Chapter 101 – Cooperation

Diego hated leaving Victoria behind in that Indian village, but he also appreciated the risk the chief was taking by personally going to find out what happened, even if Diego's initial "you and me" had become: "you and me… and three of my warriors".

Struggling to keep up with the group, almost running, Diego could not believe how fast that old man moved through the forest. At that pace, in no time at all they reached the area where the Indians had surrounded the sailors. The chief shouted something in his language, and his warriors immediately stopped shooting arrows. One of the sailors made the most of that break to fire his last shot, but that bullet didn't hit anybody.

"Hold your fire!" Diego cried, coming out in the open with his hands up.

"Is that an Indian talking in Spanish?" that sailor said, blinking in surprise.

"No, that's Don Diego!" Almeida said, recognizing the tall caballero in that Indian top. "Don Diego, are you all right? What's going on?"

"Put your guns down! The Indians offer you a truce, so we can talk in peace!"

That was an easy decision to make, because the sailors had run out of bullets and gunpowder already, so they threw their now useless weapons over the rocks, as a goodwill gesture, and stood up, empty handed. Only then, Diego, the chief, his bodyguards, and one of the warriors approached them, while the others tended for the injured Indian warrior, who had got hit by a bullet in the shoulder.

ZZZ

Surprised by her strong, maternal instincts, while holding that baby in her arms, Victoria couldn't help but wondering how it would have been if she hadn't lost her own. Now she realized she would have loved that baby all the same, no matter if the father was Tomás or Diego, and that thought made her feel sad, very sad and guilty, because she had felt so relieved after her miscarriage, now she despised herself.

Tears slid down her cheeks. The young, Indian mother said something, with concern written on her face, but Victoria didn't understand her. At least, not the words.

"I lost my baby," she said, trying to smile, "but yours, is gorgeous. Here, I think you should feed him. He must be hungry."

She handed the baby back to the young mother and wiped her tears off, embarrassed. The two older women present in the hut shared the same thought, because they immediately helped the young woman to breastfeed for the first time.

Only then Victoria stopped to think about her predicament, when she saw the way the Indian men stared unabashedly at her, with the same kind of lust she had seen in some of the sailors' eyes. However, the sailors tried to hide their filthy, sneaky glances from other people, fearing the negative consequences of such improper behaviour, but the brazen Indians did it too openly, which was very unnerving.

With Diego gone, she was on her own. If anything went wrong, she had no idea what would happen to her. She had a chill when the hideous memories of the rape came to mind, but she blocked them out with determination, trying to concentrate in the positives around her, like the vision of that little bundle of joy latched to his mother's breast.

In the end, she sighed, feeling powerless in her situation, hoping her husband would sort everything out, as he always did.

Diego de la Vega, the legendary Zorro... With him in charge, what could go wrong?

ZZZ

From the gundeck, Ojeda could hear Don Enrique's rant. He felt sorry for the captain, for leaving him alone with that obnoxious man, but he reckoned Ulloa was handling him rather well, and his calmed words and nonchalant attitude towards the annoying don put a smile on his face. Then, he also heard the gunshots, which sounded much closer than the previous ones. Soon after that, through one of the gunports, he saw a group of Indians at the beach, shooting arrows at the ship. One of those flying, deadly things got through one of the openings, but it didn't hit anyone inside that deck.

"We are under attack! Prepare the cannons!"

ZZZ

It didn't take long to establish the sailors didn't shoot the Indians on purpose, as they didn't even know they were there, hiding in the bushes. The chief had to admit that was probably true, as this was their usual tactical advantage: to be invisible to the enemy.

"See? I told you it had to be a mistake," Diego said after Almeida explained what happened. "The sailors didn't attack you, because they didn't know your men were there. They had to practice shooting targets in case they encounter a pirate, because they must be prepared."

"Pirate?" the chief said.

"That's someone who attacks other ships at sea. And our ship is already damaged, you see? We would be an easy prey."

"What you need for ship?"

Right then, the loud blast of a cannon startled everyone.

"That's the Santa Eulalia," Almeida said. "Why would they fire?"

One of the Indians talked fast then.

"More warriors attacked ship," the chief said, looking sorry, as well as annoyed by the out-of-control, escalating situation.

