Author's note: To regain balance, to heal the heart and soul, it takes time. Fate does not always allow it...
Chapter 5. The Emissary
Victoria knew she didn't need to visit the inn. Pilar and her helpers were already quite good at cooking and looking after the guests. However, when Diego and don Alejandro started getting ready to leave for Los Angeles the next morning, she went with them. She didn't want Diego to be just with his father when he met the people of the pueblo again. She knew that somehow everything had turned upside down, because a few weeks earlier she had needed him by her side to her to enter the inn, and now her presence was supposed to cheer him up.
After a conversation in the library and a relatively-good night's sleep, Diego looked much calmer. Perhaps something of what his father had said comforted him, perhaps he had decided to trust what his wife had told him, or perhaps it was Felipe's remark that made him stop torturing himself. Or, at least, try to understand why the people of Los Angeles treated him the way they did.
They were lucky. The first caballero they encountered at the door of the inn was don Esteban. The older man grinned at the sight of them, but turned to Diego immediately after greeting him.
"How do you feel?" There was undisguised concern in his voice. "You've disappeared so suddenly the other day..."
"Forgive me for that." Diego bowed his head in unfeigned contrition. "I shouldn't have left you like I did."
The caballero patted the young de la Vega on the shoulder.
"We should have remembered that you never considered a sword to be a good argument in discussions," he said. "We forgot it is never easy."
"It?"
"When you cross the swords for reasons other than mere exercise. Time blurs such unpleasant memories, so forgive this old man such oblivion, don Diego, and let me invite you to a glass of wine. I would like you to finish this explanation about hydration."
"Ah, Archimedes?" Diego clearly breathed a sigh of relief.
Victoria also breathed a sigh. Don Esteban'sinterest and concern was exactly what don Alejandro had spoken of the day before. Also, the mention of the Greek scientist must have reassured her husband, distracting him from his nagging fears and directing his thoughts towards the problems faced by the entire Los Angeles, because, after a while, there was a lively discussion at the table. Diego translated, counted, drew figures on the table, explaining to the older man some previously missed issues. He was so engrossed in it that he didn't even notice that more guests had gathered around the table listening to an impromptu lecture on history, physics, and drainage. Doña de la Vega, reassured, retreated quietly and disappeared through the kitchen door.
The morning passed lazily. Diego finished his explanation and wrote down his notes for the next issue of The Guardian. There was no stagecoach that day, and the few guests who were present at the inn spent their time in their rooms. At least one, Pilar said, had been there for two days and wanted to stay for another two. She described him as a young man, very elegant and polite, and Victoria remembered he had arrived shortly after Diego had escaped from the inn after that unfortunate conversation with don Tomaso. He had also been in the tavern the day before. Had it not been for his quick reaction, the four desperados would have been able to break in.
When Victoria looked out onto the porch just before siesta, she saw Mendoza arrived, but instead of going in, he was sitting at an empty table. It was a chance she could use for Diego. She turned and hurried into the kitchen to exchange a few words with Pilar and, then, with her husband.
When Pilar left the kitchen with a tray in her hands, Victoria nudged Diego to follow her to the door.
"Sergeant, I brought you dinner." The woman leaned over the table.
"But..." Mendoza hesitated for a moment, but the sight of a full plate immediately caught his attention.
"Don Diego has already paid," Pilar interrupted him, setting the dish down and returning inside.
"Don Diego?" The sergeant looked around and, when he saw the young de la Vega at the door of the inn, he smiled broadly. "Gracias, don Diego!" He announced before he started eating.
The plate emptied at a pace astonishing even for someone who knew Mendoza's appetite. Diego approached slowly and put a jug of wine on the table. The sergeant looked up at him gratefully.
"Gracias, don Diego," he choked out between bites. "I don't have a centavo for wine anymore..."
"How come, Sergeant?" The young de la Vega sat down on the other side of the table, still hesitating whether his mere presence would deprive the soldier of his appetite, but Mendoza only smiled gratefully, busy emptying his plate.
Victoria, who had approached the inn's door in the meantime, only nodded her head and disappeared inside. While leaving, she sent her husband a reassuring smile.
"Who could pay me?" The sergeant finally replied mournfully. "I can't take money from the pueblo, because it would be theft, don Diego. And what I had, I have already run out..."
"And the other soldiers?"
"They don't have anything anymore." Mendoza swallowed his last bite and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Sitting up at the table, he tried to regain an attitude worthy of someone who was commanding a garrison, but then his shoulders hung heavily. "I don't know how to solve this, don Diego," he complained. "I sent a message to the governor that the alcalde is dead and that I have taken command, and he hasn't written back. Last time everything was known, and now I do not know whether I should collect tax, pay my salary, or if maybe someone will come..."
Diego involuntarily breathed a sigh of relief. Mendoza spoke and acted as before, as if the treat itself had made him forget all his fears about this new, changed Diego de la Vega.
Immediately, however, the caballero's attention was drawn to the entrance to the pueblo and the road behind it.
"I think someone will come, Sergeant," he said slowly. "I think he's just arrived."
