Chapter Eleven - Zorro's Chorus
Three strange days passed. Elizabeth spent most of the time at Casa Matteo, visiting with her aunts and trying to suppress her worry over Diego. Each day Alejandro would stop by, usually staying for supper. Over the meal he gave the family a report on his daily visit with his son, and the continuing impasse with the surly commandante. Privately, he reassured Elizabeth that Bernardo was managing to smuggle new bandages and dressings to Diego in his cell each day. “The wound is healing quite smoothly,” he told her. This came as a relief to Elizabeth, though she remained deeply upset that Vilaro was refusing to allow her to see her husband.
Esperanza was happily confused by her relocation to her maternal grandfather’s house, alternately looking about forlornly for her father and Papito, and absorbing the constant attentions of her Chocho, her great aunts (whom she named “A’leeda” and “A’beeda”) and her very enterprising nine year-old uncle.
Rufino, who never seemed to sit still, brought the primary good light into the household during those uncertain days. On the third morning of Diego’s confinement, he burst into the sala where the aunts, Elizabeth, Carlos and Esperanza were starting their breakfast.
“Doña Elizabeth!” he cried, charging up to Elizabeth and nearly falling into her lap in his excitement.
“What?!” she asked, standing up.
“You must come with me!” he waved, gesturing and running back out of the house.
Elizabeth hurried after him. The others quickly pursued her, Aunt Bridget bringing the baby with her.
“It is a miracle!” Rufino was shouting as he ran towards the barn. He tore through it and stopped at the paddock on the other side, and then looked at Elizabeth triumphantly.
Elizabeth ran through the barn as well, and stopped at the fence looking into the paddock. Immediately she teared up, for standing in the paddock looking perfectly at ease was the still-very- pregnant Blanca.
“Oh, my,” Elizabeth said softly. She opened the gate and walked in, slowly approaching her mare. “Where have you been?” she asked.
Blanca looked at her, nickered, and stuck her muzzle out at her mistress for a stroke.
Elizabeth touched her nose and then patted her neck gently. “Oh, Blanca,” she said. “I was so afraid for you.” She stroked the mare’s barrel. “And you have not foaled yet,” she whispered. A wave of relief overcame her and she began to cry, burying her head into the mare’s mane and neck. Blanca snorted lightly but stood still, as if to reassure Elizabeth that everything would be all right.
“Rufino,” Elizabeth finally said, wiping the tears from her face. “Where did you find her?”
The boy stepped forward. “I woke up very early this morning,” he said. “And I decided to take the black pony and ride to Rancho de la Vega to go with my father to see Don Diego. I rode through the live oaks on the hill above the house. And I saw her. She was tethered to a stake in your garden. I ran to the hacienda and found Don Alejandro, and he went with me to the garden and we untied her. He told me to walk her back here to you. So I did. We walked slowly, Doña Elizabeth.”
“Tethered to a stake in my garden?” Elizabeth repeated.
The boy nodded earnestly.
Elizabeth turned again to her horse. “If only you could talk,” she said. “I believe you would have a tale to tell.”
Thus it was that Blanca was returned to her mistress by an unknown benefactor, before her foal entered the world.
As the days progressed, Diego’s strength continued to return and with it his temper continued to deteriorate. He was feeling and looking quite scruffy, for no one had offered him a chance to bathe in private, nor had any of the lancers offered him a razor and a chance to shave. The daily visits with his father and father-in-law were testy for all three men, as Diego wanted help in either being released or escaping and Alejandro, uncharacteristically, was advising his son to stay put for the time being. Carlos was in agreement.
“Staging some kind of escape will only make matters worse, we would see a gallows being built in no time,” Elizabeth’s father opined. “We must handle this carefully through the authorities, Diego.”
“What authorities?” Diego snorted. “Surely you do not suggest we have anything to respect in this man!”
“Carlos is right, my son,” Alejandro agreed. “We have nothing to gain by instigating further resistance.”
“You could solve all this by taking off your shirt,” Carlos pointed out, not for the first time.
Diego glared at him.
“Your stubbornness is uncalled for, Diego, this is not like you! Do you not wish to go home to Elizabeth and Esperanza?”
“Of course I want to go home to them!” Diego snapped. “But I will not be manipulated by that sorry excuse for a military officer!”
