Episode #318

Part Two of Three

Act Two 

Two guards lounged against the far wall watching her. They were sloppily uniformed and unshaven; their rifles stood next to them near their languid hands. Now and then, they whispered and sniggered together then took another pull at the bottle of wine they were sharing. Tessa forced herself to look away and try to ignore them. She wondered how much bottle-fed courage it would take for them to attempt to attack her in the cell. Tessa knew that they would not dare to touch her if there was any discipline among the soldiers these days. She almost wished that Montoya or even Grisham were here to keep these louts in order. At length, one of the soldiers stumbled forward and fell against the bars of her cell. He leered at her through the opening, then grinned, revealing a mouthful of blackened teeth.  

"You look lonely in there, señorita. How would you like some company?" he garbled. 

"Sorry, but as you can see, I only paid for a single room," Tessa tossed back with a smile, keeping herself tensed and ready. 

"I'm sure that cot can hold two," his friend called out. "Go on, Rico. Give her a little thrill before she dies." 

The guard fumbled at his belt for the key. Tessa drew an excited breath as he finally gripped it and began to push it into the lock. She could easily overpower these two drunks and escape. It was just a matter of timing. As he wrestled with the key, scratching away trying to insert it, she watched in nervous frustration, and was about to suggest she could open the door herself when a loud bellow startled the soldier and he dropped the key. A second later, a pair of beefy hands had gripped him by the shoulders and thrust him across the corridor against his comrade.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" Don Gaspar shouted at the two who now cowered near each other. "What did you think you were going to do, let her escape?" 

"No, Señor Hidalgo," Rico whined. "We were just going to check that she had no weapons or anything she could use to escape."       

"You idiots!" Gaspar raged, his face turning a bright shade of red. "The moment you opened the door, she would be gone." His eyes moved to the wine bottle hanging loosely from the second guard's hand. "Drinking on duty? You are both on report. When Colonel Montoya returns, he will deal with you."       

Turning to the Queen, Gaspar said, "It is a lucky thing we came here when we did." He was accompanied by three other men, all dons whom Tessa recognised.       

The Queen laughed shortly. "Unlucky for me, you mean."       

Dr. Helm walked into the cell corridor, which was now crowded with men. He caught her eye and smiled slightly, though his look was cool. "What's going on here?" He gestured to the cell. "This arrangement is not fit for a woman. She has no privacy from louts like those," he added pointing at the drunken guards. "I demand that some kind of curtain be put over the front of this cell." 

Tessa watched Gaspar's eyes narrow and his lips tighten. The don was not used to taking orders, especially from an upstart British doctor. She was almost sure Gaspar would refuse; his pride in front of his peers would not let him bend so far as to accede to the demand. But she was surprised. 

Gaspar nodded slowly. "You are quite right, Doctor Helm. This lady needs to be protected from the prying eyes of the guards. They have not treated her with respect." Grabbing Rico by the collar, Gaspar shoved him toward the exit into the guard room. "Go to the hotel and get a clean sheet to hang in front of the bars." 

"And one without holes in it," Helm called after the soldier who stumbled out of the corridor. 

Tessa got slowly off the cot and moved toward the cell door. The key was still lying on the floor, tantalizingly close, only a few inches outside the door. If she could reach it with her boot, she could pull it inside, perhaps with no one noticing. As she reached the bars, Don Humberto Caruso bent down and picked up the key. He gave her a knowing smile as he handed it to Gaspar. 

Don Humberto laughed, a caustic edge that nullified any levity."You weren't thinking of taking that key, were you, señorita?" 

Tessa balled her fists in frustration. It would be Don Humberto who noticed what she was doing. She hated him. He had bought Don Federico, her godfather's, property from Montoya for a pittance, probably for some service rendered. She was sure he and Montoya were in league together; perhaps he was on the list that Señora Caplatas, the voodoo priestess, had written containing the names of those involved in don Rafael's murder. The list had burnt in the fire that might also have claimed the priestess' life. Tessa unclenched her jaw and forced a smile. "Of course not, Señor Caruso. I was just stretching my legs. This cell is so confining." 

The don barked his nasty laugh again. "It is meant to be, to confine criminals like you." 

Tessa knew when the trial began which side of the question he would be on. He would vote for the death penalty whether he believed she was guilty or not. It was a test of his loyalty to Montoya and he would not dare to find her innocent and let her go free. She wondered how many other dons the colonel had in his pocket. Don Humberto was younger than Gaspar, with just a hint of grey at his temples and sprinkled through his heavy moustache and beard. His blue eyes were cold, calculating as he watched her with a hint of amusement curling his thin lips. She was a prize he had helped to take and her execution would be a trophy that Don Humberto could display before Montoya. A coup — proof that he had done what the colonel could not. Don Geronimo stood beside Gaspar, holding a handkerchief delicately over his nose, his diminutive size a contrast to Gaspar's bulk. He seemed weak, fragile with his wispy white hair and tremorous voice. On the other side of Gaspar, Don Julio waited in seeming impatience, his breathing a sibilant whistle through his wide nostrils. Don Julio's nose was nearly of equal dimensions to the doctor's, but the don looked down his with aristocratic disdain at her. A thin man of nervous energy, he was jumpy with quick sharp movements as if he couldn't remain still. 

