THIRTY-EIGHT
Two days later, they arrived at the rebel camp – or what had been a camp. It was now a semi-permanent tent city sprawled across several low hills, as the families, followers, and all the various suppliers of the assorted regular and irregular units General Guerrero had called in swelled it to bursting. There was now no way it could follow the army but at a distance – and likely wouldn't move at all until and unless the battles shifted a hundred miles or more and continued.
"This is not what I had envisioned," Marianna murmured uncomfortably.
"Me, neither," Diego commented softly. He was sitting Rojo beside her wagon, as they stopped to get their bearings – staring a bit in consternation. There were hundreds of tents, thousands of people, and the noise – and the stench – was incredible.
"Well... find us a place," she sighed in resignation.
"Not in the middle, please," Sofia put in to general agreement.
"No," Diego agreed. "Definitely on the outskirts. That way," he pointed to the right, where the population seemed thinner. Clicking at Rojo, he led their small wagon train over the rough ground around the edge of the camp, until at last they came to an unclaimed grove crowning a hill. The lack of any springs for water, and the distance from the camp's center, explained its empty state – although their neighbors were not all that far away, and showing obvious interest in the newcomers.
"Getting water will be a chore," commented Sofia sourly.
"We have water barrels. We'll do it as a group, once a day. I like the separation – it will give us a bit of privacy," Marianna countered. "This will do. Diego," she called him over to give him her approval, then, "I have a mission for you."
"Oh?"
"I am not sleeping out in the open here," she said determinedly, "especially not in front of everyone. I'll never catch a single wink."
"Neither will I," he agreed. Only utter exhaustion had let him drift off during his long months in the open with the army.
"So... see if you can find us one of those big pavilions," she said slyly, pointing down to the many tents – some of them humongous – dotting the valley.
"Hmmmm." His spreading grin showed his approval of the idea. "I need to find Major Cristos, anyway, and check in." That was the name Felipe had given him, of the man Guerrero had appointed as his chief procurement officer, who would likely be in charge of the camp. He looked back at the women, concerned. "You'll be all right here till I get back?"
"Of course," was the reply, as she waved him off. "Go on. We'll set things up."
Major Cristos was nowhere to be found in the camp – he was, after all, the procurement officer for the army, not the followers. There was, however, something of a central distribution point disguised as an informal market which had sprung up in roughly the center of the burgeoning town. With no one in charge in any way, it was a wild and woolly free-for-all which left a bad taste in peace-loving Diego's mouth, even if he was able to trade the bag of dried beans he'd taken from a wagon for the purpose for a good, well-built pavilion. He was astonished at the price, but apparently food was going for a higher premium than housing at the moment. He made a mental note to tell the women to keep a careful guard over their stores.
The pavilion was huge, nearly thirty feet on a side, with canvas roof and sides, and came with a few poles, all the needed ropes and stakes, and even its own little two-wheeled cart for hauling it around. And it had never been used – someone had bought several of them on spec to resell at the camp; this was the last one and had been sitting, forlorn and forgotten, in a massive pile of unsold junk. Diego hitched the patient Rojo up to the cart and gleefully hauled it back to their new digs, dragging the poles along behind.
"And a cart?" Sofia demanded, arms folded across her chest.
"Perfect. We can use the cart to haul water in the barrels up the hill every day, using one of the draft horses," Marianna put in calmly, and that settled that. She went on, telling Diego, "we have already decided: no one is to leave our camp for any reason with less than two others, for safety, and we will always carry our guns." She was still visibly unsettled at the surroundings, but Diego agreed with the precautions wholeheartedly.
They took the remainder of the day to set up the tent in a level, grassy clearing with the door facing east towards the main camp – cutting down and trimming a few saplings in the grove to augment the poles that came with it – and arranging their new home. They parked the four wagons in two lines straight out from the front of the pavilion, making a courtyard the same size as the tent, then used ropes run between the wagons on one side and the trees beyond to erect a makeshift corral for their draft horses.
The poles weren't quite tall enough to pull the tent walls to full height, leaving a foot of canvas on the ground – to which Marianna came up with a brilliant solution. They folded the excess to the inside, then brought in all the barrels and bags of food and laid them atop the canvas, securing the sides against someone trying to sneak in and also guarding – and hiding – their valuable stores. The women and children could all sleep side-by-side on the ground inside the tent if they wished; they would lack privacy from each other, but gain it from the outside world. It would suffice, at least for a while. A blanket hung across one corner made a privy, while Diego dug a trench beyond the horses to receive the chamber pot contents and erected a lean-to over it for additional use. A few women wanted to hang more blankets, but after trying a few it was realized that would chop up the tent into unusability. One large room would have to do. Marianna then had some of the stored items shifted in front of their neighbors along the two sides, making tiny little bays against the tent sides – not enough for true individual privacy, but at least the semblance of it, if one slept with their head against the tent wall.