Alejandro kept his own counsel as exchange after exchange occurred. He gave Diego reports on the status of things at the rancho, conspired with Bernardo to smuggle food and bandages to his son, told him of visits with Elizabeth and the baby at Casa Matteo, and refused to scheme about how to get Diego out of jail. Even when he visited without Carlos, he frustrated Diego by refusing to help plot a way out.
“If we try to get you out, he will only put you back in again,” he said on the second afternoon.
“At least it would allow me a little time at home,” Diego said. “And a chance to fight this as Zorro rather than....” he shrugged at himself in aggravation. “Twice I have almost had my hands on Corporal Reyes’s keys but he has managed to get away from me!”
“Do not leave this cell on your own!” Alejandro admonished him. “It will make things worse.”
On the third morning, Alejandro lightened the exchange briefly with the good news of Blanca’s mysterious return.
“Tethered to a stake in the garden?” Diego repeated, echoing his wife’s reaction to the news.
“Si, very surely and very carefully, in the middle of Elizabeth’s flowers,” Alejandro confirmed.
“You have no idea who did this?” Diego asked.
“None. Well, someone who knew who the horse belonged to and where she would be discovered. She had to have been taken there in the middle of the night, for we would have seen her the night before when we came in from Casa Matteo. The garden was empty then, but for the plantings.”
“But she is in good health, and has not had the foal?”
Alejandro nodded. “All is well,” he said.
Diego let out a sigh of relief, remembering all too well the hopes that lay in Blanca’s womb. “Some good news at last,” he said.
“Si, Rufino took the mare over to Casa Matteo for Elizabeth, but they are returning her to Rancho de la Vega this evening,” Alejandro said.
“I would like to be there for that birth,” Diego murmured. “Elizabeth and Esperanza are still at Casa Matteo?” he asked.
Again Alejandro nodded. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a letter, which he handed to Diego. “She asked me to give you this.”
Diego looked down at the violet ink and his beloved’s handwriting on the envelope. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Tell her that I....” he paused. “Tell her I am fine, and that I miss her....very much.”
“We will get you out of this, Diego,” his father said. “But you must be patient.”
He departed soon thereafter. Diego sat down on the cot and stared out at the scene he had been staring at for nearly four days. Then he looked down at the letter in his hands. He opened it carefully and began to read.
My darling Diego,
Alejandro has told you that we are at Casa Matteo with my father and my aunts. Blanca has come home, though I do not know how or by whose kindness only that she is well and still holds new life inside her. Esperanza is bewildered with waking up in a new room, only her Mommie for company. Maria is here with us of course. But each morning Esperanza looks for you. She is constantly carried about by Lydia and Bridget and continues to do her own walking when she is in the mood. I miss you, I want you out of that hot dark cell, the commandante will not let me visit you ....
Here in the letter she had a few choice and most unladylike words for Vilaro that made Diego smile broadly. Then she closed, saying,
You are in my heart every moment. Come home to us soon. I send you all my love, your Elizabeth
I miss you too, sweetheart, he thought. He ran his hand over the growing stubble on his chin, wondering if he was going to have a full beard before this was all over.
That afternoon, Alejandro returned to Casa Matteo and summoned the family. “We must all go into town tonight,” he said. “Carlos and I will visit Diego again, and we will call on Vilaro to release him. We must continue to put up a united front, and let the commandante know that he cannot defeat us with his stubbornness. Other dons will come into the pueblo tonight as well. The more, the better,” he said.
Elizabeth was curious. “What do you mean, ‘other dons will come’?” she asked. “Is something going to happen?”
“I said what I said,” he answered.
Though he did not explain himself, Alejandro de la Vega had been quite busy for the last three days. Riding from rancho to rancho and sitting quietly in the Tavern cornering his friends, he was lining up his allies. That very morning, before going to visit Diego, he had stopped off at Rancho Bocca for a conversation with Don Francisco. After exchanging pleasantries with Doña Leonara, who was about to leave for a visit with Clementia in the pueblo, he sat down with his old friend and described his plan of action.
“Hmmmph!” was Don Francisco’s first response.
“Benicio must help, too,” Alejandro said. He had tried for two days to find Benicio, but kept missing him by minutes, at the Tavern, at the stable, at the cuartel. It was almost as if the younger man were deliberately trying to stay a step ahead of him.
“He is already gone,” Francisco answered. “Sold three horses to Miguel yesterday afternoon and drove that herd out last night, in the middle of the night. Gone! Back to San Juan Capistrano. Barely said goodbye to his mother. He is a bad son, that one. Nothing but trouble.”
