Author's note: Thanks for your comments! Here is the next chapter!
Chapter 3. A seed of doubt
Over the next few days, Victoria had few opportunities to exchange more than two words with Diego, and it seemed impossible for her to even try to persuade him to talk to Padre Benitez for a long time.
Zorro spent hours in the saddle trying to determine if the bandits who attacked the Vanegas had accomplices. He returned late at night and collapsed on his bed, falling asleep almost instantly, then jumped up before dawn to go again and look for new leads at sunrise.
When Victoria left for Los Angeles, she was accompanied only by don Alejandro, and Diego showed up at the inn much later to greet her with a fleeting kiss and disappear again, be it in The Guardian 's officeor among the caballeros seeking advice from him.
She noticed it but kept her silence when they were together in the pueblo. Over the years of knowing Zorro, she had learned that her inn was not a good place for more serious conversation, and one careless word could have dire consequences. Now that the alcalde was gone, while the danger of being a black-clad outlaw was reduced, Victoria was afraid that any excuse or remark addressed to Diego, no matter how small, if overheard and misunderstood by other people, might cause a new outbreak of rumors. So, though she felt forsaken at times, she didn't dare to complain.
Perhaps she should have noticed that her husband was not so much searching for bandits as for some kind of distraction in his constant pursuit of desperados. Perhaps then she would have chosen not to wait for him to finish his hunt and would have insisted on talking to him with padre Benitez. However, when Diego returned at night, he was too tired to exchange more than a few words with her, and all remarks about how forgotten she felt flew from her head when he fell asleep holding her in his arms as if she were his only support. Then she embraced him and cuddled up to him, with the same gesture assuring him of her presence and affection.
It was probably why Victoria did not see how much Zorro's behavior worried Felipe. The teenager knew the young de la Vega best of the entire family. He had witnessed Zorro's triumphs, but also moments when he seemed to be on the verge of abandoning his mission, tired and resigned. But, thus far, those had only been moments and, soon enough, they passed and Diego was again putting on the mask, ready to fight. Zorro allowed him to turn his anger at injustice into a mockery of the opponent, to endure harsh words and wrong judgments. And always, all this time, the young de la Vega did not hide from Felipe what he thought and felt.
Until now. Now the young caballero's thanksfor being in the cave and looking after the Tornado were disturbingly perfunctory and indifferent, and it didn't matter whether he spoke the words as Zorro or as Diego. And, at times, when he did not seem to notice that there was someone else in the cave besides him, the teenager saw a weariness in his movements, one whose source could not have been simply the tiredness brought on by all those hours of searching. He could only guess, remembering earlier events, that it had to do with the death of the alcalde and with what had happened to Victoria. So, Felipe took care of the Tornado, cleaned the cave and waited, hoping that one evening or morning Diego would share with him what made him spend hours in the saddle with a mask on his face. At the same time, he was afraid that such a moment might not come and what it might mean for the whole de la Vega family.
Meanwhile, don Alejandro was sure that the extensive search of the area that Diego, or rather Zorro, explained by referring to the need to track down the rest of the desperados, was in fact just an excuse for strenuous riding. Yes, he agreed with his son's statement that the stolen supplies could be used by a gang large enough to threaten the pueblo, but he also saw Victoria trying to hide that she was worried about Diego's absence and that Felipe waited in the cave for Zorro. And he wondered if he could tell these two that he could guess why his son was spending hours in the saddle. But Diego, who had once been depressed for several days when a bandit was killed in a clash with Zorro, now accepted the deaths of Monsangre and his soldiers indifferently and seemed to forget about de Soto's death the moment the caballeros asked him for help. Considering what he knew now, it was clear to the elder de la Vega that all was just an illusion. His son has not forgotten anything. It took his son time to come to terms with what he had felt at that moment and with what he still felt. His son, although he did not know it, needed help.
