And I believed that after the foul deed was done, he blamed himself.
We all act differently, all take different roads in life.
When everything went to hell in my father's life, he simply gave up. He married the Spanish belle his mother decreed, produced a son whose blood was not tainted, and retreated into his poetry, the words of his heart.
Eh, amigos, do you see what I just wrote? I called him my father instead of Don Eduardo. In my own heart I had found enough understanding of him to speak of him as my father. Understanding, but not forgiveness.
Days passed slowly in the dungeon. Unlike the Inquisition's chamber of horrors, most of the prisoners in the viceroy's jail were minor criminals and debt peonasjers, with an occasional wife murderer or bandito thrown in. Many of them were grouped together in the larger cells. Other than myself, only one other prisoner was celled privately. I never knew his real name, but the guards called him "Montezuma" because he believed he was an Aztec warrior. His delusions had brought him to the viceroy's dungeon and soon to the gallows because he killed and ate a priest's heart when he took him to be an enemy warrior. The man's only language appeared to be animal growls and howls, which the guards often elicited by provoking and beating him. As a joke, the guards would throw a new prisoner into the man's cell, then pull him out at the last second as Montezuma was about to cannibalize him.
As I rotted in the dungeon, awaiting my death, I felt a little jealous of the madman. What a relief it would be to escape into a world created by one's own mind.
Several days after Luis's murder attempt, I received more visitors. At first I thought the two priests at my bars were Father Osirio and the other vulture fray who were waiting to rip off my flesh. They came up to my cell bars, cloaked in their priestly robes, and stood without speaking.
I ignored them, remaining on my stone bench, pondering what ignominious insults I could hurl at them.
"Cristo."
The whispered words were spoken by an angel. I leaped from the bench and grabbed the bars with both hands.
"Eléna."
She drew close to the bars and her hands took mine. "I'm sorry," she said. "I have brought so much trouble into your life."
"I made my own trouble. My only regret is that I tainted you with it."
"Cristo."
I stepped away from the bars, certain a dagger was about to be thrust.
"Did you come here to murder me when your son failed?" I asked my father.
"I came with Eléna to assist in this son's escape. I know what Luis tried. He taunted me that he had failed, but he would arrange for it to be done. Money can buy murder in places like this. He will find a guard who will do the deed for enough gold. We are here today because a palm was crossed with a piece of gold."
"It would be easier to pay for my murder than my escape. The murderer would probably go unpunished because I am condemned to death anyway. But an escape would result in all the guards being punished. And escape without cooperation of the guards would not be possible. These bars are iron and the walls are two feet thick."
"We have a plan," Don Eduardo said.
"You will need a miracle more than a plan," I said.
Eléna took my hands again. "I prayed for that, too."
"To me it is miracle enough that I see and touch you once again. But tell me why you think I can escape."
We huddled together while they whispered their plan to me.
"Our partner in this matter is your friend Mateo," Don Eduardo said. "He assures us that he has engineered many escapes, even from the Bey of Algiers. He sought Eléna's help and she came to me, knowing that I am desperate to redeem my sins."
I almost groaned aloud. Mateo's escapes were composed on paper and performed on stage.
"Mateo has gained access to the palace roof through a trapdoor in my bedroom," Eléna said, "created to allow escape in case of fire or attack. From the palace roof he can cross other roofs, eventually reaching the prison roof."
"What will he do on the roof?"
"The chimneys from the dungeon and every other part of the compound are there. He's made black powder bombs that he'll drop down chimneys, including the one at the guard's station. They'll not explode like cannonballs, but cause great smoke."
"Other than make me choke to death, what will these smoke bombs do?"
"Conceal your escape," Don Eduardo said. "My carriage is outside. When the smoke is created, we will rush outside, board the carriage, and leave."
I stared at them. "And these bars? Will the smoke widen them, so I can slip through?"
"I have a key," Eléna said. "My maid's lover is a guard. I obtained a key from him that fits the cells and doors."
I thought for a moment. "The guards will recognize me and grab me."
"We have a priest's robe," Eléna said. "You will be able to slip through in the initial confusion."
"But if they check my cell—"
"They will find me," she said.
"What!"
"Shhh," she whispered. "Your father wanted to be the one to take your place in the cell, but they would hang him after they found him. They won't harm me."
"You'll be tried for the escape."
"No. I'll tell them I came here to thank you for saving my life and bid you farewell, and that you had somehow gotten a key to the cell and forced me in when the smoke erupted."
"They'll never believe you."
"They have to believe me. My uncle would not permit any other interpretation of my actions. If his niece and ward was involved in the escape of a criminal under his authority, he would be recalled to Spain in disgrace. He will not only believe me, he will herald the story."
"Your friend Mateo will be outside the palace grounds with an extra horse," Don Eduardo said. "After dropping the black powder, he will use a rope to slip down to the street on the other side of the palace walls."
"We'll never make it over the causeway."
"He has a plan."
"He has many plans." Eh, amigos, don't we know that some of Mateo's plans are pure disasters?
Eléna squeezed my hands and smiled. "Cristo, do you have a better plan?"
