him with slaves for diving. Both of them were getting rich quickly and quietly. In the past the divers had been Yaqui Indians from Mexico, robust men who for generations had lived along the sea and could stay submerged for almost two minutes, but it would have attracted attention to bring them to Alta California. As an alternative, the partners were using the Indians of the region, who were not expert swimmers and would never have performed the task willingly. That was no problem for Moncada; he had them arrested on any excuse at all and worked them until their lungs burst. He got them drunk or beat them and soaked their clothing with alcohol, then dragged them before the judge, who cast a blind eye on the entire proceedings. The poor devils ended up in El Diablo despite the desperate objections of the missionary. Diego asked if that was where his father was, and Padre Mendoza confirmed that it was. Don Alejandro was ill and weak; he would not survive much longer in that place, he added. He was the oldest, and the only white, among the prisoners; all the others were Indians or mestizos. Whoever entered that hell did not come out alive; several had died in recent months. No one dared speak of what happened inside those walls, neither guards nor prisoners; the silence of the tomb enveloped El Diablo. “I cannot even take spiritual consolation to those poor souls. I used to go rather often to say mass, but I had words with Carlos Alcazar, and he forbade me to come. A priest from Baja California will be coming soon to take my place.”
“Is Carlos Alcazar the bully we were so afraid of when we were boys?” Diego asked. “The same, my son. His character has gone from bad to worse; he is a despot and a coward. His cousin Lolita, on the other hand, is a saint.
The girl used to go with me to the prison to take medicine, food, and blankets to the prisoners, but unfortunately she has no influence over Carlos.“
“I remember Lolita. The Pulido family is noble and virtuous.
Francisco, Lolita’s brother, studied in Madrid. We corresponded a few times when I was in Barcelona,“ said Diego. ”Well, the fact is that Don Alejandro’s situation is very grave. You are his only hope, you must do something quickly,“ concluded Father Mendoza. For a long time Diego had been pacing around the room, trying to control his indignation. From his chair, Bernardo followed the conversation with his eyes fixed on his brother, sending him mental messages. Diego’s first impulse had been to seek Moncada out and challenge him to a duel, but a look from Bernardo made him understand that these circumstances demanded more cleverness than valor; this was a mission for Zorro, and he would have to carry it out with a cool head. Diego pulled out a lace handkerchief, sighed, and wiped his forehead with an affected gesture. ”I will go to Monterey to speak with the governor. He is a friend of my father,“ he proposed. ”I already did that, Diego. When Don Alejandro was arrested, I spoke personally with the governor, but he told me that he had no authority over Moncada. And he didn’t listen to me when I suggested he find out why so many prisoners die in El Diablo,“ the missionary added. ”Then I will have to go to Mexico to see the viceroy.“
“But that will take months!” Padre Mendoza objected. It was difficult for the priest to believe that the bold young boy, whom he had brought into the world with his own hands and had watched grow up, had turned out to be a dandy. Spain had softened his brain and his muscles; it was embarrassing. He had prayed that Diego would return in time to save his father, and the answer to his prayers was this fop with a lace handkerchief. He could barely hide his scorn. Isabel and Nuria were advised that dinner was ready, and the four of them sat down at the table. An Indian woman brought a large clay bowl of maize soup and a few pieces of boiled beef as hard and tasteless as shoe leather. There was no bread, no wine, no vegetables, not even any coffee, the one vice Padre Mendoza allowed himself. They were eating in silence when they heard horses and voices in the courtyard, and moments later a group of uniformed men burst into the room, led by Rafael Moncada. “Excellency! What a surprise,” Diego exclaimed, not rising. “I have just been informed of your arrival,” Moncada replied, looking around for Juliana. “We are here, as we promised in Barcelona, Senor Moncada. May we know how you escaped from the secret chamber?” Isabel asked sarcastically. “Where is your sister?” Moncada interrupted. “Oh, she is in New Orleans. I have the pleasure of informing you that Juliana is happily married.”
