Chapter V. In which Sergeant García saves a beauty and Don Diego embarks on dangerous adventures
Sergeant García was to leave the ransom at the foot of the hill on the border of the public lands and Rancho San Antonio, after which he would ride a distance of fifty varas* and wait for Constancia to appear in the company of bandits.
On the way, Monastario and de la Vega once again coordinated their actions, and Enrique, unable to restrain himself, remarked, "Señor Lugo received a rancho around my age, but with only the rank of corporal. And he is a Criollo, not a Spaniard. Do you think that I, a Toledano, was pleased with the hostility of local landowners? After all, most of them are lower than me in origin and military rank, but by the will of fate I am a beggar, and they—"
"Like my father?" Diego interrupted. There was not anger in his voice, but bitterness.
"No, your father is the son of Major de la Vega, one of the founders of California, and he is noble by blood, even if our views on the world are different." Enrique showed tact, an unwonted feature for him.
"You used your official position for personal interests," the truth-seeking de la Vega stubbornly insisted. "Exorbitant taxes..."
"Really?" Enrique grinned. "If this were true, then I would wear silk like you and sleep in a four-poster bed. Diego, let's leave it at that."
"We shall return to this conversation," de la Vega promised.
"Certainly," agreed Monastario. "However, if I were a scoundrel, I would not fail to notice that you confused Caesar with King Herod or Pontius Pilate. In the Toledo orphanages, you know, they give a good education, and I remember theology, history and philosophy quite well."
Enrique decided to keep silent about the fact that he had been reading a lot since childhood—de la Vega already had ridiculed his literary tastes. Indeed, a fan of the Decameron could not understand a fan of works on military history...
"I don't quite understand—" de la Vega began.
"Diego," Enrique countered, "I realized a long time ago that at the university your good looks probably got you good grades. But you'd rather share your time between parties and love affairs, right?"
"Why my good looks?" De la Vega was offended. "Alas, theology and philosophy were boring, so I learned and passed them, then forgot. And you remember what I was like when I had just arrived in Madrid. Do you think I had the strength and time to have fun if I wanted to become a real caballero?"
"No, I don't think so," admitted Monastario.
"Then why—"
"You have been responding with barbs to my politeness. I probably want to—"
"Take revenge?"
"No. Pull the fox's tail."
De la Vega fell silent.
Finally, Enrique could not stand it.
"De la Vega, are you offended?"
"No, señor captain," Diego answered evenly. "We're almost there, see the hill?"
"I see it." Monastario let his horse walk. "Even without border markers, I remember that the border of Rancho San Antonio lies here**, I was the local Comandante, remember?" He smiled wryly.
"Let's hide behind that scrub oak, alright?"
"Sí." Enrique nodded and touched the reins.
The area was indeed open, the only representative of the chaparral being the dense scrubs chosen by de la Vega as shelter***.
When Sergeant García appeared, Monastario fully felt like an outlaw. On the one hand, it was unpleasant and unusual, on the other hand, the realization that the long-term pretense had come to an end made him happy. Also, Enrique finally realized that Señor de la Vega was deceiving himself. Diego was not stupid, and, despite his idealism and maximalism dictated by his youth, he could understand politics, economics and many other things. But he liked endorsing the role of a hero of California. In all fairness, it was worth noting that it all started with Don Alejandro's call for help during the struggles against Monastario. And Diego did not consider it necessary to figure out who was right and who was wrong, did not try to establish good relations with the Comandante. Immediately upon his arrival in Los Ángeles, he reinvented himself as El Zorro, began their confrontation, which was as childish as it was dangerous, for the both of them. Even now, to be honest, Enrique would prefer saving Constancia alone. El Zorro, whatever one may say, had emerged victorious. Monastario had not felt so vulnerable in a long time.
While the Captain indulged in internal torment, García had ridden off to the agreed destination, pulled on the reins, stopped and for some reason waved his hand. Snorting quietly, Enrique glanced sideways at El Zorro, who was staring into the distance. They agreed, if necessary, to pursue the outlaws separately and to signal each other's presence by whistling "Riego's anthem"**** (the idea of de la Vega, who in many ways remained a boy).
Constancia's white mantilla was clearly visible in the darkness, and Enrique involuntarily shuddered: the señorita looked like a bride and at the same time like the Wailer, the heroine of local folklore.
As soon as the two outlaws, taking the money with them, set off on their way back, Zorro, under the cover of scrubs, silently rode after them, while a third bandit to let the girl go before taking off as well. Chasing after him, Enrique mentally cursed that baboso of García who, as usual, hesitated. The sergeant, however, out of fright, shouted behind Enrique, "Zorro! Zorro is here!" And it was pretty funny. Monastario had no doubt that by the time García had put Constancia in the saddle, returned her to her father, and sent the soldiers to catch the bandits, the trail of the kidnappers would be cold.