Don Alejandro found outthat he was right the next day at the inn, when Diego reappeared just before siesta to greet Victoria. He wanted to go to the Guardian 's office right away, explaining that he had to check if Felipe was coping with the composition of the new issue of the magazine, but was stopped by don Tomaso and some other friends. Don Alejandro could see his son hesitating to accept this invitation, but he did not expect any trouble. The caballeros just wanted to ask for a few news or details about The Guardian's next issue, and Diego wasn't in such a rush to be rude, after all. The conversation turned to the crops and preparations that the young de la Vega provided to several settlers. Chemistry was one of Diego's passions, so he began to explain to don Tomaso in some detail what he was using and how they worked. It was a situation don Alejandro had seen several times in the last few days, so he paid little attention to the conversation, concentrating on the letter he had just received until his reading was interrupted by the crash of an overturned chair. His son sprang to his feet, turned on his heel, and nearly fell out the door, leaving behind the amazed, speechless caballeros. Victoria, standing at the bar, was pale as linen and terrified, as if she had just heard de Soto return. All she could say was that she must go to the hacienda.
They returned home as soon as they could, but Diego had already changed his clothes and left on Tornado. That evening, Felipe and Victoria waited in vain for Zorro.
X X X
For the last few days Diego didn't think about what his father, Victoria, or Felipe thought about his behavior. They knew that Zorro was looking for bandits and for the first time he did not have to pay attention to how Diego de la Vega would explain his absence from the pueblo.
He should have been relieved about it, but he couldn't be. The uneasiness lingered as it scratched, pierced, and teased somewhere deep inside. It did not help to mentally count all the blessings of fate that had fallen on him in the last few days, remembering that he was safe as never before, because no one in Los Angeles would want to threaten the black-clad outlaw. He was free because he no longer had to hide from his loved ones. His father no longer felt disappointed with his son. And, most importantly, the woman he loved and loved him was finally his wife, and she was safe, too. Besides, tracking down gangs and keeping Los Angeles safe was something he had done dozens of times before.
But it didn't help. As he thought about how the lives of both Diego and Zorro had changed, he also had to think about who he was and who he had become. And no matter how he kept telling himself that he had overpowered the robbers and handed them over to the sergeant, he couldn't get rid of his doubts. With these two he did not need to reach for a sword; a whip and fists were enough, but if he had to use a different weapon... Would the fight end the same?
He was also tormented by the memory of Mendoza, his undisguised relief and joy that he had brought the bandits under arrest, mixed with disbelief that he had still showed up. And the belief that now that Diego de la Vega has killed the alcalde, Zorro would no longer be showing up in the Los Angeles area. Did the sergeant doubt that Zorro was still needed here now? Did anyone think he was still needed?
And now he had heard from the caballeros that his duel with Ignacio meant more to Los Angeles than anything Zorro had done before. A few weeks ago, Diego would have received praise, any praise from don Esteban with gratitude, because, thus far, the older caballero did not spare him sharp remarks about his behavior. But today the young de la Vega ran away from the tavern because he felt that he would not be able to control himself. He had to leave because he knew that he would immediately retort to his interlocutor that he praised him for the courage that the fight with Ignacio did not require of him. After all, they had crossed swords more than once, and Diego knew all too well that he could disarm his old acquaintance in a few seconds, or make him run for a quarter of an hour around the fountain, if he felt like it.
He ran away because he was ready to admit that he was Zorro.
Cool head. This was what Kendall had taught him, and he had been guided by that lesson for years. It had saved his life and allowed him to win fights. Calm, the control that made him look so harmless. He didn't even know when he had lost that ability.
He didn't want to talk to his father or Victoria at the moment, explain what had happened or explain what he was feeling. It was easier to hide behind the mask again and head for the territory beyond the pueblo. Try to calm down by riding and tracking.
An uphill ride without a destination, without a plan, took him to the same place where Victoria had gone with the intention of ending her life, weeks earlier. The first moment he understood where he was, he wanted to turn back, but, instead, he led Tornado through the trees.
