Author's note: Many thanks to my incomparable translators: Janek, Kasia and Iga. Without them this would not have had a chance to appear.
WARNING!This chapter is very difficult emotionally. You could even call it drastic. I feel obliged to warn you.
Disclaimer: I do not own characters and I don't make any profits on writing.
Chapter 1 The Condemned
Ten days after the departure of Captain Monsangre's lancers, the taproom at Señorita Victoria Escalante's inn was once again empty in the evening. No one came to sip wine or taste her famous tamales. No one talked, no one laughed... Outside, people discussed, gossiped, greeted friends, but no one entered the porch, despite the open door. And Victoria knew perfectly well why nobody was willing to visit her.
When Captain Monsangre's troop departed after the great defeat they received from Zorro, Victoria Escalante returned to her inn. If even for a moment she hoped that the incident would leave no other traces apart from her bad memories, it lasted only for a while. For as soon as the dust had settled after the lancers' departure, Ignacio de Soto had guarded the inn. The soldiers detained most of the incoming, either potential customers or friends like don Diego or Sergeant Mendoza, who were concerned about the fate of Señorita Escalante.
Moreover, when Victoria protested against such treatment, de Soto mocked her in public with deliberate cruelty, reducing her to the role of a military harlot. Clearly enjoying the shocked glances of the crowd, he made her realize that after the recent events, he, as the alcalde, was obliged to keep the pueblo in order. For this reason, he had to ensure that she, Victoria, did not cause any more confusion.
Her one-night show in the garrison was enough. Alcalde would not allow his people such entertainment, so from now on Victoria had to look for clients among strangers. The harsh words fell on favourable soil. Despite the desperate protests of don Diego, who appeared shortly afterwards and tried to force the dismissal of the guards, the inhabitants of the pueblo began to look upon the innkeeper with suspicion or even reluctance. When the alcalde dismissed the guards, the anguished señorita looked like her own shadow.
Victoria also failed to communicate with Zorro. The alcalde's hopes of permanently driving the outlaw away turned out to be in vain, as the masked horseman returned to Los Angeles the very same day. However, the señorita could not speak with him for more than a few moments. Before they had a chance to explain anything to each other, the soldiers had already noticed his presence and rushed to capture him, and the desperate Victoria could not tell him or shout out what she was so ashamed of. So when Zorro returned to the inn for a second time, their conversation almost immediately turned into a quarrel. Victoria ordered him to leave, once and for all. He obeyed and never returned.
Victoria also realized that it was most likely a matter of weeks before she would finally have to leave Los Angeles. The night in the garrison cost her more than just the loss of her beloved and her reputation. She had no experience of being a married woman, and had lost her mother too early to learn all the secrets of the body, but she knew what to expect. She could count on the people of the pueblo being persuaded to forgive her for betraying Zorro and spending the night in the garrison, but even the few remaining friends would not protect her from what might come. Don Diego could convince everyone that she was forced with violence to stay with the soldiers, but he too would turn away from her when he found out she was pregnant.
So as Victoria was sitting curled up in a chair by the kitchen door, and staring at the deserted room, it occurred to her that whatever had happened that had caused the emptiness might, in fact, not have happened if not so long ago she had not decided otherwise.
"It would be better if I hadn't been born," she whispered, repeating the words overheard from one of the housewives that morning. She looked around and whispered again. „It would be better if I had died then."
She froze, terrified. Hastily, she picked up the plate and began wiping it down, trying not to think. Because what she thought of at that moment was a sin, the greatest of the great, a blasphemy. She should go to padre Benitez and confess it. But the padre had left for Santa Barbara once more, and from there he was to go to Monterey, together with the abbot of the mission there. They wanted to demand from the governor greater protection for the church schools and the Indian children studying there against kidnappings by Monsagre and his alike. In Los Angeles, he was now replaced by a young priest, insecure and unfriendly toward the innkeeper. He looked at her with a disapproving glance and claimed, as loudly as de Soto and some others, that she had no place among honest people. She also knew that the priest would also ask her about that damned night. And she was too ashamed to say a word about what had happened then, nor was she brave enough to bear his inevitable condemnation any longer.
She struggled with that thought for the next few days. "No!" she repeated to herself when all the people had moved away from her again when she went to fetch water at the well in the morning. "No! Don't think about it", she whispered when another old woman spat at the sight of her again. "No, certainly not! You mustn't, it's a sin", she reminded herself as she was counting her meagre income that night.
