The other story is finished, not all chapters are posted yet, and I have had some time to tie together some plot lines on this story. So, I hope to make regular updates again.

Chapter 5

Diego lay on a straw mat on the ground, contemplating the nature of wisdom. After rescuing Felipe from a group of bandits and recognizing the boy, they had ridden to the cave. Felipe had convinced him on the way to the hacienda not to greet his father. Turned out a man had arrived in Los Angeles who looked exactly like him and even claimed to be him. At first, Diego had refused to believe that his father could be so easily deceived. Felipe had been determined. Diego first had to see the man to understand. And so mostly to reassure Felipe, he had shown the boy the secret entrance to the hacienda: a cave hidden in a rocky gorge, built by his grandfather to protect his family from potential attacks by Native Americans. Over time, the hacienda had expanded, what had remained was the entrance to the cave in the library concealed behind the fireplace.

In the cave, Diego had peered through a small peephole and seen that what Felipe had told him was true: the man pretending to be Diego de la Vega looked exactly like him. Why was that man impersonating him? And did the man know he looked exactly like him? And why was he impersonating Diego de la Vega? Money perhaps? He was the sole heir of the fortune his mother left him and everything his father owned.

This, along with what had happened to him in Spain, had led Diego to decide not to reveal his return to his father. First, Diego wanted answers to some of his questions. Especially whether what had happened in Madrid was related to this stranger claiming to be someone else. Diego shifted on his straw mat. After being forced to sleep in the most disgusting, foul-smelling places for over half a year, on a cold, hard surface, and then spending weeks sleeping next to a campfire, a straw mat was an unprecedented luxury.

Ten months earlier.

Diego had walked through the narrow streets of Madrid on his way to his uncle's palazzo, where he had stayed during his studies at the university. Once again, he had lost all sense of time while reading the works of Socrates in the university library. He hurried through the deserted streets, lost in thought.

Unbeknownst to him, Diego was oblivious to the impending danger. Suddenly, a group of masked men emerged from the shadows. He had fought back and managed to overpower three or four of them. However, the odds were overwhelming. Eventually, one of the attackers had struck him in the face, causing him to lose consciousness. Then, everything around him had turned black.

When he awoke, he found himself in some kind of cellar. At least, Diego suspected it was, knowing that many of the old palazzos in Madrid had cellars that could easily be converted into cells. The stones beneath him had felt damp and icy cold. The musty odour of damp walls assaulted his lungs, making breathing difficult. His wrists had been roughly bound behind his back, and the ropes cut into his flesh. There was nothing, only silence, occasionally broken by a drop of water dripping somewhere and landing loudly on stone. Diego had no idea how long he had been in the cellar. He suspected at least a few days. He had soiled himself and had noticed that he had occasionally lost consciousness. Probably because he was denied drink and food. Of course, he had called out, hoping for some response, for answers to his questions about what he was doing here, what had happened, and what they intended to do with him. All that followed his calls was silence.

Half dazed and almost giving in to the idea that he would die in this cellar, Diego had heard a key being inserted into a lock and a door creaking and squeaking open somewhere. "Is anyone there? Help, help!"
Stupid, of course. He had just been relieved to finally hear the presence of people.

The door to the cellar in which he was located had opened, and a woman had entered. At least, Diego suspected it was a woman, given her small stature, way of moving, and the voice he had heard when she spoke the only word she had said to him. He had been unable to see her face because of the hooded cloak. She had offered him a bowl of drink. And since he had not drunk anything for at least several hours, but probably several days, he drank eagerly from the water she offered him.

After quenching his worst thirst, Diego had asked, "Can you tell me where I am? What am I doing here? What do they want from me?"

The woman had said only one word: "Revenge."

Then she had left again, leaving Diego with more questions. Revenge? What did she mean by that? Who was she, and who wanted revenge on him, and why? Before he could come up with even a somewhat logical explanation, Diego had noticed that he was becoming increasingly drowsy. Too late the realization came to him the water must have contained some sort of sleeping draught.

When Diego woke up again, the first thing he had done was empty the contents of his stomach. The stench that enveloped him when he woke up was too horrible to describe. Around him sat dozens of men, all desperate, emaciated, and chained together. It hadn't taken long for Diego to realize that he had ended up on a slave ship.

Forced against their will, he and hundreds of others were made to undertake an inhuman journey, where even the most optimistic man in the group eventually succumbed to the helplessness of the situation.

The people in the hold where Diego was located were literally treated like cattle. Food was a scarce commodity. Drinkable water was even scarcer. The prisoners were forced to bury their dignity under the weight of hunger and deprivation. Many succumbed along the way, their bodies thrown overboard like forgotten memories. The stuffiness in the hold increased by the day, as did the foul stench. Communication with his fellow prisoners had been difficult because none of them spoke Spanish, Latin, English, or French. And Diego did not speak the African language they were proficient in. However, as the weeks passed, Diego managed to ask questions with gestures and learn a few sentences of the new language. Although he had not become much wiser about why he was on this ship. He had learned that the ship had departed from Cádiz. He had heard the rumours that criminals were sometimes transported to the New World to be enslaved. This was to relieve the overcrowded prisons in Madrid.