He didn't have much trouble finding the secluded valley. He might have turned back in a hurry, terrified and shocked. He had not paid attention to the road before. Yet he knew every corner in the Los Angeles area, and, for some reason, at realizing where he was, he couldn't help but head forward.
He arrived there at about the same time he had before, on that horrible day on which he had almost lost the woman he loved. The sun was already below the horizon, and the shadows were thickening under the trees. He looked around for a moment, not sure if his memory was playing tricks on him, but then he noticed that there was still a piece of rope twisted around a low branch.
He still didn't know what had pushed him to come back there, but since he was there already, he looked around. The remnants of the cut noose that fell to the ground then were gone. Similarly, the saddle was gone, but he spotted it a moment later, a little further away, dirty and worn. Some animals, maybe young coyotes, must have been interested in it, and they dragged it between the bushes. He could see that the skin on it was ragged, maybe chewed. He shrugged his shoulders. It was no longer needed. Victoria got a new saddle with her mount at the beginning of her stay at the hacienda.
He reached for his sword to cut off the branches and that remaining piece of rope, but suddenly hesitated. He rode closer, reached out and touched it, making sure he was still there. He kept his hand on the line twisted around the branch for a long moment, remembering Victoria's pale face. He remembered that damn morning and everything that had happened after, every accusation de Soto had made and which had led her to that dreadful moment under that tree. Now he felt that he was beginning to fully understand why she had come there. What she was looking for there for herself, and why then, during those long, terrible hours in the cave, she seemed to be only a shadow of herself, as if her soul had died in that place, and he had saved only the still-breathing body...
Finally, he withdrew his hand and bent down to pass under the tree. Tornado huffed in satisfaction as they set off; first at a trot, then the stallion started to gallop. They were already a mile from the valley when Zorro realized that he had not cut that remnant of the rope. And he shuddered when he realized that what he saw no longer terrified or disgusted him. On the contrary, he felt that he should remember that little, hidden valley where no one looked...
But now it was night, and the darkness made it impossible to ride fast. There were a few hours until moonrise, so Zorro loosened his horse's girth, so that the horse would rest, and he sat down under a tree, staring at the distant lights of the pueblo. As before, he was guarding, hoping to discover what was invisible in the daylight - a distant campfire in the desperados' camp.
Tornado grazed quietly, crunching the torn grass and the metal of the bridles; the cicadas in the bushes wailed like crazy and the night was warm and quiet… Zorro bowed his head. Victoria should be right there next to him right at that moment. They could race across the meadows again. Or watch together as the pueblo lights go out in the distance and the stars slowly move across the sky. He could tell her about the constellations. He was sure it would interest her, especially now that she had spent so much time with his books and was so determined to know as much as he did. He made out a bright spot, Saturn, low on the horizon. He knew she had never seen his moons. He could show them to her through the telescope... The very thought of Victoria's astonishment at the sight made Zorro smile.
He should have turned back sooner. Be with her at home now. Or go back there right now. She was probably still waiting for him in the library or in the cave, wondering why he had left Los Angeles so suddenly.
But it was still an hour before the moon rose. He had to wait for it before he set off, to go without the risk of losing Tornado on some obstacle impossible to see in the dark...
He slid lower down the trunk, closing his eyes. A short nap seemed like a good idea...
He was awakened by birds singing somewhere in the thicket above his head and the chill of dew seeping through the silk of his shirt. Zorro shook himself completely and sat down. Tornado stood a few steps away from him and was watching him intently, as if asking if he had enough rest.
"Sorry, my friend!" The outlaw stroked the horse's neck. "I shouldn't have left you saddled for so long."
The horse shook its head and snorted, as if reminding him that this was not the first time they had waited for their enemies together. That maybe he'd rather rest in a cave, seated, cleaned, and with a manger full of grain, but that night was good, too. And now they could go on wherever Zorro saw fit.
