June 10th, 1819
My dear father,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have just received my marks for the semester and I find that my class rank has improved since last year. I now stand in the top fifteen percent of my class and am pleased with this placement. Enclosed is a detailed account of my marks for each course.
Diego was pleased with his academic performance for the year, he had worked exceptionally hard during the last year and it had paid off. It was his other area of focus, however, that he wasn't happy with.
I have decided to stay in Madrid over the summer, there are some opportunities here that I would like to take advantage of.
He was going to stay and devote himself wholly to fencing. He knew he could beat Ramón and he just needed a little more time in the fencing salle to do it. When he had started two years ago he and Ramón had been more or less friendly with each other, now it seemed their relationship was one of pure rivalry.
Lifting his pen he began to write again. A knock on his room door interrupted him. Bernardo went and opened the door.
"Diego!" said Miguel as he looked past Bernardo, "I thought I'd find you here. I need your help."
"What is it?" Diego stood and shook his hand as he came in.
Miguel sat on Diego's bed. "I find myself with an appointment for the field of honor tomorrow and I want you to be my second."
"Me?" said Diego sitting back in his chair, turning it to face Miguel, "Well of course, but who are you facing?"
"Joaquin Flores from the year above us. He insulted me this morning and he needs taught a lesson."
"I agree, but are you sure about this?" Miguel wasn't a fencer, having only the most rudimentary knowledge of the sport.
"To be honest, I'm not completely sure about this, I was hoping you might give me a few pointers before tomorrow." Miguel fidgeted with the hilt of his sword.
"I don't know what I can teach you before tomorrow, but I will certainly try." Diego stood and Bernardo handed him his sword. He motioned to Miguel. "Let's go to the park nearby, we're going to need some room."
...
Father, it is now very late and I am trying to finish this letter so it can get to you with the upmost haste. As I wrote, I will be staying in Madrid during the summer. Tío Estevan is still here, his courtship of the countess continues, so I will not be wanting for family.
Diego mulled over Miguel's duel on the morrow. He was certain that his friend was about to be seriously injured. If only he could just step in and fight in Miguel's place.
Diego looked back at his letter, it was terribly short. Not sure what else to write he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The room to his door opened and the now familiar footsteps of Bernardo came across the floor.
Signing, Bernardo asked about Miguel.
"I'm afraid he's going to be in some real trouble tomorrow, Joaquin is far and away a better fencer."
Bernardo indicated his hand and a slashing movement.
"No, Joaquin is generally not satisfied with first blood, especially when he has been challenged. He'll want some revenge out of Miguel." Joaquin could be especially cruel at times, Miguel might even be killed.
Bernardo motioned to him and imitated holding a sword.
"You think I should intervene in some way? I tried to teach Miguel a few things, I'm not sure what else I can do." It was an affair of honor after all.
Bernardo pointed to him and held up two fingers, gesturing to one of them.
"Yes, I am Miguel's second," Diego wasn't sure where this was going.
Bernardo moved his hand to indicate talking.
"You think I should talk to Joaquin, try and make him see reason?"
Bernardo nodded.
Diego pondered the suggestion. Miguel might not speak to him again if he interfered. At the same time, if Miguel died he also wouldn't be speaking to him again.
Hastily scrawling a farewell and signing his name to the bottom of the letter, Diego rose. "Alright, you've convinced me, I will speak to Joaquin and try to work this out in a civilized manner." Taking his sword belt he raised it to Bernardo. "And I will bring this, just in case Joaquin isn't feeling so civilized."
Bernardo grabbed Diego's hat and gloves and the two men headed for the streets of Madrid.
July 22nd, 1819
My dear son,
Once again I give you birthday greetings, though this year I am afraid they will arrive quite late. All the same I wish you happiness and health as you commence your nineteenth year. I fear I will hardly recognize you when you return.
Alejandro tried to imagine Diego as he would be now. Athletic, educated, tall. His son was good looking and probably appeared even more so now. He imagined him smiling, Diego was always smiling. He had a grin that would light up the whole room, and a wicked sense of humor to go with it. Alejandro smiled to himself. He missed that smile. Those eyes that were perpetually twinkling. He sighed. Only two more years.
In regards to your letter of May twenty-fifth, I am not sure I understand why you need a manservant, but such a decision is up to your discretion. I implore you to make sure that he has good references, a place like Madrid attracts all kinds of unsavory people. I am glad you got your pocket watch back, pickpockets are a perpetual plague in Europe, it seems as though they are to be found on every street corner.