A firepit was dug in the center of the courtyard, lined with stones from the hill, and the iron tripod from the cantina erected over it; the back ends of the two wagons opposite the corral were used for a standing kitchen. Several spots – wagons and empty barrels – were designated as weapons caches, so they no longer had to keep their guns literally on their backs at all times unless walking out (always in a group).
As she helped lift their very large (almost empty) water barrel off one of the wagons and set it on the ground, Marianna paused and looked into it, sighing. When Sofia, on the other side, looked at her questioningly, she grimaced. "I bet I could sit in this barrel."
"Why would you?" Sofia was genuinely puzzled.
"To take a real bath – water up to my neck!" Marianna sighed again. "I haven't had one of those since I was fifteen."
Sofia shook her head. "I've never had a bath like that."
Diego had been walking back and forth behind them, carrying packages to the door of the tent. As he passed, he paused and leaned towards Marianna. "In our hacienda in Los Angeles," he said in a low, seductive voice, "we have a bathtub large enough for me to bathe like that."
Marianna's jaw dropped, and she grunted theatrically with jealousy. Sofia, though, looked askance at the man. "That must take a lot of water, then."
"It does," he admitted, then added, "I don't take one very often."
Sofia laughed. "You'd better be careful, little one," she said to Marianna. "You'd slip and drown in a tub that big."
Marianna shrugged, grinning impishly. "Felipe would save me." She leaned over the barrel to whisper conspiratorially, "In fact, if it's that big, I bet we could both fit inside."
Now Sofia's jaw dropped, goggling at her usually prim companion. Then Diego capped it off by walking past again, leaning over, and whispering, "It is." Marianna lost it, covering her giggles with her hand, her face beet red. She didn't look at Diego for hours.
By evening, they had done the best they could, and had as comfortable and subtly fortified a temporary group home as possible. Things to sit on were at a premium, but chairs and stools would be contrived over the next few days – until then, some of the boxes and barrels would suffice. Weary but satisfied with their accomplishments, they celebrated with a hot meal of beans and vegetables and fresh tortillas, and broke open one of the few precious barrels of Paulo's beer.
Over the next few days, they all worked hard, determinedly cheerful and accommodating, to settle in and make the best of their circumstances. Three or four mornings later, the women set up two water barrels in the front corner of the courtyard and ran ropes across it for drying, and commenced to washing everything that could be washed – their clothes, especially, needed attention. Diego sat himself in another corner, fashioning three-legged stools for sitting on from a collection of wrist-thick sticks, twine, and thick rounds of rawhide he'd found in the market.
"Oh, my! What is this?" suddenly came from outside their courtyard. Diego looked up, then swiftly rose, dropping the stool he was working on, and strode quickly forward to intercept the young, dandyish officer – at least, he had lieutenant's insignia pinned on his shoulders – dismounting from his high-strung horse. His two companions, also lieutenants, were likewise swinging down a few steps beyond. "Ladies, I am very glad to see you!" the first man went on with a broad grin as he tossed his reins to a companion and moved between the wagons, ignoring Diego. "Which one of you would like some company today?" His eyes had fallen on Marianna, parading over her form, as she stood stiffly over one barrel, looking stonily away. All work had ceased in the moment; many staring at the intruder with unfriendly eyes. He didn't take the hint. "What are you doing, Señora? Washing? I could help you with that. I could help you with many things," he continued insinuatingly, ignoring Chico, who was growling softly at the intruder from underneath one of the wagons.
"I think you have the wrong idea, Señor," Diego said smoothly, intercepting the lieutenant before he got too far in. He decided to be blunt. "This isn't a brothel."
The lieutenant gave him a sickly smile. "Of course not, sir. This is, what, a dance troupe?" His expression gave no doubt to his meaning as he named a convenient common cover for ladies of the evening.
Diego could match him in the sickly smile department. "No, Señor. We're not here to entertain anyone. These are the families of a company of fighters who have joined the General, nothing more." If the man couldn't see the children sprinkled around, he was being deliberately blind.
He felt more than saw some of the women moving behind him, and realized they were positioning themselves near the weapons caches. Who had given the signal? he wondered briefly. Probably Marianna.
The lieutenant had dropped the mock-friendly smile and fallen into a sneer. "Do you know who I am, Señor?" He pushed on without giving Diego time to answer, dropping some family name that Diego had never heard of. "I am Lieutenant Luis Raoul Caravales, of the Caravales of Toledo."
Diego stepped sideways to get directly in front of the man, standing even straighter to use his added inches. If Caravales wanted to pull rank, he'd have to do better than that pathetic showing. "And I am Don Diego de la Vega, of the de la Vegas of Madrid, Salamanca, Sevilla, Potosí, and California. I find it interesting that you cite a lineage from old Spain – aren't we supposed to be fighting for Mexico here?"
