that their beloved hidden valley would continue to house some of them in an established pueblo went far to ease the discomfort of many of the rest, including Marianna, even if the parting was painful.
The women had decided together that they would at least try life in the camp that had sprung up to follow the main army of General Guerrero. At least that way, Felipe and the other partisans would know where to find them when they got a break from the fighting, although no one knew how often that might be.
Just as the Capitán had promised, they all remained in the valley for several weeks, bringing in the harvest and drying it as best they could, before dividing it up between the two groups. Each individual likewise had many difficult decisions to make on exactly what to bring and what to leave behind. It was wrenching to all, but in the end, the vast majority of farming and food preparation equipment was left – although some did make the cut, just in case, including most of the tools and huge pots the women used in preparing the mass daily meals.
The Capitán had taken three unmarried fighters, including young Javier, around to all the nearby towns to explain the situation, letting the people in the mountains know that the armies were gone, and so were the partisans. They also came back with two more large farm wagons and teams to pull them – farewell gifts from two of the towns – increasing their vehicles to four, and a final contribution of bags of ground corn and wheat.
At last the day had arrived, and Diego and Felipe, as civilian and military heads, together led the caravan of wagons and horses out of Valle Perdido for the last time. Not a few tears were shed at last glimpses of their beloved temporary home.
One evening a week or two out, as the evening camp was being set up, Felipe asked Diego to walk out with him. The Capitán was visibly agitated, not even grinning as usual at Chico gamboling and tripping around his feet, and finally Diego simply asked him what was up.
"I have something I need to ask of you," Felipe admitted, "but I'm not at all sure how you're going to react."
Diego stopped walking at that, and turned to face the younger man. "Well, why don't you spit it out, and let's see?" he asked, trying not to be patronizing.
It still took a few more seconds for Felipe to gather the words to start. "I know that you had decided to join the General's staff – perhaps as a surgeon – and do what you could to contribute to the cause. I appreciate that. But I need to ask you, now... for something else instead."
"And what is that?" Diego prompted after a moment.
"I need to ask you... to stay with our families. To continue being our alcalde. To protect them, and look after them." That was still not plain enough for Felipe, and finally he came to the real point. "I am asking you to stay and protect Marianna – to take care of her. I can't be there, but she needs someone. I know it's not much for the cause, for Mexico... but it would mean the world to me. Please." The look of anguished need on his face brought a smile to Diego's, reminding him of so many times when Felipe was a boy...
He held up a hand. "Of course I will. Felipe..." He shook his head. "I've seen you fight. And lead these men. You are much better than I ever was. And your... contribution to the cause, if that's how you want to phrase it, is so much more than I could do, by any method. And frankly, if by doing this, I can ease – not just your mind, but all your men, too – and let you all concentrate on what you're supposed to be doing... That would doubtless increase your chances of survival and victory both, and would be worth much more than anything I could do on my own – even as a surgeon."
"I don't agree with that – I'm sure you would be a great help to the General – but I'm not going to turn around and try argue you out of it." Felipe grinned slyly. He held out his hand, adding, "Thank you" from his heart. Diego grasped his forearm and they shook with a smile.
As Felipe started to turn back to the camp, however, Diego stopped him. "Wait a minute. There's something else I need to say to you. I'm sure you realize it, but it needs to be said." Felipe swung back, puzzled, and Diego smiled a little ruefully. "There's nothing more I can teach you about the sword. You're no longer my student. In fact – well, I don't know what other masters would say, but as far as I'm concerned, you are now a master swordsman. Better than I am – especially when you combine it with all those other tricks and styles."
It was true that recently, the only times Diego had "won" their sparring – or even brought it to a draw – was when he insisted Felipe stick just to the sword. If his brother pulled out his dagger, as he was apt to do without even thinking about it, or used his feet or any other weapon, Diego would lose in minutes.
Felipe had involuntarily taken half a step back (a habit of his when surprised, Diego realized) and stared at him a minute, head tipped to one side, absorbing that pronouncement. "Really?" When Diego assured him, he thought a moment longer, then replied slowly, "Thank you. For everything you have taught me." He didn't just mean the sword, or recently. "I wouldn't be what I am... If you hadn't found me and taken me in." He snorted softly. "Hell, I probably wouldn't even be alive."
