THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 10/18
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@ADELPHIA.NET)
Sat, 3 Mar 2001 09:22:38 -0500
THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 10/18
Chapter 10
October, 1637 anno domini
City of Buenos Aires in La Plata (Argentina)
"!?Y esa puta India vestida de Senorita?!*" the man exclaimed.
Don Alvaro's eyes narrowed, and he glanced first at his daughter, to see the
fire in her grey eyes. He kept the anger out of his expression, and shook
his head minutely at her, knowing she would understand. She was a woman, so
of course she could do nothing publicly to avenge the insult to herself,
although she could probably outfence this ... individual. But Don Alvaro
could do something. He studied the man closely--a 'gentleman', relatively
well-dressed, walking with a group of friends, some of whom Don Alvaro knew,
and all of whom had gotten deathly quiet.
"Don Alvaro," one of the men began. "You must please excuse our friend. He
is newly arrived from Spain, and does not know you or your beautiful
daughter. We have also been drinking a little."
"I will excuse him, for your sake, Don Pedro," Don Alvaro answered. He could
hear Fernanda, his daughter's new aya*, whispering to Mariaelena to leave
the street for the safety of one of the buildings, but he ignored that
conversation to concentrate on the men. "Now, which one of you who knows my
beautiful daughter and has not been drinking a little would be willing to
take up his cause?" He glanced at all the young men, meeting each of their
eyes in turn. He knew any of them would fight to the death if called
cowards. None of them, however, felt moved to place their bodies at Don
Alvaro's disposal. And the unknown man made it a moot point, in any case.
"This is your *daughter*?" he asked, laughing nastily. "Is that what you
caballeros* call your Indian whores?"
Don Pedro made a pained sound. He tried again. "Don Alvaro ..."
But Don Alvaro had already walked up to the man and struck him down with a
single savage blow of his closed fist. "Your mouth is filthy, Senor;
fortunately, not for long." He looked to the others again. "Perhaps one of
you gentlemen will act as this man's second for our duel at dawn?" he
inquired.
Don Pedro stepped up again. "I will do it. But he is no swordsman," he
murmured.
Don Alvaro shrugged. "Pistols, then. The weapon choice is his, although I
must say that a 'gentleman' who cannot use a sword should make less use of
his tongue."
Don Alvaro walked away toward Mariaelena, who had resisted her companion's
urgings and was still waiting in the middle of the street for her father.
And to her credit, the widow, although obviously frightened, still stood
with her charge. Don Alvaro admired courage more than almost any quality,
even in women. As he smiled at them and put out his arm to shepherd them
toward the inn, he heard the men whispering behind him while they apparently
helped their fallen comrade to his feet. But then Don Alvaro heard a
distinct and familiar sound.
"No!" someone exclaimed behind him.
Hearing the familiar click, Don Alvaro stepped forward and covered the women
with his body as best as he could, wrapping his arms around them, leaving
his back exposed. He heard the crack of the pistol shot, smelled the powder,
and felt the ball graze his left shoulder almost simultaneously. Then he
turned, took two steps as he drew his sword and coldly ran the man through
the chest. The man, whose name he had never even known, fell down, mortally
wounded. The gun fell from his hand, and Don Alvaro was thankful that his
attacker's marksmanship was apparently as bad as his swordsmanship. The
Immortal gave a quick twist of his wrist to flick the blood off his sword, a
Japanese fencing move that Ramirez had taught him, then pulled out a cloth
and carefully wiped his blade before resheathing it, all the while watching
the man's death throes impassively. Then he turned back to Don Pedro, whose
face had gone deathly white. "It seems there won't be a duel, Don Pedro.
Unless one of you wishes to avenge his friend?" he asked, letting his eyes
meet theirs again, one by one.
Don Pedro spoke up once more. "Although he was a friend, I for one will not
compound the great wrong he did you by defending his terrible actions. And
permit me, on his behalf, to apologize to you and the ladies."
Don Alvaro bent his head. "I accept your apology on behalf of the ladies and
on my behalf." Then, touching his hat, he took Mariaelena's arm and strolled
away.
~~~~~~~~~~
November, 1642 anno domini
City of Buenos Aires, in La Plata (Argentina)
No one else had dared say anything out loud since. However, Don Alvaro knew
what was on their minds.
"I can send a squad of soldiers out with you," Don Jose suggested.
The last thing Don Alvaro wanted was a troop of soldiers on his land. The
government was too well known for its greed. "You are most generous," he
said, turning to go, "but my men and I can take care of these ... boys." At
the door he touched his hand to his hat. "Thank you, Don Jose. I will
remember."
"It was an honor--I am only sorry I could not be of further assistance," Don
Jose replied, and Don Alvaro knew he meant it. The commandant was of the old
school, and whatever his government's policies, or his orders, he was
himself an honorable man.
Don Alvaro waited to be out of sight of the garrison headquarters before
breaking into a sprint. Reaching the inn, he ran up the steps two at a time,
flung open the door of his room and quickly gathered his few belongings into
his saddlebags, then flung the pack over his shoulder. The innkeeper was
waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.
