Diego remained in the sala after the dons left. He picked up his wine glass and toyed with it, but wasn’t interested in drinking the ruby liquid that swirled within. As he watched the wine swirl, it reminded him of his own emotional state. He had started the hour with such high hopes only to find them swirled away on the winds of disaster. For disaster it would be if the dons attempted to free the women by force.
He watched through the open door of the sala as his father crossed the patio headed for his bedroom upstairs. He sighed and decided to go to his room also. He paused as he reached the head of the stairs, looking at his father’s door, wondering what more he could say, and then shook his head and continued to his room.
He found Bernardo there brushing one of his jackets. Quickly, he filled him in on the details of the meeting. He was in the process of taking off his jacket when a knock came at the door. He motioned Bernardo to open it. In strode Don Alejandro just putting on his hat, his black cape already around his shoulders. More importantly, he was wearing his sword. Don Alejandro rarely wore his sword any more. That he was doing so now spoke of his commitment to tonight’s action.
Don Alejandro stood proudly just inside Diego’s room. He spoke only one word. “Well?”
Diego finished taking off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair by his desk. Gathering his courage and his love for his father, he held his arms open wide as he walked over to Don Alejandro saying, “Father, I implore you, please. Do not do such a foolish thing!”
Don Alejandro finished adjusting the cord of his hat under his chin and said impatiently, “I cannot stand here and debate with you. They are depending upon me to open the gates of the cuartel.” Looking hard at Diego, he challenged, “Do you ride with me or do I ride alone?”
Taking his father by the arms, Diego pleaded with him. “But won’t you listen to reason? You’re not only going to your own death, but those who ride with you will die too!” He searched his father’s eyes for any sign of reason. But he could see that Don Alejandro would not back down. His course was set and he could not let the others down. He was their leader, and he took his responsibility seriously.
Again, Don Alejandro challenged Diego, the implications of cowardice hanging between them as he said with withering coolness, “Do you choose to remain here?”
Their eyes were locked once again. Diego remained silent. In his heart he was torn. He would like nothing better than to ride at his father’s side and help vanquish the evil that reigned in the pueblo. To fight with all of his might and then have his father say, “Well done my son, pride of my heart.” But he could not. He had to remain free to act independently as he had done since his return from Spain, since Zorro was born. It was the only way it could be . . . for now. Not unwilling, but unable to answer his father, he let his arms fall to his sides.
Don Alejandro saw his answer in Diego’s eyes, but chose to ignore anything else that might have been mirrored there. He only knew that he would be riding alone this night. Sighing heavily within himself, he said to Diego, needing to give voice to the pain and disappointment in his heart, “For a few minutes tonight, I almost felt what it is like for a father to be proud of his son.” Not waiting for a response, he turned and went out of the door shutting it behind him.
As Diego listened to his father, once again he felt the twisting of the knife in his heart placed there by Don Alejandro’s words. He stood there a moment after his father had gone, looking at the closed door, unable to move. His insides seemed to be trembling with the pent up emotions that he strove to control; he swallowed past the lump in his throat.
Suddenly he had to move or jump out of his skin. He strode over to his dresser and gave way to his emotion by slamming his fist upon its top. Gaining mastery of himself once more, he looked up into the mirror and saw Bernardo reflected there.
Bernardo alone knew the full price Diego was paying to be El Zorro. Playing the weakling son in front of a father who prided himself on the strength and courage of the de la Vega lineage was the hardest thing that Diego had ever been required to do. It was a requirement that he had placed upon himself in order to protect the very man who had just left his son’s room in such bitter disappointment. And when would the price to give Zorro life be fully paid? Perhaps tonight.
Bernardo knew what his young master would do next and was ready to assist in any way that he could. Their eyes met in the mirror with complete understanding.
Turning, Diego said in the voice of Zorro, “Come! We have little time.” He gestured for Bernardo to follow him and strode over to the secret passage. He felt the familiar cool breath of air from the tunnels wash over him as the panel opened. Here, in this small room, he would continue the transformation from the Diego his father thought he knew, to the man, El Zorro, that his father wished he could be.
In silence he and Bernardo began the familiar routine in the secret room with Bernardo carefully hanging Diego’s clothing on the pegs and handing the various pieces of Zorro’s costume to him one by one. The black pants and shirt. The black banda. The highly polished black boots. The black mask.
