The Scholar
 

Most impressive, most impressive," said Urbino nodding and pacing the edge of the corral as Benito led one of the palominos around in a circle.  The little horse shook its delicate head, tossing the silvery forelock out of its wide, dark eyes as it cantered effortlessly around the enclosure.  With its small muzzle and broad forehead, it probably looked to most people like a throwback to its distant cousins, the hot blooded Moorish Barbs.  But the dark skin that barely showed through under the pale golden coat gave the animal a distinctly burnished exotic look that Don Urbino clearly admired—in horses and in women.

Did he realize that these creatures were also quite spirited and intelligent?  Certainly, this was not the kind of horse one might choose for a lady who bought her clothes in Paris and who was used to riding in carriages—unless one went only by appearances.  Or did he know that the lady they were waiting for might just prefer an animal such as this?

Diego stood resting his arms on the upper rail of the corral, watching his father and Don Urbino more than the horse. He tried to remember how Alejandro said he had met this man, what mutual friend had introduced them and whether they might know anyone else in common.  Would Urbino admit to knowing Marigál or Endicott?  Would it be wise to ask him directly?  Or perhaps Diego might just trail their names through casual conversation.  After all, they, too, had expressed an interest in doing business with the de la Vegas.

In the cold light of morning, he had also done a little more thinking about Oreana.  Even after their encounter the previous night, he suspected that there was still something more to her than he had seen, as if she were still hiding some secret bigger even than the predicament she was in, though he couldn’t begin to imagine what it was.

By the time she finally appeared around the side of the house, Teresa puffing at her heels, he found himself wondering how she would ever be able to find a legitimate excuse to be alone with him.  She hadn’t lied about being closely watched, and he couldn’t see that he had much hope of getting past her servant either.  Then, as he recalled the way she had looked last night, smiling down at him, he wondered if anyone this morning had asked her, yet, about the flowers.

Urbino brightened at once when he noticed her and held out his arms. She smiled at him in what seemed like genuine affection as she came up to take his hands.  Then, as he held her out at arm’s length, his smile suddenly turned to a disapproving frown.

"Oh, my dear," he said, "look at you; you need not go around looking like a vaquero, Mi Reina.  Don Alejandro has assured me that these horses are quite suitable for driving, and the de la Vegas have a nice little buggy we can use," he added, waving at the small two-wheeled vehicle the stable hands had brought from a nearby shed and left beside the corral.

Diego wasn’t exactly sure what was wrong with her clothes.  In fact, they seemed quite appropriate—the long brown skirt slit up the middle for riding, the matching jacket, the plain leather boots, gloves and a white blouse.  Even her hair had been pulled neatly back into a thick golden braid down her back.  Perhaps it was only that she didn’t look ostentatious enough for this man, he thought wryly, then chided himself for his own snobbery—not to mention his own hypocrisy, since he himself wasn’t exactly noted for his plain inconspicuous attire.  But she looked down.  "I didn’t realize," she said.  "I suppose I was thinking we could travel farther if we all rode.  I will go put on a dress."

"No," he sighed, "that will not be necessary.  Besides, it will take you longer to change than it will to harness the horses.  Just come here now and tell me what you think of these beauties.  Are they not magnificent?"

"Quite eye-catching," she said.

Then, as if that were as much reassurance as he needed, he turned to Alejandro and said, "My dear Señor de la Vega, they are indeed spectacular animals, and I believe we will take them.  Do you think you could arrange to have them shipped to Monterey?"

"Of course," said Alejandro.  "I will have my son go to San Pedro the first thing tomorrow morning to leave word for the next ship."

If he hadn’t been looking right at her, Diego thought he probably wouldn’t have noticed the way she stiffened suddenly.  She glanced in his direction, without looking at him.  Then she seemed to collect herself, and a look of resolve settled over her face as she walked to the buggy and watched Benito and Urbino’s servant Silvio drape the little palominos in harness and back them up into the traces.  Handing Diego the reins of his own big palomino gelding, Bernardo gave his master a troubled look.

Diego shrugged. "Well, at least we won’t be too surprised if they try anything," he said.

