The Secret of Zorro An Old Enemy Chapter Nine by Ella Christian @1999-2001 Contact author at EllaChristian@aol.com Chapter Nine Loss Upon Loss Diego's vigil over his fallen horse continued all night. He retrieved his cape from the rocks near where he had dueled with Monastario, and wore it over his bare shoulders to hold back the cold mountain air. Benicio hovered nearby for some time in silence. Then he built a small fire several yards from where Diego sat with his horse. Finally he approached Diego, and said, "I can go back to the cabin higher in the pass and get you some clothing." Diego looked up at him. He did not care any longer. He felt nothing but devastation as the reality of what he was dealing with sank in. "Do whatever you wish," he said. Benicio paused. "I will come back. I will not abandon you and the horse. I can bring food, along with clothing. We left things there that are still good." "I do not care what you do," Diego said, sounding numb. The only thing he felt he could do himself was sit beside his stallion, stroking his neck and trying desperately to keep the wound clean and keep Tornado calm. The horse alternately lay still and tried to get up, causing the blood to flow again. Diego sank deeper and deeper into despair, knowing that without a miracle, Tornado would not live to the dawn. At some point in the night he realized that Benicio had slipped away. It mattered not. ****** Alejandro's hands trembled, holding the letter from his long-dead wife. He sat in the hayloft for a long time, simply staring at it. He was not sure he even wanted to read whatever it said. Why now? he wondered. Why have you found your way back to me now? After many minutes, he took a deep breath and carefully unsealed the envelope. He removed the two sheets of paper inside, and slowly opened them to see Matilde's handwriting pouring across the page. Dearest Alejandro, I fear I shall never see you again, my love. The worst has happened, the thing we feared when we first learned our news. The child we so wanted is gone, my darling, and a fever has set in. It is no one's fault. I was not built to bring these little ones into the world. We were given more than we dared hope for in Diego. Oh, dear Jandro, how we wanted more family, and instead I am destined to leave the one we do have. I hope you have it in your heart to forgive me. Please forgive me. My strength is not great enough and if you are reading this, I have lost the battle. You must go on, and I know that you will. I have so much to say to you. Please do not let this defeat you. Our life together has been greatly blessed. Nothing can last forever. Do not be bitter. You must keep your heart open and help Diego do the same. He is such a fine boy. He will become an extraordinary man. Do not let him withdraw after I am gone. He will try to disappear with the Indian boy, do not let him close down, Alejandro. I know our son. His heart is as big as yours, but he keeps his deepest things hidden and private. He will not understand why I do not come home. You must help him; you must somehow show him how to continue to live openly and fully and with a good faith. I know you will do this for me, and even more for him. I have left a letter for him, Jandro, but do not give it to him yet. He will not understand, he will only know that his mother has left him. Right now you must help him adjust to a different life. Give this to him when you know he is ready to hear one more word of love and encouragement from me. Or, perhaps, when you know that he needs it most. I trust you so much. You will know when to do it. Perhaps he will be ready before he leaves for Spain, to study at the great university, as we have agreed. Be kind to the servants, my darling, and do not spend so much time over your bookkeeping that you do not attend to Diego personally, especially in the months ahead. Keep your heart open, Alejandro. You will always remember me, but do not translate that into denying yourself as full a life as you can have in the years ahead. You and Diego have given me the best that life has to offer. Know that. For it I thank God with my entire heart, a heart that will ever be yours, and your son's. With eternal love, Matilde Alejandro read it over and over. At first he was so overcome just with seeing her handwriting again after so many years that he could not absorb the meaning of the words, only the sight of them. By the third reading he could begin to hear her voice, saying these things to him. He could almost see her lying in a tiny monk's cell, propped up against the adobe wall, refusing to give in to the fever overcoming her in order to leave these last messages to her family. For all he knew, it was her very determination to write these letters that had killed her, for it had to have required great strength given the condition she was surely in. She must have exacted a solemn promise from the padres not to tell him