Caravales dropped all pretense then. "Get out of my way," he snarled, reaching one hand to push Diego aside while he made to step around him.
That was as far as he got. Marianna rapped out "Alarm!" Within thirty seconds, a pre-loaded rifle had been pulled out of its cache and tossed to each woman, who stood with it at the ready. Half a dozen of them, Marianna in the center, stood in a line facing the intruders, rifles ready but not aimed. Diego simply smiled lazily and stepped back to the side out of the way, swiveling briefly as his name was called to catch his own rifle – although he merely cradled it in his arms as he turned back to face the men. The children, he noted in passing, had all disappeared into the tent like they were trained to do.
Caravales and his mates were undeterred – gaping delightedly at the "show". Caravales even had the temerity to applaud when it was over. "Well done, ladies! So you are a dance troupe!" and he shot a superior look at Diego before taking a step towards his chosen target.
Again, one step is all he got. Without a word, every woman, including the six lined up, snapped their rifles around and aimed them squarely at Caravales.
He scoffed. "Those guns aren't loaded!"
"Teresa!" Marianna called out, and Teresa – standing at the far end of the line – aimed her rifle to the sky and pulled the trigger, then brought it swftly back down. The shocking fire sounded like a cannon in the partially-enclosed space, and (Diego was sure) jerked heads around for half a mile.
Including Caravales', whose thunderstruck expression was priceless.
Marianna took one step forward. "My brother-in-law told you the truth, Lieutenant. We are not entertainers. We are the families of my husband's company of partisans, who now ride with the General. My husband, by the way, is also known as El Halcón."
"El Hal-halcón?" he stuttered; if possible, even more gobsmacked, and now – judging by the whites showing around his eyes – starting to feel a bit panicky. Diego decided he was enjoying his comeuppance a bit too much, but didn't care.
"You have heard of him," Marianna replied approvingly. "Good. Then please go." Deciding to use the line that had worked before, she added, "So I do not have to mention you to him."
He wasn't a complete idiot, just an arrogant fool. Plastering an abashed smile on his face, Caravales started to slowly backpedal. "Certainly. My apologies for any misunderstanding, Señoras." Everyone noted the respectful change in address.
Just as he began to turn to his horse, Marianna took another step forward, lowering her rifle. "Lieutenant... there is something else you could do for me, if you would be so kind."
"What is that?" he asked, determinedly pleasant. He looked over his shoulder at her. "Would you like a feather mattress for your bed?" he added, not quite sarcastic, naming an exquisite luxury item not to be found within a hundred miles.
"No," she laughed, then her face turned rueful. "Well, yes, actually, but not from you." She waited a beat, then leaned forward slightly as if sharing a confidence. "Spread the word. Leave. Us. Alone." And added the politest, most meaningless smile imaginable.
They watched it hit Caravales, who added a squirming albeit polite smile of his own. "Certainly, Señora. Good day, Señoras," he tipped his head to the women in general, then aimed one politely at Diego. "Señor." And with that, he mounted his horse as fast as he could, reined it around, and spurred down the slope, his wordless companions at his heels.
As the tension broke, and the women relaxed and began to laugh at his back, Diego turned with a broad grin and applauded around the rifle. "Well done, Señoras! All that practice paid off!"
"That was what we've been practicing for?" Sofia asked sarcastically as the children began tentatively creeping back out of the tent.
Diego tipped his head, considering. "You routed an enemy by firing a single shot. Yes, it was."
"Well, I certainly hope we don't have to do it very often," Marianna commented.
"Marianna," he replied. "That shot was heard all the way to headquarters. I sincerely doubt you will ever have to do it again."
Blowing out her breath, she gave him a side-eye and said nothing, turning to toss her rifle back to Ava and starting to say, "Teresa, don't forget to reload – oh. You already are. Sorry." Teresa glanced up from the job and gave her a 'so there' look. "Excuse me," Marianna added to no one, turned and walked into the tent, letting the flap fall closed behind her.
The various activity slowly started up again, the women and children laughing and joking with each other about what had just happened. It wasn't until some fifteen minutes later that Diego realized Marianna had never come back out. Putting the stool he was working on aside again, he got up and walked to the door, past which, ever the gentleman, he never went without an invitation. "Marianna?" he called, raising the soft panel and looking inside. She was in "her" corner, sitting on a box, doing nothing – but he saw her wipe her cheeks with her fingers as she turned her face away. Chico sat beside her, his head on his mistress's lap, watching her intently.
"What is it?" he asked. Looping the panel back so it would stay open for everyone outside to "chaperone", he stepped carefully around the bedrolls scattered about and knelt a few feet away from her box. "Marianna? Please tell me."