Grimacing, Diego glanced down at the back of his right hand, where the old C brand – for Convict – was still clearly visible. He brought it up to show Felipe. "I think we're even," was all he said.
It was a good thing we settled that when we did, Diego mused now, because not three days ago the company had split in two; the guerrilleros under their Capitán riding hard to join General Guerrero in response to another courier he had rushed north to find them. Apparently the Army of New Spain was not content to go into winter quarters as they had before, but were continuing to take the fight to the amassing rebel army, hoping to break them apart before they could completely coalesce, and Guerrero needed the partisans' help now.
So the men had said their goodbyes suddenly, in the middle of a glorious winter afternoon, snappy and cool. Diego happened to be standing near Felipe and Marianna after he had traded a "company" handshake with Jaime before the other mounted up. Tamping down hard on the inevitable stab of heartache and jealousy, he watched the couple out of the corner of his eye as they wrapped their arms around each other and stood gazing. "Come back to me," he heard Marianna whisper. He knew it was what she always said.
"Of course I will," Felipe replied as usual. Then, "You are my heart and my soul, beloved. I will always return to you – if I have to crawl the length of Mexico."
Marianna smiled through her tears. "Ride that devil horse instead. It will be faster."
He snorted softly. "Si, Señora." A final, longing kiss – quick now, as time was done – and he dropped his arms and turned to mount the devil horse in question.
His wife stepped over to Diablo's head, pulling it down by the bridle to look directly into the horse's eye. "Take care of him for me. Bring him safely back."
Diablo apparently agreed, because he lipped her face, as she scrunched up her eyes and turned her lips inward, biting them. Then she turned to look over her shoulder at Diego. "I've been kissed by a horse." With both brothers chuckling, she turned back and solemnly thanked Diablo, before stepping away, wiping her face with a handkerchief pulled from a pocket.
The Capitán now looked back down the road, seeing all of his men mounted and ready. But instead of raising his fist in the ready signal as usual, he did something different. He rode slowly down one side of the double column and back up the other, inspecting not the weapons or horses, but the men themselves, looking each in the eyes. Each one silently nodded, even young Javier. They were ready to face whatever was to come.
Back in front again, Felipe traded a nod with Diego, a long, smoldering last look with Marianna, glanced back to his men once more, then silently swung his fist around over his head to go. And the company of guerrilleros rode south.
Diego was now the sole man accompanying the women and children to where they hoped they would find the camp of those following the rebels, determined after a quick conference once again to give that a try. He had insisted that the women each keep their assigned rifles loaded and with them at all times, tucking them into gaps in the wagon contents or by their feet as they rode, in case of trouble.
Reflecting on his current circumstances, Diego smiled softly. The long summer with its rhythms of hard work, engaging conversations, and long hours to relax and think had worked a miracle, bringing him back to himself. He even had a set of new clothes. They had ridden through a large town on its market day a few days after leaving the valley, and had spent several happy hours trading a bit of their food stores for things they needed. Diego had found a grey suit and white shirt that very nearly fit – and Ava and Maria, both expert seamstresses, had witched them into perfection in a couple of days. He had even found a broad-brimmed hat he liked – not too fancy, not too shabby – although his head would be a few more weeks in training it. And as they left the town, Marianna had shyly given him a gift – she and Felipe had found two pairs of thin, supple, leather gloves, one without fingers, that fit him perfectly – and covered the brand on the back of his right hand. Their thoughtfulness brought tears to his eyes.
All in all, he thought, life at this moment was pretty good. He felt like himself again in his new clothes, riding a decent horse – Rojo was much smoother and smarter than he had looked, at first – in command of a caravan of people who had, over the previous months, come to trust in him. Except for the constant, agonizing ache that was Victoria's absence, he would have said he was happy – or at least, content.