“Married! That cannot be! To whom?” the dashed suitor cried. “To a wealthy and handsome man of business who bewitched her at first sight,” Isabel explained with the most innocent expression in the world. Rafael Moncada pounded the table and clamped his lips together to hold back a string of curses. He could not believe that Juliana had slipped out of his hands yet again. He had crossed half the world, left his post at court, and put his career on hold for her. He was so furious at that instant that he could have strangled her with his own hands. Diego took advantage of the pause to approach a fat and sweating sergeant who was looking at him with the eyes of a pet hound. “Garcia?” he asked. “Don Diego de la Vega you recognize me what an honor!” the fat sergeant murmured with pleasure. “Why would I not? The unmistakable Garcia!” Diego exclaimed, embracing him. That inappropriate demonstration of affection between Diego and his own sergeant briefly distracted Moncada. “I would like to use this opportunity to inquire about my father, Excellency,” said Diego. “He is a traitor and will be punished as such,” Moncada replied, spitting out each word. “Traitor? No one can say that about Senor de la Vega, Excellency!” An anguished Garcia stepped in. “You are new to this land, you do not know people. But I was born here and I can tell you that the de la Vega family is the most honorable and distinguished in all California.”
“Silence, Garcia! No one asked your opinion!” Moncada interrupted, shooting him an icy glance. Immediately he barked an order, and the sweating sergeant had no choice but to salute, clicking his heels, and lead his men outside. At the door he hesitated and, turning toward Diego, made a gesture of ineffectiveness, which his old friend responded to with a wink of complicity. “May I remind you that my father, Don Alejandro de la Vega, is a Spanish hidalgo, the hero of many battles in the service of the king.
Only a Spanish tribunal is authorized to judge him.“
“His case will be reviewed by the pertinent authorities in Mexico City.
In the meantime, your father is well guarded in a place where he cannot continue to conspire against Spain.“
“The trial will take years, and Don Alejandro is an old man,” Padre Mendoza interceded. “He cannot stay in El Diablo.”
“Before he violated the law, de la Vega must have thought about the fact that he was risking the loss of his liberty and his wealth. By his imprudent actions, the old man condemned his family to poverty,” Moncada replied in an insulting tone. Diego’s right hand grasped his sword, but Bernardo caught his arm and held him back, to remind him of the need to be patient. Moncada suggested that Diego find a way to earn a living, now that he did not have his father’s fortune, and with that turned and went out after his men. Padre Mendoza gave Diego a comradely pat on the back and repeated his offer of hospitality. Life was austere and difficult at the mission, he said, they lacked the comforts to which they were accustomed, but at least they would have a roof over their heads. Isabel smiled. “Thank you, Padre. One day I will tell you all the things that have happened to us following the death of my poor father.
You will learn that we walked across Spain, lived with Gypsies, and were kidnapped by pirates. More than once our lives were saved by a miracle. As for lack of comforts, I assure you, we are well used to that.“
“And beginning tomorrow morning, Padre, I shall take charge of the kitchen, because you eat worse than if we were at war,” Nuria added in a critical tone. “The mission is very poor,” Padre Mendoza apologized. “With the same ingredients and a little more invention, we will eat like normal people,” Nuria replied. That night when everyone else was sleeping, Diego and Bernardo crept out of their rooms, took a pair of horses, and without stopping to saddle up, galloped off in the direction of the Indian caves where they had so often played in their childhood. They had decided that the first thing they should do would be to get Alejandro de la Vega out of prison and take him to a safe place where Moncada and Alcazar could not find him; then would come the difficult task of clearing his name of the charge of treason. This was the week of both of their birthdays: they had been born exactly twenty years ago. It seemed to Diego that this was a very important moment in their lives, and he wanted to celebrate it in some special way, so he had proposed to his milk brother that they go to the caves. It was also true that if the tunnel that joined them to the de la Vega hacienda had not been blocked by earthquakes, they might be able to spy on Rafael Moncada. Diego scarcely recognized the terrain, but Bernardo led him unhesitatingly to the entrance hidden by thick brush. Once inside, they lighted a candle and made their way through the labyrinth of passageways to the main cavern, breathing mouthfuls of the indescribable underground smell that they had liked so much as boys. Diego remembered the fateful day his house was attacked by pirates and he had hidden here with his wounded mother. The smells of that moment came rushing back: a combination of blood, sweat, fear, and the dark fragrance of the earth. Everything was just as they had left it, from the bows and arrows, candles, and pots of honey they had stored there five years before even the medicine wheel that they had laid out with stones when they aspired to okahue. Diego lighted the circular altar with a pair of torches and in the center placed the packet he
