a missing scene
Written by Keliana Baker
June 26, 2001
Diego settled contentedly back into the armchair with his book, the picture of indolence. He smiled slightly as he reviewed the events of the last two weeks.
Apparently he had accomplished his goal of proving to the people of the area that the Zorro who had attacked the mission, stealing the crown from the Holy Virgin herself, was an imposter. He had taken a great chance by fighting, however awkwardly, in front of Monastario himself. Diego and Bernardo had discussed the risk he had taken. Monastario was no fool. There had surely been the chance that he would see through the ruse, but the gamble had been necessary. They had spent an anxious few days waiting, watching for the capitán to make another move, but none had come. Not only had Monastario kept his word and told everyone that Martinéz had merely pretended to be Zorro and that the real Zorro had had nothing to do with it, but he has also been almost unbelievably benign since that evening. Although Diego had been prepared to ride once more as Zorro as soon as the people trusted him again, there had been no need. Capitán Monasterio had been almost too good! However, as the days passed and nothing alarming happened, Diego relaxed. All had ended well. Perhaps things would remain as they were until some response could be seen from Don Nacho’s plea to the governor.
Suddenly, the atmosphere seemed almost too quiet. Diego, feeling the need for activity of some sort, looked toward the cabinet hiding the secret door. Bernardo was down in the cave, caring for Tornado. I think Bernardo is ready for another fencing lesson and I know that I am ready for a workout, he thought with a laugh. Perhaps more riding lessons are more what he needs.
Before he could walk to the cabinet, however, the sound of several horses trotting up to the hacienda gate could be heard. Through the window, Diego watched as Sergeant García and Private Sánchez came into the patio. The sergeant seemed troubled by something, a serious expression on his usually jolly face. At their knock, Diego himself answered the door.
“Why, Sergeant! Buenos dias....Come in. What brings you here today?” he asked with a broad smile.
“Ah...Don Diego...uh...Is Don Alejandro here, por favor?” Strangely, the sergeant looked away rather than meet Diego’s eyes.
The smile faded a little on Diego’s face. Now what is going on? he wondered. “No, Sergeant García, he is in Santa Barbara on business for the next couple of days. Is your business with him important? If so, I can send a servant to let him know that he is needed,” he said aloud. “What is the matter?”
Even though the sergeant’s expression remained worried, he seemed oddly relieved at the news that Don Alejandro was away. “Uh...no, that will not be necessary, Don Diego. My business is not with him. Capitán Monastario has sent me to...uh...to....” The sergeant’s voice trailed away for a moment.
“To what, Sergeant? What business does the capitán have with me, since that is apparently what you are trying to tell me? Out with it,” Diego demanded, irritated.
Sergeant García took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Adopting a more professional air, he looked back at the young don and said, ”I have been sent to arrest you in the name of the king. You are to come with me, immediately...please....”
Diego blinked in surprise, “What? Arrest me? For what?!”
García shook his head. “I do not know, Don Diego. He just told me to bring you to him under guard, immediately.”
A tingle of fear made itself felt in the pit of Diego’s stomach, but was surpressed. There is no need to worry yet, he told himself. “May I be allowed to get my hat and gloves, at least?” he asked, hoping that the not usually very observant García had not noticed the requested items on a table behind the door. The trip upstairs would allow him to get word to Bernardo about where he would be.
However, his hopes were immediately dashed, as Private Sánchez spoke up, “Are not these yours, Don Diego?” He pointed at the hat behind them.
“Oh! So they are! I had forgotten I had laid them there,” Diego answered. There would be no way for him to go to Bernardo or even to leave a note. Hopefully, the other servants will tell him where I am, he thought.
With a few words of reassurance to the house servants who had come to the patio to see what was happening, he sent one to the stable to saddle Paseo for him. As he waited for his horse, he stood in dignified silence pondering the meaning of this new action of Monastario’s. Finally, with a shrug, he decided to play things as he always had. Turning to the sergeant, he smiled broadly, “Ah, well! Let us go see what your capitán wants this time. It is a fine day for a ride anyway. Do you not think so, Sergeant García?”