"Don Alvaro--" the man began.
The Immortal threw the man a coin. "Thank you. I will come again," he said
on his way out. He had not ridden one of the Andalusians into town,
preferring a criollo*, slower and smaller but steady animals who could
travel for hours without rest. In fact, he and the young rider he'd brought
with him, Pedrito Onioco, had brought two horses each, to have a spare if
necessary; and now Don Alvaro was glad he had the extra mounts, since he
intended to ride them into the ground if necessary to reach the rancho* as
soon as possible. Nodding to Pedrito, who was ready on his mount and was
holding the reins of the other three horses, Don Alvaro leaped onto his
horse without touching the stirrups. He arranged the saddlebags behind him
and reached for the reins of the already dancing horse beneath him. Then,
his heart in his throat and a prayer on his lips, he ordered, "!Vamonos*,
Pedrito!" and turned his horse towards the west, urging him into a trot,
riding out of the town and away from the rising sun.
**********
La Pampa Humeda, near Buenos Aires, in La Plata (Argentina)
Don Lucas Munoz de Magana pulled on the reins of his Lipizaner and came to a
stop, then squeezed his eyes against the falling darkness, looking carefully
ahead. With an elegant movement, he took his telescope out of his saddlebags
and trained it on the horizon. Riding towards them on the tiny tiny dust
road that stretched at his horse's feet was a rider. And he seemed to be in
a hurry.
"What is it?" Don Carlos asked, stopping his horse, too. For an answer, Don
Lucas handed the telescope to Don Carlos. "Where?" the younger Immortal
asked, putting it up to his eye.
"Straight ahead of us on this so-called road, a man on horseback," Don Lucas
said in his usual gentle voice. "Perhaps this man could tell us if we are on
the right road to Don Alvaro's holding." There were several ranchos* in the
area, and the Indios* they had ... questioned ... the night before had not
been very forthcoming. It was getting quite frustrating, and Don Lucas was,
by this time, in the mood to kill every Indio* he saw. Not that the brothers
didn't usually do that anyway, whenever possible. There was something about
the eyes of a man--or a woman--about to die that excited Don Lucas like
almost nothing else did.
Don Carlos' smile--more a grimace than anything else--was full of meaning,
and Don Lucas understood it immediately. "Maybe he could do much more than
that for us," Don Carlos answered, a sheen of madness in his eyes.
Don Lucas smiled back. After all, it had been a long time since Don Carlos
had raped a mortal *male.* The hovels where they had spent the night before
contained four men, two children and a baby, whom they had immediately shot
and/or beheaded for practice, and three women. They had forced the old woman
to serve them food and drink while Don Carlos took turns with the two
younger women. But that was last night, and here was fresh new prey. And
from the way the man rode, Don Lucas guessed the rider was young. That would
further please his brother. "As you wish. But make it quick, Carlitos.
Remember, we have work to do."
"Yes, I remember," Don Carlos said, returning the telescope to Don Lucas. He
had also noted the youth and strength of the approaching rider. Another
damned Indio*, or perhaps a mestizo*, but that hardly mattered. He could
feel the excitement rise in his mind and body, taking control of him, but he
had to be sure to hide it from the rider. He pulled out a handkerchief,
wiping the sweat from his face, and put a smile on his lips.
By unspoken mutual consent they placed their horses across the road to slow
down the approaching man, but they were ready to ride him down if necessary.
They knew their Lipizaners could outdistance a native horse in a short
burst.
The arriving man slowed down, bringing his horse down to a trot. With some
deference, he greeted the men. "Buenas tardes, caballeros*," he said, once
he was close enough to the Spaniards.
"Buenas tardes, amigo*," Don Lucas answered in his kindest voice. The boy
obviously respected his betters, and Don Lucas would use that against the
savaage. "What is your name, and where are you going in such a great hurry,
may I ask?" As he spoke, he quickly inspected the ranch hand. He could see
that the man was well fed and was riding a good, healthy, well-cared for
horse. He remembered that Don Alvaro took care of his servants. Maybe this
rider came from the rancho* they were seeking.
"My name is Manuel de las Flores, and I have urgent business in Buenos
Aires," the young man answered. He was not suspicious--yet--and the brothers
got a little closer, putting the young man in between their own horses but
leaving him a way out, so as not to spook him too soon. They were used to
this game, working two against one, both on foot and on horseback, and they
acted in concert without needing to consult each other anymore.
"Buenos Aires is almost two days away," Don Carlos spoke for the first time
from the other side of Manuel. "We've just come from there. Tell me, I
wonder if you would be so kind to give us directions to reach Don Alvaro
Duran y Agramonte's rancho*? We're old friends of his," he added, easing a
small hidden iron dagger out of his sleeve and into his left hand.
Whether it was this, or the look in Don Carlos' eyes--something made the
rider immediately suspicious, and he stiffened, giving the Immortals the
information they needed. "Why--?" Manuel began.
