A Premonition of Death

Corporal Reyes had never been so tired before in his life. Even now, as he stood in the commandante’s office trying to listen to what the man was saying, he knew the words weren’t making any sense, but he didn’t know why.  Nor did he care, particularly.  He only wanted to make sure he understood enough of them to be able to do what he was being asked, so that he could return in time to eat and sleep before his squad would be obliged to resume its quest for el Zorro, a quest which, in and of itself, made less sense every day.

"I understand that you are off duty, Corporal, and ordinarily I would not bother with such precautions. But this message came today via special courier for Señor Marigál, and I would like you to deliver it to him personally.  But be discreet; this is not an official military matter.  Do you understand?"  Acevedo handed him an envelope sealed in wax with the mark of an ornate cross.

"Sí, mi Commandante," Reyes lied.  A little while ago, he had seen the dark curly haired man go into the commandante’s office looking like he was in a hurry.  But if he wasn’t on official military business, then why had he come to the cuartel?  Why hadn’t he just delivered his message directly to Señor Marigál?  And more importantly, why hadn’t the commandante delegated this task to the fat sergeant?  He was the one who would have really appreciated the chance to sit in the tavern and wait for someone.

"Oh—and uh, take this for your trouble," Acevedo added, flipping him a few pesos.  "You should probably have something to eat while you are waiting for Señor Marigál."

"Sí, mi Commandante.  But why can’t I just ask the innkeeper to give it to him?"

Acevedo shook his head, then gave the corporal a few more pesos.   "Just do as you’re told, he said.  No one else must know about it."

"Sí, mi Commandante."  Reyes saluted weakly, then turned on his heel and left, heading out of the cuartel and across the plaza.  At least he would get a free meal out of it—unless, of course, he ran into the fat sergeant.  As he crossed the plaza, he hoped this wouldn’t take long.  But luck was not on his side.  As he stepped through the door of the tavern, the fat sergeant was the first person to notice him.

"Well, Corporal Reyes," said Garcia in his most charming tone.  "How nice to see you in here this afternoon.  Sit down, please, and join me."  Reyes noted right away that the sergeant had not been drinking, which meant that, as usual, he didn’t have any money.

"I can’t, Sergeant," he said.  "I have to deliver an important message."

"Oh, I see . . . ." Garcia nodded and studied his own fidgety fingers.  But then, when Reyes walked over to the bar and leaned on his forearms without saying a word, Garcia frowned and finally got to his feet.

"What will you have, Corporal?"  The innkeeper came up to him, drying a glass.

"Well, I guess I would just like something to eat," Reyes said reluctantly, knowing that if he didn’t eat now, he might not get another chance.  The innkeeper nodded, then walked over to the door that led into the kitchen and called out to the bar maid.

"Amalia!"

"I thought you said you had an important message to deliver, Corporal," said the sergeant, scrutinizing him carefully.

"Sí," Reyes nodded.  "But I’m not supposed to say anything about it."

Garcia thought about this for a moment, frowning and shifting his eyes.  "But how can you deliver it, he said finally, if the person it is for does not know that you have it?"

"I don’t know, Sergeant.  I’m just supposed to wait."

Garcia’s charm returned at once.  "Well, in that case," he said engagingly, "wouldn’t you be more comfortable waiting over here?"  He motioned toward his own table.

"But I have to watch for Señor Marigál," Reyes protested.  "The message is for him."

"Oh, I will be happy to help you watch for him, Corporal," said Garcia as he put one arm around Reyes and gestured with the other toward the table again.  As Amalia stepped out of the kitchen, Garcia lifted his arm from Reyes’ shoulders and glanced up to signal to her that she should bring a bottle of wine.  She aimed a quick glance at the ceiling and sighed but then nodded and disappeared again.  "Maybe I can even deliver the message for you," Garcia added.  "That is, if you would like to return to the cuartel and get some rest.  You look tired, Corporal."