The black stallion El Diablo was almost as fast as Tornado, so Enrique was soon able to approach the outlaw within shooting distance but... missed. Luckily, Monastario had two pistols, and he did not miss his second chance. Having dismounted, he took his sword from its sheath and ran up to the bandit lying motionless on the ground. Fortunately, he was still alive.
"Where did they go?" asked Enrique, pulling the scarf from the stranger's face.
The stranger did not answer—he was trying to pray. However, the moon was shining brightly, and Monastario recognized him. This was one of Don Lugo's vaqueros, who was once arrested for fighting in the pueblo.
"Juan, who are the others?" Enrique insisted, seeing that life was leaving the shepherd.
"Damn Fernando!" Juan managed to wheeze before he died.
Monastario thought about it. Which Fernando? Perhaps the vaquero was cursing the King? Lugo, having received a rancho for his military service, retired, but then briefly took over the post of alcalde. However, it was possible that his sons did not become stupid farmers. It was also possible that the military service attracted them. Enrique did not know a single sane Criollo or Spaniard who would remain a royalist. The only ones who remained royalists were those who really had no other choice, were short-sighted, indifferent or far from politics. If Lugo's sons were smart and ambitious, then, indeed, such an adventure against the Viceroy was a good idea. The señorita was not harmed, but the Spanish authorities were again disgraced. Zorro clearly set a bad example for the local young señores...
Despite the fact that Monastario himself considered the King a nonentity, he winced—just recently the Captain represented the mentioned authorities. And he doubted that he would have chosen the gallows if the Viceroy had given him a choice between this and service to the Crown. Well, everything that is done is done for the better...
Leaving the dead vaquero lying on the ground, Enrique urged his horse towards the Casa de Rancho San Antonio. If he was right, then the first two outlaws were the young señores Lugo, and, after they had relieved Don Esteban from a share of his funds, they probably went back to their hacienda. Accordingly, Diego should be there too. And without pistols... Frowning with concern, Monastario rode at full gallop, admitting for the first time that Don Alejandro de la Vega's horses were the best in California.
The Casa de Rancho San Antonio loomed white in the distance, like Constancia's mantilla, and Enrique felt ashamed that the white color primarily reminded him of his favourite stallion Blanco. No, he, of course, would not refuse the opportunity to climb onto the balcony of his señorita in this black, body-hugging suit and kiss her passionately without taking off the mask, but why would he break the girl's heart? And if Constancia did not have tender feelings for him, and carnal desire was all that existed between them, then they both might go too far. Moreover, no matter what de la Vega claimed, he was clearly upset by Constancia's favor towards Enrique.
After making El Diablo walk, Monastario thought about more pressing matters. He was interested in where Diego was now, since there was no point in fighting the "outlaws."
A familiar whistle was heard from the direction of a lush bush growing near the wall—Diego, that lucky bastard, was still alive.
"These were the sons of Don Antonio, can you imagine this?" Zorro whispered to him, choking with emotions. "What shall we do, En... señor? I climbed over the wall, found out the truth, took the money and decided to wait for you, since they didn't notice me."
Monastario doubted that Zorro had gone unnoticed, but remained silent. Be that as it may, the Fox's successes were impressive.
"I think I should give Sergeant García some anonymous advice to make a surprise visit to Lugo," Zorro continued, and at that moment—
"Watch out!" shouted Enrique, getting his horse to gallop immediately, and hoping that El Zorro would follow his example.
Zorro did just that. But, as Monastario had feared, the bandits began shooting at them. One bullet whistled very close, the second one—
"Are you alright?!" Enrique shouted.
"Sí," Zorro responded, and they didn't talk again until they reached the very border of the rancho.
When it became clear that the Lugo brothers wanted to drive Monastario and de la Vega away, but not kill them, Enrique insisted that they stopped and dismounted. It turned out that the second bullet grazed de la Vega's shoulder. Having torn off the edge of his cape, the Captain somehow bandaged Diego, and they continued on their way at a more moderate speed.
Once they were back at the hacienda, Enrique finished properly treating Zorro's wound. "A scratch," as the, um, hero of California himself put it.
"I was a member of the Ateneo," de la Vega admitted with pride.
Smiling sadly, Monastario replied, "Well, the royalists may execute us together. Or are we still enemies, Diego?"
"I don't think so." De la Vega looked around for his shirt. "Although it's not easy with you."
"The feeling is mutual," Monastario grinned, exhausted by the argument about whether or not to inform on the sons of the former Alcalde and what to do with three thousand pesos.