Don Carlos stabbed Manuel in the chest with a rapid, savage movement, hoping
not to kill him immediately. Although he would take them dead, he preferred
his victims alive--their shaking and writhing under him made his victory,
his power over them, all the greater.
Manuel gave a great groan, his hands flying to his chest, and his horse
started to run forward, but Don Lucas grabbed the reins, stopping the
animal, and pulled his own mount closer, hemming the smaller horse in. Don
Carlos punched Manuel in the face, and Don Alvaro's man, as they suspected
him to be, slumped backwards, unconscious, swaying in his saddle.
"!Carajo!* These damn riders are glued to their saddles!" Don Carlos
complained roughly. Keeping the knife in his left hand, he reached down and
pulled Manuel's foot out of his left stirrup, pulling upward on that leg,
while Don Lucas pulled him down on the other side. Quickly, Don Carlos,
grabbing a thin rope, dismounted and dragged Manuel off the road and onto
his stomach. With the ease of long practice, he looped the rope around
Manuel's neck, then used the other end to tie Manuel's hands together behind
his back. The rope was taut enough to be uncomfortable and make it difficult
for Manuel to move, but not enough to choke him. That would come later. Don
Carlos sat back onto his feet, panting with effort and anticipation. While
he waited for the young man to regain consciousness, he removed Manuel's
knife, then began to cut Manuel's pants off his body.
Meanwhile, Don Lucas had dismounted and searched through the saddlebags on
Manuel's horse. He found some food and a letter inside. He opened it, and
his eyes widened in surprise as he read it. What good fortune, he thought.
He looked down at his brother, who had untied his own pants and was kneeling
behind Manuel, ready for his assault. The mortal was just regaining
consciousness, and as Don Lucas watched, Manuel started to writhe, trying to
get free. But he immediately realized that any movement would tighten the
cord around his neck, and he calmed down almost at once.
Don Carlos laughed, joyful and superior. "Keep moving, boy. It will just
make it more fun for me." He reached for the rope and pulled, further
choking Manuel, who, obviously in great pain, made some strangling sounds.
Don Lucas said, "Perhaps you'd like to wait. This letter came from the Don's
rancho*, and it is dated today. We can't be too far now. And guess what? The
motherfucker has a daughter."
Don Carlos froze, releasing the rope, and turned to look up at his brother,
a strange look in his eyes. "He what?"
Don Lucas nodded excitedly, glad that he had learned to read. It made so
many things so much easier, and he wished Carlos would learn as well. But
his brother would not be bothered. It was just as well--he could read for
the both of them. "You heard me. The Don is in Buenos Aires right now,
probably looking for us, in fact. How ironic! And the poor bastard left his
rancho* practically unprotected. Left his *daughter* unprotected, and
waiting for him. Lady Fortuna is surely smiling down on us today."
Don Carlos slowly rose; his dark pants fell down around his ankles. "A
daughter? Not a son? Why ... do you think she's one of us?"
<Sometimes Carlitos can be quite quick,> Don Lucas thought approvingly. It
was certainly possible. Why else would Don Alvaro, who didn't think too
highly of women, adopt a female child instead of a male? "The letter," he
explained, pointing at it, "is from a priest who is calling the Inquisition
down on the Don. Don Alvaro would burn if we didn't behead him first, so we
can consider we'd be doing him a favor. But there is no mention of
immortality." He folded the missive and put it into his coat, then took his
brother by the shoulders, adding, "But who cares? She is still *his*
daughter. Let the taste of this revenge linger in your mouth for a moment,
brother. When the Don returns, all he loves will be ashes, we will have
taken his daughter--a white woman, no doubt, we can both have fun with
her--and we will be waiting for him." As he spoke, Don Lucas could see the
wild look in his brother's eyes start to disappear, and the two Immortals
could feel the bond between them once more.
Manuel's gasps as he tried to breathe made them look down at the mortal. "So
what about him?" Don Lucas asked.
Don Carlos grinned. "Just because we'll have the Senorita doesn't mean I
can't enjoy myself now, does it?"
"Of course not, but do hurry. We want to reach the rancho* before the sun
sets, we still have to bury the body--"
"Why bother to bury the body?" Don Carlos asked. He was eager to get back to
Manuel, but he knew his brother always did everything for a good reason, and
he could wait ... for a moment.
Don Lucas clicked his tongue. <Sometimes Carlitos can be quite slow.> "If
we're that close to the rancho* a dead body might attract vultures. We don't
want him found." Because there were other occasions when they didn't want
bodies found, the brothers usually carried a shovel with them. "We'll also
have to bring the horse with us, so he doesn't ride back home and alert
everyone." He studied the animal for a moment. "We can sell it."
Don Carlos nodded, his eyes crazed again, no longer able to wait. "I won't
be long," he said roughly, and knelt down behind the young mortal.
Notes & translations:
?!Y esa puta de India vestida de Senorita!? (Spanish): Who is that Indian
whore dressed like a lady?
caballeros (Spanish): Gentlemen
vamonos (Spanish): let's go
buenas tardes, amigo (Spanish): good afternoon, friend
carajo (Spanish): damn