I grinned. "My plan is your plan. What have I got to lose but a life that's already been condemned? So, my friends, tell me, when will this grand scheme hatch?"
Don Eduardo took a small hourglass from his waist coat and set it on a horizontal bar of the cell. "Mateo has a duplicate hourglass. When the top glass is empty, he will start dropping bombs."
I gaped at the glass. "It is almost empty!"
"Exactly. So prepare your mind," he said. "In a moment you will leave here in the fray's robe Eléna is wearing. Keep your head down. There's a handkerchief in the pocket of the robe. Keep the handkerchief close to your face at all times. Rub your face with it. Eléna put black cosmetic powder on it so it will appear your face is smoke blackened."
Eléna slipped the cell key into the door and slowly turned it. When I was unlatched, she handed it to me through the bars.
"Vaya con Dios," she whispered.
The grains of sand in the hourglass were quickly diminishing. We waited with intense anticipation for the last grain to fall. And nothing happened.
"Mateo has—" I started.
An explosion hit that shook the dungeon. And then another. Stone and mortar fell from the ceiling, and a black cloud blew through the corridors.
Eléna jerked open the cell door and handed me her robe. I gave her a kiss. Don Eduardo pulled me away from her.
"Hurry. We must use the surprise."
Dense smoke had already taken what little light the candles gave off in that gruesome stone passageway. I could barely see Don Eduardo as I followed behind him. All around me prisoners were coughing and screaming to be let out, fearful that a fire had somehow ignited the stone walls. To my right I heard the mad howl of Montezuma the Cannibal. He seemed to delight in the fact that the dungeon had turned midnight.
Muffled explosions came from other parts of
the palace. Mateo was making sure the viceroy's guards were kept busy everywhere.
I crashed into someone, and my first instinct was that it was a guard.
"Help me! I can't see!" The man yelled, grabbing me with both his hands.
I recognized the voice. Fray Osorio. Sí, the man who had peeled my skin and ripped my flesh with hot pincers.
The Fates had finally dealt me a good hand.
"This way, Padre," I whispered.
I steered him to the cell of Montezuma and opened it with the passkey.
"Fray Antonio and Cristo the Bandit have arranged a special treat for you."
I shoved Osorio into the cell.
"Fresh meat!" I yelled to Montezuma.
I ran to find my father. Behind me was the sweet music of Montezuma's feral howls, and the fray's screams of horror and pain.
I stumbled out of the dungeon behind Don Eduardo. Others were already there, coughing and choking. Guards lay on the ground. The prisoner section had been inundated with smoke, but Mateo's bombs had blown wood, charcoal, and stone from the fireplace in the guard's room, wounding several of them.
I followed Don Eduardo's hurried steps to a waiting carriage. The driver was not in sight. He jerked open the carriage door and stopped.
Luis grinned at him from inside the carriage.
"I saw the carriage parked near the dungeon and figured you were paying this swine a visit. But I'm surprised you had the courage to help him escape. Guards!"
Don Eduardo grabbed him and pulled him from the carriage. As Luis came out, his dagger appeared in his hand. He drove it into Don Eduardo's stomach.
The older man let go of Luis and staggered back. Luis was still off balance from being pulled from the carriage. I hit him with my fist. He fell back against the carriage, and I slammed my elbow into his face. Luis fell to the ground.
My father was kneeling, clutching his stomach. Blood ran through his fingers.
"Run!" he gasped.
Guards had already started for us, and I could delay no longer. I climbed onto the driver's seat and grabbed the reins. "Andale! Andale!" I whipped the horses.
The carriage shot across the cobblestone courtyard with the two startled horses in the lead. They headed in a straight line for the main gate, which lay two hundred feet ahead. Behind me guards were shouting the alarm and muskets fired.
Ahead of me guards rushed to close the main gate. As it slammed shut, I turned the horses. More muskets sounded as I whipped the horses along the high wall separating the palace grounds from the street. A musket round found one of the horses and he went down, tipping the carriage and causing it to crash against the wall. The driver's box was as high as the wall, and I leaped from the driver's seat up atop the wall, then dropped into bushes on the streetside below.
"Compadre!"
From up the street, Mateo galloped two horses toward me.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN
We'll never make it over a causeway!" I shouted, as we charged through the streets.
Mateo shook his head, as if fleeing this island city was an inconsequential detail. Night was rapidly falling, but that would not get us past the causeway guards. The whole city—having heard the explosions and musket fire at the viceroy's palace—would be on the alert.
Mateo did not lead me to a causeway. Instead, I followed him to a familiar location: The lakeside dock where we had once fled the city aboard a boat filled with mint treasure.
A boat was waiting. As we neared, two mestizos in the boat pushed off and began paddling away from shore. I cursed their black hearts. We were stranded!
I followed Mateo's lead and climbed off my horse. He spooked the horses, sending them back toward the heart of the city.
The thunder of other horse hooves was coming toward us.
"The boat's leaving! We're trapped!"
"That was us on the boat," Mateo said calmly.
He steered me toward a donkey cart where Jaime the lépero was standing with a big grin. The cart was empty except for indio blankets.
"Under the blankets, quickly. The boy will lead us out of here."
"We will never get past the guards at the causeway. They're not that stupid."
