NOTE BY THE ACCOUNT HOLDER: THIS STORY IS NOT MINE!

WRITTEN BY KARLA GREGORY

Chapter Six

When the guard came the next morning, he found Diego had not moved. His chest was a frightful sight and the guard did not let his gaze linger there very long. The young man's clothing was pierced full of holes and stained with dried blood. Not sure if Diego was dead or alive, the guard kicked his foot.

Diego roused up suddenly and wished he hadn't. His head was splitting and the room spun. The spinning gradually stopped, but the pain didn't and he couldn't think straight. Disoriented, he said in a rasping voice, "Where am I?"

The guard didn't answer him. He only said, "Get up! I have to know how badly you are hurt in order to report to Capitán Monastario."

Suddenly everything rushed back to his memory. Only Diego's pride made him stand up slowly, leaning against the wall for support. His slightest movement caused his wounds to scream their pain at him. The manacles and chains weighed down his hands.

He looked at them bitterly for a long minute and then back at the guard who gestured at the old table. "There is a jug of water and some rags. You are to use them to treat your wounds. There is also some food. I will wait until you are finished." So saying, he pulled the old chair over by the door and sat down with arms crossed.

Diego first drank about half the water in the jug to try and ease his thirst. He really did not want to have to clean his wounds in front of the soldier, but there was no help for it; they must be attended to. So he gingerly began to work on them. After a moment, he appealed to the guard, "Please, if you could remove these for a few moments so that I may take off my shirt?" He held out his hands.

The guard said, "No. The Capitán has said that under no circumstances were you to be freed or I would be shot. Do the best you can."

Diego was disappointed, but not surprised. He continued his ministrations. All of the cuts burned when the water reached them. Especially the deeper cuts on his chest. At first he was loath to touch them because of what they represented, but finally he gritted his teeth and got on with it.

He carefully re-buttoned his shirt to cover his wounds when he was through. He poured the rest of the water on his head to try and help clear it. When he looked at the bread roll and the piece of cheese that was to be his breakfast, he found he was too tired to eat it. He sat down wearily on the straw with his back against the wall.

The guard said, "You will eat nothing?" Diego waved a hand negatively. Shrugging, the guard picked up the food and water jug. He pushed the table out of Diego's reach and then left.

"They are still taking no chances with me," was Diego's grim thought. Now that he was awake, he could take stock of his surroundings a little better. Sunlight came through the small cell window. He could see quite well. There was nothing remarkable about the cell except for its size. He looked at the walls and floors noticing some regularly spaced markings. He thought about what could make such marks and decided that this room was probably a former wine cellar. That would explain its size. Most dungeons he had ever read about were small, cramped places. Monastario must have had this room emptied just to house him.

He next turned his attention to his manacles. He could see where the chains had been freshly mortared into the wall at about shoulder height. Running his hand along the stones of the wall beside him, he found one about the size of his fist that was loose. With a little effort he thought he could remove it. Looking at the manacles themselves, he saw that they were not dissimilar from the ones on the ship. Searching the cell for anything that would provide any piece of metal he could use, he looked closely at the table.

From his vantage point as he was seated on the floor, he could see that there were several nails sticking out at odd angles around one of the legs. Someone must have tried to nail the leg back on at some point and had done a bad job of it. If he could only get one or two of those nails, he could use the stone to pound them into a tool that he could use to unlock his manacles.

He thought about that a great while. Finally he decided that if Monastario came back for another fencing match, he would contrive to fall on the table smashing it. During the scramble to get up he would have to try and get one of the nails. If he succeeded, he would keep moving and toss the nail into the straw pallet where he doubted anyone would see it.

If, . . . if, he survived the next encounter with Monastario, he would then have a chance to get these manacles off! His very soul loathed these manacles. He had been in chains for months now. How he wanted to be rid of them! For a man who was used to freedom, chains were almost more unbearable than the wounds he had endured.

Finally, he turned his thoughts to Monastario himself. Revenge was his only goal with Diego now. No doubt he had other plots and plans going on, but his passion right now was in hurting and humiliating Diego. No, not so much Diego as Zorro. After all, it was Zorro who had publicly humiliated Monastario time after time. Not for the first time, Diego pondered what kind of man Monastario might have been if he hadn't succumbed to the ambitions for wealth and power.

With his intellect and charisma he could have made a great commandante in California or Spain. As it was, he had left himself with no redeeming qualities at all. Truth and honor meant nothing to him. They were impediments to his ambition. And Diego, as Zorro, was the embodiment of truth and honor to Monastario and, one more thing . . . justice. Monastario had escaped justice in California.

Diego felt that he was probably the only man in Spain besides Escobar, who knew of every crime committed by them against the people of California. It was those people: the peons and vaqueros, the Indians and dons alike who were denied justice. They had comforted themselves with the thought that Monastario was arrested and that the king's justice would be rendered. Well, they had been cheated!

Diego found he was grinding his teeth. If Monastario had gotten what he deserved, Diego would be back home in California, possibly married to Anna Maria and telling his father that he was soon to be a grandfather.

He shifted his position against the wall, which caused some of his wounds to protest, especially the one on his chest. That cut was an act of barbarism! Diego felt himself become angry and he didn't care. No matter how ruthless Monastario had been, he, as Zorro, had left Monastario alive when it would have been much simpler to have killed him. Zorro had not been that kind of man. But here in this cell, Diego could feel the stirrings of a different Zorro. He wasn't aware of it in a conscious sense; it was something forming down deep inside.

Finally, despite his pain, he slept the afternoon away.