"Come on, we have to stop this nonsense!" Diego said, running towards the fort, followed by Almeida.

ZZZ

The first cannonball caused havoc at the beach, killing two of the Indian warriors. After that, the rest retreated, back into the forest.

Ojeda ordered his men to shoot the other cannon as well, and then instructed them to use rifles against any other hostiles who dared to shoot an arrow again, hoping the De la Vega's, Almeida, and the rest of the sailors still ashore could make it back in one piece. Only then he climbed to the upper deck, where he found Ulloa slouching by the hull's side, lacking strength to sit upright.

"Captain, are you all right?" he cried, alarmed by the amount of blood he was losing.

"Of course he's not, you idiot!" Don Enrique said. "Can't you see he got hit by those blooming Indians?"

"Rope," Ulloa muttered with a sense of urgency, ignoring the obnoxious don. Ojeda understood, swiftly fetching a piece of rope and a stick to fix a tourniquet above the bleeding wound, while the captain growled in frustration and pain. "The fool left the arrowhead in! Can you believe it?"

Ojeda sent Don Enrique a killer look, then helped the captain to get up.

"Almeida is still out there, Sir. And Don Diego. I could give it a try myself to remove it, but I think it would be better if any of them performed the surgery instead."

"Get me out of here, please. The cockpit would do for now."

"Hey, what about me? Don't leave me!" Don Enrique cried when they headed for the opening that led to the lower decks, afraid to leave the little safety offered by the ship's side.

Ulloa was so weak he hardly supported any of his own weight, and the first officer had to drag him along, but he still managed to mutter a grunt that sounded pretty much like a "que te jodan".

ZZZ

Diego and the contramaestre got to the beach and signalled to the ship, waving their arms.

"Hold your fire! Don't shoot!"

After some explanations, when all the Indians and sailors involved in the attacks understood it had all been a terrible mistake, unfortunately with casualties on both sides, Diego invited the chief to come aboard, but the distrusting old man wasn't very keen.

"You still have my wife, remember?" Diego said. "Nothing will happen to you, I swear. I just want to show you why we can't leave until we repair the ship. We need a tall, strong tree. Do you know where to find one?"

"Yes."

Reluctantly, the chief and his three bodyguards got on the boat with Diego and the contramaestre, while the rest of the sailors and the warriors dealt with their fallen comrades.

As the boat reached the Santa Eulalia, Chief Officer Ojeda rushed to greet them, shouting from above, over the gunwale.

"Thank God you are here! Hurry up, please: the captain got hit by an arrow!"

"How? He was still in bed when we left," Diego said, reaching for the rope ladder.

"He woke up this morning, after the passengers left for the fort. When the Indians attacked, he was on deck, getting some fresh air. He's in a bad shape, hurry!"

Shit, Diego thought, appalled, as he climbed up the ladder as fast as he could. That man really suffers from bad luck!

The Indian chief talked to one of his men, who immediately jumped off the boat to swim ashore.

"Where is he going?" Almeida asked while helping the chief to the rope ladder.

"Sorry for arrow. He bring medicine for Captain. We help."

ZZZ

Spent and hardly conscious, Ulloa sagged on a swinging cot at the cockpit. Despite the tight tourniquet, the wound in his arm was still bleeding. A small, red puddle had already formed on the wooden floor, by his side, and new drops kept joining it, trickling down his soaked sleeve. Feeling increasingly weak and lightheaded, he dreaded the moment anybody would attempt the retrieval of that arrowhead embedded in the inner side of his left arm, fearing he could end up losing the limb.

While entertaining such dark thoughts, with his eyes closed, he didn't realize someone had rushed into the cockpit.

"Captain, are you awake?" Don Diego said, shaking his good shoulder. Ulloa opened his eyes slowly and tried to focus on that worried, friendly face hovering above him. "Let me have a look at that wound."

While Diego and Almeida examined his arm, Ulloa spotted the Indian chief in the background, behind them, as still as a statue.

"Who's that? What's he doing here?" he mumbled, agitated, blending his anger with fear.

"It's all right, Captain. This incident with the Indians was a terrible mistake; it should not have happened," Diego said, frowning while he examined the wound. "We should get him outside for a better chance. It's too dark in here."