of it, instead believing that he would open the trunk and find the messages upon his return home. It was on the fourth reading of the letter that the tears finally came, and Alejandro sat in the hayloft of his old barn weeping until he could not read at all. He sat there for many minutes sobbing in a deep and humble silence over the losses of his wife, the baby she had not been able to bear, and the years that separated her and her last messages to him and to their Diego. ****** Diego realized he had fallen asleep. A deep, wet, rattling sound woke him up. A tremor raced through his body and he opened his eyes to false dawn. The horror of what had happened fell on him immediately. He looked down at Tornado beside him. The horse's breathing was labored. Diego leaned over him and looked at the sword wound. It was festering. "Oh, Jesus..." he whispered. He stroked Tornado's neck and the valiant horse shook, trying to respond. He even raised his head in an effort to get up. "No, no, don't try, boy," Diego said, continuing to stroke him gently. He ran his hand over Tornado's jaw and then scratched him behind the ear lightly. Tornado's wide, liquid brown eyes met his. "I always thought if something ever happened, it would be to me," Diego said, his voice breaking. "I never thought anything could happen to you." Tornado continued to look at him steadily. He gave his master a small snort. "Even now you are telling me what to do," Diego murmured. "You want me to get it over with. For both of us." He went to the saddle nearby and lifted the rifle. Then he went back to the horse, bent over, and patted him one more time. "Oh, Tornado, thank you," Diego whispered. "For everything." It was as much of a goodbye as he could say. Then he stood, lifted the rifle, and with careful aim put his beloved and faithful horse out of its misery. ****** Half a mile away, Benicio Bocca was making his way down a path overgrown with wild grass when he heard the gunshot. He stopped in his tracks, knowing that El Zorro had just destroyed his black stallion. He stood there for a moment. Nothing moved. In the utter stillness of early morning the silence after the shot was deafening. Bocca looked around and saw a flat rock not far off the trail. He went over to it, put down the things he was carrying, and sat down. It was a good place from which to watch the sunrise. ****** Elizabeth awoke in a sweat at dawn, and sat up wildly. "Diego!" she cried, looking around. She felt crampy and hot. The other side of the bed was empty. She wiped her face off and then got up, going to the white porcelain basin on the dresser beside the toilet alcove and rinsing her cheeks with cool water. She had been dreaming again, but now she could not remember anything except feeling afraid and terrible. She began to feel a mild wave of nausea. Oh, not this soon, she thought. She stood there for a moment and it passed, to her relief. Still, she did not feel right. Esperanza was in her own room, still sound asleep no doubt. Elizabeth pulled on her robe and went out onto the balcony to feel the cool morning air. A marine layer had settled over the hacienda, making the air wet and foggy. The evening before had been very quiet. She had not seen her father-in-law from the time she left him in the barn with Matilde's letters until they sat down for supper. He had volunteered nothing, concentrating on Esperanza while they dined. Then he had volunteered to put her to bed. Since she again showed no interest in nursing, Elizabeth had agreed to it and had spent half an hour grooming Blanca while Alejandro entertained the baby and put her to bed. Blanca had been agitated during Elizabeth's evening visit. Now, in this strange morning world of shifting fog, Elizabeth decided to check on the mare again. She quickly donned a simple house dress and ran a brush through her hair, pinching her cheeks to bring some color up. Then she walked down the wet steps slowly and made her way across the patio and into the stableyard. The head vaquero, Paco Encino, was already about and nodded to her a little quizzically as she walked towards the stable. "Si, it is early for me," she said with a soft smile, reading his mind. "I wanted to check on Blanca." He smiled a little mysteriously and nodded. "What is it?" she asked. He nodded towards Blanca's stall. "Check her carefully," he said. Elizabeth frowned, and then waved him to come with her. He followed her into the stable. Blanca was in her stall, wide awake. She nickered on seeing Elizabeth. "Is she sick?" Elizabeth asked, going to the filly and stroking her face. "Oh, no, Seņora," said Paco. Elizabeth looked at her carefully. She had noticed last night that Blanca seemed to be gaining some weight, which Elizabeth attributed to the never-ending saga of not quite getting her fully broken. "She is in this stall too much," Elizabeth said. "Perhaps we can chance letting her back out into the meadows