“If you say so, Don Diego,” García said, lapsing again into a silence most unusual for him. During the ride into the pueblo, Diego was left to mull over the events and to wonder what lay ahead.
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Bernardo came through the secret door in Don Diego’s room with a smile. Since he had looked into the sala on his way up and not seen his patrón, he had expected to find him here. He stopped in puzzlement as he looked at the empty room. Perhaps he is on the patio, he thought and quickly stepped out the door and looked down where a wrought iron table and chairs sat. He frowned. While Don Diego could quite definitely come and go as he chose, it was most unusual for him to leave without letting him know where he would be in case he was needed.
At that moment, four of the house servants came back in the gate, chattering among themselves about something. There was upset and alarm on each face. When he caught Don Diego’s name in the conversation, the mozo was immediately on the alert. Something had happened, but what? Quickly, he went down to the group. He had to tug on María’s sleeve before anyone paid the slightest attention to him.
“Don Diego,” he gestured, the swept his hands out in the sign for “Where?”
Instead of speaking, María attempted to sign to him. Frustratingly, she was the least able of all the other servants to make herself understood that way. The confused look on Bernardo’s face was more than half real, as he watched the useless motions and prayed that she or someone would say what was wrong soon. Finally, María threw up her hands in frustration. “Ahhhh! Never mind!’ she cried. “One of you tell him that Don Diego has been taken into the pueblo by the fat sergeant!”
It was well that Bernardo had had so much practice controlling his expression, for his heart thudded nearly out of his chest when he heard her comment. Taken by the sergeant? Does that mean he has been arrested? he worried. For what?
He forced himself to remain still through further gestured explanations, then quickly went to the stable and saddled his gelding. He was not sure exactly what was going on, but he knew that Don Diego might need him.
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Bernardo was astonished with all the hustle and bustle he observed in the pueblo when he arrived. Lancers and citizens were rushing in all directions. Through the open door of the cuartel, he could see the puzzling sight of now empty jail cells and the even more puzzling actions of soldiers lacing flowering vines around each cell’s entrance. He quickly stepped back out of the way as a lancer on horseback, armed with a pigsticker, rode by, driving a group of civilians before him. It was hard to know in all the chaos where to turn to find Don Diego, but suddenly Sergeant García’s bulk appeared out of the crowd in front of him. Tapping the distracted sergeant on the arm, he made his gesture for Don Diego and then looked around, spreading his hands wide in the gesture that clearly indicated that he was looking for him.
Sergeant García appeared both harried and regretful as he looked down at the mozo. He shook his head. “Ah, it is you, uh. Looking for your master? How does one explain something like this to a man who is deaf and dumb?” He started to speak again when a lancer came rushing through yelling that the viceroy was coming. Bernardo found himself shoved up on the side of the street with several other citizens.
As the carriage came in sight, a nearby lancer shook his musket at the crowd and demanded, “Viva...yell ‘viva’! Yell it NOW! Viva!” The people began yelling half heartedly until the soldier gave them a hard look again and the yelling became more enthusiastic.
Bernardo carefully kept his confused expression on his face. He felt a great sense of relief as he caught a glimpse of the important man riding in the carriage which pulled up to the cuartel gate. The viceroy! This is wonderful news! Surely, this is the result of Don Nacho’s pleas for the governor’s help with Monastario’s oppression, he thought joyfully.
Hopefully, he looked around for some indication of where Don Diego was in all this uproar. There seemed no ready source of information to be had, however. Sergeant García was now occupied with his duties and everyone else seemed to be headed to the tavern for...what was this?...Free wine?!
Bernardo wandered over to the now closed gate to the cuartel. If Sergeant García had escorted Don Diego somewhere, surely someone else here would know. Perhaps he had merely to stand around and listen to learn more.