He flinched hard, involuntarily scrunching up his face momentarily, as the heartache stabbed through him again. He missed Victoria like sin – and it had gotten no better over the preceding three-plus years. He had lived through that same pain before, loving her silently and from a distance, for five long years while he had played at being Zorro. Then came those two and a half years of heaven, as they shared their thoughts, dreams, and lives with each other – first secretly, then openly, before he was once more wrenched away and into this personal hell. Was that all the time they would ever have together? Was she still waiting in Los Angeles? Or had she moved on, forgotten him? Had she even survived? Had the child? As always, he squashed that last question, not able to face it for even a second. He just couldn't.
And now he was trapped here. But was he, really? Or was he truly being the coward he had formerly let everyone believe Diego de la Vega to be, hiding here in the south instead of returning home where he so longed to run? He thought again of Ignacio de Soto, and his unreasoning hatred of Zorro, trying to work out the possibilities. But every time, he came up with the same answer. Just as he had told the others that night in the cantina, de Soto would never let him live in peace. He would hound him mercilessly, constantly, until he broke him again, and Diego would have to live in constant fear of being framed, trapped – or physically attacked outright. Remembering the increasingly wild look in the Alcalde's eyes, Diego firmly believed the man was slowly becoming unhinged.
No, he had been right. Until the situation changed, Father and Victoria would have a much better chance of de Soto leaving them alone to have a normal life if he remained away. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. If only he could be certain, could get some word of the situation there in Los Angeles. But they had never contrived a way to safely find out. Besides, he had new responsibilities now. He had made promises, to look after his brother's reserved, gentle wife – who he had come to love and respect as a younger sister these past few months – and the rest of their little community; to lead and guide them, and protect them from trouble.
And here came trouble now, he realized the instant the three horsemen topped the rise in front of the caravan, cantering easily along the road towards them. He knew it even before he recognized their uniforms – a sergeant, a lieutenant, and a major, all with the Army of New Spain. A murmur from behind told him the women had also seen the trio – and he heard Marianna (on the seat of the first wagon) hiss sharply for no one to say a word, and to pass that back. Bless her, he thought, then bent his mind towards the front again, even as he surreptitiously loosened his sword and rifle in their respective sheaths.
The trio had stopped abreast in the road, blocking it. Diego was tempted to ride straight through, but knew that would only cause trouble without solving anything, so he raised his hand to stop the wagons, too, and greeted the men pleasantly. "Good after – "
The major cut him off peremptorily. "What is this? Who are you, and where are you going?"
Diego kept a determinedly pleasant smile on his face, even as he skipped his name, giving the major their agreed cover story. "Our village was burned out in the war, and most of our men were killed. We are moving to Mexico City to start new lives there."
"They fought in the war? Why aren't you in uniform?" The major asked sharply, looking Diego over head to toe, his meaning plain.
Diego waited a beat. "I did my duty." The brand suddenly itched under the glove, but he tamped it down hard and didn't twitch. He wasn't certain what he'd do if the major asked to see his discharge papers.
The other two sat their horses silently on either side of the major, obviously used to him being in command of every little detail. The major stared at Diego a moment longer, then snorted disdainfully. "I'm sure." His gazed then went past Diego to the wagons. "We are gathering supplies for the Army of New Spain. Let's see what you can contribute."
So this is to be a shakedown, Diego thought warily as the major spurred suddenly past him on the verge, the other two trailing behind. As he turned Rojo to follow, Diego glanced at the women in the lead wagon, seeing both Marianna and Sofia beside her staring stonily straight ahead, even as Marianna held a growling, half-grown Chico firmly by her feet. The major gave Marianna (closest to him) the same appraising look he had just swept over the horses, dismissed the dog with a glance, then rode a step further and reached a hand to wrench back the corner of the blanket covering the wagon's contents.
"Lay one finger on any human, animal, or item in any of these wagons, Major Cortina, and your career will be over." Diego wasn't the only one to stop and stare. That pronouncement had come from Marianna, still gazing frostily ahead. Diego blinked. Not only had she said it with the most arrogant, disdainful note he'd ever heard, but she had resurrected her former old-country patrician accent, which she had been at pains to lose these past months.