again." "I think it will be all right now," Paco said, still smiling. Elizabeth frowned at him. They had let Blanca live in the meadows during the late summer and early fall, while Elizabeth and Diego were up in the mountains on their presumed holiday together. Bernardo had arrived one afternoon with a letter from Alejandro, reporting that there had been some excitement because Blanca had disappeared from her meadow home one afternoon. She was discovered some hours later wandering in brush not far from Tornado's cave, which led Alejandro to speculate that perhaps Blanca and Tornado had done some getting-to-know-one-another. At the time, Diego had dismissed this possibility, for the box canyon was tightly sealed and, he insisted, "Tornado is a gentleman." "If my Blanca got frisky with a new friend, it may not have been Tornado!" Elizabeth had teased him. Now, as Elizabeth looked from her filly to the vaquero and back, her eyes widened. She ran her hands across Blanca's sides and barrel carefully. Then she held her hand against Blanca's belly for a while. "Oh!" she said to Paco. "But she is too young!" Paco shook his head. "She is over three years old...it is a little soon, but..." he shrugged. "I think she will be fine in the meadow now." "When did you discover this?!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "When will she have it?" "It was this week, senora. Simeon was going to tell you. We thought we should wait until Don Diego was home, but...now you know." He paused, and then added, "In the late spring." He smiled and bowed lightly, leaving her in the stall. Elizabeth eyed Blanca. "You vixen!" she said. Blanca stamped her foot and backed up a step. "Well we have even more in common now," Elizabeth laughed softly, patting her horse's white nose. "I hope you feel better than I do." ****** High in the Santa Susana Pass and well after the sun had risen, Benicio climbed back to the rocky plain where he had left Diego the night before. He found Diego, still bare-chested and wearing only the black pants and boots, stacking a huge pile of stones where his horse had lain. Benicio walked up and stopped as Diego heaved another rock onto the pile. He was sweating, his hair down in his eyes. He glanced at Benicio but said nothing, continuing his effort. "I am sorry," Benicio said. "He was a fine horse." Diego hauled another rock onto the pile, which was now over two feet tall and covered the stallion's now-hidden corpse. Tornado's saddle and bridle were on the ground nearby, along with Zorro's cape, mask and sword, the rifle, the whip, and the pistols. It would be, Benicio allowed, a lot to carry on foot. "Do you want any help?" Benicio asked. "No," Diego answered. "I found a shirt," Benicio said, holding up the things in his hand. "And food. You should eat something. The rocks have covered him. He will be spared the vultures." Diego stopped what he was doing, a rock poised in his hand. "Why are you here?" he asked. Benicio cocked his head slightly. "It would not do to see your pretty Elizabeth widowed," he answered. Diego looked down. Then he looked at Bocca again. "You tried to kill me twice with that knife of yours," he said. "Now you are worried about my wife being widowed?" "I tried to kill you before I knew your wife," Benicio answered. Diego threw the rock he was holding onto the ground. "I do not understand you, Benicio," he said. "Nor do you need to," came the answer. He offered Diego the white shirt. "Here. Go to the stream and clean yourself up, and put this on. We have a long way to go." Diego looked at the shirt. "This is not Monastario's is it?" Benicio smiled his slow smile. "It is a good shirt," he said. Diego took it and went towards the creek. He stood over the swirling water for a long time, not allowing himself to feel anything but wondering how long it would take him to get home. Do not try to find me, he thought to the waters, hoping they would somehow carry the message to Elizabeth. ****** The two men began walking in the late morning. Diego insisted, much to Benicio's annoyance, on carrying the saddle and the other items that had been affixed to Tornado's saddle and rider. They walked for several miles, following the creek bed. Though neither said it, both half-expected to find Monastario's body twisted around a tree trunk with every turn in the path. The evidence of the flash flood was everywhere, in the form of debris from fallen trees and re-arranged rocks. It was after one wide turn that they stopped in their tracks at the sight before them. Benicio laughed aloud in spite of Diego's silent, sorrowful mood. For there in a small grove of low green trees was his sorrel gelding, munching on leaves. His saddle was still on his back and his bridle still in place. Diego stared at the horse as Benicio grabbed the dangling reins, pulling him out of his shady paradise. "'All the way to San Juan Capistrano,'" Diego snorted, showing