Shortly after that, and not fully aware of how it happened, the captain found himself under the sun on the upper deck, sitting on a chair, supported upright by his chief officer, and with his left arm resting on a table.

Diego removed the tourniquet and ripped the blood-soaked sleeve to gain better access to the wound. Then, he examined the set of surgical instruments the contramaestre had just provided.

"I think you could use this one," Almeida said, pointing at a surgeon's blade with a rather shaky hand. "That's my favourite. It's pretty sharp."

He looked so relieved Don Diego would be the one in charge of preforming the surgery, to the captain, it was almost comical. However, instead of laughing, Ulloa cried when the tall caballero stretched his injured arm on the table, getting ready for the incision, looking for the best approach.

"Now, I'm very sorry, but this is going to hurt," Diego said, signalling the others, who got hold of the captain more tightly, pinning his arm down on the table. "Are you ready?"

"Will I ever?" Ulloa grumbled, taking his eyes off the wound, looking the other way.

"Hold his arm still. If he moves, I may cut that artery, and then…" Diego explained no more. It wasn't necessary.

"I won't move. I had it worse before," Ulloa mumbled through clenched teeth, closing his eyes, ready for the ordeal. Diego remembered the old scars he had seen before on the captain's naked body, and knew he wasn't bragging. Like himself, the captain had got injured a few times in the past, some of them quite seriously, probably while serving at the Spanish Armada.

"Hold on. It won't take long."

Diego used the sharp knife to cut through the skin and flesh, digging with the blade, widening the incision to expose the arrowhead. During the gruesome procedure, Almeida and another sailor had an easy job holding that arm still, because Ulloa, although suffering a great deal, didn't flinch, true to his word. However, no matter how stoically he wanted to behave, in the end he passed out with the pain, while bleeding on that table like a pig at an abattoir.

"No," the Indian chief said, holding onto Diego's hand, stopping him from pulling the arrowhead straight in one move. "Not good. Too much blood. He die."

"How should I remove it then? Show me."

"Wait for medicine. Good medicine. You like it."

ZZZ

When Captain Ulloa woke up two days later, he felt extremely weak, still not totally recovered from the pneumonia and the blood loss, but very keen to get some fresh air, although quite wary of the danger of going outside. Almeida explained the situation with the Indians, convincing Ulloa he had nothing to fear if he ventured out, so he helped him again to one of the canvas chairs on deck, just as before. From there, they could see how the sailors at the beach were stripping the bark and branches off a large, long pine tree.

"Where did they get that from? You said you couldn't find a suitable tree in this area."

"The Indians, Sir. They took Don Diego, Chief Officer Ojeda, and a few skilled deckhands up the river in canoes, and they returned this morning with the perfect tree to make a new mast. They knew where to find the larger ones, deep into the forest."

"I assume the surgery went well, as I still have two arms, thank you. But… what on earth did you put in there?" Ulloa said, sniffing his sleeve, disgusted by the pungent smell.

"The Indian chief gave us an ointment. It stinks, but works really well on wounds to stop the bleeding. Even Don Diego is impressed. In fact, you should know it was that Indian who retrieved the arrowhead from your arm. They know how to remove them safely."

"Well, that's only fair. After all, it's their bloody own fault the damned thing got there in the first place!"

Ulloa looked around, amazed by all the changes. That beach looked like a thriving, interracial community. Everywhere he looked, he could see Indians cooperating with his men, helping them to prepare the mast, exchanging tips and goods. Doña Victoria de la Vega, with a baby in her arms, strolled with Doña Margarita and some Indian women close to the shallow water, while happy, noisy children played free all over the place, getting in the way of the working sailors, but nobody seemed to mind.

"Blimey… I can't believe it," Ulloa said, perplexed. Then, when his stomach rumbled, he realized how hungry he was. "Almeida, can you please bring me something to eat? I'm starving. I can't remember the last time I ate a proper meal."

"Yes, Sir, of course. I was about to suggest that. Tamayo!"

Almeida left to find the cook. In the meantime, Diego arrived with another reclining chair, unfolded it, and took a seat beside the captain, grinning.

"Good morning, Captain. Nice to see you up and about. How are you feeling today?"