The major had blinked, too, at the odd threat. "My career?" Then, as the other thought hit, "How do you know my name?" he demanded.
"My Uncle Rodrigo told me of you," she replied indifferently. She waited a beat, but then went on before he could ask, "He is the Marquis de Santander, but you know him as General de Santiago y Velasquez. I am Doña Paciencia de Santiago, wife of Don Juan Carlos Castillo y Marataya, Governor of Tejas." The names had rolled grandly and smoothly off her tongue, more swiftly than Diego could have said his own lineage. "We are moving to Mexico City, as he is next in line to become Governor-General of Mexico, should the current incumbent be recalled, as is expected. My uncle suggested we use this method to move myself and some of our household there incognito, so as to attract less attention in this... unfriendly country – an endeavor in which you are not helping, Major." Her voice could have frozen Lake Texcoco. She still had not glanced at him.
Major Cortina swallowed hard. He had definitely recognized those names, especially her "uncle", judging by how he had blanched. "You should have guards, Señora," he protested, puzzled at the lack.
"I am quite well protected, Major. Simply because you did not see them does not mean they do not exist." A beat, then she exhaled sharply, haughtily exasperated. "Must I have my mayordomo call in the outriders to prove their existence to you? Or will you let us pass without further delay?"
"Your outriders let me pass," he commented, trying to prove their lack of attention, at least.
Marianna jerked her head around at last to stare at the Major, eyebrows raised. "Are you a threat to me?" she demanded, radiating disbelief at the idea. "Have you changed loyalties?"
"Of course not!" he began, but she cut him off, turning back to stare over her horse's ears once more.
"Then go about your business, Major, and forget us. So that I can forget to mention you to my husband and my uncle, or how you detained us."
"Of course, Doña Paciencia." He hesitated, but then had to say one more thing. "If I may be so bold, however, if you are heading towards Mexico City, may I strongly suggest you angle further to the west. This road will lead you straight into the path of the rebel army – although they will likely be smashed by now, there will still be dregs and rabble that would threaten your safety. But if you take the road west from the next village for fifty miles, then turn south again, you will safely avoid them."
Marianna disdainfully kept her silence, but Diego broke in, "Thank you for your advice, Major. Señora?" he saluted Marianna, receiving a small, frosty nod in reply. He heard her very softly tell Sofia (holding the reins), "Go," as he reined Rojo around and sent him down the road, hearing the wagons start rattling behind them. Not willing to keep his back to the Spanish officers, he hitched around in his saddle and watched as they stood their horses beside the road, letting the four wagons pass, then – after what looked like an argument from the other two, cut short abruptly by the Major's chopping hand – wheeled around and continued on the road in the other direction.
Over the next hill, he finally reined around in a circle and came up beside Marianna's wagon again. Sofia and the other women were laughing by then, passing what had happened back to the next wagon, while Marianna fanned her red face to cool it in relief.
"That was magnificent!" he said appreciatively.
"How did you come up with those names so quickly?" Sofia wanted to know.
"Oh, they're quite real people," Marianna replied off-hand, "all three of them. And she's even about my age, and from the old country. I have no idea of her husband's prospects, but... it seemed logical."
"How did you know the Major?" Diego put in. "Or that your ruse would work on him?"
"Oh, him," she let her disgust show now. "I once witnessed him toady up to my... to the colonel for an entire evening," she replied, referring to her former husband. "I know exactly what kind of man he is. No," she hastened to reassure them, "I was in a heavy veil, and not allowed to say single a word. He would never have recognized me. But since he never even glanced my way, I was certain that if he had ever been introduced to the de Castillos, he would not have looked closely enough at her either, to know me as an imposter."
"And who is the uncle?" Sofia asked. "Someone important?" Only the grandee general in charge of procurement for the entire Army of New Spain was the answer.
"Brilliant!" Diego commented.
"Are you certain they are not following us?" Marianna queried, worried and intense.
"I watched them all the way over the far hill."
"Then can we go now?" with a touch of the aristocratic exasperation.
"West, Señora?" he asked cheekily.
"South, Señor," was her unamused, arched-eyebrowed reply.