his first glimmer of humor since his disaster had begun. Benicio chuckled again and shrugged. "We will be thankful he cannot find his way home as well as I thought. Here, give me that," he reached for the saddle Diego had been resolutely hauling. Diego was reluctant at first, but then allowed Benicio to take the saddle and place it on top of the sorrel's saddle. "You can go ahead and ride away," Diego pointed out. Benicio simply shook his head. Then they heard a rustle from the trees. Diego jumped back, grabbing for his sword. Benicio carefully pulled one of the pistols from Tornado's saddle. The rustle repeated itself and then the branches begin to part. Benicio lifted the gun and Diego drew his sword. Out of the underbrush and tree branches a splash of white came into view. From the green shroud, looking at first as if he were wearing a halo of leaves, Monastario's white stallion Caesar appeared. He looked disheveled. His mane and tale were matted and grimy. His mangled saddle was hanging off his side where the girth had slid around but had not fallen off. His bridle was skewed on his face, the reins dangling and dragging on the ground. He whinnied a little miserably on seeing the two men. Then he started chewing on his bit. Benicio handed the sorrel's reins to Diego and went to get the white horse. It nickered as he approached. Diego frowned, not having expected Monastario's horse to be quite so human-friendly. Benicio patted his nose. Then he pulled the saddle off and threw it aside. He straightened the bit and re-adjusted the bridle. Then he led the white stallion over to Diego. "If only they could talk, eh?" Benicio asked. "He could tell us what happened to Monastario." He leaned over and felt the horse's legs. "Huh. He has a fever in the right front knee," he said. Diego walked over and felt the horse's knee. Indeed it was overheated and seemed swollen. He nodded at Benicio. "So much for finding another horse to ride," Benicio said. "I suppose we can both get on the sorrel." Again Diego shook his head. "A forced march, eh?" Benicio said. Diego said nothing, but looked out towards the southwest. The light was clear. No rain approaching. "It will take us days to walk back," Benicio pointed out. "Then we had better start walking," Diego replied. ****** The marine layer burned off, providing a wash of sunlight across the rancho. Elizabeth spent an hour in the stable with Blanca, continuing to scold her filly for being wanton at such a young age. She returned to the hacienda and was greeted by a hungry baby who had not forgotten how to nurse after all. Esperanza vexed her mother greatly by biting her twice as she finished with each breast. Elizabeth and Maria supervised while the baby had her "morning crawl" on the patio. It was after she was asleep for her morning nap that Elizabeth finally retired to her room, her anxiety over Diego's absence mounting. He had been gone for four days. She rested for a while, feeling increasingly lightheaded and listless. She got up for lunch, and then returned to her room right afterwards. An hour later she felt awful, and the next thing she knew she was throwing up. Once she was finished with that, she laid back down. It did not start this soon last time, she thought. It was six weeks, not six days. Then it occurred to her that perhaps something was wrong. Or that nothing at all was wrong, except that perhaps she was not pregnant. But if that is the case, why do I feel so terrible? she thought. She fell into a worried sleep for a while. When she got up she felt a little better, and summoned Bernardo. "Is Lolita coming to visit you any time soon?' she asked him. It would be impossible, she knew, to summon Soaring Bird. But the curandera from San Pedro was a frequent visitor at Rancho de la Vega, thanks to her special friendship with Bernardo. He shrugged quizzically, and pointed at Elizabeth. "Si, I am not feeling well," she admitted. "I thought perhaps she might have an herb or two to help me out." He pointed at paper on the dresser and indicated writing, then pointed at himself and made a riding gesture. "I suppose I could ask her to come," Elizabeth agreed. "Would you mind going to get her? It may be nothing, but...." Bernardo smiled, indicating he would be happy to make the journey to San Pedro. Elizabeth smiled back. "Si, you would like a little visit, wouldn't you? I will tell her to bring Felipe." Bernardo nodded. He waited while Elizabeth wrote a short note to Lolita. Sealing it in an envelope, she handed it to the servant. "Take it to her tonight," she instructed. He agreed, and excused himself. Elizabeth sat down on the bed. Then she realized she just wanted to go back to sleep again. She felt another cramp ripple through her belly. ****** As Benicio had predicted, it took four days and three nights for the two men to walk from the mouth of the Santa Susana Pass across the long valley to the Cahuenga Pass. They