He had not stood there long however when one of the lancers on duty took note of his presence. He scowled at him for a minute and then pushed Bernardo roughly away from the gate. “Go on! What do you mean hanging about that way? Go drink with the rest of the riff-raff!”
Bernardo made his signs for being deaf and mute and then gestured his master’s name. The soldier ignored the gestures. Bernardo began moving across the plaza toward the tavern before he could be shoved again. The tavern might be an even better spot to hear any information. Surely, someone somewhere knew where Don Diego was!
He peered into the door of the tavern, wondering where would be the best spot to stand and listen to the conversations. A place close to some lancers would be the best, if he could manage it. He immediately saw two lancers stationed right outside the door to one of the upstairs rooms. He supposed that was where the viceroy and his daughter were. He frowned. There was no way he could get close enough to those lancers without being noticed. Finally, the milling crowd around the bar shifted and two more lancers, still carrying muskets, forced their way through to one of the tables near the bar. Smiling and nodding politely, if rather blankly, to those he had to push his way past, Bernardo worked his way to the corner of the counter and squeezed against the wall not far from the soldiers’ table. While looking down into his glass of wine, he focused his attention on the lancers’ conversation.
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Bernardo was becoming more frustrated and desperate by the minute. All afternoon, the excitement in the pueblo had been high. The first pair of lancers whom he had watched had gone back to the cuartel to be replaced by others. Few of them said anything of interest and none said anything of Don Diego. Bernardo had just started to play with various ideas for getting himself into the cuartel when he suddenly heard the name ‘Zorro’ in the conversation behind him. Condemning himself for letting his attention wander when he should have been most on alert, he jerked himself back to the task at hand.
“I tell you, he is there!” Moréz was saying.
“You are crazy, compadre! If Capitán Monastario had captured Zorro, he would be in one of those cells out there for all to see...or already dead! Why would he hide him away like you are saying?” the other, Manuel, questioned.
“What better way of topping off the banquet he is planning for the viceroy and his daughter? Not only will he show just how clever he is before the viceroy, but he will surely impress the beautiful señorita,” Moréz insisted.
“Oh-ho! Is that his game? Well, she is a pretty little thing and a very easy way to a big promotion,” Manuel smirked.
Moréz laughed. “Of course that is his game. You have only to see the way he looks at her to know what he has on his mind.”
As the men continued talking of such matters for several more minutes, Bernardo felt as if he would jump out of his skin. Come on....come on! What about Zorro? he urged silently.
Finally, Moréz leaned forward secretively. “You will never believe who the comandante is convinced is Zorro....He has him in his quarters right now, but you probably will not believe it even when you see it!” he said. “Diego de la Vega!”
His companion laughed aloud at that. “Impossible!” he insisted.
“That is what I thought, but you will not hear me saying that in front of Capitán Monastario! He is adamant that it is so.”
“He is loco!” Manuel said in disbelief.
“That too might very well be so, mi amigo...but I do not plan to be the one to tell him that either!” Moréz said with a laugh.
“What is he planning?” Manuel continued.
Moréz shrugged. “Unmask him and then, no doubt, he will hang him immediately after that!”
“But what about a trial?” Manuel asked, still boggled by the possibility that such an ineffective man as Diego de la Vega could be Zorro.
“Why bother with a trial? If he is identified by others as Zorro when they see him in the outfit, there will be no need. The capitán has a list of Zorro’s crimes as long as your arm, many of them treasonous.” Moréz shrugged again.
A bolt of alarm flashed through the mozo as he heard the lancer confirm his worst fears. His master had been found out in his game and was in mortal danger. Bernardo fought to hide his feelings. Calmly he paid for his wine and left, thinking desperately of a plan to get Don Diego out of the cuartel.
Perhaps he could somehow get to where Don Diego was being held. He walked in a seemingly aimless manner around the cuartel, taking note of where different guards were and how many were around.