The tears hadn't stopped, continuing to streak her cheeks, although she was sniffing, not sobbing. After another minute, she finally looked at him with pained eyes. "I hate this place," she admitted, her voice the merest whisper so it would not carry past his ears. "I hate how we live here." Now the dam was breached, the trickle continued – it had been building for weeks. "I hate walking out there, knowing everyone is staring at me. That's not false modesty, Diego, you know it's true."
"Yes, I know. I've seen them." It was true – his sister-in-law couldn't step beyond the wagons without attracting attention from everyone nearby, simply by her beauty and her bearing.
She nodded gratefully at his refusal to deny it. "I've thought sometimes of getting another veil and wearing it, but that would only makes things worse, wouldn't it?"
"Yes."
She nodded again. "I miss our valley, our beautiful Valle Perdido. I miss the lives we had there, the rhythms of the days, the laughter and the song and even the work." She took a deep breath as he nodded, and whispered the truth. "Coming here was a mistake."
"Yes, it was," he agreed as softly. "But we didn't know that it would be."
"This life is..." Apparently she couldn't find a dire enough description, so she simply shook her head and moved on, even closer to her heart. "And it's so much more dangerous than before – not for us, but for them. For him... Diego..." Her face was tragic. "What will I do... if I lose him?"
"You're not going to lose him!" he tried, but she shook her head forcefully.
"Do not give me meaningless reassurances," she whispered harshly. She would know the truth, always. Diego reminded himself of her steel spine.
"I'm not. Listen to me – no," he interrupted himself, "don't listen to me, listen to Costa. That old war dog knows more about combat, and survival, than anyone else in Mexico. And you know what he told me the first day I came?" She shook her head when he paused for an answer. "He told me: Felipe can't be beaten. And he was right. Whether it's single combat, hand-to-hand, or the whole company. He can't be beaten. He always has one more trick up his sleeve, and another after that, and another, and another. And he's certainly not going to lead his men into a trap. You are not going to lose him."
"But now he is sworn to follow orders. What if he is ordered into a situation he cannot win?"
Diego shook his head again. "He's too smart for that. He'll either find a way to stay out, or find a way to win."
Marianna dropped her voice to an even deeper note. "And what if that way is to sacrifice himself for his men? You know he would do that. Without even hesitating. If that's what it took to save them."
"Yes, I know that. But I also know this: that his men would never let him. They love him too much. They would... drag him out by his ponytail if they had to. And you know that."
That quirked her lips, and she had to nod.
"Marianna... You are not going to lose him. But let me tell you something else. If... god forbid... the worst should happen, you are now a de la Vega. We may not be a large family, but we are very close. We stick together. If he ever did not come back, I would take care of you. I would take you back to Los Angeles with me, and always protect you. And if... god also forbid... I shouldn't make it either, then get yourself to Los Angeles. You know where it is, and I know you can get there. Tell Father – tell Don Alejandro everything. He will take you in, and take care of you. You have a family now."
"I have a family here," she reproved him.
"There, you see? You are surrounded by people who love you, and just want to protect you." He paused. "You will never be alone again, Doña Marianna."
That was apparently exactly the right thing to say, because new tears silently started. Marianna buried her face in her hands for a minute, so he wouldn't see. When she dropped them, and began searching for a cloth to wipe her face, he brought out his clean handkerchief and put it in her hands.
This mood needed lightening. Just as he thought that, something else hit him; a small part of the answer. "You know what we're missing here?"
"Good wine?" she replied immediately, eyebrows raised.
"Besides that," he admitted.
"Everything else!" was her only half-sarcastic comeback. Then she took pity on him, asking gently, "What are we missing?"
"Lessons. I think those children have had quite enough of a holiday from school, don't you?" He tipped his head towards the open doorway and the courtyard beyond.
She glanced that way and nodded. "That's a good idea." Then she took a sudden breath as another thought hit her. "You know what else we're missing?"
"Good bread?" he asked with exactly the same intonation she'd used a moment earlier.
"We're working on it!" she exclaimed, slightly affronted. "Build us a decent oven!" Then she smiled, taking pity again, before explaining earnestly. "A routine. The rhythm of our days, remember? Well," she went on, shaking her head, determination visible stealing over her, "the exact tasks may have changed, but we can still make them into a rhythm, to make the days go by."
"Oh, very good," he approved, then climbed to his feet before holding out a hand to help her up off the box. "Let's gather everyone together and hash it out."
Wiping her face a final time, she took his hand and stood – one of the few times she touched him or anyone. She even tightened her hand on his for a moment, peering up into his face. "Thank you, Diego. But... please don't tell Felipe I fell apart."
"It's already forgotten," he assured her.