PROLOGUE
The de la Vega Hacienda, 1808
Don Alejandro de la Vega walked through the elegant whitewashed rooms of his hacienda. Three generations of de la Vegas had owned this hacienda and worked the rancho, the largest in California. He carried the heritage of his family’s service to the royal family of Spain with honor. Though of advanced years, he walked with his back straight, pride and energy in every step. He had silver hair, neatly brushed back, dark eyes, and aristocratic features with a carefully manicured mustache. He sang to himself, his melodious voice rising and falling with emphasis as he shuffled through the papers in his hands. He paused in his singing only to glance in a room and call, “Diego?” His face had lines of one who smiled easily and often. Indeed, laughter was a welcome guest of the de la Vega hacienda. He finally stopped in front of the huge fireplace, placing the papers on the stone mantle.
“Diego! He is never around when I need him!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. He had more letters for Diego to carry with him to Madrid, where he would study at the university. Don Alejandro had many friends and family in Madrid, and important people at court for Diego to become acquainted with. He had to be sure Diego didn’t spend all his time with his books! They would expect a lot from de la Vega. He shook his head. “Diego, always sneaking off to read some book, or write poetry, or conduct some smelly experiment!”
He self-consciously smoothed the front of his dark-brown vest. This was a new suit, commissioned from the tailor to replace his favorite one which Diego had ruined trying to demonstrate some “special” ink, that would disappear when heat was applied. What he had succeeded in creating was a compound that turned brown cloth to a splotchy gray-green. He had exacted a promise from Diego to never experiment with his clothes again. “Always wasting time with those useless experiments,” he muttered to himself. He tilted his head to one side, lifting his eyebrows. “And I suppose I should stop talking to myself.” He grinned and walked into the entry hall, singing.
The front door opened, and Felipe came in. The dark-eyed, handsome lad had been staying with the de la Vegas for a couple of years now. Diego had been to Guadalajara for a family funeral, when he came upon a battle between rebel forces and the military. He had found Felipe on the battlefield beside his dead parents, deafened by the noise and speechless with shock. All attempts to find his family had met with failure, so he had brought him home. Since then, they had tried every doctor in the territory, but his deafness and lack of speech seemed to be permanent. Smiling at Felipe, Don Alejandro spoke carefully so he could read his lips.
“Do you know where Diego is?” Felipe pointed to the door he had come in.
“He is outside?”
Felipe nodded, smiling. Patting the boy on the shoulder in thanks, Don Alejandro went out the beautiful carved wood-and-glass door. He walked around the courtyard to the back gate. Spotting his son by the stables, he swiftly strode over there.
“Diego! I have told you before to stay away from that colt! He is too unpredictable, and dangerous!”
He walked to where his tall, slender son leaned on the fence, watching the black colt raging inside. The colt was lathered with sweat in the oppressive heat of the California summer. His thick, unruly forelock, bleached tan on the ends by the sun, hung down in front of his eyes. He shook his elegant black head at them and reared, shrilling his defiance. Suddenly, he plunged toward the fence where they stood, stopping only inches away to whirl and run away. Don Alejandro had stepped back, but Diego had not moved. Some of the lather from the colt’s neck hit his cheek, and he wiped it away without taking his eyes off the colt.
“You see what I mean?!” Don Alejandro threw his hands up in the air in disgust.
“What will you do with him, Father?” Diego asked quietly, his dark-blue eyes studying the animal.
Don Alejandro, in turn, studied his son. He was handsome, this son of his, with his dark hair, expressive face, and caballero’s mustache. He had his grandfather’s blue eyes, and his mother’s intelligence and temperament. He had also inherited her love of music, art, and books, her gift of languages, and her compassion. But he didn’t see any of himself in Diego. Perhaps it was to the best; he seemed to have not inherited some traits, such as the infamous de la Vega temper. That temper had gotten Don Alejandro into many a duel in his turbulent youth. Diego was sensitive and even-tempered, despite occasional moodiness, content to read, paint, play the piano, or write all day. This worried his father, though. It was not a perfect world, and a man needed a strong arm as well as a strong heart to survive. Diego needed to see more of the world, the good and the bad. That was why he was sending his son to the University of Madrid. He had convinced Diego to go, by talking about the sciences and other knowledge available, but he had also arranged with his old friend—Sir Edmund Kendall, the well-known European saber master—for a different sort of education.
Diego glanced at his father, puzzled at his unusual silence. “I don’t know, Diego,” he finally answered. “He is the last son of Furioso, a gift from the royal family! He was to be a breeding stallion, and to improve my bloodlines. But if he cannot be handled…I don’t want to be breeding that temperament, no matter how good his lineage.”
“Furioso was reputed to be a spirited horse.”
“Yes, but he could be handled!” Don Alejandro paced back and forth for a moment, thinking. “You know, Diego, every sire marks his offspring with a part of himself. Furioso gave his colts his spirit, his excellent confirmation, his stamina. By the time this colt is three, he will be dapple-gray, like his father.” Passion for his subject caused him to gesture with every statement. “Do you know that every one of his foals has his swirls, in the fur on his neck? You cannot see them now, but little Diablo there has them.” He paused and shrugged. “Ahh, but perhaps there is too much of his sire in him.”