Reyes, seeing no chance of escape, had all but resigned himself to his fate when the significance of those words finally sunk in far enough to lift both his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth.  Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all.  He tried to remember if the commandante had said anything that would have forbidden him from turning over this unofficial non-military matter to the sergeant, but he didn’t think so.  The commandante had told him not to tell anyone else about the message.  But surely such secrecy didn’t apply to superior officers, or the commandante would have said so.  "Okay, Sergeant," he said at last, reaching inside his jacket to remove the envelope.

Garcia plucked it like a feather, smiled and placed it gently on the table between them as the corporal’s meal and the bottle of wine appeared.  Then he poured a glass and leaned back contentedly.  As Reyes gave Amalia a couple pesos, Garcia tried to calculate how much change might result from the transaction, wondering how he might be able to talk the corporal into parting with it.  But the more he watched Reyes, the less of a problem he figured it would be.  After only a few bites of food, Reyes had begun to sink lower and lower on his elbow until finally his head had come to rest on the table right beside his plate.

Amalia shook her head and smiled, but as she started to wake him, Garcia wagged a finger at her.  "Oh, please, let him rest, Señorita," he said.  "You see, not all of my soldiers are seasoned veterans such as myself, capable of withstanding the rigors of a hard military campaign.  I will wake him in a little while."

The girl looked away rolling her eyes as she left Garcia resting his own ample jowls on his fist, sipping his wine contentedly.  When she returned a while later, she was not surprised to find them both snoring softly.

Matthew Endicott hadn’t been out of bed for the past two days and already he was getting very tired of it.  Sure, his side hurt from time to time.  But it was healing.  And the problem wasn’t just that Marigál wouldn’t let him drink, or that the only books he had given him to read were the New Testament and the works of St. Augustín.

Nor was it just that Marigál wouldn’t even let Amalia the bar maid bring him his meals.  It was also that while he was lying here, unable to practice his swordsmanship, he figured Zorro would probably be training day and night for what he must know would be their inevitable rematch.

Endicott knew he had underestimated Zorro once, and it wouldn’t do him or the padre any good to make such a mistake again.  Next time, he knew, he would have to kill the outlaw—a task that, secretly, he was really looking forward to.  But he couldn’t do it like this.

"You must be patient, my young friend.  Your wound is healing nicely, but the doctor says you must remain in bed for at least another week."

"Patient?" Endicott signed heavily and let his gaze drift from his own eyebrows to somewhere out the window.  Marigál was built for patience, he thought.  Marigál was like a force of nature.  He could have worn down granite by attrition.  But Endicott himself was only human.

"This is all part of God’s plan," Marigál went on serenely.  "We must have faith.  Even now we’ve been given a bit more time for you to heal."

"What do you mean?" said Endicott, not liking the sound of that at all.

Marigál held up a letter.  "It appears that Don Urbino’s departure for San Diego has been delayed," he said.  "His old servant woman passed away unexpectedly, so he won’t be leaving until the day after tomorrow.  But do you not see, my son?  This delay will fit in nicely with our plans.  It will give Urbino one more day, at least, to win the sympathy and trust of old de la Vega.  And it will give us more time to locate and detain that heretic marrano—if he is still alive, or at least to make sure that he hasn’t been able to contact anyone besides that devil Zorro."

"And what about el Zorro?"

"Well, if Guillermo managed to tell him anything, then el Zorro will be expecting us to act soon.  We need not play into his hands.  Without you, our men were not really prepared to take young de la Vega into custody anyway, not while Zorro protects him.  Instead, let us give the fox time to begin questioning what he was told.  And if he has repeated it to the de la Vegas, let us also give them time to start doubting his word."

"And suppose Zorro has somehow arranged for them to talk to Guillermo?"

"Right under Urbino’s nose?  No, I doubt that," said Marigál, leaving the letter on the chest of drawers and folding his hands before him.  "The soldiers searched the house, and they have been patrolling the area around it for the last three nights.  Which, by the way, is another reason to curb our pace.  I happened upon two of Capitan Acevedo’s men downstairs asleep with that letter.  Only by the grace of God did I notice that it bore Urbino’s seal.  Exhausted soldiers will be of little use to us—unless, of course, el Zorro manages to kill another one of them."

"God forbid," said Endicott dryly.