This news disappointed Alejandro, but did not dissuade him. “Then it is all the more important for you to do this,” he said.
Francisco eyed him. “We could all end up sitting next to Diego,” he said. “Not an appealing prospect.”
“The jail is not large enough,” Alejandro replied with a smile.
“Vilaro has built a gallows in a day, he can build a larger jail in a day,” Francisco stated.
Elizabeth went back to Rancho de la Vega that afternoon. Blanca walked slowly behind, tethered to the back of the carriage. Elizabeth wanted to bathe, choose a dress for the evening in town, and re-establish Esperanza in her own room and with Maria. Though her faithful handmaid was with them at Casa Matteo, she was mostly in the background thanks to the intense interest of the aunts in the baby’s activities. It was time for Esperanza to return to her accustomed life rather than being so constantly spoiled by her doting relatives.
“It is time for you to be in your own house with your own things,” Elizabeth told her as they journeyed home, Mendocino driving the buggy. “It will be strange there for both of us without Daddy, but we need to go home now. We will see Auntie Leeda and Auntie Beeda often, at our Rancho and at Chocho’s house.”
“Fino!” the baby said, waving her hands.
“Si, we will see Rufino too, muchacha,” Elizabeth assured her, marveling at her daughter’s ability to retain names and information. “And since we will be at home, we will see Chatterbox and Blanca and the other horses, too.”
“Chatta!” the baby said, beaming.
“Si, did you miss your pony?” Elizabeth asked.
Esperanza began playing with the brooch on Elizabeth’s shoulder.
“No, sweetheart, that has a pin in it, if it comes off it will stick you,” she poked the baby’s ribs playfully as she said “stick.”
Esperanza giggled and grabbed at the brooch again. “‘Tick,” she said.
“Look, here we are at home,” Elizabeth said, for they were pulling up to the gate of the de la Vega hacienda.
“Dahhhdeee!” Esperanza said, looking out.
“No, Daddy is not here,” Elizabeth said. “He is in town, but we will bring him home soon, somehow....Papito and Chocho will find a way.”
Maria emerged from the patio and reached for the baby so that Elizabeth could step out of the carriage.
“Thank you, Maria,” she said.
Esperanza shouted, “Mia,” her name for her nanny. Then she looked around eagerly, recognizing that she was home. “Papito!” she exclaimed, looking around for her grandpapa.
“A hot bath is being drawn for you, Doña Elizabeth,” the servant said. “And I laid out several dresses on your bed, I do not know if they are what you would like tonight, but at least it is a place to begin.”
“You have read my mind, as always,” Elizabeth smiled at her. “Esperanza has had her nap this afternoon already, so perhaps you can play with her for a while and then take her over to see Chatterbox. I shall be upstairs, when I am finished with my bath bring Esperanza up and she can help me choose a dress.” She looked at her daughter. “We have to pick a pretty one, because tonight perhaps I will see Daddy,” she said.
“Dahdee,” Esperanza nodded. “Mahmee.”
“Bye bye for now, sweetheart,” Elizabeth said.
Esperanza smiled and then batted at Maria’s face as she was carried away. “Mia! Mia!” she said.
After accompanying Mendocino as he returned Blanca to her stall, its latch carefully reinforced, Elizabeth made her way upstairs and went into her bedroom. The windows were open, letting in some light. Everything looked still. Excepting the dresses on the bed, everything was untouched since she and Diego had last slept there four nights before. She crossed the room and touched the box of cufflinks and collar pins open on his dresser. It was no use to have a breakdown now, she knew, for there was simply nothing she could do. Crying would only make her eyes swell up and make her face puffy. Still, touching Diego’s jewelry and combs, his shaving razor and brush so carefully stored in their cup, a folded handkerchief tossed idly on top of the dresser, she felt a lump rising in her throat. They had been separated for longer than these few days, and under much worse circumstances. She had slept alone on many nights wondering if he would come home. But now, as she turned around and looked at the African bed, four dresses carefully laid out on it for her consideration, she felt bereft and horrible. She wondered if Alejandro had given Diego the short note she had written yet, and if it had been a comfort to him. She wondered how his spirits were, for she knew that his father did not always read the deeper places of his son’s heart.