I am pleased that you are being diligent with your studies and applying yourself well. You will be a great credit to Los Angeles when you return. Competition is good for a man, it drives him to be the most successful version of himself. If it motivates you to high achievements it can only be a good thing. Keep up the good work.
This, of course, was what the best universities could do for a young man. Challenge him and drive him to be his very best. The presence of other young men made the atmosphere one of competition that drove them all to be better and attain more. When he had been in university in Mexico City he had had a similar experience.
I hope you will spend the summer with your relatives again. They wrote that they missed you, particularly your young cousins. I am pleased that they are so fond of you.
"¿Patrón?"
"¿Sí, Benito?" Alejandro turned from his desk in the sala, looking over the top of his spectacles at the young man standing near the door.
"I am sorry to bother you, patrón, but you said to tell you if there was any news from the pueblo."
Alejandro removed his spectacles and stood up. "What is it, what has happened?"
"Monastario, he has arrested Señor Gomez and confiscated all his property, the shop and everything."
"What?" said Alejandro, "On what charge?"
"Withholding taxes and treason." Benito looked as though he could hardly believe what he was saying.
"This is preposterous! Go saddle my horse, I will go and speak to Monastario about this."
"Sí, patrón." Benito hurried out the door.
Alejandro hastily signed his letter then retrieved his hat and gloves. He didn't know what Monastario was playing at, but if he thought he could arbitrarily arrest citizens of the pueblo he had another thing coming.
October 12th, 1819
My dear father,
Diego walked around his room trying to get his thoughts together.
This letter is not in my hand because I recently sustained a slight injury to my right hand and as a consequence cannot write with a pen for some days. A friend of mine is most generously writing in my stead.
Diego ground his teeth, he was afraid the injury would set him back in his fencing. His hand twinged under the bandage he wore. It was the unfortunate result of his most recent duel. Ever since his little altercation with Joaquin at the beginning of summer he had found himself with something of a target on his back. He thrilled at the challenge most of the time, he was quite good and didn't loose often, but the field of honor was not the same as a tournament bout and he had the injuries to show for it.
Bernardo turned in the desk chair to see why Diego wasn't continuing with his dictation. Catching his eye, Diego continued:
Tío Estevan has finally left Madrid, his reputation a little tarnished but no worse for the wear. I expect he will be back before we know it. Currently, he is on his way to Paris to find if he fares any better there.
Diego and Bernardo exchanged a look, both of them breaking into grins. Bernardo had never met Diego's uncle, but there had been more than enough stories over the previous months.
Thank you for the birthday wishes, I appreciate them greatly. I passed the day most pleasurably, though I wish you could have been there.
Though, if his father had been there he would have seen his son spending all day in the fencing salle, not partying or socializing.
This past summer I decided to start wearing a mustache, they are very fashionable among the upperclassmen. I'm very fond of the one I'm now sporting.
Diego stroked his mustache. He liked to think that it made him look older.
The academic term has started most favorably for me. All of my courses are exceedingly interesting (with the exception of one course in advanced mathematics) and I anticipate strong marks in all areas. My midterm examinations are next week, I will write you with the results.
I am becoming very fond of Madrid, I am thinking of maybe staying here for a year or two after graduation. What would you think about that?
Diego had indeed become very fond of Madrid, and a certain lady who happened to live here. Diego halted his dictation and went to the desk to read over what had already been written.
Bernardo proudly showed the letter and pointed to the various flourishes he had incorporated.
Diego laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "Beautiful, it's almost a pity that such pretty writing is going to my father and not a fair señorita."
Bernardo grinned, looking quite pleased with himself.
"I am almost finished, hopefully by the time I want to write again my hand will be healed enough that I can write it myself." Looking back at the letter he reminded himself of the last few lines and continued:
It is now autumn in Madrid and the city is beautiful. I hope the autumn and winter season passes well in Los Angeles. I hope you are well and taking care of yourself.
Your loving son,
Here, Diego took the quill and signed his name himself, with no small amount of difficulty. Yesterday's injury made his hand stiff and uncomfortable for writing. He had been assured by the doctor that it would be healed in no time, he hoped that said assessment was accurate.
Bernardo sprinkled sand on the wet ink then carefully folded and addressed it, sealing it with Diego's seal.
"Thank you for the favor, my friend," said Diego taking the letter, "I will go post it now, hopefully it will leave for California even today."
December 18th, 1819
My dear son,
I am responding to your letters of both June tenth and October twelfth, I am sorry I have not written you sooner.
Alejandro had meant to write Diego more often, the days had just slipped past him as he had become increasingly preoccupied with Monastario's machinations.