As Bernardo finished tying the knot in the head cloth from behind, Diego said, “I have one chance left. I will rouse the cuartel and lead the soldiers on a chase through the hills.” He tied the black mask on his face as he turned. “With fewer men, Monastario might be more willing to listen to my father, less eager to give battle. Hurry ahead,” he said to Bernardo. “Make sure Tornado is ready.”
The faithful servant picked up a lantern and went out into the tunnel leaving Zorro to finish dressing. First the sword, then the black cape, the black hat and gloves. He paused a moment to recheck everything before moving swiftly into the tunnel leading down to Tornado’s cave. The tunnel was dark. The pathway had become so familiar to him that he no longer needed a lantern to guide his feet. Dressed as he was, all in black, with nothing to be seen all around him, Zorro felt for a moment as if he was all alone, a spirit with no form or substance, only a strong sense of purpose propelling him along. Then he was in the cave and Tornado was there, prancing in his eagerness to be off. Bernardo handed him the reins and waved goodbye. Zorro saluted Bernardo and mounted Tornado, quickly riding out into the night.
************
In the cuartel, Sergeant Garcia was making an inspection. He walked by the Commandanté’s carriage and over to the jail cells looking around carefully. As he turned to go back, he looked into the cell containing the ladies. He felt distinctly uncomfortable as Señorita Torres just looked at him steadily while she stroked the hair of her mother who was lying down. He took off his hat in deference to the ladies, holding it in front of him, and walked on. He paused by the carriage once again and looked back at the ladies only to find Señorita Torres still looking at him. Distracted, he turned away once again only to find a man looming up in front of him out of the gloom of the stables.
“Uuaarrrgghh!” he cried, clutching his hat as he jumped nervously.
It was Capitán Monastario. “Well, Sergeant? Are the men all properly hidden?” he demanded. Monastario was wearing his ever present sword, but he also wore his pistol in its white holster.
Trying to still his heart, and hoping that the Commandanté could not hear its pounding, Sergeant Garcia took his hand away from his sword hilt and nervously fingered his hat. “Si, Capitán. I...I, I think so,” he managed to stammer.
Monastario was not happy. He crossed his arms and leaned forward. “I did not ask you what you think. Do you not know?” he asked.
Sergeant Garcia was still flustered and tried to answer as best as he could. “Well, ...oh, Commandanté, I ... I have looked....I cannot see them,” was all he could offer.
Trying to appeal to the Sergeant’s intellect, Monastario said, “Did you see me just now? Would they be well hidden if you could see them?”
Sergeant Garcia gathered his courage and replied with some confidence, “With my own eyes, I have not seen them.”
“Good,” said Monastario. “See that they remain well hidden until after the dons have rushed inside the gates and the gates have been closed behind them,” he ordered pointing at the sergeant for emphasis. “Do they understand this?”
“Oh, si, Commandanté, si,” replied Garcia.
Monastario looked around the cuartel. “There is always one fool who moves too soon. Betrays the plot before the proper time,” he said. In a menacing tone he added, “Tell them I will have that man’s ears!”
Sergeant Garcia spoke up to reassure his Commandanté. “Oh no, Commandanté. I have taken a special precaution.” Wagging his finger to make each point, he said, “I have instructed each man not to move until all the others have moved first!” He gave a little self- satisfied laugh at the end.
“Good!’ said Monastario before the substance of what the sergeant had said soaked in. “Oooooohhh........,” he said slapping his forehead in frustration. He had better straighten this thing out for himself. He walked swiftly over to the porch of his quarters followed by the Sergeant. Standing on the porch, he loudly addressed the lancers concealed all around.
“This is the Commandanté speaking. This is an order. It is not to be disobeyed.” From all around the cuartel, lancers peeked from their hiding places to be sure that they heard their orders clearly. The Capitán continued. “Remain where you are. Remain hidden. Make no move, make no sound until I personally give the order to attack. Do you understand?” He paused and then chafed as no one answered. “Well do you understand?” he demanded.
Trying to be helpful, Sergeant Garcia said, “The Capitán just ordered them to make no sound.”
Mollified, Monastario said, “All right then. See that you obey it from now on.” To make doubly sure he repeated loudly, “No matter what happens, no matter who charges into the cuartel to attack us, no matter what you see or what you hear, make no move, make no sound until I personally give the order to attack.” Looking at Garcia, he demanded, “Did you understand, Sergeant?