A small unit of lancers passed the pueblo gate. They rode at a short gallop, straight, confident, and proud as elite troops could be, aware of their advantage over everyone they encountered. The silvery helmets shone brightly in the midday sun, the white of their uniforms, unblemished at first glance despite the miles they had traveled, was a testimony to the strangers' combat prowess and discipline, perhaps incomparably greater than that of the soldiers stationed in the Los Angeles garrison.
A commotion broke out in the square, because the lancers did not slow down even for a moment, as if they did not care that people had to run away from them. Some entered the garrison's gate, pushing the soldiers standing there, others scattered around the outskirts of the square with muskets ready to fire. The people escaping from the square suddenly stopped, because, unexpectedly, in the alleys new lancers appeared, also armed and ready to fight, herding them back to the center of the pueblo. Some of the inhabitants, amazed and frightened, raised their hands in a universal gesture of surrender. That reaction didn't surprise Diego. The speed and violence with which the guests occupied the pueblo was disturbing.
It wasn't a visit. It was an attack.
The door of the alcalde's office burst open and Diego jumped up from his seat at the table. Soldiers in a white uniform led Don Tomaso to the square and dragged him towards the central fountain, where some of the newcomers were standing. The only rider in the squad with a bare head, a smooth-haired, blond man with the insignia of the lieutenant, yanked the pistol out and launched it into the air.
There was silence.
"On behalf of His Majesty King Ferdinand VII, I declare that the pueblo known as Los Angeles is now under martial law!" He announced loudly. "Any attempt to resist, use weapons, or leave the territory will be considered mutiny and punished by a military court!"
The people crowded in the square seemed to huddle.
"This status quo," continued the lieutenant, "will be maintained until the end of the investigation by the royal envoy, His Excellency, Colonel Gilberto Risendo!"
"And what is this investigation about?" Don Tomaso triedto yank his arm out of the soldier's grip. Unsuccessfully. The lancer only tightened his grip, and the caballero almost doubled over to ease his twisted arm.
"Your swagger, alcalde!" The lieutenant replied.
"I'm not an alcalde!" Don Tomaso protested.
"Really?" The man leaned in his saddle towards the caballero.
Diego was already halfway across the square to the newcomer when someone called behind him.
"He's telling the truth, Hidalgo!"
The young de la Vega looked back, surprised at the stranger's commanding tone.
One of the guests of the inn was standing on the porch steps. A tall, elegantly dressed young man with dark, wavy hair, the same one who had defended the inn against desperados the previous dayand hesitated to shoot Zorro. When he noticed that he had attracted the attention of the crowd, he walked slowly towards the lancers' commander.
"I had time to find out that the local alcalde has been in the cemetery for a dozen or so days," he said. "This man is one of the local caballeros. Free him!"
"As you order, Colonel!"
The soldiers holding Don Tomaso released him. The man, flushed with anger, straightened but, before opening his mouth, Colonel Risendo spoke again.
"Not a word, señor!" He announced in such an icy tone that the caballero froze. "Not a word. Taking over the alcalde' office as you and the other caballeros did can be considered an act of rebellion or treason. I do not advise you to check what sentence I would give in this matter!"
"Rebellion?" Diego asked loudly. "On what basis? How else could we have honored our obligations to the governor..."
The colonel's cool blue eyes surveyed him from head to toe.
"You are Diego de la Vega, as I heard," he said. "I advise you not to interfere, since you are responsible for the absence of the alcalde!"
The young de la Vega hesitated. The colonel's name and face were somehow familiar to him, but even if the newcomer had been a total stranger, the way his men had mastered the pueblo meant only one thing. The Royal Envoy was a dangerous man and a threat to everyone in Los Angeles. And, if he was that soldier in Madrid... Diego felt the familiar thrill of danger and knew that he should be silent and disappear from the pueblo as soon as possible.
But it was too late to dodge, and now he could only do what he had repeated over the years in similar situations. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture to blur the impression of his first question, and smiled agreeably, the way he always smiled at Luis Ramone or Ignacio de Soto.
"I asked for your opinion, Colonel," he said in a much quieter, slightly uncertain voice. The gentle, scholar don Diego de la Vega wanted to clear up the misunderstanding. "How else could we deal with the administration of the pueblo? We needed to have access to the tax records to properly prepare the taxes for Monterey..."
Risendo glanced at Mendoza, who was right behind Diego.
"Well, yes, when you have someone like that for the garrison commander..." His lips twitched in disgusted grimace. "Sergeant! March off to the garrison! You'll spend the rest of the day in your quarters! Your people too! You're suspended!"
"B-but…" Mendoza stuttered.
"March off, I said! No guards, no patrols… My men drove in unnoticed! If you were an alcalde, you would face a firing squad for such ineptitude and failure to fulfill your duties! So get out of my sight before I change my mind!
People gasped in shock. Colonel Risendo skillfully jumped onto the rim of the fountain.
"Return to your homes!" He ordered. "I'm here to investigate the death of Captain Monsangre. I will read your former alcalde's reports; I will summon you for questioning; and my men will patrol the area to ensure that the pueblo is safe. When I am done with this, you will know what the sentence will be. Those of you who are innocent have nothing to fear."