From where he was sitting, Zorro could not see the hacienda buildings. The stars had just faded, so he could have ridden a few more miles before or after sunrise. He didn't have to hurry. Diego de la Vega was not allowed to come to Los Angeles until before the siesta. Or after it. Maybe it would be a good idea to buy the sergeant dinner… Zorro grimaced. Mendoza had been so afraid of the young caballero since the duel that he probably couldn't swallow a bite in his presence.
He circled Los Angeles again, scouring the canyons and valleys for signs of newcomers who might or might not have been the companions of the captured desperados. A few puffs in the sky turned pink, annoyed with the rising sun. Dawn had turned into morning when Zorro passed the buildings of the Turron farm.
He paused Tornado to observe the house from among the trees. It was a nice, calm picture. The vegetable garden showed promising green, and in the yard several hens were digging in the ground. A narrow trail of smoke was rising from the chimney, meaning that the hosts were probably up. Zorro knew that, after the first tough years had pushed Alicio Turron to try to capture him, the spouses now fared much better. The visible peace and abundance in their way of life was soothing. It was an achievement he happily contributed to, as both Zorro and Diego.
He was about to turn his mount back and move on when he saw the three men heading straight for the Turron house. Armed, badly dressed, on neglected horses… They might have been known guests or ordinary wanderers who had confused their way or shortened it across the farmer's lands, but after days spent searching the countryside, Zorro did not believe that was the case. Not when he saw two of them holding muskets in their hands, instead of having them by their saddlebags.
Tornado galloped fast, but not fast enough not to see the newcomers stop in the yard. The Turrons must have seen them but, before they locked the door, the strangers pushed it open with a crash as they burst in.
When Zorro jumped off the saddle, a shot rang out in the house, which was accompanied by the noise of falling furniture and the choked scream of a woman.
He burst through the broken door, almost stumbling over a man sprawled on the floor just outside the threshold. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another one lying motionless among the remnants of a broken table. Before him, two attackers struggled with the woman. Right as Zorro crossed the threshold, one of them just punched her in the face. Their victim's orange blouse was hanging in tatters.
At the moment, for Zorro, the woman in front of him is no longer just Magdalena Turron, the wife of the farmer and the unfortunate bounty hunter who had once saved his life. She was Victoria, too. Trapped in the garrison again. Captured again by de Soto and by Monsangre's soldiers.
In the cramped interior of the house, the two bandits did not stand a chance. The first one, grabbed by the collar, flew against the wall, impacting it so hard that a cloud of white clay was released from it. The second, as he released the woman, took a punch in the ribs and another in the jaw, both so hard that the former caused him to bend down, and the second to straighten up and fall back against his rising companion. Before they pulled themselves together, Zorro lifted them both by their necks and threw them across the room. The one who somehow managed to stay on his feet turned towards him and got struck again. In the stomach, in the jaw, again in the stomach, in the exposed neck, until the man fell to his knees, almost curled into a ball.
He hadn't beaten that hard in years. Usually, he held back on the blows a bit, knowing that with his body weight and speed, he could break his opponent's jaw or neck with one hit. Even with Bishop, who had nearly killed Victoria and had come close to doing the same to his father, he remembered his superiority. But he didn't care anymore. Now he was tugging at the two opponents like rag dolls, not allowing them to stay on their feet, and using their own weight to give strength to his blows, to twist and throw them against the walls until the crack of broken furniture merged in his ears into one with the crunch of cracking bones.
"Zorro..." he heard suddenly behind him through the sound of blood in his ears. "Señor Zorro..."
He stopped and shook his head, trying to understand what was happening. The man in front of him was slowly sliding down the wall; his face was a single mass of blood in which the whites of his eyes flashed. The other was lying on the floor, his blood spilling on the clay loam.
Now, suddenly, he felt a pain in his hand. When he looked at his hands, he saw that the gloves were smeared with red.
"Zorro," the woman said again.
He looked around. The Turrons huddled against the wall. Magdalena was supporting her husband, embracing him protectively and staring at the man in black with wide eyes. When Zorro moved, she twitched, hugging Alicio tighter. Blood stained the shreds of her torn blouse. Blood clung to the farmer's curly dark hair, too, and trickled down his face, turning it into a barbarian mask.