I am pleased with your academic performance and I am proud of you. You have done very well for yourself over there. I hope your injury is now long healed. Do try to be careful when you are going in for sport.
The Diego he had sent to Spain had been adventurous, and even reckless. He didn't know if that was still the case. All the same he felt it wise to caution his son.
As for you staying in Madrid after you graduate,
Here, Alejandro had to stop for a few minutes. He wanted Diego to stay and pursue his dreams, use his education, perhaps even find some advantageous position in the city. Diego was bright, friendly and sensible. He could make quite the life for himself in Spain. He also wanted, now more than ever, his son at his side. Monastario was beginning to wear on him and he felt like he could use some support. Convincing the other dons to stand with him against Monastario's misdeeds was like pulling teeth.
I am loath to be without you, of course. I think it would be best if we saved this conversation for a future date. Write me again with your feelings as you enter your final year and I shall deliver to you my thoughts then.
That was, if the mail from Los Angeles wasn't stopped completely by then. Twice now he heard rumor that all the mail was being searched just in case a stray complaint found its way to the governor.
He looked over Diego's letter again noticing the passage about the mustache. He tried to imagine his fresh-faced teenager wearing a man's facial hair. Somehow, he couldn't quite picture it.
I want to extend to you my warmest greetings at Christmas. I will miss your presence as I have the past two years. The poinsettias at the mission are in bloom and the churchyard is most spectacular. I know they were always a favorite of yours.
Please continue to write, I promise to be more prompt in my responses.
Your loving father,
Alejandro
Alejandro took the letter and was just at the gate when he came face-to-face with Benito coming in.
"Your pardon, patrón, I was just on my way to find you."
Alejandro sighed, he didn't even have to guess why Benito was looking for him. "Monastario?" he said simply.
Benito nodded.
"Walk with me to the stables and tell me as we go."
February 29th, 1820
My dear father,
Thank you for the Christmas wishes, I hope you passed the holiday season with peace and joy. Tía Ignacia, Tío Benjamín and the cousins came to Madrid to visit me over the winter holidays, I was very glad to have their company. The cousins are getting so big. I can hardly believe that Imelda and Marta are practically women grown. In just three years they have blossomed into fair and gentle Spanish ladies.
He supposed that he had changed a lot in three years as well. Would his father also be changed when he finally made his way back to California?
I will write again about staying in Madrid as I come into my final year, but in the months since I last wrote you my feelings have not changed at all. I think there are many opportunities for me here, and I am most fond of the city now. I have become accustomed to the Spanish lifestyle and have made many true friends. I think I could settle here for some time and be very happy. Of course, I will obey your wishes on the matter, I just want you to know the depth of my feeling regarding the subject.
Certainly, he missed his father and his home, but Madrid was also his home now. He felt comfortable here, he was close to his mother's family, he had a circle of friends, some excellent professional prospects, and he did not want for company from the fairer sex. He could see himself getting married and starting a family of his own here, then after some time moving back to California to be with his father and raise his children.
Autumn term went well for me, but I am afraid I have declined in my academic ranking from the previous term. I am even now in the library in an attempt to make up for this loss.
Part of the problem is that he had spent more time in the fencing salle than in the library during the autumn semester. He had also been known to cut class in order to get in more practice time. Almost every waking minute was spent on fencing, and it was paying off. Already he had established himself as the top fencer at the university among all classes. Even now he was preparing to face down the cream of Spanish fencers at the Royal Competitive Tournament. He couldn't let his focus slip, unfortunately, that meant his grades did have to slip to keep up his grueling training regime.
Do not fear for my academic performance, however, I am certain that, with a little effort, I will finish stronger than last year.
Once the Royal Competitive Tournament was over he could throw himself into his studies and boost his grades.
Tío Estevan writes that he is now entranced by a certain widow in Paris, I believe he is already hearing wedding bells. Coincidentally, she is also the wealthiest widow in the city, but I am sure that has nothing to do with his ardor for her.
Diego smiled at his uncle's antics, one of these days he would manage to land himself a wealthy wife, but Diego wasn't so sure this widow was going to work out the way his uncle hoped.
I am afraid that is all I have to write you at the moment. I hope you are well and I look forward to your letters.
Your loving son,
Diego
Diego felt a tap on his arm and looked up from his letter. Bernardo had come into the library and was signing that someone had been looking for him. Diego had just risen from his chair when he saw who it was.
"Ramón," he said, gesturing to the shelves of books that surrounded them, "what brings you here?"
Ramón smirked. "Can a man not freely come to the university library in order to find one of his dear friends?"