“Maybe he just needs time,” Diego said, thoughtfully. Don Alejandro was not sure if his son was speaking of the colt, or himself. He sighed and shook his head. He acknowledged that Diego was intelligent and clever; he had a gift for studies and the sciences. He was an excellent artist, musician, and chess player, and a dutiful son. But at his age, Don Alejandro was already the victor of many a duel. No challenge he would not take, no flashing-eyed señorita he would not pursue! (And no trouble he was avoid, if he was strictly honest!) Diego, it seemed, was content to sit with his nose in a book while the world passed him by. Where is my mark on my son? Don Alejandro wondered, wistfully. It did not occur to him that the restless energy that had propelled him to action in his youth, was expressed in Diego by his relentless pursuit of knowledge. He had often found Diego staying up all night and skipping meals, because of some intriguing bit of research. As a man of action, he found this bewildering.
“Come, there is only a week before you leave for Spain. I have much yet to tell you.”
ZZZZZZ
That evening, Don Alejandro looked up from his letters to see that Diego was no longer seated in the library. Taking the letters he had written, he went in search of his son. He looked in on the sleeping Felipe, a tender smile crossing his face. The young, deaf boy had quickly become very dear to him; he had agreed completely with Diego bringing him home. They would keep each other company while Diego was away.
He went next to Diego’s room, with his books and drawings and paintings and “things”…”experiments,” he called them. All Don Alejandro knew was that they usually were messy. Diego’s bed, however, was empty. This was not surprising; he had often found Diego wandering the house or out in the garden at night. He usually just checked on him and left him alone. He had a feeling he knew where Diego was, tonight. Quietly, he opened the garden door and slipped out. He could see Diego at the corral where the colt was. He walked closer, stopping to watch. When he saw Diego open the gate and go in the corral, his first instinct was to shout, “No!” Even a yearling colt could use his hooves to dangerous effect. He stilled himself with a effort. “Well, let him try,” he muttered to himself.
Gleaming in the moonlight, the colt moved closer, step by step. Diego stood motionless. Don Alejandro could hear him talking softly to the colt. The colt stretched his neck out and touched Diego on the arm, immediately whirling and running to the far side of the corral, snorting in fear and defiance. Diego stood motionless, still talking in that low voice. Step by step, the colt cautiously returned to run his nose up Diego’s shirt. Feeling bolder, he crowded up to Diego, who slowly brought one hand up to scratch his neck. At the first touch, the colt jerked away, but was soon back, leaning into the scratching with ecstasy. Don Alejandro watched the colt grow bolder. Finally, he gave Diego a sharp nip, just as he would another horse he wanted to dominate. Diego immediately said, “No,” firmly, and turned and walked away, stopping with his back to the colt. Surprised, the colt looked after him, then slowly, with head lowered, walked over to Diego. He tried once more to nip, and after receiving the same treatment, accepted his place in this herd of two. And so, the colt’s training began, without rope, without fight, and in the language of signs the horses themselves use. “Excellent, my son,” Don Alejandro murmured.
Don Alejandro watched Diego work with the colt for a few more minutes before walking to the fence. By then, Diego had the colt following and stopping on command, his only reward the praise in Diego’s voice and a scratch on the neck. Seeing Diego’s father at the fence, the colt laid his ears back. Moving between the two of them, he turned and aimed a kick at Don Alejandro.
Don Alejandro chuckled softly. “He has a lot of spirit for a yearling colt. I don’t think he wants me near you.”
“Father, what are you doing out here at this time of night?” Diego asked, amusement in his voice.
“I could ask you the same thing, except that I see you have been taming our black devil here.” His pride in his son was obvious. Don Alejandro had once been known as the best horseman in the king’s army, had been riding since he was big enough to sit in the saddle, and had trained his own horses all his life. Here was something his son had inherited from him!
Diego smiled at the colt. “He’s no devil; he just demands the ‘choice’ to obey. Like any thinking, reasoning being.” He walked to his father at the fence, the colt following. Diego scratched little Diablo’s neck as the colt eyed Don Alejandro warily, snorting softly.
“Give me your hand, Father,” Diego said softly. Don Alejandro raised an eyebrow, but slowly extended his hand. Diego covered his hand with his own, then brought them both to the nose of the colt. He sniffed loudly, his ears working back and forth as he sorted out the two different scents. He had bonded with Diego, but he wasn’t sure about the other. The colt could recognize the similarity between the scents. Finally, the colt decided Don Alejandro was, after all, a member of the herd. The colt stepped closer, sniffing Don Alejandro’s coat. Diego placed his father’s hand on the colt’s neck, and Don Alejandro started scratching.
“Well, you are not such a little devil after all, are you?” he said, pleased. At the musical sound of his voice, the colt extended his nose up to Don Alejandro’s face with such a comical expression that he had to laugh. The colt jumped back with a snort, but his curiosity won out and he was soon back to nosing the buttons on his jackets. “I think that’s enough, young man,” Don Alejandro scolded the colt. “And you, too, Diego; it’s getting late.”
“Yes, Father.” Diego gave a final scratch to the colt, and hopped over the fence. As they walked back to the house, the colt whinnied after them.
Don Alejandro watched Diego’s nightly sessions with the colt over the next week. When he had questioned Diego as to why he worked with the colt at night, he had simply said it was cooler then, and fewer distractions. The colt would allow him to rub him everywhere, pick his feet up, followed him without halter or rope. Diego carved a bit from dried remolacha, and with a horsehair headstall and cart reins, soon had the colt turning, stopping, and backing at the lightest touch. When Diego was there, the colt was a perfect gentleman, and much admired by their fellow Californians. Should anyone approach him when Diego was not there, they were greeted by bared teeth and a pair of well-aimed heels.
Two days after Diego left for Spain, the colt disappeared, the evidence of his going left in hair and blood on the top rail of the fence.
END OF PROLOGUE