Chapter 3

"There is a singular line running through History, always renewing itself, that of fanatics for the general Order. Devoted to an abstract and absolute idol, to them human lives are of little worth if their mere existence threatens the dogma of Institutions; and it's as if they have forgotten that the community they are serving is made of human beings"
(Maurice Druon – "The Accursed Kings", Vol. 1: "The Iron King", part II, chapter 9)

Of course this quote doesn't completely stick to the character nor to this chapter, but I found it appropriate enough on some points to use it as a header here…

Ignacio de Soto was puzzled. Annoyed, too.

And slightly miffed.

Don Diego's young deaf mute… He would never have thought... He would never have expected it of him.

That being said, he had never really paid much attention to the boy, de Soto admitted. A boy who had never gotten himself talked about... to whom no one ever paid any attention... Well, he had to admit that as the boy was deaf and didn't speak, his presence could be easily forgotten and there was no real reason to pay any attention to him.

It was perhaps where lay the key to this puzzle: a young man to whom no one had ever paid the slightest attention – except Don Diego – suddenly became the heir of the most important, renowned and prominent family around. That was enough to go to his head. And give him a sudden sense of impunity.

Back there in Spain when he was young, de Soto had seen many of them, these young triflers who belonged to the gilded youth of Madrid, these rich kids and spoiled brats whose surname, ancestral lineage or family's wealth was in their eyes a blank cheque for all kinds of abuse and misconduct, ranging from simply lack of civility for most of them to violation of law for some others. And sometimes even crime.

But in their case, this sense had been instilled in them from the cradle, they had suckled it from their nurse's breast and it had been nurtured throughout childhood, so much that they thought it only natural that they were owed everything, be it positions, honors, respect... or the first servant, peasant girl or tavern wench who happened to come by.

But for this young man, things had been very different. So what was that? Was this the expression of a long repressed behavior of many years? Had he spent ten years managing to conceal his true nature among this small community that was the pueblo de Los Àngeles? Come on, such a mock harmlessness, such a charade was impossible to keep going for so long. Especially from a child. No one was that able to keep up years and years of pretense without giving themselves away. And certainly NOT before Ignacio de Soto's own eyes, for God's sake!

Well, granted, at this very thought a highly unpleasant word made his way to his mind, an unpleasant name beginning with a Z that was impudently buzzing in his ear, but de Soto tried his best to ignore it. Apart from this continual thorn in his side, no other secret could remain hidden for long in such a small community, and especially not by a mere teenager, a kid. A kid who had only his body to express himself – supposing that these pitiful gestures and gesticulations could be called "expressing oneself". The alcalde was convinced that, more often than not, Don Diego was only pretending to understand him – either to make himself look important or not to upset the boy, or even not to frankly admit he didn't understand anything more than the others – and that he invented at least three-quarters of what the kid was supposed to have "told" him.

But now said kid wasn't one anymore, as shown by the morning's very serious incident, and he was also no longer the mere invisible and anonymous servant he had been so far either. But what had gotten into him? Did his future status as "Don" Felipe suddenly go to his head? Probably. After all, for someone coming from such a low background, the idea of becoming a de la Vega, to one day inherit of the most profitable land around there as well as a considerable wealth, bearing one of the most prestigious and respected names of California could transform a dull and simple young man into a despicable spoiled brat and cocky rooster.

After all, what had the boy done to deserve so much godsends and blessings? What more had he done than all those insufferable coxcombs in Madrid who only ever had the trouble to be born? Not much, in truth. Just becoming Diego de la Vega's pet, his favourite, his protégé; Don Diego… another spoilt rich idler who didn't know what to do with his time and had never had to do anything in his life to deserve the high position he had in society.

Ignacio de Soto was sickened by this system. Someone should one day put things right, so that the son of simple peasants like himself could access the exact same opportunities as children of caballeros such as Diego, without having to resort to cheating for that. So that only merit, brains and hard work determine the destiny of a man, and the honors he received.

De Soto knew that this wouldn't happen any time in the near future, but he also knew that blindly yielding to the good old system would not help succeed in changing things. So if he had to incur a few frowns from some bigwig in Monterey by making an example of young Felipe de la Vega, then so be it. He would just have to skillfully manoeuvre with the governor, why not by inventing some unlikely collusion between the young man and the outlaw Zorro…

Though on second thought, no. It was better if Zorro didn't come and put his two centavos in this matter, he would be able to do ruin everything and the kid might get away with what he did. And it was precisely this sense of impunity that made Ignacio sick with indignation. Especially after what the boy had done or tried to do.

De Soto was a pragmatist. No pain, no gain, and he had known since very early in his life that you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs. He had learned this the hard way and often at his own expense. But despite years and years of compromise with his conscience that he had almost managed to silence it in order to rise to the rank he was currently occupying, there were still two or three things towards which he felt a boundless revulsion. Or was he beginning to soften as the years passed? After all, he remembered he had felt the need to seek the padre's spiritual assistance after he shot Gilberto Risendo, killing him instantly, to save Diego de la Vega – of all people! how ironic, come to think of it!

So yes, the facts Mendoza had reported to him concerning the morning's incident were of the kind that deeply sickened him, and Heaven forbid it would be said that their perpetrator would get away unpunished, however son and grand-son of caballero as he might be, and even though he was about to become a de la Vega. It would not be said that Ignacio de Soto softened with age. And if he had to make an example, then he would, damn it!