Outside the garden wall, Ignacio DeSoto arrived to steal a horse. It was a hanging offense, but at the moment, he did not care. Don Alejandro had the finest horse--outside of Toronado--in the territory, and he needed it to get away from that horrible emissary. He patted the wonderful white coat of the horse and murmured to his ride. The territory was going to be much better than being dragged through the streets of Madrid, humiliated by Resendo and the jeering crowd.
He heard Gilberto shouting, and his curiosity overcame his desire to flee. He looked through the archway and was stunned to see his friend holding a pistol to the emissary's head. There was a part of him that felt glee at the man's situation, but the soldier in him resisted--he had a duty to protect the emissary. He almost turned away, but then he realized this was his chance. He could save Resendo and the man would be forced to declare him a hero to the King!
DeSoto lifted his own pistol. Walking towards his friend, he hollered a warning. "Drop the pistol, Gilberto!"
No one moved. He carefully walked so that he was in front of Gilberto. He could not understand the rage, the pain, on the man's face, but he doubted the young de la Vega heir wanted to be hanged for shooting an emissary. The man was aggravating, true, but Gilberto had no real reason to kill him that DeSoto could see. Resendo was obviously unarmed, and Victoria was standing next to him.
"Gilberto, drop the pistol!" He had expected his friend to immediately toss down his weapon and beginning laughing, but something deep inside him started to fear that might have to shoot his friend after all.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can, Gilberto," DeSoto pleaded--ordered.
Gilberto shook his head. "You won't shoot me, Ignacio," he said with an arrogance that surprised DeSoto.
"He won't have a choice, Gilberto," the emissary murmured.
Gilberto laughed. "Do you really expect him to shoot me? To protect you?"
DeSoto felt the sweat pouring down his back. Gilberto was loco--that was the only explanation; he was not thinking clearly. "Gilberto, I won't have a choice," he whispered through clenched teeth.
"See, Gilberto," Resendo said with only a hint of anger in his voice. "He knows Don Alejandro and Victoria better than you do. They won't lie to protect you or him."
Gilberto's eyes were wild. "Father wouldn't let me go to jail."
"Gilberto," the old caballero finally spoke. "I will not let you murder a man in cold blood either! Put down the pistol."
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Victoria putting her hand on Diego's arm. The sight seemed to enrage Gilberto even more. What was going on here? DeSoto felt like he had walked out into the middle of a battlefield armed with only a cup of tea. "I won't let him steal what is mine!"
"I was never yours to begin with," she snapped. DeSoto almost groaned. Most men seemed to have little common sense when it came to women, and he doubted Gilberto was any different.
Resendo's voice now seemed to be pleading. "I don't want anything of yours, Gilberto. I only wanted to let you know."
Gilberto finally lowered his gun to the relief of everyone. "Do you really believe he will let you leave now?" He nodded his head in the direction of Don Alejandro. "You should hear how talked about you before today. He said his instincts told him that your were an honorable man, even though your actions seemed to go against it. Do you have any idea how much of a compliment that is? How often I yearned to hear him say that to me? Do you?"
Suddenly, he turned and began walking back to the house. DeSoto's own gut screamed at him that something was wrong, but he did not know why. Don Alejandro's face was bright with a relieved smile. Victoria was laughing and hugging Resendo close. Gilberto, however, looked--defeated, like a man with nothing left to lose.
He watched, horrified, as the man's shoulders slowly straightened with a new resolve, sensing what the change meant. He wanted to shout out a warning, and he struggled to find the words to stop Gilberto's desperate action. Instead, he found himself doing what he had to do, what he had been trained to do. As his friend rotated, DeSoto lifted his own weapon.
The sound of a pistol discharging destroyed the peaceful quietness of the de la Vega garden. DeSoto sank to his knees as he watched his friend fall to the ground, his white shirt turning red. Resendo reached him first. He grabbed Gilberto's hand. "Why?"
"I have always," he heard Gilberto gasp as Resendo tried desperately to stop the flow of blood. "Lived in your shadow."
Don Alejandro reached the side of his son, and he stumbled to his knees. "I never even knew about--"
Gilberto's laugh was filled with pain, both physical and emotional. "He was the honorable son you always wanted, but you got me instead. Somehow, deep inside, you always knew that I was the wrong son."
DeSoto forced himself to stand. He began to walk to the fallen man he had always considered a friend. "I love you, Gilberto," Don Alejandro whispered.
"I know you do, but it wasn't enough for me," Gilberto whispered. "It all seems so clear now. Don't be so upset, Father; it was meant to be," he gasped with his last breath. DeSoto cried as he saw the life leave Gilberto's eyes.
***
He thought it should be raining. It felt wrong that, on the day of his son's funeral, the sun was shining brightly overhead in a crisp blue sky. The entire pueblo had turned out for the burial, but Don Alejandro knew that it was more out of respect for him than for Gilberto. His son had been right in many ways; the people of Los Angeles had never embraced him. But, then, he had never accepted them either.
As the padre read the rites, he looked over at his once-lost son, remembering a conversation he had with his wife many years ago. "It almost feels like we were given the wrong son," Elena had tried to say as a joke that failed. Looking down at their sleeping baby in the crib, he had understood exactly what she was saying and what she was not. Gilberto had been right; he had lived is life in the shadow of a brother no one even knew he had. Without even suspecting Diego's existence, Don Alejandro had searched for him in Gilberto and had found him to be lacking. Don Alejandro would not share that secret with Diego; the man already bore too much self-inflicted guilt for the death of his brother.
Victoria also shared in Diego's guilt, and nothing either of the de la Vegas said seemed to help lessen her belief that she was responsible for the events that led to Gilberto's death. Maybe with her, he would share his secret. Gilberto had said that it was finally all clear to him, that it was meant to be, and Don Alejandro's heart, bleeding with grief, also felt the rightness of Diego's presence in Los Angeles. He, unlike Gilberto, loved the land and the people, and they were quickly embracing him as the long-lost son. Don Alejandro and DeSoto were the only people truly mourning the loss of Gilberto.
After his brother's death, Diego began showing the people of Los Angeles what a great leader he could be. He quickly handled all the arrangements for the funeral; informed the public what had happened; efficiently organized the soldiers and sent them on patrol (since DeSoto had forgotten to give any orders the last few days about job responsibilities); and he had organized his own troops, in preparation for their leaving today. Without him.
In his place would be DeSoto. Diego told his father, in confidence, that he was sending a letter to the King with Corporal Figueroa. In the message were the details leading up to the death of Julian and a list of DeSoto's many crimes against the people of Los Angeles. He had admitted that it was possible that King, overwhelmed with gratitude for the delivery of the tax money, would simply ignore the problems and reward DeSoto instead. "I can't find it inside myself to care much right now. DeSoto will get what is coming to him eventually, but I've made a life out of wanting revenge. I don't want to look for it anymore, and I know what Julian would tell me to do," Diego confessed late last night.
The service was almost over now. The dirt felt cold in his hands. Slowly, he opened his fingers and let the dirt fall through them. The sound of it hitting the pine casket seemed incredibly loud. He silently said his final good-byes and his last apologies for not being the father his son needed him to be. He could think of no other way to be, but he wished somehow he had been able to touch Gilberto's soul. Maybe, if he had, he could be the proud father of two sons today.