But as soon as the sergeant's intervention saved her from the overly-enthusiastic vaquero who sought more than a meal at her inn, she ran out of strength. She closed the door for the upcoming siesta and huddled behind the bar, sobbing with helplessness.
She knew the damned shepherd was right. After what she had done, she was a fallen woman, a natural plaything for men like him, owing them obedience and submission to their whims. Honest women spit with disgust at the sight of people like her. No decent wanderer ever went to an inn run by the likes of her.
Women like her were nothing.
And she was perhaps even worse than nothing. A traitor. She betrayed Zorro, betrayed herself, and betrayed their love. She couldn't even defend herself that it had happened under duress. For the hundredfold damned de Soto had told the truth - Monsangre had asked her and nothing had happened to her until she herself had given her consent. She cursed herself, pushed herself into this hell.
She was condemned. By her own free will.
She suddenly straightened up, her eyes stinging from crying. So what else was standing in her way of? What prevented her from turning and running away from everything that had happened to her? From the scornful, judging stares, from resentment, hostility, from the sorrowful and anxious questioning of don Diego. From the memory of Zorro's despairing, shocked, betrayed gaze, from what may already be developing in her body.
She could have escaped. A condemned traitor who should meet the fate of a traitor. She suddenly remembered how once she was led to the scaffold. She was supposed to die for a crime she didn't commit, and Zorro saved her. But now she was no longer innocent. She betrayed him, and she had to suffer the consequences of that betrayal. It crossed her mind now that such death was apparently meant for her.
Pensive, she went to the back room. From the chest, she pulled the rope she used for drying the guest room sheets. She ran it between her fingers as she returned to the taproom. A solid, smooth rope. She tossed it over the support of the stairs for testing and gripped it with both hands to see if it was strong enough. It was.
She coiled the rope and began to tie a knot laboriously, trying to remember how it should be braided. She looked around. The balustrade of the gallery seemed to be just right; she could hook the rope there and then come up from below. The only thing left was to find a suitable stool...
Suddenly, she stopped. What was she doing? Had she gone mad? No, she answered herself. She discovered a way out of the trap. When she had a choice, she had already chosen wrongly and found herself in hell. Now, she could stay there and keep on living in humiliation, or... free herself from it once and for all.
Just... She glanced at the closed door. If she did it here, every one of those who spat at the sight of her would feel satisfaction at what had happened. She would be scorned in death as much as she was in life. And that would hurt those few friends she still had even more. She did not want that.
She had to disappear.
Victoria sat down at one of the tables and spent the rest of her siesta writing letters. Two, only two letters, but she had to summon all her courage, all her strength, to choose her words and write down everything she wanted and could say in them. These two deserved the truth about what she had done and what she was going to do. She could not leave them in doubt. Then she packed up the envelopes and put them in her room.
One day, she decided, one evening. Maybe she will find another solution.
X X X
She did not find it. Vaquero came back and when she slammed the door in his face, he made himself heard in the whole pueblo, screaming at her with the worst words. But something else was worse for Victoria Escalante than his screams: people around did not prevent the drunken man from taunting. More than that, when she peered through the slots in the shutter, she saw that they were looking at her inn with condemning expressions. They confirmed that she was to blame for all the fuss. She, who, in her stupid pride, did not want to properly receive and serve this guy. Their sullen glances demanded that she come to terms with her new status. However, thanks to this, she suddenly felt confident that she had made the right decision.
In the evening, Victoria slipped through the alleys to Pilar's house. The woman, though she had been working for her for so long, now refused to let her step over the threshold. She talked reluctantly, looking around to see if anyone could witness it. But Victoria didn't have to persuade her for too long. Pilar agreed to take the inn for a while in exchange for the income earned at that time. The explanation that Victoria had to leave for the Santa Barbara mission for a few days was received with cold understanding. There was a hint of disgust beneath it, suggesting that Pilar knew what Victoria would really be looking for there. As the woman could come to the inn only after siesta, Victoria had to slightly change her plans and wait for her.
So she was waiting all morning. She was cooking, cleaning, and peeking out of the window to see if someone would look at her. A few peons decided to pop in for a glass, but they drank hurriedly and left. As if they were afraid that something from the dirty atmosphere of this place would stick to them and leave indelible traces.