"God forbid, indeed," Marigál replied in a tone just a little sharper than usual.  "Our task is not to endanger the innocent, but to bring the guilty to God’s justice.  Do not think otherwise."

"Forgive me, Padre," said Endicott.  "I guess I’m just getting a little tired of being stuck in this room.  But if we aren’t going to deal with de la Vega right away, what do you intend to do?"

Marigál’s lips tightened into a thoughtful smile.  "Recently, I was introduced to the alcalde of this pueblo," he said, "a rather charming old gentleman.  When he told me about all of the many ways he wanted to improve conditions for its good citizens, repairing streets, fixing all the broken sidewalks, pruning the trees in the plaza, even helping local merchants paint and fix up their places of business, well, I offered to make a rather sizeable donation to such a worthy cause.

"Now the man wishes to hold a celebration in our honor.  I suspect he thinks he can get others to contribute to the civic project once he tells them of our donation.  The de la Vegas will be invited, of course, but their invitation will come, not from us, but from the alcalde, whom they know and trust.  So even if they do expect a threat, they will not be expecting it that very evening."

"And just when will this celebration take place?"

"I told him we would be leaving town in just under two weeks, and he agreed that this would give him plenty of time to arrange everything."

"Two weeks?" Endicott sighed.  "You know, I’m going to be so glad to get out of this boring little pueblo," he said.

Marigál nodded, then shrugged.  "Look upon it as an opportunity to achieve some measure of discipline and control over the desires of the flesh," he said.  "Perhaps that is why Zorro beat you.  This may be God’s way of testing you.  Besides, if we wait two weeks before we detain de la Vega, Don Urbino will probably be back from San Diego.  With luck, he could return just in time to console Don Alejandro—and to convince him of the futility of leaving all his wealth to that useless son of his.  I strongly suspect that we will find on the shelves of his library at least one or two books that the church has banned."

"But you will want to question him."

"Perhaps," Marigál shrugged, "though it may not be necessary.  Urbino says he has not found any overt evidence of heresy in the young man thus far.  But I have gathered more than a little testimony against him just from the townspeople.  Since his return from Spain, he hasn’t shown any interest in marriage. He spends a great deal of time sitting in the tavern, and he has apparently stated more than once that he thinks the common people deserve to be treated as well as the nobility."

"Not unlike my own godless countrymen, eh?" Endicott nodded.

"Or the heathen French," Marigál agreed.  "Vulgar licentious barbarians.  Oh, I’m certain de la Vega has a darker side," he added, folding his hands behind his back as he went to the window and gazed out through a crack in the curtains.  "I can feel it."  Then he pursed his lips thoughtfully.  "We will see if the little witch brings it out of him."

"And do you think we’ll have any trouble with her?"

Marigál gave him a look that told him his thoughts on this subject were more obvious than his desire to get out of bed. "Not the sort of trouble that will require your skills," he said.  "You are wise, joven, to cultivate your talents.  You would be wiser still to pray that we do not have to make use of them."

Oreana picked up one of the small votive candles and lit it with the taper, then placed it on the table near the altar in the chapel of the virgin.  Then she bowed her head, and the heavy lace veil fell forward, covering, not just her hair, but her face as well, as though she were trying to disappear behind it.  All the while she had been here at the mission, she had seemed uneasy, Diego thought, though he wasn’t quite sure how he knew that.  And he didn’t think it was simply her fear of Marigál, who, if he had intended to take over the mission, would probably have done so by now.  Nor was it just her feelings for Teresa, which Diego had to admit were as obvious as Bernardo had said.

She had huddled like a child in Urbino’s arms when the coffin was lowered, weeping softly.  But she still seemed haunted by more than just the servant’s ghost.  Now, it was as if she had finally found the one spot in all the church where she did feel safe, under the banner of la Guadalupana—though she still seemed fragile somehow, as if, in the right light, one might be able to see clear through her.

Diego stood near the same portal where, just yesterday, he and Padre Felipe had talked of Zorro.  From this spot beside the rose bush near the entrance to the small courtyard, he could see across the hall and into the chapel without being seen.  And he had been hoping that somehow he might get another chance to talk to her alone, or that he might see something in her behavior to explain her edginess—that is, if it wasn’t all just his own imagination.  But only a moment after she lit the candle, he heard Urbino come in through the entrance on the other side.