At least you are not far away, she thought, trying to look at the better side of the situation. And Alejandro is up to something, I know it. Perhaps you will be here with me tonight. She stepped away from the dresser and, on impulse, walked around the bed and to the secret door that led to Zorro’s room in the hidden passage. Reaching up, she opened the door and walked into the room. It was dark except for the light that streamed in from the bedroom, so she took a moment to light the lantern that sat on the heavy, thick table in the middle of the room. How often she had come in here to see Diego tending to his sword or chatting with Bernardo while the servant polished Zorro’s tall black boots. She looked to the wall where his boots and cape were always stored. Then she gasped. They were gone.
Elizabeth’s heart began to race. Then she tried to calm herself, remembering that the last time he had worn them, he had just come in from being shot. Surely Bernardo had the clothing. The shirt would have to be replaced, for the hole in it and all the blood, perhaps the cape as well, she did not know. She had not seen Diego until after he had changed clothes. But why were his boots gone? Where was his hat? His sword? Could Bernardo have left it all downstairs when Zorro first returned to the cave?
Making sure that the door to the bedroom was tightly shut, she picked up the lantern and made her way down the stairs, across the passage under the stable, and to Phantom’s Cave. The horse’s stall was empty, but everything was in place. She looked around twice. Then she realized that Phantom’s saddle was gone. Why would Bernardo move it? Was he exercising the horse? She hurried out the cave entrance and looked around the small box canyon where the stallion grazed. She put the lantern down and clapped three times, certain that the great white horse would come prancing up to do his dance for her. She clapped again. Nothing happened besides a breeze picking up, making the grasses in the canyon shimmer in the late afternoon light.
“Phantom!” she called.
No whinny greeted her. The stallion was not in the canyon.
Elizabeth stood there, trying to sort out what was happening. Zorro’s costume and horse were gone. Alejandro was up to something. Is Alejandro going to ride as Zorro tonight? she asked herself. Could it be for Bernardo? she thought. It would not be the first time for either of them to masquerade as Zorro. Surely they are not taking everything to Diego, surely they are not breaking him out of jail to don the mask and ride as Zorro tonight! She shook her head, suddenly realizing how important it was to get into town. She suspected she would not see her father-in-law at the hacienda before leaving. She felt sure he was already gone.
Roberto Vilaro stared at his face in the mirror, something he had been doing even more often than usual for the last three days. The black and blue bruise on his jaw, which ran up his face and into his eye, was beginning to turn yellow around the edges. This was a sign of healing, but it gave him a jaundiced look on the right side of his face. He detested the whole situation, including the yellow and purple streaks on his face. No matter what he did, he was trapped. Alejandro de la Vega had made sure of that, in his brief visit to the commandante’s office the day he was released from the cuartel.
“You lift a hair from Diego’s head, or a single button from his shirt, and I will destroy you financially,” Alejandro had warned him. “I know how to do it, and I will, even if you put me back into jail.”
Vilaro knew it was not an idle threat, for de la Vega’s wealth, influence and wiliness were well known not only in Alta California but in Mexico as well. He could hardly release Diego after the punching incident at Rancho de la Vega, neither could he force the removal of the young don’s shirt. As soon as the shirt was off and the flesh of his arm was clearly absent any bullet wound, he, the commandante, would be the one who looked foolish. He could not afford such embarrassment. Nor could he afford to cross Don Alejandro, who was famous for doing whatever he said he would do. Thus he was in an impossible position and needed a miracle of some kind that would get Diego out of the jail, nothing having been required.
“Garrrrrrcia!” he shouted.
“Si, commandante?” the Sergeant replied, stepping into the private room behind the main office.
“Has de la Vega been herrrre to visit his son today?” he asked.
“Si, commandante, he was here, as usual, in the early afternoon, before siesta time,” Garcia replied.
“I do not suppose he brrrrrought new clothing of any kind?” Vilaro asked.
“No, he only brought a little food and a letter from Doña Elizabeth.”
“Food! And you let him give it to him?” Vilaro whirled around and looked at the Sergeant, annoyed.
“It was only a little bit of bread, his servant handed it to him, I was there, it was nothing...just in a little bag...”
“Garrrcia you are an idiot,” Vilaro replied. He looked back at the mirror one more time and then straightened his jacket. “It is time for a little visit with young de la Vega, I have not paid a call on him since his incarrrrrrrcerrration.”
“Si, Commandante,” the Sergeant sighed.
“Come with me,” the officer commanded, going towards the door. “Perrrrrrhaps he is rrready enough for a bath that he will take that shirt off and end this.”