"We're not going over the causeway." Mateo glared at Jaime.
The boy had his hand out.
"What do you want?"
"More dinero."
With the sound of the hooves of the soldado's horses in our ears, Mateo cursed the boy and threw him a coin. "Bandito!"
We climbed into the cart and covered ourselves as the boy guided the donkey away.
We went to the house of Don Silvestre's widowed daughter.
"She stays all the time now with her father, only coming here to bring me food and comfort," Mateo said. "I came back into the city and holed up until I made contact with Eléna and, through her, Don Eduardo."
For the next two days, Jaime came each afternoon for a few minutes with news of the day—and for an additional payment. I had the distinct feeling that he would have sold us to the highest bidder if in this case the highest bidder hadn't been us. As a street boy, I would have admired his thieving spirit. As a victim of his avarice, ¡ay de mí! We paid.
"I should cut your thieving little throat," Mateo growled at the boy.
The first news we had was that Cristo the Bandit and his accomplice had escaped from the city on an indio boat. Since there were hundreds of such boats plying the city each day, it was impossible to determine which boat we had left in and where we took to land.
With that news also came bad tidings. Don Eduardo had died of his wound; the death was attributed to me. It made me both sad and angry. Once again I had lost a father to a dagger. And again I was blamed for spilling the blood.
Reports about the hunt for Cristo became a daily fare. He was spotted fleeing in the direction of the four winds. He was already back up to his old tricks, robbing silver trains and ravishing women. Eh, if I had just committed half the deeds and loved half the women the rumors spoke about.
The other news was about Eléna. The tale being told in the marketplace was that the viceroy's niece had taken food to a sick guard and had been at the guard station when the bomb exploded. I had to give the Spanish bureaucracy some credit. They had taught Don Diego well. After all my years on the streets, lying about everything, including my very existence, I could not have come up with a more clever lie.
The other news about her was less heartening. Her betrothal to Luis was announced, and the marriage was being rushed so that they could journey to Spain on the next treasure fleet. Luis, whose own mother had returned to Spain to give him birth, thus ensuring that he was a Spain-born gachupin rather than a colony-born criollo, was to present himself at the Royal Court in Madrid for an appointment of some substance.
While I sulked in the house, not daring to leave it, Mateo journeyed out and came back with other news.
"The mood on the streets is mean. The price of maize is rising each day."
"They've started the squeeze," I said.
"Exactly. Hired rumormongers go into the marketplace and tell stories of droughts and floods that have destroyed the maize crops, but no one believes them. Travelers, who have come from the areas, shake their heads and repudiate the rumors out of hand. And in the meantime, Miguel de Soto refuses to release maize from the government's warehouses, claiming that they are almost empty and what little is in them is needed for emergencies."
"How are they keeping maize from individual farmers out of the city?"
"The Recontonería. They are buying it and hauling it away instead of into the city. They burn it."
"Burn it?"
"To keep it from increasing the supply and lowering the price for the maize they keep in the warehouse. The people hurt most are the poor, mestizos and indios who work as laborers. They cannot afford to buy enough maize to feed their families. Your lépero brothers and the poorest of the poor are also starving. They all blame the viceroy."
"Why the vice
roy? Do you think he is really involved?"
Mateo shrugged. "Do I think he is directly involved, no. But he paid a great price to the king for his office. Men who pay the great amount required for the position usually go into debt to buy the office until they have collected back enough to pay off the loans. And who would he borrow from?"
"His old majordomo and business partner, Ramon de Alva."
"And Luis, the Soto's. The huge profits these bandits reap have to be connected to the viceroy's loans."
"So is Luis' marriage to Eléna," I said with bitterness. Though I had to admit that Luis, with my marqués title, was a plausible candidate.
"Is there anything being done?"
"Hunger makes even calm people angry and mean. When the grumbling gets too loud and people take to the streets, the cabal suddenly—miraculously—finds more maize in the warehouse and distributes a little at a fair price. As soon as that is eaten, they cut the supply and raise the price again. The warehouse is well-guarded, but Jaime has spoken to a warehouse worker who claims it is almost bursting from the maize packed into it."
"I can understand the greed of my beggar brothers," I told Mateo. "When a bone was thrown into the gutter, we all ran for it because it may have been the only food we would see that day. But how can the greed of Ramon and the others be explained?"
"They are pigs, who will eat at the trough even when their bellies swell and threaten to burst. They are never full. There is always a need for more."
"Amigo, I have been cooped up in this casa for an eternity. If I do not get out of it soon, I will die from boredom."
"Eh, I understand. Your señorita is marrying a pig in a few days. You want to hang him by his feet and cut his throat so you can watch him bleed, no?"
"Something like that. I also want to hang Ramon beside him."
"So let's do it."
"Tell me your idea," I said.
"What idea?"
"The one you always have. The tragic-comedia of revenge that you have concocted and that is no doubt beyond our ability to perform."
"Have you not cheated death because of my dramatic skill?"
"Cheated, yes. But I am still in the city, surrounded by hundreds of soldados, and will be back in captivity as soon as Jaime the lépero finds someone who will pay for our heads more than you are paying."
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