"Let's get out of here, Gaspar. The air is making me queasy," Don Julio complained, his nostrils flaring and whistling loudly. He took out his handkerchief and gave his nose a blow that sounded like a trumpet. Tessa pressed her lips together to restrain a laugh. 

"As soon as I have seen to the Queen's comfort and privacy," Gaspar returned evenly. Turning to Tessa, he said, "My dear señorita, I want to assure you that you will have a fair trial. We will start tomorrow morning and Dr. Helm has volunteered to be your defence counsel." 

Tessa snorted. "Ha! What does a British doctor know about Spanish law? I will defend myself. I don't need any counsel." 

She heard the quick intake of breath from the doctor and knew she had hurt his feelings, that he was angry. It was necessary to stop him from getting involved. If she let him help her and if the trial went against her, Helm would be Montoya's next target. 

Gaspar frowned, narrowing his eyes. "You will have a defence counsel. Otherwise the people may think you did not have a fair chance. Dr. Helm will consult with you as to the witnesses you may wish to bring forward." 

Tessa turned away and strode to the back of the cell and sat down on the cot. The fetid odour from the straw mattress rose around her, making her hold her breath. She wondered if she would ever get the stink of this jail out of her nostrils. Daring to look up, she saw Helm watching her, his eyes hard and angry. Why couldn't he understand that she didn't want him entangled in the same net that had caught her? Montoya was only biding his time. He would soon return in force to retake his command of the Presidio, and the trial would not matter. The colonel would not easily forgive the doctor for disloyalty in defending his most dangerous enemy. Whatever hold Montoya still had over Helm, he would use it to make Helm suffer once she was gone. Of that much, Tessa was quite sure. 

A few tense seconds passed. She wished they would all go away and leave her in peace. She had to think, to plan. The drunken guard, Rico, reappeared carrying a white linen sheet. Gaspar ordered the two soldiers to tie it up across the front of the cell. When they were finished, a filtered light seeped through the fibres of the cloth and at the top and bottom of the sheet. Tessa was grateful for the thin shield. It made her feel less like an animal in a zoo, a creature on display to the curious. 

"Señorita," Gaspar called, then pulled the cloth aside to peer into the cell. "If there is anything else I can do to see to your comfort, please tell me." 

The Queen looked up and laughed lightly. "You can open the door and let me out. I would find that a great comfort." 

Gaspar regarded her solemnly. "That of course, I cannot do. Hasta mañana, señorita." He dropped the curtain back in place and Tessa heard him say, "You two are relieved of your duties. I will have two other guards taking the next shift." 

Act Three 

Grisham vaulted up the hotel staircase then paused on the top step, breathing hard; he could feel the sweat snaking down between his shoulder blades. Santa Elena was hot but the humidity in Monterrey was killing him. He waited a few moments for his breathing to slow then hurried down the corridor and halted before a door. Impulsively, he grasped the handle, turned it and rushed in. And was stopped dead by the scene before his eyes. Grisham turned away abruptly, closing the door to the hallway. He held his breath and clenched his jaw against the laugh that threatened to erupt. That first impression flashed before his eyes again - Montoya seated in a hip bath while behind him, a naked young girl leaned over his shoulder, her long dark hair like a veil covering the colonel's chest. Her hands were somewhere under the water and her breasts seemed to be caressing both of the colonel's ears. Her high-pitched shriek and Montoya's bellow of "Madre de dios!" seemed to reverberate in the room still.  

While continuing to stare at the door, Grisham could hear sounds behind him; the slosh of water spilling onto the floor, then the slap of bare feet on the tiles, a rustle of clothing, some whispers, then a momentary silence. 

"Well, turn around, damn you, and tell me what possessed you to barge in here!" Montoya snapped. "And it had better be good or you'll be Corporal Grisham before you leave again." 

The captain swivelled on his heel and faced Montoya. The colonel's robe was damp and a puddle of water lay around his bare feet. His damp hair clung to his neck and he absently brushed a few strands off his face while fixing Grisham with an icy look. The girl had fled, probably hiding behind the cloth screen near the tub. 

Grisham let out a slow breath, savouring this moment. He had the colonel at a disadvantage and both knew it. In his heeled boots and hat, he towered over his diminutive commander; he was also in his dress uniform while the colonel was in a damp bathrobe with his bare legs showing. The scene he had witnessed also put him in a more advantageous position. It was all he could do not to laugh. Grisham decided to draw this little drama out for as long as he could. 

The captain straightened and saluted. "Please excuse the intrusion, Colonel, but Corporal Mancera just arrived with news from Santa Elena. He rode all day and stopped at the missions for fresh horses." 

Montoya's face coloured and his eyes seemed to bulge. "I don't care if Mancera flew here on gossamer wings. What did he say?" 

"Well, sir, it seems that one of the dons was going to punish a campesino for something. He was about to have the man flogged when the Queen turned up. She gave the don a taste of his own medicine with her bullwhip. Hidalgo had heard that the don was going to flog his worker, and sent Mancera with a small troop to stop him. I guess the new alcalde has taken his job real seriously." 