Sergeant Garcia nodded his head emphatically.
Angered, Monastario said in a louder voice, “Well, answer me!”
Sergeant Garcia was confused, but he decided that he had better answer the Commandanté this time. “Si, Commandanté!” he said.
He was confused even more when Monastario cried, “Silence! Didn’t you hear my orders?”
He reacted by saying, “Si!”, but then he clapped his hand over his mouth as he decided he had better go and find his own hiding place. He practically ran across the cuartel. Monastario turned and went into his quarters to wait.
The Sergeant looked into the Commandanté’s carriage and briefly considered it as a hiding place, then decided against it. Then he saw the pile of hay just behind the carriage by the entrance to the stable. That was just the place, he decided. Drawing his sword, he knelt down beside the stack of hay. It was smaller than it looked. Or he was bigger than he seemed. He pondered for a moment, and then thinking that he had the solution, he used his sword to try and throw the hay on top of him to conceal himself from being seen.
Fortunately for the Sergeant, it was dark in the cuartel because the hay just wasn’t quite adequate for the job. Ignorant of his exposure, the Sergeant settled in to wait.
Out in the plaza, all was quiet. Even the patrons of the tavern were quiet this night. Only the soft sound of crickets could be heard. As the hour grew late, the town crier went forth. “It is the hour of ten,” he intoned. “A warm and quiet night, and all is well.”
Behind the cuartel, Zorro quietly rode up next to the wall. Using Tornado as a ladder, he stood up on his companion’s back and pulled himself up onto the wall. Waving him away, he said urgently, but quietly, “Go and hide, Tornado!” The black stallion turned obediently and trotted into the trees and bushes. Pulling his sword, Zorro stepped down onto the roof of the jail. Making his way carefully across the roof tiles, he headed towards the roof of the stable. Careful to keep his silhouette as low as possible, he slipped over the wall between the two. Hugging the shadow next to the wall, he lay so that he could peer over the edge of the roof. He could see no one. Well, he would soon see about that. Standing up, he sheathed his sword and made his way over to the edge of the stable’s roof just above the Commandanté’s carriage. He jumped lightly onto its top and then from there to the ground, facing the Commandanté’s quarters.
Unknown to him, Zorro landed just a few feet from the Sergeant’s hiding place. Garcia couldn’t see what was going on through his veil of hay, so he decided to stay where he was. He did not want to risk his ears being cut off.
Zorro made his way carefully over to the Commandanté’s quarters, looking all around. He still could not see anyone. Moving up the steps, he drew out his sword. His blood quickened. He was about to pull the beard of the lion in its own den. Standing next to the alarm bell, he began to smile. He held his sword at the ready and rang the alarm bell as loudly as he could. Just as he expected, Monastario charged out of the door saying, “What is going . . . . ?”
Then, “Zorro!” as he recognized the man of shadows before him. Monastario was met by the point of Zorro’s sword at his throat. He started to pull his pistol then froze as the point of the sword made more of an impression.
“Throw the pistol away,” ordered Zorro. “Get rid of it!”
Reluctantly, Monastario threw his pistol away. Zorro stepped back and leaped gracefully off of the porch, his cape flowing around him. He held his sword at the ready; an unspoken invitation to Monastario. It was accepted in an instant as Monastario’s blade flashed in the lamplight. He leaped off the stairs towards Zorro and their swords resounded in the night. This was not the first time they had fought in the darkness, but if he had anything to do with it, it would be the last.
Zorro fought Monastario with all his skill. For all his pompous attitude and arrogance, Monastario was a good swordsman; one to be respected for his ability. After the initial flurry, Zorro was becoming concerned about the lack of lancers in the cuartel. He decided to speak to Monastario to see what he could learn.
As they maneuvered for position, he said, “It is an unexpected pleasure, Commandanté. I hardly hoped to find you alone.”
He cried, “Ha!” as he began attacking again.
Through clinched teeth, Monastario replied as he answered Zorro’s attack, “Soon you will find out if I am alone!”
The two men moved around the cuartel as they fought. From various places around the cuartel, lancers peeped out to see the famous outlaw as he fought with their Commandanté. All of them were impressed with the display of swordsmanship before them. They would have liked nothing better than to capture El Zorro. But still they dared not move until the Commandanté gave the orders.