Don Diego came to the inn once again. He wanted to talk. Somehow, the young caballero didn't believe in what had happened. He was still trying to convince the señorita to trust him and let him help her in some way. If he had come here earlier, Victoria would have chased him out of the inn with a broom. His concern made her want to throw herself crying into his arms and share all her grief, despair, and humiliation. But she could not forget what she had been guilty of. She could also not bear the thought that he, too, would back away from her in disgust. But now, when she was counting down the hours until Pilar's arrival, she could dismiss his questions and refuse to answer. It was better that way. For that little time she had left, at least he remained her friend. She only told him that she wanted to go to Santa Barbara today. He smiled and wished her a good journey.
However, Victoria was mostly alone with her thoughts in the morning, and she could reflect once more. The more she was thinking, the more it seemed to her that she was doing the right thing. People expected her to disappear and stop bothering them. The fact that she would go farther away than Santa Barbara wouldn't bother anyone. Nobody will look for her.
Zorro...
She had hurt him so badly that she was all the more willing to escape from this memory. She said goodbye to him in a letter, as well as to don Diego. Maybe it will hurt them, but it will also be easier for them when there are no more lies between them and when they stop deluding themselves about her person.
So when Pilar finally arrived, Victoria pressed the key into her hand. She also handed over an envelope, asking Pilar to give the letter to don Diego. And then Señorita Escalante led her horse out of the stable and left Los Angeles forever.
X X X
She had no intention of going toward Santa Barbara. The road there was too straight and smooth. There were always several groups of Indians wandering near the mission, and hunters hunting in the woods. She was looking for a place where no one would find her. So she turned swiftly toward the hills.
The sun had already disappeared behind the peaks when she found what she was looking for. A few huge trees in a secluded spot, densely overgrown with bushes. When she rode between them and saw the branches hanging low and spreading, she knew that she was in the right place. No one came here except the coyotes. Nobody will find her here, at least not so soon. And time will work in her favour. In a few weeks, no one will be able to say what had happened to Victoria Escalante. The innkeeper and Zorro's lover who had betrayed him so shamefully, and who had become the disgrace of all Los Angeles.
She jumped off her mount and unfastened the rope from the saddle. The executions ordered by the alcalde were vivid in her mind. The men stopped in mid-air by the merciless noose. The snap of the trapdoor, the jerk, the stillness. Just a dead body swinging at the end of the rope. Quick, for sure. The end of everything.
Somewhere from her memories, a conversation with her mother surfaced. She was caught as a young girl watching such an execution. Her mother explained to her then what that man had done wrong and why he was treated that way. She could not help but think that the unfortunate man was much less guilty than she was now.
The loop was ready. She checked it with her hand to see if it would tighten. The branch she had chosen was still quite high, but when she mounted her horse, she managed to reach it and tie the rope. Then she unsaddled the steed and drove it away with a pat on the rump. The animal would surely join the first herd it encountered, and no one would find it.
She dragged pieces of withered branches under a bough. Folded into a pile and covered with the saddle, they created the necessary support. She wasn't crying, though tears still filled her eyes at the mere remembrance of what she had lost. She pushed those thoughts aside just as she clenched her teeth to keep from crying when she tied the rope. She had shed enough tears, mourning her foolishness. Now she only had to bear the consequences, and she didn't want to die while weeping and sobbing over her miserable fate.
She took off her shoes. Barefoot, it was easier for her to stay on the saddle's smooth leather. When she stepped on it, the noose was in front of her face.
She hesitated for a moment, but put the noose on.
Its touch on her neck made her feel nauseous. Partly because the touch of the rope sickened her as much as the contempt in people's eyes, but also because she suddenly felt terrified to the core. She wanted to live. She was sure she did. But it was over, there was nothing left to change her fate. There was no other way out for her, and the decision she had made was the only right one. It was already getting dark under the treetops. The day was over, and so was her life.
"Ave Maria…", she whispered and paused. She was condemned, she had no right to pray for the last time or even mention those who loved her.
She closed her eyes to take that last step.
Focused on not crying to the end, she didn't hear someone running nearby. Suddenly, that someone unceremoniously grabbed her in half, ripping the rope from her neck and pulling her from the saddle. Before she could even scream in surprise, she was already standing on damp, dewy grass.
Terrified, she opened her mouth to say something, but could not. She felt as if something had taken her breath away, not only from speech, but also from air. There was a buzzing noise in her ears, silver flashes swarmed in front of her eyes, and the branches of the trees above her head seemed to swirl.
She fell into darkness and silence.
To be continued...