“I do not think so,” Garcia muttered, following his leader out the door.
They walked across the garrison yard in the golden light of the late afternoon. Diego saw them coming and rose to his feet, having read Elizabeth’s letter for the tenth or twelfth time. He shoved the letter into his shirt as he got up.
Vilaro stood there facing him, keeping himself a good six feet from the cell door. He folded his arms and waited.
“Commandante,” Diego said, standing tall and bowing slightly in greeting.
“Don Diego,” Vilaro replied, also nodding.
For a moment, neither man said anything. Finally Vilaro spoke.
“We can begin with an apology,” he said.
“I am willing to hear one,” Diego replied.
“It is you who must begin with an apology to me!” Vilaro exclaimed. “You struck an officer of the Mexican army! And disobeyed a dirrrrrrect order!”
Diego eyed him for a moment. Then he said, “You barged into my home after midnight, you demanded that I disrobe for no purpose other than to humiliate me after you had already humiliated my wife in our bedroom earlier that evening. These acts were a gross misuse of your authority as a military officer and I make no apology for having taking issue with you over it, then or now. It is you who should apologize, to me, and to my wife, and to my father for invading his household, and to all the dons you insulted by demanding that they remove their shirts at a private supper in the home of a responsible citizen!” Diego leaned closer to Vilaro, his face up against the cell bars. “You began as a Spaniard in California, just as I did,” he said softly. “The Mexican government needs the cooperation of the Spanish landowners here in order to assure a smooth transition as surely as it needs a sound military presence. Do not think for a moment that this is lost on me or on the other dons.” He glanced towards the garrison gate, beyond which stood, across the plaza, the Tavern. “Juan Bottega may have eluded the summons to return to the Mexican Army, but he still has influence if he wishes to exert it, with Iturbide himself.”
“You do not know what you are talking about,” Vilaro stated. “He is nothing but a Tavern-owner now.” He shrugged. “However, I am willing to let this whole matter close, de la Vega, if you will just indulge me in showing me your entire left arm and shoulder, assurrrrrrring me that you are not El Zorrrrrrro. It is my task to capture him, you see, and I can easily enough eliminate you from considerrrrration if you will cooperate in this one thing.”
Diego took a deep breath, seeing that his appeal to Vilaro’s political weaknesses had failed. He looked down and then cleared his throat. Then he looked out into the cuartel. The sun was still fairly high, for it was June and the nights were long. He reached up and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Then he unbuttoned the second one. He reached down and rolled up both his sleeves. Then he unbuttoned the third button on his shirt, revealing the top of his dark-haired chest.
“Now we are getting somewherrrrre,” Vilaro smiled, glancing back at Garcia and nodding. “I should have come out here and simply asked him again earlier!” he said.
The Sergeant’s mouth opened slowly as he watched in astonishment while Diego slowly began to loosen his dirty white shirt.
Diego smiled, and then went back to the cot and sat back down. “That’s better,” he said. He wriggled his shoulders a little to loosen his neck and upper back.
“Aren’t you going to take it off?” Vilaro asked.
“No,” Diego answered. “I only undress for one person, Commandante, and she is not here,” he added.
Garcia’s eyes widened, as did Vilaro’s.
“De la Vega you are a fool!” Vilaro exclaimed. He pointed at Diego. “You believe you are so clever with me!” He whirled about and marched back to his office, his face red with embarrassment.
“That probably was not too wise, Don Diego,” the Sergeant said, trying to suppress his smile.
“You know, Sergeant,” Diego smiled back, “I am really quite out of my depth with a man who so badly wishes me to remove my clothing. I had many experiences in the great cities of Europe, but none of them prepared me for such a moment.”
“The problem is that he could keep you here for a very long time,” Garcia pointed out. “Little Esperanza might be....reading books, or riding her pony, before he will let you out of here.”
“My shirt will rot and fall off long before then,” Diego assured him.
“Si, that is true, but forgive me Don Diego, you wear very good shirts. That one could last much longer than you probably wish to stay in the cuartel.”
Diego nodded. “I do not want to stay here at all, Sergeant, but I have come so far now, I cannot give in to him. It is a matter of principle. And it is high time I stood up for something in this pueblo.”