"Buenos días, De la Vega. I guess I owe you my life again, ah? Gracias."

"No, you don't owe me anything. The Indian chief; he is the one you should thank."

"Really? I only got injured because of him."

"It was all a mistake, don't you know? They attacked only because they thought we had struck first, killing two of their warriors. Everybody understood that."

"Yes, Almeida told me so. But we lost a good man, able seaman Ramírez. It should not have happened."

"They lost four men instead of one, and another got shot in the shoulder, although he's recovering quite well. But look at them now: all happy, working in cooperation with your men, not holding a grudge. And you should be happy too, because thanks to them we got a new mast, and we'll be on our way in a few days."

"Great, Don Enrique may still make it for that wedding… Thank God for that! He'll be delighted."

Diego laughed at the sarcasm, standing up.

"I bet he will… Now, I should change those dressings. Let me have a look at that arm."

As he removed the bandages, Ulloa tried to have a look at the wound, but the smell was so strong he had to turn his face away from it, feeling sick.

"Jesus Christ! What the hell is in there? Bat shit?"

"The chief gave me the formula, but you don't want to know... In this case, ignorance is bliss!"

Diego continued cleaning the wound from the offending substance, making the captain hiss and fidget, retracting the arm a bit.

"How silly of me, getting in the way of an arrow… Now, do you still wonder why I kept walking around that mast?" Ulloa said, humouring himself again.

"Giving up your superstitious rituals have nothing to do with this outcome. Besides, luck is overrated."

"Says the lucky bastard who befriended a tribe of furious Indians and got us a new mast…"

"It ended well for me after my wife and I got abducted, both without a scratch, but I had my fair share of nasty injuries in the past. We may share gory stories someday, but only if you stop moaning and stand still!"

"Your wife looks very… What's the word? Motherly, I suppose," Ulloa said, now totally still, while looking at Victoria at the beach, proudly carrying that Indian baby.

"When the Indians took us prisoners, we only got free because we delivered that baby, the Chief's grandson. She adores him now."

"See? What were the odds of an Indian woman needing your help at that exact moment in time, so the chief owes you his gratitude now? Admit it: you were born under a lucky star, De la Vega."

Diego tilted his head, showing an ambiguous Mona Lisa smile while he recalled all those recent, near misses he had. If you only knew…

ZZZ

That night, Victoria had a special glow, a sassy spark in her eyes. When Diego got into their cabin, tired after the long two days he had endured with hardly any sleep while searching and securing that tree, she followed him to their berth, climbed on top, and before he could fall asleep, she started kissing him like there was no tomorrow, craving those lips.

"Hey, what's this?" Diego mumbled, all drowsy, deeply surprised by her move.

"We have some unfinished business, you and I, don't you think?"

She took off her nightgown, and that simple gesture —and especially, the sight of her naked breasts— got him instantly awake and in the mood. But then, she reconsidered.

"Unless you are too tired… Sorry, yes, you look exhausted. My bad," she said, retrieving the gown to put it on again. "I've missed you so much during the last couple of days I was going insane, but I shouldn't impose my…"

He stopped her mid-sentence, catching her mouth in his, kissing her as passionately as before, when they got interrupted at the beach. Without losing contact with her welcoming lips, he snatched her nightgown off her hands, tossing it on the floor. Then, he stopped for a moment to look at her, while stroking her naked back up and down in anticipation.

"Are you sure?"

Her reply came in the form of furious tugging at his clothes.

"All right, all right… Easy!" he complained, mystified by all that rough handling. As a result of her eagerness, his night clothes lay discarded on the floor with her gown in no time at all. "Jesus! Just let me…"

He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back on the pillows, pinning his arms.

"I've been glued to that baby for two days!" she said, panting above his face. "I want my own. Make it happen!"

"Well, I can't promise you anything, but… let's give it a try, shall we?"

He gently pushed her away to change positions, and when she lay on her back, he quickly found his way in to get on with the task in hand, not missing a beat.

ZZZZZ

A.N. – I know, I know, I shamelessly cut this too short, in the middle of the action, but… come on, people: I already had 3400 words in this chapter, and you all know how it goes (refer to the previous instalments of the 50 shades of Zorro, if you must, :P )