Putting on his robe, Enrique began to think out loud. Everyone would be sure that Captain Monastario fled North to board a ship in San Francisco, and therefore it made sense to go South and think about what to do next. The Viceroy had no time to pursue the former Comandante of Los Ángeles, anyway.
"I'd like to go with you," de la Vega suddenly announced.
A curly lock of hair fell on his forehead, and Enrique couldn't help but smile.
"Are you bored in Los Ángeles?"
"Probably," Diego agreed. And he added slyly, "I have to make sure that you don't return to your old behaviour in a new place."
Stay at home, Enrique was about to answer sarcastically, perhaps the Governor will send a new Comandante to the pueblo, and your father will approve of his moral qualities.
Previously, Monastario would have been infuriated by the very thought that Diego or Zorro dared to judge his behavior, basing his judgement mainly on his own naivety and Don Alejandro's arrogance, but the Captain was terribly tired. He was not obligated to live up to de la Vega's hopes. After all, Diego was the son of a ranchero and he was closer to more simple men like, for example, García.
Instead, Enrique said coldly, "If you don't change your mind, I'm going to San Diego. The owner of the local tavern is an old acquaintance of mine, he will hide me if anything happens—"
"In the basement?" de la Vega smiled sunnyly. He either really did not notice the mood of his companion, or pretended not to notice. "Better: in the wine cellar! Listen, Enrique... are you sure you don't want to say goodbye to Doña Constancia?"
"I am sure," Monastario assured.
"You are cruel to her," Diego remarked.
"I don't like to give false hopes."
"No false hopes..." muttered de la Vega, looking away and grinning incomprehensibly.
Enrique silently shrugged—what could he answer to this? "Return to your old behaviour," you see! Diego could say sincerely that Señor Zorro would get bored in the absence of the imaginative Comandante. Diego could also admit that he did not want to get married yet, because he loved children, but loved adventures more. Be that as it may, this friendship with de la Vega would not last long. They were different, and their destinies were different.
"Tell me, Enrique," Diego suddenly asked, "you joined the revolt because, as a military man, you want to defend the Kingdom, but not the King?"
"My sword belongs to the people of Spain, not to the Bourbon dynasty," replied Monastario.
A weird question. Had de la Vega still not understood the obvious?
"What about New Spain? You—"
"I was a typical garrison comandante, Diego," Enrique instantly boiled, "and not the worst! Finally come back to earth and don't be Don Quixote! To become a protector for California, someone needs to understand politics, at least."
"Someone should have a conscience, that's all," de la Vega snapped.
"Stay at home, we're not on the same path—I'm the shameless one and I don't give a damn."
"No."
"I'm not a hero like Riego, damn it!"
"I know this. But I've never been to San Diego. I may live separately and travel at a distance from you."
"What will you tell your father?" Enrique asked tiredly.
"Some kind of lie, as usual." Shrugging, de la Vega grew gloomy.
Why did he need this? Perhaps he...
Monastario narrowed his eyes, "There's something you're not telling me, Diego."
Flashing a smile, the young señor pretended that he had not heard the last words.
"They say San Diego is beautiful."
"Do you like cacti?" Enrique asked skeptically.
"I think I shall like the bay and maybe it will even inspire me. Since you were arrested, the muse has left me," the "poet and musician" sighed defiantly.
Monastario rolled his eyes. De la Vega was in his repertoire. He probably wanted to tag along with Enrique simply because foxes were very curious.
"Do you have a drink?" asked Monastario, giving up, after which he declared pathetically, as if parrying a blow in a duel, "I have had too many trials."
"There's a bottle of Tempranillo in the cave, wait a minute."
Left alone, Enrique took the blade out of its sheath and looked at the engraving for a long time, trying to understand what awaited him in the future. He was absolutely sure of one thing: whatever he and de la Vega got into again, it would be unforgettable.
Notes
* A Spanish / Hispanic-American vara is equal to a yard, so 50 varas are about 50 meters.
** A real rancho near the pueblo: en. wiki/Rancho_San_Antonio_(Lugo)
The map dating from around the 1830s:
/share/Kb4gWyCjYaoUyc41
An example of an early 19th century boundary marker separating one rancho from another:
/share/OQe31bxLwsnatxZF
*** Chaparral (from Spanish chaparro, "thickets of scrub oak") is a type of subtropical hard-leaved shrubby vegetation. Distributed in a narrow strip of the Pacific coast of California.
A scrub oak (Quercus dumosa) looks like this:
/share/xsTvPv4Ibh4pwTkR
**** Listen to the anthem: /1wUQEYrb8hg?si=y6cSZ4FlqJwe-i3B