"'Dear friend,' certainly you don't mean me." Diego gestured to himself.
"Certainly I do," said Ramón, "I am hurt that you do not realize the high esteem in which I hold you."
Diego gestured for Ramón to sit down. "Well, tell me, what is on your mind?"
As Ramón sat, Diego flipped over his letter to preserve it from prying eyes.
"Tell me, Diego, why does you manservant refuse to talk to me, I find it most off-putting. I saw him outside and asked him if you were in the library and he refused to answer me, only waving at me like I am some dog."
"He does not speak to you because he cannot speak, it is nothing personal."
"Oh, so he is a mute." Ramón's voice had a certain disdain.
"He cannot speak." Diego said again. He had a certain distaste for the word mute, especially said in such a tone. "He uses his hands to speak in place of his tongue. If you are patient for a moment you will understand what he says most easily."
"Diego, you have too soft a heart, you should hire a man who can speak. No one has the time to watch a pantomime show every time they need to understand what someone is saying."
Diego felt a little rankled. "No one has the time to listen to you deride servants when you came here to say something to me."
"Sí, I did," said Ramón, remembering what he had come to say, "I have had news about our tournament, it is being postponed this year."
Somehow the Royal Competitive Tournament, which encompassed all of Spain, had become theirs. A private contest between the two of them.
"What do you mean?" Diego leaned forward, if he lost the opportunity to win the tournament he would be most displeased.
"Instead of taking place, as it normally does, early in the spring, it has been moved to the last week of May."
"Wonderful," Diego snorted. The last week of May were end of term examinations and his courses this semester were not easy ones. "Where did you hear this?" He had to be sure that Ramón wasn't trying to play some trick on him.
"There is a notice in the fencing salle and I was told by our instructor himself." Ramón leaned back in his chair. "Do not worry, Diego, I am not trying to trick you, I want you at that tournament more than anything. We will see once and for all which of us is truly the superior swordsman."
Ramón was still bitter over Diego's unprecedented climb in ranking among the university's fencers.
"Oh, we will find out, that is most certain." Diego leaned back as well. He supposed if he had to sacrifice his marks for one year just to show Ramón a thing or two it would be worth it in the end. "I will be there, you can count on that."
Alejandro stood in the plaza. The crowd around him was deathly silent as the duelists beat away at each other. Young Don Héctor de la Fuente was doing his best to fend off his attacker, but Monastario was clearly the better swordsman. Steel rang against steel, echoing through the silent square. Sweat beaded on Alejandro's brow as he stood baking in the hot sun on the first day of spring. He was too engrossed in the battle to bother dabbing it away.
Monastario lunged forward sending Héctor's sword flying across the plaza. Bringing up his blade Monastario ran him through. Héctor fell to the ground and an audible gasp was heard from the attending crowd.
"Does anyone else care to insult my honor?" Monastario challenged the community at large.
No sound was heard from the gathered people.
"Very well," said Monastario as he bent and wiped his blade on Héctor's body, "clear the plaza, all of you!"
The people dispersed. Héctor's father and Doctor Avila ran to the boy to see if anything could be done, but Monastario's blade had hit its mark.
Alejandro wove his way through the throng to the alcalde. "Señor alcalde," Alejandro said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him aside, "you must do something about this! Monastario murdered a member of our community in cold blood!"
"I do not know what I can do, Don Alejandro, it was an affair of honor and Monastario was quite within his rights to use lethal force."
"Are you trying to defend this man? You know as well as I do that to duel for anything other than first blood is simply not done anymore. We are not in the dark ages any longer. He killed young Héctor to send a message of dominance. You are our representative! You must show this tyrant that his hostility will not be met with compliance."
"Would you have me challenge the man to a duel, Alejandro?" said the aged man, "I have no authority over him. Besides, even if I did charge him with murder that lawyer of his would make it all go away, there is really nothing we can do."
Alejandro snagged Don Cornelio who was passing nearby. "You must agree with me, we must put an end to this. Monastario is getting out of hand! We must stand together and face him. If we all joined forces we could easily run him out of the pueblo."
Don Cornelio put up a finger to quiet him. "Keep your voice down, my friend, unless you wish to find yourself in the same place as young Héctor."
"Are you afraid of him too?" Alejandro was aghast, where were the bold caballeros of his youth? "If he is not stopped he will have us all under his thumb and rule us with an iron fist. Our rights mean nothing to this man."
"Alejandro, I have to think of my family. I cannot be taking risks with military dictators. If we are quiet we will find our lives essentially unchanged." Don Cornelio's voice was little above a whisper.
