Diego undressed. In quick movements choreographed by experience, Bernardo helped transform his friend and master into Zorro. He pulled at Diego’s ruffled white shirt and tucked it under his arm as he deftly helped Zorro into his black shirt. With his back to Bernardo, Zorro turned as Bernardo wrapped the banda around his waist. It needed to be a little tighter. With his many recent night rides, Zorro seemed to be losing weight.
For Bernardo, many nights and into the early morning the exhilaration of seeing Zorro ride out into the night had given way to stomach churning fear. For the first time Bernardo felt no exhilaration, only real fear at what might happen this night. Fear not just for himself because he too was riding out with Zorro, but fear for Zorro. A very tight net had been set out and they both knew it. The plan would have to work exactly right or it would most certainly spell death for both of them.
Bernardo knew that Zorro had no choice tonight. If he did not ride, the prisoner would surely be put to death. It was good that he was riding with Zorro. He knew that if anything happened to Diego he could never forgive himself for not being there to help nor did he think he would want to go on without his friend. They would be in this together.
“Diego? Just a word with you.”
Don Alejandro was knocking on Diego’s bedroom door.
Through the small hole in the wall of the secret room Bernardo peeked into the bedroom and motioned Diego ahead. Before his father could come into the room, the masked Zorro ran across the room and pressed his back against the bedroom door. In his haste the sword flared out and hit the heavy oak door.
“Sí, Father?”
“Diego, may I come in? I wish to speak to you for a moment.”
Diego picked up a towel from the dresser next to the door. Forcing a small laugh he said, “Oh, Father, I, I am in the middle of washing. Just a moment, I will put on my dressing gown and …”
“No, no, son. I will see you in the morning. There is much I have been thinking about but we will talk in the morning. What was it that hit the door? It was Don Alejandro’s turn to force a laugh.
“N…nothing, father. Perhaps I kicked something.” Zorro shrugged at Bernardo.
“All right, son. I am going to bed too. We will talk tomorrow. Good night.”
“Sí, father. Good night.”
At that moment Don Alejandro was proud but he was also afraid. He knew what had hit the door and he also knew at that moment it had not been his son behind the bedroom door. It had been El Zorro.
In a flash of shimmering black Zorro ran down the stairs to the cave and threw himself onto the waiting Tornado. Bernardo ran outside the cave and jumped into a carriage pulled by two young, inexperienced but fast team horses from their hacienda. They headed to the pueblo of Los Angeles. With Zorro leaning low over his neck, Tornado lit out, leaving Bernardo and the carriage in his dust.
In this whole scheme of a trap tonight there was one thing in which Sergeant Garcia could take pride. The Magistrado had left the assignment of the main guards to him. The Sergeant had decided who would guard the prisoner, who would man the wall where Zorro usually entered the cuartel. This was a tremendous responsibility. It had made him very nervous but he was grateful to Don Diego.
On many nights his friend had been extremely generous. Don Diego had often purchased more than one bottle of fine red wine. It was his good friend, Don Diego who helped him decide which of the guards should be assigned to these strategic locations. He did not know of a truer friend than Don Diego. Who else would listen to his worries and help him with burdensome decisions such as these?
Sergeant Garcia hooked his thumbs into his banda as he bounced up on his toes. Yes, he had chosen the guards well. The older, more experienced guards were his. What they lacked in speed and strength, they more than made up with their experience. He had taken Don Diego’s advice and allowed them to drink extra wine at the tavern. They were well fortified. His guards will know what to do when Zorro appears. Yes, he had chosen well – with only a little help from Don Diego.
Diego had been in town every night for almost two weeks. He conducted business, met friends and hosted Sergeant Garcia. He had long, earnest talks with the Sergeant on many days and nights in the tavern. Here he learned of the plot to trap Zorro. He learned that the Magistrado was confident that Zorro would not escape the cuartel once he had gotten in. Here he observed every night which of the soldiers liked to take a drink or two before they retired or before they went on duty for the night.
He took care of one more thing. A few days before, he had sent Bernardo out of town to pick up the carriage he had purchased. He had found it in a blacksmith’s barn where it was offered for sale. The carriage was old but in excellent condition. Bernardo rode out on horseback pulling the two mules and brought the carriage back quietly in the night to the de la Vega hacienda.
Diego knew the odds were stacked against him on this night but he had done everything he could to buy time for his escape and for the escape of Guillermo Ayala, the peon so wrongly accused and arrested by the Magistrado.
Don Alejandro turned in his bed. The room was very dark. He could not stop thinking about his chess game with his son. In his mind he moved pieces around on the board.
“If he makes this move, I will counter with that …” He pulled the covers up and settled into his pillows. He felt a sudden twinge in his side, an old pain from a bullet wound. As often happened in the time between night and the dawn, between sleep and awareness, his mind began to pair random thoughts. Like brief partners in a strange dance, his thoughts moved together and intertwined.
He saw pieces on the chessboard, Diego’s black knight was on him. In his half dream he saw himself on the ground unable to move. He saw the swoop of a black cape and he heard his son’s voice. He felt the old pain in his side, like a white bolt of lightning and suddenly Don Alejandro was wide awake.
“Diego? Is that you?” He felt certain he had heard his son speak his name. Listening intently, he heard no sound. But it was so clear, his son’s voice.
He pushed back the covers and slid his feet into his leather slippers. He walked out into the cool night air and went to his son’s room.
Don Alejandro tapped lightly on Diego’s door and then opened it. He did not expect to see his son in the room. The bed was empty, the dressing gown still laid out flat on the covers. In that moment he prayed for his son’s safe return.
Table of Contents
Page One
Page Three