"Ah, there you are, Mi Reina."  He knelt and crossed himself before the image, then went to where Oreana was standing near the table of votives and took her by the shoulders.  "Are you not ready to leave yet?  It will be dark in a few hours, and we must return to the hacienda.  Have you forgotten that we must depart tomorrow morning for San Diego?"

"No," she said evenly.  "I have not forgotten."

"Then leave this candle.  We can light another one for Teresa tonight."

"I did not light it for her."  Oreana turned to him, her dark eyes searching his face.  Urbino sighed heavily.

"Oh, please, Mi Querida," he said.  "No more of this nonsense."

"I lit it for your protection."

For a moment, Diego had considered the possibility of leaving to go find his father, telling himself that this conversation wasn’t really any of his business.  In fact, some part of him didn’t want to know what they might say to each other in private.  But her last remark made him freeze.  Suddenly, el Zorro, at least, was bound to listen a while longer.

"Let us not discuss such things in the house of God," Urbino went on.  "The matter is settled.  You are just upset over Teresa’s death.  Don’t you see?  It is your nerves, nothing more."

"Then why will you not humor me?  What difference will it make to stay another day with the de la Vegas?  I do not think they would mind."

"And what shall I tell them?" Urbino shrugged, palms uplifted as if to catch her response.

"Say I am ill.  Say I am fatigued, or say it is my nerves, if that is what you truly believe," she said.  "But I saw what I saw.  If we leave tomorrow, you will never reach San Diego alive."

"And what, exactly, do you think will happen?"

"I do not know.  I only know you will be buried here."  Her voice had taken on enough weight by now that she didn’t sound as shaky as she looked.  But Urbino only slipped an arm around her shoulders as he folded her hand in his.

"One day you will have to give up these delusions," he said, kissing her fingers.  "Out of deference to you, I asked the padre today to perform only a liturgy of the word.  But when we are married, you will have to accept the Eucharist, my love.  And you will have to confess your sins."

Oreana turned out of his embrace.  "On that day, she said, after you have kept your word to me, then I will drink the blood of your human sacrifice.  Not before."

Urbino winced.  "Please, please, do not utter such blasphemies—at least not in church, not in the chapel of the Holy Virgin." Now standing with her back to him, she looked up at the image.

"It is heresy—is it not—to deny that the wine turns to blood?"

He nodded.  "But this is not like some pagan rite; it is a manifestation of God’s— "

"This is not something to be taken lightly," she said, eyes narrowing.

"You will be cleansed," he said, not daring to take her shoulders.

"I will be bound," she replied, "bound to you and to your Church.  And I do not think such a thing can easily be undone.  My whole family will be lost to me forever."

"They will be lost, but you will be saved," he said stepping between her and the altar, standing face to face with her again.  "Do you not see?"

"Keep your word," she said, "and I will keep mine."

"I will try."  Urbino sounded as if he had repeated these words many times before.  "I will try."

"And you will stand a much better chance of succeeding," she said, "if we stay one more day with Don Alejandro."

Urbino turned away shaking his head.  Finally, in a quiet voice, he said, "Might it not be that you have another reason for wanting to stay with the de la Vegas?"

"What do you mean?"  A puzzled frown wrinkled her forehead.

"Young de la Vega is much more nearly your own age," said Urbino softly.  "He also seems to share your interests in music, literature, and even in poetry.  He is very well educated, like you.  And do not think I have failed to notice that he is also a very handsome young man."

Diego looked away, thinking he should go.  Neither he nor Zorro needed to hear this part of the conversation.  He had learned what she was afraid of.  And he had learned why she seemed reluctant to serve as a witness against Marigál, since technically her religious beliefs were rather eccentric, even for a curandera.  He had also learned that Urbino really did love her, and that he was actually trying to save her soul.  Perhaps she could save him as well, if she got him to give up his dealings with Marigál.  Perhaps they would save each other, Diego thought, as he watched her place a hand gently on Urbino’s shoulder and turn him around.