"Quiet!" Alejandro had never been angrier. "I never thought I'd see the day when the noble blood of our ancestors could be so easily cowed by a single military bully. Your father would be so ashamed of you, as am I!"
"What are you going to do, Alejandro? You can do nothing alone."
Don Cornelio had a point. He was alone, and it seemed that he could not convince anyone in the pueblo to join him in the fight against Monastario. All of them would be scared now, afraid they would be drawn into a duel and essentially executed if they stood against him, as Héctor had been. It was no accident that the duel had happened so publicly. Monastario knew exactly what he was doing. All the dons and their sons would now cower before him and refuse to defy him even in the smallest way.
Heart sinking he looked between the two men, defeat was in their eyes. There was nothing he could say to change their minds. If Héctor's death could not rouse some outrage, nothing would. He bade them goodbye and went to his horse. He could do nothing alone, if only he had the help of one person, one man brave enough to face down a tyrant like Monastario. His thoughts drifted to Diego.
Upon returning home he took a piece of paper and wrote only two sentences. He dared not be more explicit or else the letter would never make it out of Los Angeles. He prayed that Diego would not hesitate, he needed him now more than ever.
Diego was elated. Even now, many hours later he couldn't think of a time he'd been happier. He couldn't imagine anything in his life would ever make him this happy again. Triumph was sweet to savor. He, Miguel, and several of his other friends raced up the stairs to his apartment making more noise than was appropriate in the middle of the night. Their voices were loud and filled with excitement.
"Diego!" said Miguel, "I never thought this day would come, you have shown yourself to be the best in all Spain!"
There was a cheer from the other fellows and Diego laughed. The best in all Spain, he liked the sound of that very much. "I suppose I am, and I dedicate my accomplishment to you, my faithful friends!"
The group came to Diego's door which he unlocked with some trouble. They had only just come from the tavern where they had been celebrating all evening. The door opened and the raucous group spilled in, all of them quite jovial.
"Bernardo!" Diego called. The older man had been napping in Diego's chair, apparently waiting for him to return home. "Guess what, my friend!"
Bernardo blinked the sleep from his eyes, shrugging to indicate he didn't know what.
"I have, this very day, become the best fencer in all of Spain!" Diego held up the trophy. The golden cup glittered in the candlelight.
"Tell us again, Diego, what did the king say when he presented the trophy to you?" said one of the party.
"He said," said Diego proudly, "he had never seen such excellent swordsmanship in all his life and that I stood in a class of my own."
This comment produced back slapping and drunken cheers.
"Diego," said Miguel, "you have not only show yourself to be the best fencer in all of Spain, you have shown that New Spain will one day eclipse us. The old world is humbled and exceedingly proud."
Diego blushed a little at the effusive compliments. Bernardo came and shook Diego's hand, his way of expressing congratulations. Diego beamed. Nothing could ruin his mood.
"It is only too bad that your father could not be here to witness your victory," said another of his friends.
"I must write to my father immediately," Diego said at once, handing his trophy to Bernardo. "I have never felt more certain that he would be proud of me than I am at this moment. Bernardo, get the fellows some wine while I send news of my triumph to my beloved father." Sitting himself in his desk chair he reached for a clean piece of paper.
May 30th, 1820
Bernardo stopped in the middle of serving wine to Diego's friends and tapped his head as he remembered something. Placing Diego's trophy carefully on the desk he produced a letter from his breast pocket and handed it to Diego.
Diego took the letter and saw it was from his father. "Lads," he said, "it seems my father wanted to wish me luck, I have a letter from him even here."
"Read it to us!" said one of them, "How goes it in Los Angeles these days?"
Diego grinned. "Nothing exciting happens in California, he only ever writes of good weather, happy cattle and fat grapes."
"A toast to the grapes," said Miguel.
"Here, here," chorused the other.
"What shall it be this time," said Miguel. "Grapes or cattle."
"Let us find out then, eh?" said Diego as he broke the seal and read:
March 20th, 1820
My dear son,
It is with a heavy heart that I ask you to give up your studies and come home. Certain matters have arisen that I can no longer face alone.
Alejandro
The jovial mood died instantly. Miguel even came to read the letter over Diego's shoulder to ensure that he'd heard it properly. "Diego," he said, unsure what else to say.
Diego read the letter a second time, fear for his father sobering him instantly.
"Diego," said Miguel again, "what are you going to do?"
Diego combed his fingers through his hair, looking from the letter to catch Miguel's eye. "What can I do? I have to go home."