The nervous movement of the woman was for Zorro like a bucket of icy water. The daze at the encounter vanished in an instant, and, for a moment, he only felt a burning shame at the sight of her terror. It was clear to him that Magdalena did not know who she should be more afraid of at the moment. The desperados who invaded her house, or him, who tortured the attackers in front of her eyes. That she was afraid that his fury was about to turn against herself and her husband.
He forced himself to speak.
"I saw them heading this way," he croaked. "I didn't have time to stop them."
For a moment Magdalena didn't seem to hear him. In the end, however, she looked calmer, clearly relieved.
"We were lucky you were around, señor Zorro," she said. "We were lucky."
X X X
Indeed, they were lucky. Alicio paid to defend the house with his head smashed so hard that he was unable to stand on his feet or see his hand clearly. Each attempt to move ended in a groan of pain and a wave of nausea for him. It was clear that he would only be able to lie down for the next few days and that it would be best for him to be looked after by the doctor during that time.
Magdalena herself only had a few bruises. Her punched cheek swallowed, and a purple arch formed under her eye. But, after the madness of the fight, she was the first to get back on her feet. She ordered Zorro to wash the blood off his gloves and take care of harnessing the cart, while she miraculously found the surviving bowl in the battlefield and took care of her husband.
Of the three desperados, the one on the threshold, shot by Alicio, was already dead. The others were still alive, though they looked worse than him. At first, Zorro wanted to take them to the pueblo thrown over the saddles, but the wagon was the better option.
They walked on in silence. Alicio crouched on the mattresses stacked on the cart, unable to utter a single word, and Magdalena seemed to focus her full attention on the road to keep the cart shaking as little as possible. She replaced the torn blouse with a new one and, despite the sunny day, wrapped herself tightly in a woolen shawl. Every now and then, she shook herself and rubbed her arms, but it seemed as if she was breathing lighter with each passing moment.
The farm buildings were just a blur among the distant trees when Zorro suddenly pulled the reins. After leaving the yard, they had followed in the footsteps of the desperados they now had in the wagon. Now, however, other hoof marks were clearly visible on the dried ground.
"What did you see, Zorro?" Magdalena asked.
"Other riders." Zorro jumped down from the saddle and knelt down to look more closely at the traces.
"Other bandits?"
"Yes." The track is wide, the horses rode side by side. A few yards from where they were standing, the ground was trampled more than anywhere else, and the tracks forked. Three horses set off up the slope to the nearby Turron farm. The rest drove on. "They split up here."
Magdalena pressed her lips together for a moment, and without a word she sped her horse away. They rode along the trail and Zorro remembered the traces involuntarily. A clearer hoofprint, split paths, a torn tuft of grass… There were three or four riders. Little for a pueblo garrison. Equal opponent for the patrol, if the soldiers were not surprised. Many for a lonely outlaw with a frightened woman, her wounded husband, and prisoners.
Tornado danced once and then twice, infallibly sensing the rider's anxiety and wondering why the man was shortening his reins instead of galloping. The rapid movement of the horse did not escape Magdalena's attention.
"Follow them, Zorro," she said.
"I won't leave you alone," he protested. There was something about the way Magdalena wrapped her shawl around her body that reminded him of Victoria in those bad days when de Soto accused her of immorality.
"Nothing's going to happen to us," she replied. "I have a gun," she added, pointing to the pistol half hidden under the fold of her skirt.
Zorro looked at the back of the wagon, where the prisoners lay.
"They're in worse shape than Alicio, and tied up," she reminded him. "They won't do anything. And if they try…" She patted the gun. "Go, Zorro!" She urged. "Hurry before they attack somebody else!"
Tornado sprang to the gallop. The trail was simple, clear. It took Zorro a mile to realize the desperados were going straight to Los Angeles. Three or four are not enough for a garrison, he reassured himself. But only when the soldiers are in the pueblo, he reminded himself. And Mendoza sent them on patrol because he had heard rumors about a gang...