Zorro took advantage of a pause in the action to say, “Where are your soldiers, Monastario?” taunting once again.
With all the bravado he possessed, Monastario replied between strokes, “Don’t worry. At the proper time you will see them.” He suddenly found that he was having to give ground to Zorro now. Zorro was backing him up step by step. All at once, he found himself on the ground as he tripped and fell backward over the tongue of the carriage. He had lost his sword. As he tried to get up, he had made it as far as his knees when he found the point of Zorro’s sword pressed against his heart.
Taking advantage of Zorro’s honor, knowing that he would not kill an unarmed man, he began to yell, “Lancers! Attack! Attack! This is an order. It is Zorro!” He noticed Zorro pulling back and looking around. He could not let him get away. “Capture him!” he cried. The lancers came boiling out from their hiding places. Zorro fought them off.
Zorro decided that now was a good time to make his escape. He had gotten Monastario to disrupt his plans for the dons by pulling the lancers out of their concealment. He fought his way up to the roof of the carriage using its greater height to his advantage. When Monastario cried, “Throw your lances! Shoot!” he was dodging more than swords. He leaped from the carriage to the stable roof. Running to the top of the wall, he whistled for Tornado. He smiled as he heard Monastario below, yelling at the lancers.
Monastario was furious, and he kicked the seat of one of the lancers who was trying to get up. “Stupid fools all of you! You let Zorro escape!”
“I am not gone yet, Monastario,” Zorro thought to himself. Judging the distance, he leaped down onto Tornado and galloped around the cuartel walls.
Sergeant Garcia was beside himself. His only thought was to chase Zorro. “To horse, Lancers! To horse!” he cried. “After him! Open the gates! We are going outside!” Men were running all around trying to get organized and get the horses ready to go. Two soldiers ran to open the gates.
Monastario cried out his orders over the bedlam, “Stop! Keep those gates closed!”
Confused, Garcia asked, “But Capitán, how can we go outside if the gates are closed?” It never occurred to him that the Commandanté would not want them to chase Zorro. They always chased Zorro.
Monastario tried to explain. “Do you not realize why Zorro is here? He wants us to pursue him. The soldiers would all be gone. Who would be left to defend the cuartel when the dons rush the gates?”
“You would be here, Capitán.” said Garcia simply.
“A brilliant piece of deduction.” said Monastario condescendingly. “Fortunately, I have a plan.” Pointing to the Sergeant to emphasize his orders, he said, “Take part of the lancers and start out after Zorro, but do not follow him far. Circle back and approach the plaza from the far side. When the Dons rush the gates they will be trapped between two forces. They will have no escape then,” he announced with satisfaction.
“The Capitán always thinks of everything,” said Sergeant Garcia.
Accepting of such praise even as this, Monastario confidently replied, “Of course.”
The Sergeant turned to his men and pointed. “You, you and you. Mount up and follow me!” The men scrambled to get to their horses. Garcia had to step over the tongue of the carriage to get to his horse and his spur caught on it. He was stuck for a moment and it took a great deal of work to get loose. He happened to look back at Monastario who was rolling his eyes in disgust. He finally got free and ran to his horse.
Just as they were mounted and the gates were just being opened, Zorro rode up in front of the cuartel at a gallop, sliding his horse to a stop. “Looking for me, Monastario?” he challenged. “Here I am!” He spun the great black stallion around and fled just in front of the soldiers who poured out of the cuartel after him. He had no worries that they would be able to catch him, so he stayed just out of pistol range in front of them.
In the dark, it was difficult to tell just how many lancers were following. Monastario usually sent all the lancers out when they were chasing him, but he could not count on that tonight. He only hoped that he had pulled out enough lancers to allow the Dons some probability of success.
Tornado ran easily underneath him. This was just a lark to him. Zorro patted him on the neck. “You are doing well, my friend,” he said. Tornado snorted.
Sergeant Garcia and his lancers pounded after Zorro. “Someday I will catch this bandido,” he vowed to himself. He had a secret admiration for the man who could stand up to the Commandanté, but he would not let that get in his way if an opportunity to catch the outlaw presented itself. But alas, that was not going to be tonight. He had orders to obey. When he had judged that they had chased Zorro for about a mile, he signaled the men. “This is far enough,” he said. “We go back.” They pulled up and turned around, headed back for the pueblo.