The early morning haze had cleared by the time they got as far as the vineyards and the vegetable gardens.  The orchards took a while longer, as his father and Urbino stopped to walk around and inspect the new buds that were starting to set.  In a while they would need to be culled.  The large herds of cattle had already been rounded up in February, then branded and driven out to summer pasture.  But a few milk cows with calves and a few goats and sheep were pastured nearby.  Alejandro took pride in discussing their lineages and the characteristics of their parents that made each animal especially suited for its use.

As Diego listened, he was reminded of how much his father actually knew about every aspect of this business.  Over the years, Alejandro had personally worked with many of their best hands, helping them improve their skills, even though most had already been well trained at the mission.  And he did love every acre of this land.  He wasn’t an ostentatious man, but he certainly didn’t mind showing off at least this one possession of his.

After they had surveyed the hacienda’s immediate grounds, they headed south on a trail that would eventually have led to San Pedro.  But his father only intended to give them a good view of one of the nearby lakes before he took them up another trail that led into the hills.  There, from a rocky bluff, they could see the whole network of arroyos and rivers that dotted the plain, grey clouds lying softly against the mountainsides, and, in the distance, the curve of the earth itself arching gently against the wispy blue sky.

It would have been better at sunset, Diego thought, especially when the sun’s rays would light up an incoming bank of storm clouds, making you think you were standing at the threshold of heaven.  But when he saw the look that had crept over Oreana’s face, it occurred to him that perhaps he had learned to take this land a little too much for granted over the years.  Even at midday, with the soft wind running fingers idly through your hair, it could feel like an ancient love song.

By early afternoon, Alejandro finally brought them back to the house, where women were busy laying out the midday meal on a table in the shady courtyard.  Oreana, as usual, had said very little to anyone, except in response to Urbino’s largely rhetorical questions.  She hadn’t tried to get Diego’s attention, or to say anything more about cards.  And Diego had said no more than a few words to her, or anyone else, though he had at times felt her eyes following him carefully.

Urbino seemed, for once, at a loss for words, clearly impressed by the beauty of the countryside.  He probably would have preferred to start talking business right away, except that he didn’t want to appear indecorous.  So, as the servants came around with carne asada and fresh tortillas, he began, instead, to recount for them some of the stories he had heard of the revolution, including a tale of how the insurgent priest Morelos had been brought before the Tribunal of the Inquisition and convicted of heresy.

After presiding over Morelos’ excommunication, the bishop of Oaxaca had broken down and wept, Urbino claimed, and the soldiers in the firing squad had been obliged to reload and fire again before the wounded man had finally given up the ghost.  Clearly a very tough fellow.

Then there was Mexico’s new head of state, General Iturbide. A criollo from a wealthy family, he had originally fought on the side of the royalists.  Indeed, his army had defeated the mestizos under Morelos, despite being heavily outnumbered. But then, he had finally managed to reach a compromise with the last of the insurgents, Vicente Guerrero, and in less than a year they had united the entire country.  On his thirty-eighth birthday, about seven months ago, their combined armies had marched into Mexico City unopposed.

"But mark my words, Don Alejandro," said Urbino, concluding his account, "Iturbide will be obliged to take a firm hand to keep all of the various factions under control.  The young criollo intellectuals, the priests, the peyones—they all want different things.  And Spain has withdrawn, at least for now, but she has also refused to officially approve the Treaties of Córdoba—nor will the Vatican approve them, I suspect, even though the new government has banned all religions except the Catholic faith."

"But I had thought that the Spanish ambassador signed those treaties," said Diego.  "Do you mean to say that Spain is now refusing to honor what her own ambassador agreed to?"

Urbino frowned thoughtfully into a glass of wine.  "Well, not exactly," he said.  "But Spain has made it clear that she will not send a prince to govern Mexico, as Portugal did with Brazil, to ease the transition to independence.  So I suspect that it will fall to Iturbide."

"Well," said Alejandro, cupping his bearded chin, "it would certainly be quite a challenge for anyone—and especially one so young."