Grisham paused, enjoying the look of frustration on Montoya's face. It was so delightful to rub the colonel's nose in his loss of total power. The colonel moved toward a cabinet on which there was a decanter of something that looked amber and inviting. Grisham watched as a full glass was poured, hoping futilely that Montoya might offer him some. Montoya took a quick, impatient sip, obviously just holding onto his temper by a thread. Grisham forced his lips into a straight line; a smile would unleash the colonel's pent-up fury and Grisham wanted to delay that delicious moment a while longer. 

He continued, his voice rising a little in excitement. "When the soldiers saw the Queen, they went after her. Of course, she outran them on that big bay horse and all their rifle shots missed. She's always had the devil's own luck, sir, ...except this time." He paused dramatically, watching Montoya's eyes grow sharper and more furious as if he knew what was coming. "This time, her horse stumbled and she was thrown. Before she could get back up, the soldiers had her surrounded. She was ready to fight, but they had the drop on her with their pistols. She was captured and Mancera said she is now in the Santa Elena jail." 

Montoya downed the rest of his drink in one swallow, grimaced and slammed the glass down so hard the base broke, the shard pinging off the wall. Deadly calm, he growled, "The gods really do mock me. For over a year, I have tried everything, traps, bribes, huge rewards, everything and she has always eluded me. Now she falls into the hands of those idiotic dons by sheer bad luck. It is too cruel a joke, even for the gods." 

Grisham's eyes followed the colonel as he padded back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back, his bare feet making sucking and slapping noises on the tiles. Abruptly Montoya turned with a determined look. "Gather the men immediately. We'll ride in an hour and get to Santa Elena in time for the execution. At least, I'll have that much satisfaction." 

Oh, this is too good, Grisham thought, keeping his face blank. "We don't need to hurry back for that, sir. Hidalgo insists on a trial, starting tomorrow morning. So Mancera told me." 

"A trial!" Montoya slammed his hand against the wall, eliciting a little screech from the girl still hiding behind the screen. "A trial? After all she has done, the fact she was captured wearing the Queen's costume, harming a don, one of their own? And now she gets a trial? By all the gods, she is guilty! I will see to it that she hangs, whatever the outcome of this farce. Even if I have to do it myself." He paused, his eyes taking on a distant look. "It would give me the greatest pleasure to put the rope around her neck and watch her die ...slowly. Her cursed life ebbing away as the rope squeezes her last breath from her." 

Grisham felt a little sick at the look on Montoya's face; it was almost like he was in the throes of sexual pleasure. For the captain, killing was a different kind of pleasure - the thrill of the hunt, then the kill. Or maybe a bit of a power thrill, man against man, but not this disgusting rapture that Montoya seemed to find in death. 

"Get the men ready to ride in an hour. We are returning to Santa Elena." The colonel was himself again suddenly, all brittle poise and fierce energy. 

"But, sir, it's eight o'clock at night and the men will all be dead drunk by now. I'm sure the trial will last for a couple of days. There's no need to rush back." Grisham's spirits dropped to his boots as he thought of the woman for whom he had bathed and shaved so carefully, then donned his dress uniform. She would be waiting for him now in her boudoir. Waiting and wearing something diaphanous and soft, perfumed and oh-so-willing. It had taken him two weeks of wooing her to get to this point. 

Señora Inez Consalvo, wife of a Monterrey businessman, an exporter of tallow and hides, she was often alone when her husband went away to purchase shipments from local ranchers. For the past two weeks, Grisham had been courting her, winning her affections. There had been much furtive exploration with hands and lips and passionate kissing, even a quick coupling or two, hastily done and unsatisfactory. Finally, tonight she would be alone for several days, her bedroom vacant of her ill-smelling husband. Inez had said she despised the man; he smelled of dead cattle. Grisham made sure he had carefully groomed and cologned himself for this special occasion. Now it looked like it would all be for nothing. He would have to leave without his prize. 

Damn, damn, shit, damn, he thought. Not only did he have to wade through every shithole in this squalid town to find those wretches, but he also had to face Inez and tell her the evening was off. He was leaving and no telling when he would ever return. He brightened for a moment. Maybe there was still time for a quick...  

Montoya's voice cut into his thoughts. "The men will be ready to ride or they will be shot for dereliction of duty and desertion. Tell them that."  

"I'll try to find them, sir. It may take a little longer than a hour. There are lots of bodegas and whorehouses in this town." Grisham saluted from habit, and — depressed beyond measure — turned and left the hotel room. He wished heartily that Mancera had fallen off his horse and broken his neck before he reached Monterrey with his news. As he plodded back down the hotel staircase, he pictured Inez, her soft brown eyes darkening with excitement, her full soft lips opening for him, the passionate breathy Spanish she would whisper against his ear. To hell with it, he decided as he headed for the back street that led to the rear of her villa. The colonel's probably finishing what he started with that girl and he'll be busy for a while. I'll get the men later.

Continue to Part Three