“Si, I suppose,” the Sergeant agreed. He sighed. “I must go back to the commandante’s office, or he will shout for me. I will return in a while, to make sure they have brought you your supper.” He gave Diego a nod and then left, wondering as he walked back why it was that, after all these years, the principle Don Diego was choosing to stand by was keeping his shirt.
Elizabeth’s guess that her father-in-law was already gone from the hacienda proved right. After her bizarre discovery in the box canyon, she returned to her room, took her bath, and choose her dress, and summoned for Bernardo to bring the carriage around. She then learned not only that Alejandro was gone, but that Bernardo was as well.
“Saddle Cloud Dancer for me,” she instructed Joaquin, one of the vaqueros.
“But Señora, do you not want a carriage, and Mendocino to drive you?” he asked.
“No, I shall ride Cloud Dancer into the pueblo,” she said. “I am tired of carriages and I want to get there quickly.”
Reluctantly, the vaquero agreed to do her bidding. None of the men of the household were there to argue with her, and he was not about to cross Don Diego’s wife.
Elizabeth rode to Casa Matteo, where she learned from her aunts that her father had already left, on Sirocco, an hour earlier.
“He would not take me!” Rufino complained. “He said I had to ride in the carriage with the ladies!”
“I am sure he had reason for it,” Elizabeth assured the boy. Soon the aunts and Rufino were in their carriage, Elizabeth riding alongside, Carlos’s servant Manuel doing the driving.
“Something is going on,” Elizabeth said to her aunts as they made their way the few miles to the pueblo. The sun was setting now, and they would make it to town barely ahead of the twilight.
“There is always something going on here!” Lydia replied.
Bridget laughed, “It does seem to be so.” She looked to her niece. “Tell us, Elizabeth, is it ever quiet in Los Angeles?”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Si, it is often quiet,” she answered. “On our rancho and in the pueblo. You have come at an unusual time.”
“But you always have something going on, thanks to that Zorro!” Lydia said.
“Zorro only appears when something is already going on,” Elizabeth corrected her. “He is rarely the cause of the trouble, and often the cure for it.”
“Then he must save Don Diego,” Rufino said. His English had improved dramatically in the three days with the aunts. “And he must cure the commandante.”
“Cure him of what?” Aunt Bridget asked.
“Of Los Angeles!” Rufino replied.
“I think Los Angeles needs to be cured of the commandante,” Elizabeth said wryly.
“That is what I mean, too,” the boy said.
“Better to cure than to kill,” Aunt Bridget remarked.
“The commandante tried to kill the gypsies,” Rufino said, starting on one of his very favorite stories of his entire life. He entertained “the ladies” with it all the way to the pueblo. Elizabeth listened, amused, and once again wondered at this de la Vega child who sounded so very much like a Matteo when it came to spinning a good yarn.
Upon arrival, Elizabeth went to the Tavern to find Rosaria managing the business on her own. “He has gone off somewhere,” she explained of her husband’s unusual absence. Looking around the room, as her aunts were getting settled at their favorite table near the fireplace, she realized that there were the usual set of lancers on hand, and a few peons, but no dons. None. She had fully expected to find Alejandro, her father, and a number of the others here. This is very strange, she thought. She saw Lupe sitting at a table with her mother, and waved.
Clementia entered, with her servant Bonita and her cousin Consuelo. Clementia had stayed home for the few days since “the stampede,” as she referred to her brother’s entry into town. Elizabeth had not spoken to her since her charge towards the cuartel to pull off Diego’s shirt and put an end to all the nonsense.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” Clementia said, coming over and giving her friend a kiss. “I have been indisposed for days! And Diego is still in jail! He must be miserable!”
Consuelo’s eyes scanned the room in search of the most interesting males present.
“No one is here,” Elizabeth told her.
“Where are they?” Consuelo asked, too disappointed to take offense at Elizabeth’s cattiness.
“I do not know, I....” she stopped on hearing a whoop from outside in the plaza.
“Oh no, another stampede!” Clementia exclaimed, running to the door and opening it. “But this time it cannot be my brother, he left!”
Everyone scrambled to the door, some spilling out onto the porch, to see a most astonishing sight. For into the plaza had galloped around a dozen horses, all of them bearing riders in black hats, black masks, capes, and black trousers, swords at their sides. They rode up to the cuartel gate and began shouting, some of them drawing and waving their swords. They were shouting for Vilaro.
Elizabeth’s hand went to her heart. She was looking at a dozen Zorros. But there was one thing wrong with this sight. None of them rode a white horse.
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