He heard the roar of the first shots when he was passing the pueblo's gate. One, then another. Tornado, though it seemed impossible, galloped even faster. A cloud of gunpowder smoke still enveloped the porch of the tavern as he arrived in the plaza. There, he saw four men on the tavern's porch, three aiming their guns in the direction of Mendoza and his men while a fourth was trying to break down the door to the taproom. On the other side of the plaza, two lancers huddled between the overturned stall and the fountain.
Zorro rode between the bandits and the soldiers like a storm, unfolding his whip in advance. One blow and, caught by the ankle, a desperado screamed as a rushing horse dragged him behind it. The scream was cut off as the man's head hit the boards, but the outlaw dragged him for a moment longer before stopping his mount.
The three remaining bandits froze for a moment, surprised by the appearance of the masked rider, but when Tornado stopped all of a sudden, they ran to the square. Whether they wanted to attack or flee it didn't matter as they had only taken a few steps. Zorro charged at them, knocking over another attacker before jumping off the saddle.
The other two desperados drew their weapons. At this sight, Zorro laughed mockingly and saluted with his sword. He stepped off the line of attack of the first of them, twirling around his axis, and, as the bandit passed him, he pushed him with his empty hand, giving him momentum and guiding him to the stall where the soldiers were hiding. The man stumbled and fell to his knees almost under Mendoza's foot. The sergeant stood up and one of the privates took the opportunity to press the barrel of his musket against the nape of the desperado's neck, immobilizing him on the ground. At the same moment, the bandit knocked over by Tornado tried to get up and flee from the square, but the other soldier ran out of their hideout to hold him in a similar way.
Meanwhile, the last desperado attacked Zorro. He hit wide, brutally, so the outlaw had no trouble dodging his punches. He parried one attack, then another, caught the attacker's blade in the bind ...
... the sword slides along the sword with a soft creak, the sun flashes on the steel, the point sticks into the eye without resistance, only stops on the bones ...
Zorro staggered, seeing de Soto in front of him for a moment and jumped back, breaking contact with the enemy's blade. As he did so, he trapped his shoe on the pole of the broken stall and lost his balance, falling heavily on his back.
Someone screamed or groaned at the sight of it. The desperado staggered as his thrust missed, but then leaped, directing his sword down like a harpoon to pin the fallen Zorro to the ground.
He missed.
The fall freed the outlaw from his daze, just in time for him to defend himself with the sword at the sight of the falling blade. Steel screeched. Zorro managed to move the opponent's weapon just enough that it impaled the sand and his cape instead of his body. The impulse of the attack caused his adversary to fall to his knees, and as the outlaw rolled to the side, the black cloak tore with a dry crack.
They both got up at about the same time. The desperado stood firmly on his feet first and struck again, wide, with panache. Zorro barred himself against the blow once more. He parried low this time, tying the blades and guiding his opponent's weapon to the side until he released the hilt. Before he knew it, before he jumped back, the outlaw took advantage of the fact that the desperado was at hand and struck his fist. The man stumbled, and Zorro jumped him, grabbed his arm and knocked him over with another blow, leaving him stunned.
The fight was over.
The outlaw looked around. The first of the bandits was lying motionless in the square, unconscious after having been snapped from the porch by Zorro's whip. The other two were immobilized by soldiers and the last one was lying unconscious at his feet.
Mendoza got out from behind the stall, and two other lancers were running from the garrison. The people barricaded in the inn stepped out onto the porch. Among them were don Alejandro, his arm around Victoria, several other caballeros, local farmers, and two or three strangers. One of them, a tall man with wavy hair, held a pistol in his hand as if he was considering shooting.
Zorro did not wait for what the newcomer would decide on or whether Mendoza would speak to him. He hopped onto Tornado's saddle and raised his hand in greeting before he started out of the pueblo.
TBC.