His heart sank. Monastario had lancers stationed all around both the cuartel and the inn. It would take a fighter such as Zorro himself to get into either place, and Bernardo admitted to himself, he was no fighter. While he had helped Zorro out of a couple of tight spots so far, it had been under Don Diego’s direction and without having to be physically involved in fighting himself. If he only had the skills that Don Diego had, he would be of more use to his master now.
As he came around the side of the cuartel for the second time, he was distracted by noise coming from the front of the tavern. When he looked that direction, he realized that it must be later than he thought or else the banquet was to be earlier than was usual, for the tavern keeper and lancers were hurrying the well-wined crowd out into the plaza. The tavern was closing its doors to get ready for the evening’s entertainment.
One man who had had a bit more than he should, turned and tried to push back inside the taven. “Wait!” he yelled. “I do not want to be out here. I want to be in there, amigo! I cannot be in two places enjoying myself at the same time!”
“Go on, Pancho!” A lancer stepped forward and pushed the drunk back with his musket barrel. “You have enjoyed all that you will get here today!”
Mumbling none too quietly, Pancho turned and staggered after the rest of the crowd.
Bernardo shook his head and returned to his own problems. Suddenly, he thought about just what the drunk had said...”two places at once”. Of course! I do not have to fight like Zorro. I merely have to make them think he is somewhere other than that room! Realizing the lateness of the hour again, he hurried to his horse and as quickly as possible without drawing attention to himself, rode back toward the hacienda.
Once he was sure he was out of sight of any watchers, he changed his direction just a little so that his path took him directly to the hidden cave. After he had secured the entrance so that neither his horse or Tornado could stray, he rushed up the stairs to the secret room behind Diego’s wall.
He had to borrow one of Zorro’s black outfits. He thought of that with a bit of worry. He was not at all sure he could make one fit his shorter, stockier frame, but he had to somehow. Finally, he managed to squeeze into the pants by leaving them partially unbuttoned on the side. The extra pant length was tucked into the top of black riding boots, which luckily fit...near enough. He prayed that the banda would hold the pants on. The shirt was no problem, other than being too long and having sleeves which seemed to come to his knees. He dealt with each problem as he came to it and was not too displeased with the result. Adapting all the various parts seemed to take forever, worry running through his mind all the while. The viceroy will know Don Diego. Surely he will not condone the execution of his own son’s friend. But what if he does listen to Monastario?! How can we trust in him for Don Diego’s life? I’ve got to be there!
Round and round the worry went until the mozo found his hands shaking. Bernardo deliberately stopped and calmed himself. I can do this! I cannot use the sword like Don Diego, nor can I do any fancy riding, but I CAN ride past the cuartel and make them believe I am Zorro! He suddenly thought of one other thing that could reinforce the impression that he was who he appeared to be....He would write a taunting note. One thing he had been able to do since he was a child was to throw a knife with speed and accuracy. I will tie the note to a knife and throw it to stick in the door, vibrating under Monastario’s very nose!
Snatching up a piece of paper from the desk drawer and a quill, he quickly wrote: “Sorry to have missed your fiesta! Zorro”. He then rolled the note around the handle of a knife from nearby and jammed it into his banda. After tying on the scarf and mask, he tightened the hat on his head and went back downstairs to saddle Tornado, thankful for all the hours he had tended and exercised the horse. While he was not the horseman that Zorro was, he and the stallion had reached an understanding and he was confident he would have no problems with him.
The ride into the pueblo had never seemed so long to Bernardo. Darkness had already fallen and anxiety about what lay ahead made it even longer. He slowed Tornado’s pace as he neared the pueblo and crept within sight of the cuartel. It had occured to him that perhaps they had not taken Don Diego to the tavern yet and there might be fewer guards around him now. There were indeed very few guards in evidence around the cuartel. Hopeful of getting an earlier chance to rescue his patrón, Bernardo eased Tornado up to the window into the capitán’s quarters. However, he was disappointed to see no more than an empty room. On a table by the door, lay Don Diego’s hat and gloves, while on the chair hung his jacket. Apparently, he had already been forced to dress in the black costume that Monastario had and taken to the tavern to be displayed before the viceroy and other guests.
