Chapter 2

The ride back to the pueblo was difficult and unpleasant. Personally, Sergeant Mendoza was in no hurry to get there, but the woman had not regained consciousness and that was sufficiently worrying in itself to make them hurry up a bit and take her to the village's only doctor.

She had therefore been hoisted up onto Corporal Sepulveda's horse, and he was holding her in a sitting position, her back propped against his torso, his right arm around her and his left hand holding the reins while he brought his mount to a trot. She was as limp as rag doll, but much heavier, and more cumbersome too; however, looking at it fast enough, one could have almost thought of them as a loving couple taking a romantic horse ride: her, pressed against his chest, like revelling in his arms; him, embracing her gently, his arm wrapped around her, his hand on her stomach... Well, except that when he was holding a woman in his arms, the corporal thought, he greatly preferred that she was conscious and aware – and consenting, he added inwardly, remembering what had led to the present situation.

Felipe had tried to defend himself, to tell God knows what with a great many gestures, but no one understood what he was trying to say, then why bother? Anyway, they had all witnessed the same scene, and there was little ambiguity about it. What on earth could he have said in his defence? They had therefore bound his wrists and, back on his horse, he now obediently left the soldiers take him back to the pueblo, under heavy guard, head bowed low.

Jaime Mendoza had rarely felt so lost. Disappointed, too. Hmm yes, the facts, yet so simple and obvious to the soldier, led to a complicated situation for the human being, for the friend he also was. Because yes, despite the obvious difference in social rank, wealth and education, despite the abyssal gap between them, Mendoza like to think of Don Diego de la Vega more or less as a friend. And what would greatly complicate things was that, not only the young Felipe had long been Don Diego's protégé, but what's more, he now was about to become his son. Diego de la Vega had undertaken official steps and administrative procedures to formally and legally adopt him.

This ugly affair was going to devastate poor Don Diego, who really didn't need that just after recently discovering he had had a hidden twin brother who turned out badly, a twin brother he had lost and buried even before he had time to try to help him redeem...

And now this? It was going to break Don Diego's heart…

But this whole adoption business could also bring Mendoza other problems, if Don Diego persevered in his project despite the facts: indeed, it was no longer a mere servant or a simple peon the sergeant had just arrest and was going to put in jail, but a future caballero, the heir to the richest family in Los Angeles, the most influential too, and the most respected even beyond the boundaries of the pueblo. The de la Vegas had connections throughout California, and perhaps even in Spain!

It certainly did not stop the last two alcaldes to put a de la Vega in jail for a night or two before, but – at least since Zorro had been keeping a close eye to their actions – for nothing as serious as what was currently concerning Mendoza; and certainly nothing that risked to mean more than a day or two of relative discomfort before being released.

But this was quite another matter, and arresting a caballero – a soon-to-be de la Vega! - for aggravating assault on an isolated an unarmed woman had nothing to do with simply putting Don Diego a few hours in a cell for writing an article that displeased the alcalde. This time, if Don Alejandro used his connections it could mean the end of the sergeant's career, because it was much easier to have a mere sergeant's head on a platter than an alcalde's – an alcalde appointed to his post by the king himself! It was not certain that Don Alejandro would come to that because after all he was an honest man, but on the other hand he was also a proud caballero who felt his duty was to defend the name of de la Vegas... So Mendoza didn't know exactly what to think of that. Most likely that the old man would probably try to persuade his son to give up on this adoption...

Felipe... of this either, the sergeant didn't know what to think... After all, he did not know the young man that well, and certainly much less than he had thought until then; however, he would never have thought... He'd never have expected that of him! He still couldn't believe it, incidentally. Yet he had seen it with his own eyes! The knife, the injured woman, her screams, her pleas, her skirts... it was as clear as daylight, and yet so unbelievable!

Complicated stuff. A very simple case altogether, yet a very complicated situation. One thing was howbeit certain: he had to refer this matter to the alcalde as soon as possible. And after all, he thought without really admitting his cowardice, decisions in Los Angeles fell to de Soto. Mendoza had no choice but to let the alcalde take over this ugly matter... He was only a soldier, a mere sergeant. He had to obey orders and comply with the law, even when he disliked, hadn't he?

Finally back to the pueblo, Mendoza ordered Sepulveda to take the still unconscious victim to the doctor, while the rest of the soldiers went back to the garrison house. The fact that the woman had still not regained consciousness during the ride was no good sign about her condition. Had the boy hit that hard?

Even before telling Soto, the sergeant had yet to put the young man in a cell. Two soldiers brought him down from his horse not too gently and, as he still had his hands tied in front of him, Felipe fell heavily on the ground. Once back on his feet he tried a few arm gestures again to try and tell something, but as the rope was hampering his movements he gave up and finally let them lock him up.

Mendoza couldn't dispel the feeling of unease and awkwardness that seized him since he identified the young deaf-mute as the poor woman's attacker. Besides, images of the scene he discovered behind the rocks came back to his mind eye, and disgust resurfaced.

"Give me your hands," he told his prisoner in a tone that he wished as neutral as possible.

Felipe was looking down and therefore could not know that the sergeant had spoken to him. Seeing this, Mendoza moved his arm forward through the bars and put his hand under the young man's chin to make him slowly raise his head.

"Your hands!" the sergeant repeated, making a gesture with his own to make him understand.

Felipe then lifted his tied wrists forward through the bars and Mendoza, armed with the knife found near the victim, cut the rope that had kept the youngster's hands bound until then.

As soon as his hands were free Felipe embarked on a series of panicked large gestures that were as fast as useless, because Mendoza quickly told him:

"Don't bother, I don't understand! Don't waste your time and brea–" Mendoza stopped himself, wincing while realising what he had been about to say. "Whatever. Felipe, stop! I don't understand a thing!"

The boy lowered his arms with a despondent look on his face, his shoulders slightly slumped. Suddenly he straightened up, grabbed the sergeant's arm through the bars and, an imploring look in the eyes, he mimicked the act of writing something with his right hand on the palm of his left hand.

"Writing?"

Looking around him, Mendoza found an old edition of the Guardian lying on a small desk and handed it to his prisoner, along with a lead pencil found in a drawer.

Felipe tore a piece of paper in the margin of the journal, hastily scribbled something on it and handed it back to the sergeant.

After taking a quick peek at it Mendoza asked:

"Are you sure you're in such a hurry to have him know what you've done?"

But Felipe insisted, pointing to the piece of paper in a resolute manner.

"As you wish..." Mendoza said in a resigned tone of voice before dropping the strip of paper on the desk and getting out.

Clenching his fingers around the bars of his cell tight enough to make his knuckles whiten without even realizing it, Felipe remained a long time staring at the piece of yellowed paper that bore all his hopes. On it, a single word:

Diego