stopped each night, made a fire, and ate some of the jerky Benicio had salvaged from the cabin in the hills. Diego was nearly silent in his walk. He insisted on leading the sorrel, wanting nothing to do with the elegant white stallion. Twice he told Benicio that he might as well leave, but Benicio refused to leave him. It was on the third night, under a sliver of late moon, that Diego finally cursed Bocca and advised him that he might as well make himself scarce and get the arrest of El Zorro over with. Benicio cocked his head curiously. "El Zorro?" he asked innocently. Diego sighed and fell back into his silence, not remotely entertaining the possibility that anything other than an arrest lay ahead. He chose his numbness over the waves of grief and anger that would otherwise overwhelm him. He slept little, thinking about everything from the sound of the bullet that ended Tornado's life to the sound of the newborn baby in Soaring Bird's hut. He cursed Windhawk in his heart for refusing to help him. He cursed himself for imagining that he could defeat Monastario without paying a bitter price. He cursed Benicio for his strange kindness after so many years of distrust and two attempts on El Zorro's life. Most of all he cursed Enrique Monastario, for his ruinous effort at revenge. "Diego, Diego," he felt himself being shaken awake. He jerked up to see Benicio leaning over him, their fire smoking in the early morning light. "What!?" Diego snapped, shoving his unwanted companion away. "We must leave early," Benicio said, righting himself. "This is the day we will part ways." Diego got up. The two horses were tethered nearby, grazing in the wet grass under an oleander tree. The sorrel was saddled and bridled, but the stallion was untacked except for the halter and tether rope. Diego looked up at the sky. There was a thin layer of clouds above, but no rain. Benicio looked up, too. "It will rain again, but not until sometime tomorrow," he said. "That is why we must get back tonight. I think the stallion can be ridden today. The heat has gone out of his leg." "I have no intention of riding that horse. Ever," Diego stated. Benicio looked over at the stallion and back at him. "He is a good horse," he said. "Better than you might think." "He was in the hands of a man whose seat I will not fill, even in a saddle!" Diego snapped, nearly vicious. Benicio remained calm. "He was not in Monastario's hands all that much," he said. Diego looked at him. "What do you mean?" Benicio shrugged. "He rode him when he was commandante of the pueblo. But when he came back, he had not had him for long. Someone else was taking care of him." Diego stared down into the smoldering fire. "Take the white horse yourself," he said. "I will ride the sorrel." "It is still a day's ride, to get back," Benicio said, ignoring Diego's pronouncement. "You should ride the swifter horse, in order to reach your seņora more quickly." He paused, and then said, "I would surely ride the faster horse, if she were my seņora." Diego rose to his feet, wheeled around, and went for Benicio's throat. "Hey!" Benicio shouted, shoving him away. For once he was ready enough, and Diego weakened enough by physical exhaustion and emotional distress, that he succeeded in defending himself. Benicio pulled his knife from a strap concealed under his pant leg. "You do not want to face this right now," he said. He held the knife towards Diego, clearly prepared to use it. "So, you found your knife again," Diego said bitterly, backing away. "There was a spare," Benicio said. "In the cabin. One can never be too careful in the wilds." He nodded at the white horse. "Put your saddle on him and go home, Diego." "I will not ride that horse," Diego said. "Si, you will ride him," Benicio said, backing up and going to the sorrel. Keeping one eye on Diego, he mounted the horse. Then he re-sheathed his knife. "Adios, amigo," he said. He gave Diego an almost Zorro-like salute, his hand tipping off his hat. Then he turned the sorrel and gave it a good kick, and cantered away. Diego sat there looking after him. What had just happened made no sense, but then, nothing that had happened for the last week made sense, it only made pain. He looked at the white horse, which seemed never to get enough grass. It was a magnificent creature. He saw Tornado's saddle in the grass, and beside it his guns, his whip and sword, the saddlebag containing the cape and mask. Zorro's hat was on the ground as well. He did not remember saving that, but there it was. Had it been in the bag Benicio carried? They had camped near a stream. Diego went to it. Getting on his hands and knees, he took a drink and then splashed water into his face. It woke him up more. Elizabeth, he thought. Esperanza. If Benicio were going to turn him in as El Zorro, he had at best one night left to be with his family. He looked back over at the white stallion. This was his only choice.