How long ago? Bernardo wondered. Am I already too late?! Keeping Tornado to the deeper shadows, he eased up to the corner of the cuartel facing the tavern. His breath came out in a quiet sigh of relief, as he realized that there were as yet no gallows, nor rope over the cuartel gate. There was still time. He paused for just a moment as a sense of how unbelievable all of this was came over him. If anyone had told him in his youth that before he was forty years old he would dress as an outlaw and deliberately attempt to attract the attention of all the lancers in his pueblo, he would have called them loco. However, as he remembered the man whose life was the prize in this grand masquerade, it made perfect sense. He could, and would, do what he must for his friend.
With that thought, he shifted the knife from his banda to his right hand and dug his heels into Tornado’s side. The horse’s rapid stride had them in front of the door before the startled lancers could react. Horse and rider seemed to hesitate the barest instant and there was a thud as the knife flew unerringly to stick quivering in the wood of the door. Bernardo was gratified to hear loud yells of “Zorro!! It is Zorro!” on all sides. Then he whirled the big horse and they were once again racing like the wind away from the tavern. There were whizzing sounds which his mind belatedly identified as the flight of musket balls past his head.
Before he had time to think very much about the danger, however, he had left them all behind and was on a back street of the pueblo. Hurriedly, he leaped off Tornado’s back at the broad door of an empty warehouse, jerked the door open and led the stallion inside. After locking the door, Bernardo turned to the horse with a joyous grin. It would work! There had surely been too many witnesses to Zorro being outside the tavern for anyone, including the viceroy, to believe that the real Zorro was inside with them. Since no man, even Zorro, could be in two places at once, Diego could not be Zorro. Only a madman would continue to say otherwise.
The faithful friend quickly dressed once more in his simple brown suit. He was very anxious to see that Don Diego was still all right. As he was taking off the black outfit, the uncomfortable thought that perhaps Montastario was just the madman to continue causing problems, even after being proved wrong kept going through his head. Once dressed, he walked rapidly back to the front of the tavern.
Just as he reached the door, he was almost knocked down by a group of soldiers coming out. Bernardo’s mouth flew open as he realized that surrounded by this group were none other than Capitán Sánchez Monastario and his crooked lawyer, Piña. For a moment all he could do was stand and gawk. Then with a start, he realized that he still had not seen his patrón. Worries for his young friend pushed him on through the door, eyes searching the room for the hacendado.
He was once again stopped by a sight as he came into the common room. This sight had to be the most welcome one he had ever seen in his life, however. There, standing beside Sergeant García and the viceroy, was Don Diego, apparently unhurt, but definitely a bit mussed from a conflict of some sort. He held a sword carelessly in his hand. Bernardo wondered just how much had been revealed. No doubt there would be a wonderful tale for him to listen to tonight.
Just at that moment, Don Diego looked over and met his eyes. Bernardo could tell that his patrón had already figured out just who Zorro had been tonight and he was very thankful for what he had done. With a broad smile, Don Diego walked to his mozo’s side, handed him the sword, and patted him on the shoulder. His expression left no doubt that he would have more to say later.
As the young man walked back to Sergeant García’s side to speak with him, Bernardo leaned his shoulder against the wall and waited patiently. He smiled to himself. He knew that no matter what else Don Diego said to him tonight, he had already received the grandest reward there ever could be. The sight of Don Diego standing safe and sound before him, no longer threatened by the comandante was what made it all worth while. He wondered briefly about what they would do for adventure now that Monastario had fallen from power. Then he laughed. He had a feeling that as long as he was privileged to serve and have the friendship of this young man, he would have more than his fair share of excitement.
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