The only clue as to why this was happening to him was what the woman had told him. Revenge.

Revenge, on whom? Revenge, why? No matter how hard Diego had tried to unravel that mystery, he could not imagine anyone he knew who thought that any living being deserved this fate.

After a seemingly endless journey, cries of joy were heard one day. Diego heard from his fellow prisoners that the ship had reached the coast of Mexico. Like him, the men who had survived the journey were very weak. For the first time since the beginning of the journey, Diego saw the sailors who had occasionally thrown food into the hold through hatches in the ceiling or lowered a bucket of dirty green water with countless insects into the hold.

Many of the men could barely stand, but a whip was a convincing tool to get people moving. Once everyone realized that it was a matter of either leaving the ship voluntarily or forcibly, the hold emptied faster than Diego could have imagined.

The scorching heat of the Mexican sun had felt like a blessing, especially with a friendly sea breeze and the possibility of breathing fresh air into his lungs for the first time in months. Chained to his fellow prisoners, Diego had been driven in a long line to a large white stone building. There, something that was called a medical examination had taken place. Diego had tried to ask soldiers where he was and what they wanted from him. This had earned him some solid prods and blows with the butt of rifles. When he had recognized one of the soldiers by the emblems on his uniform as a lieutenant Diego had boldly attempted to address the man in Spanish.

The lieutenant had laughed. "Only white liars, murderers, thieves, and other scum are sentenced to slavery."

The men were divided into cells. With twenty in a cell barely twelve by twelve feet, everyone could finally lie down. Everyone was so emaciated that there was enough space. They also received a somewhat nutritious meal for the first time containing some fresh vegetables and bread that was not mouldy.

.

The next day, the men were all chained together again and brought to a courtyard. There stood a man in a uniform clearly designed to exude authority. There were so many medals and emblems on his jacket that it was blinding. The lieutenant, whom Diego had tried to address the day before, introduced the man as His Excellency, Commander of the garrison of Veracruz, Don Sanchez Espinosa.

From him, Diego had heard where he was and what the rest of his journey would look like. The ship had docked in Veracruz, an important port city on the South American coast. The commander had further explained that they would depart for a nearby gold mine within an hour to be put to work there. The commander expected the men to arrive there within three days. Diego looked at the men gathered with him in the courtyard and wondered with a heavy heart how many of the several hundred would survive such a march, at this moment. Everyone was too weak, and several had already succumbed to the heat and exhaustion, falling to the ground. These were either expertly and cruelly helped up by one of the guards with a whip or carried away as if dead.

Then, the commander had made a round among the prisoners. Most of them he barely paid attention to. Some were subjected to a thorough inspection. Diego noticed that these were mostly the white men, who were vastly outnumbered.

When he reached Diego, he seized the opportunity.
"Please, Commandant Espinosa. My name is Diego de la Vega. I have been kidnapped and..." Diego gasped for breath.

The lieutenant accompanying the commander had brought his rifle down hard on Diego's stomach.

The commander had sneered, "I have been working here for over twenty years. Believe me, I have heard every lie multiple times."
Then, he had looked at Diego thoughtfully. "Lieutenant Menéndez, this one will cause trouble. Put him in solitary confinement and make sure he learns that I do not tolerate lies."

The lieutenant had ordered two soldiers to take Diego to solitary confinement, one of whom had looked at him pitifully. Undoubtedly because the man knew what awaited prisoners. Strangely enough, Diego's luck had turned on his way there.

The solitary confinement had been located on the other side of the complex. On the way, Diego had seen a man walking whom he knew from Madrid, someone who might be able to save him.

Diego had shouted as loudly as he could, "Sir Kendall!" The soldiers had immediately punished this insolence, and Diego weakened and barely able to walk, had fallen to the ground.

Sir Edward Kendall, his sword master at the university, had walked indignantly towards him, exclaiming, "That is not the way to treat a man."

The man Sir Kendall had been talking to had declared, "This is a prisoner being sent to work in one of the mines. He is probably a murderer or worse."

"That is still no reason to treat a fellow human being so inhumanely," Sir Kendall retorted.

"Sir Kendall, please." Diego stammered. The heat of the courtyard and the brutal treatment by the soldiers had exhausted him. Diego knew that this might be his only chance to let someone know who he was. "It's me, Diego de la Vega. Please, help me."

"Diego..?," Sir Kendall's eyebrows had shot up in amazement, almost to the hairline of the balding man.

Diego was not surprised that Sir Kendall did not recognize him. He could not remember the last time he had washed or shaved. His clothes hung on his body, and he estimated that he had lost almost half of his body weight.

"Leave the man alone," ordered Sir Kendall as he looked intently at Diego. "If you are truly Diego de la Vega, tell me everything you know."

Diego did not hesitate to answer. "All I know is I know nothing."

Sir Kendall turned to the man next to him. "This is a former student of mine. I can vouch for him. How he ended up here, I do not know. What I do know is that there must be a misunderstanding. Diego de la Vega is the son of one of my best friends and the noblest, honourable man I know. He is not a criminal and certainly not a murderer."

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