"Will you pass judgment? Here? Not in Monterey?" Don Alejandro asked.
"You are…"
"Alejandro de la Vega."
"De la Vega..." The colonel dragged the pronunciation of the name, looking closely at the older caballero. "Yes, you will hear the sentences here," he said finally. "Now it's time for me to take care of what brought me here!"
He turned and headed for the garrison, flanked by white-uniformed lancers. The motionless people in the pueblo watched as the newcomers skillfully seized the local soldiers who had run out of the barracks into the courtyard. Mendoza glanced back once or twice in the direction of the inn, but the sight of the tightening circle of armed newcomers must have deprived him of all his courage, for he sped up his pace. The last of the troops pulled the wings of the gate behind them and, for the first time since de Soto's death, the garrison was closed.
"I hope that colonel…" Victoria began to say.
"Mendoza does not seem to be in danger," interrupted don Alejandro. "Nor are we," he raised his voice. "Let's stay calm, friends," he said emphatically, turning to the people gathered around him. "Let's stay calm. This colonel came here with a job from the governor. Apparently, he wants to check what was true and what not de Soto's report. We all know what happened and we can tell him about it."
X X X
The pueblo square is drowning in the sun. The sky is deep blue, the buildings glow white. People flock to walls and balconies in a mass of different colors.
"I've waited a long time for this, Diego," he heard a voice behind him.
De Soto is dressed in his uniform and gloves on his hands, smiling, pleased that Diego is surprised for a moment that he can see him without a hole in his face.
Leaning in such a familiar, mocking bow, he points at the steps made of whitewashed planks.
Diego struggles when he sees the scaffolding of the gallows in front of him, but something is holding his shoulders. He cannot go back. He breaks free, but still finds himself forced up the stairs. He wants to scream, but his throat is tight. He sees his father and Felipe bound and guarded. Beside him, Monsangre holds Victoria, one of the captain's hands disappearing somewhere under her blouse and the other in her hair.
Tornado suddenly neighs, rearing somewhere outside the crowd and Diego tries to free himself once again. If only he could get to the railing...
But he cannot budge, a rough rope around his neck holds him under the shoulder of the gallows. Next to de Soto is a suited man with dark, wavy hair. He pulls the lever.
The scaffold trapdoor suddenly gives way under his feet, and the last thing Diego hears, falling down, is Victoria's shrill scream.
Shock.
Lost. Darkness. Tinnitus. The chill going through him.
Diego didn't understand for a moment where he was and what was happening. He only gasped desperately, hearing only the thudding of his heart and his breath.
"Diego? Diego, what happened?"
Victoria was somewhere nearby, she was worried about him. At the same time, there was no terror or despair in her voice, and it seemed to make the young caballero understand that he had just been dreaming.
"Diego?" Victoria asked again, somewhere above his head. In a moment he heard the rustle of sheets and the clap of bare feet. "What's going on, Diego?"
She circled the bed and knelt beside her husband. Diego took another deep breath in an effort to calm down. Now he could see he was on the floor beside the bed, tangled up in the sheets and blanket. He must have fallen down during that nightmare.
He struggled to his feet. His hair was damp, and the night air chilled his sweat unpleasantly. Victoria lit a candle and came back to help him get untangled from the sheets. When he finally sat down on the edge of the bed, she rearranged the sheets and blanket before she returned to her side of the bed, getting back under the covers.
Diego rested his forehead on his hands.
"What's wrong, Diego?" Victoria repeated the question. " A bad dream again?"
"Bad and stupid," he replied. He heard his wife gasp deeply.
"I used to describe my dream like that when I'd wake up terrified to the core," she noted. "Lie down!"
As he obeyed, she rolled over in the sheets to hug him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. In the twilight, her hair resembled spilled ink as it spread across the pillow, and her body heat chased away the unpleasant chill. He could feel her breath against his skin.
"I'm here," she said softly. "Alive. It was just a bad dream."
Diego tightened his grip for a moment. He knew what she was referring to, and he knew she wanted to calm him down after a dreamy nightmare, but this time the dream was different.
For a moment, he watched as the candle light reflected in the wedding ring on his wife's hand. He wanted to tell her he was afraid. That he worried about who this royal envoy was and what his investigation might lead to. That the nightmare he had just had was born of this anxiety.
But he couldn't. Not when she was hugging him so confidently and trying to comfort him. He could not tell her that he had already met a man with the same name as the royal envoy. And that it might be the same person. And if so, that the fact that, in his dream, the colonel appeared at de Soto's side might have been a prediction of Diego de la Vega's future fate rather than a mere delusion.
So he turned to his wife and kissed her to dispel gloomy thoughts with mutual closeness and tenderness. But later, when she fell asleep again, he lay by her side staring at the ceiling. It was hard for him not to remember that he and a young soldier named Gilberto Risendo participated in a fencing tournament. And, back then, Diego de la Vega, a student at the University of Madrid, had not hidden what sir Kendall had taught him.
And that here, in Los Angeles the royal envoy had witnessed a desperados attack the day before, and had seen Zorro disarm the last of his opponents, using a technique learned from sir Edmund.
TBC.