"Iturbide was managing one of his father’s haciendas at the age of fifteen," Urbino replied.

Alejandro merely lifted his eyebrows, then nodded almost imperceptibly to himself, making a point not even to glance in the direction of his son.  Diego sat forward in his chair.  "I have heard some accounts of Iturbide that are less than reassuring," he said.  "Particularly those concerning his treatment of the women and children whose male relatives were suspected of being insurgents."

Urbino looked a little taken aback.  Clearly he too had heard that the royalist general had ordered the executions of innocent women whose insurgent menfolk refused to surrender.  "Pues, sí," he said finally, "in times of war, such rumors often circulate.  But you are a well educated young man," he added, smiling.  "Surely you realize the importance of maintaining control in the hands of those who are erudite and enlightened enough to govern wisely?

"You can see right here in California that, despite all of the work of the mission priests, the natives are not ready to govern themselves.  Such ignorant masses are easily manipulated.  All they understand is power.  So isn’t it better that one such as Iturbide should wield it?  The people see him as a young god, and his family, while they are not peninsulares like my Oreana, are aristocrats in the true sense of the word.  Isn’t that right, Querida," he added, beaming a quick little smile at her as if he didn’t really expect a reply.

Diego had several replies, but watching her reaction, he soon forgot them all.  At first, she just studied the food on her plate.  But then, suddenly, something inside her seemed to give way, and, without even looking up, as though she were speaking only to herself, she said quietly, "The word aristocrat comes from the Greek word aristos, a superlative form of the word arêtê, which means goodness or success.  Often it is used to describe a great warrior who performs such heroic deeds that his fame will live forever.  But he cannot be a god.  Nothing he does will count, unless he is just a mortal man struggling to live up to his reputation, to achieve what the Greeks called his aristeia.  If he succeeds, then he might be deemed an aristocrat—in the true sense of the word.  But this is not necessarily an hereditary title."

For a moment, no one said anything.  Nor did Oreana, though she didn’t seem surprised at the effect her speech had created.  Under Urbino’s scrutiny, she simply hunched a little farther down in her chair, almost as if she expected him to strike her, Diego thought.  But instead he only patted her shoulder and shrugged.

"She is right," Diego offered, recalling his own studies of Homer.

"I have no doubt," Urbino replied.  Then he sighed deeply.  "Too much education—it is her only flaw.  You know, women such as this, their minds were never intended to handle the rigors of academia.  They become too nervous and high strung—and confused.  Why, by her lights, even that infamous outlaw Zorro would be a nobleman, just by virtue of his reputation as a scoundrel."

While a harsh military leader should be considered a nobleman despite his reputation for cruelty, Diego thought, though he didn’t say it.  Suddenly, he felt as if he had finally found a big piece of the puzzle.  This was what she had been hiding.  And small wonder she felt smothered by the role she had been assigned to play in this man’s life.  A new wave of compassion swept over him as he looked at her sitting there at Urbino’s side.  Now he had even more reason to want to get her out of here, but he still had no idea how.  At least he would have to wait for her to ask.

"Well," said Alejandro at last, "let us all hope that this young General Iturbide can make the successful transition from soldier to statesman.  And let us hope that in the future, the skills of the statesman will be more in demand than those of the soldier."

Urbino nodded and raised a wine glass.  "An excellent toast, Don Alejandro," he said.  Then, as Alejandro and Diego raised their glasses in response, he glanced at Oreana.  "Will you not join us, my dear?"

She smiled but shook her head.  "I am feeling a bit weary, mi Querido.  If you would excuse me, I think perhaps I will go upstairs now."

"Oh, there, you see how easily she tires," Urbino said with a knowing smile.  "Teresa."  He motioned for the servant, who immediately came to take Oreana upstairs.  Then he himself stood up and stretched, adding, "Thank God for a civilized country, where the art of the afternoon siesta has not been lost."

Alejandro nodded in agreement, though Diego doubted that his father would really use the time to do anything but his usual bookkeeping.  Nor did he think that he himself could have taken a nap had his life depended on it.  But he simply didn’t know what else he would do.