"Urbino, you must not give in to jealousy," she said, her eyes full of tenderness.  "There will always be handsome young men, but you are the man I have chosen to spend my life with.  Before we met, I had never intended to marry at all, but now I am promised to you—of my own free will.  Is this not proof of my affection?  If I cared nothing for you, would a premonition of your death upset me so?  As for Diego de la Vega—sí, we do have much in common.  And in all honesty, I think I could grow quite fond of him.  But I suspect we may have too much in common.  Like me, he does not seem eager to marry just for the sake of marriage.  And I think he, too, has other . . . promises to keep."

As she spoke, she let her gaze drift away from Urbino and toward the doorway that led out to the courtyard, until Diego realized that she knew he was standing there.  She had known all along.

She looked down quickly before Urbino could track her gaze, then took his hand.  "Please, will you not consider even one day’s delay?"

The man looked at her like a child, and for a moment Diego felt sure he would relent.  But then he said, "Are you really certain that you are not just upset over Teresa’s death?  You know, travel can be so fatiguing, and this was so sudden.  Can you really say for sure that this premonition of yours is not just some idle fancy born of weariness and grief?"

Oreana studied him carefully for a long moment.  Then her gaze fell and drifted toward the courtyard again.  "No," she said at last; "I cannot."  But something in her tone had changed.  Then she added, "Still, would you not rather avoid the risk, however small?"

"Oh, my dear," he smiled and patted her hand.  "I am sure we will be fine.  You will see."

Oreana glanced up at the Virgin.  "By your own word, then, may Her will be done."

Somehow, Diego knew her words were meant more for him than Urbino, who, incredibly, seemed reassured by them.  But he found himself thinking that tomorrow morning el Zorro might follow their coach, at least for a little way, in case her fears were not entirely groundless.  Even if they were, Urbino was still the only link that either of them had with Marigál’s hostages.

And as for Oreana herself, he decided it would be just as foolish now as it had been earlier to doubt her good intentions.  While she was clearly some odd species of religious eccentric, at least she had wanted him to know that.  In fact, she had been pretty open about it the night she stitched his arm.  But nothing she had said or done so far could even begin to justify Marigál’s ridiculous charges against her, or his methods.  Heresy or not, the Vatican had denounced the use of torture.  As Urbino draped an arm over her shoulders and guided her out of the chapel along a row of pews, Diego decided, on a sudden impulse, to go through the chapel and catch up with them.

"Ah, there you are," he said as he came up behind them, smiling.  "I was wondering if you had decided to remain as guests of the mission.  Not that I would blame you.  Some of Padre Felipe’s wines can make even my father jealous," he added, unable, finally, to resist the urge to let his hands come lightly to rest on each of their shoulders.  She flinched beneath his touch, and he sensed the glare she would have given him had she looked out from under the veil.  But he merely bent a little closer to Urbino and said, "She is still not feeling very well, is she."

"No," he replied, patting her shoulder gently.  "And I do not think it would be good to stay here any longer, even if your father and I did not still have some business to discuss tonight.  If all goes well we may see a great deal more of each other.  What would you say to that, my boy?"

Diego smiled the most charming smile he could manage.  "Why, I would be delighted, of course.  But, really, if this is the case, then sooner or later you will have to permit me to introduce Oreana to some of the other young ladies who live in this area; I am quite sure they would all be enchanted to meet her, and I think she would like them, too.

"You know," he went on, "I find that men can often be content to be solitary creatures, finding pleasure in the company of a good author, or simply in quiet contemplation.  But women, well, they seem to flourish in a more social environment, don’t you find it so?"

Urbino looked up at him, and for a moment Diego saw clearly the gratitude in his eyes, as well as the regret that lurked behind it, as though he really did wish that somehow he and his bride would end up being close business associates of the de la Vegas.  "I am certain Oreana would like very much to meet these ladies," he said, "if they were friends of yours."

"Perhaps upon your return, then."

While Urbino got into the surrey from the other side and took the reins, Diego took Oreana’s arm and helped her in.  He could tell even through the veil that there were tears in her eyes.  But the look of gratitude on her face was identical to the one he had just seen on Don Urbino’s.