Disclaimers: The characters from the Queen of Swords series are copyright to Fireworks and Paramount. No infringement is intended nor revenue expected from their use. The story plot and other characters are copyright to the author, Maril Swan.

VS Episode #207

The Last Knight
by Maril

Part One of Three

Prologue

Wheeling, circling, dipping. The huge black bird hovered over the plain, suspended on the hot dry air. Its dread shadow crossed and re-crossed something that lay upon the heat-shimmering earth. Suddenly, it spiralled down toward what looked like a pile of clothing on the trail. From her vantage point on the wagon, she could not make out the object clearly. Marta shuddered as the vulture landed and hopped up to the thing. 'The bird of death and corruption,' she thought in revulsion as the wagon closed the distance. 'Madre de dios! That is not just clothes,' she realised suddenly, as she whipped the team faster toward the bird and its prey. 'It's a person! But still alive?'

The vulture craned its snakish neck forward and plucked at the dark cloth with its pointed beak. The approaching wagon frightened the carrion bird and with a lazy flap of its wide wings, the vulture lifted away and perched in a nearby tree. Its ugly bald head, scrawny neck and dull black covering made it seem fittingly dressed for its grisly, self-appointed task – nature's undertaker, the remover of carrion from the earth. The beady eyes watched as the woman swiftly brought the wagon to a halt and jumped down. Perhaps the human would leave, and it could begin its ghastly feast. It fluttered its shaggy wings and settled on the branch to wait.

Marta bent to the figure sprawled on the sandy plain. An old man, unconscious, nearly dead. His florid face was covered mostly by a dark wide-brimmed hat, and his clothing, though old-fashioned was expensive and well-maintained. 'A don,' Marta mused. 'Someone's father or grandfather.' She touched his parched sunburned cheek lightly with her hand, and drew back, alarmed at its heat. 'What happened to him,' she wondered, brushing back a lock of fine white hair from his forehead. 'Was he waylaid by banditos? Dios mio, poor man. If I had not come along this way, he might have died.' She glanced at the macabre bird, eyeing her sullenly from its perch as if she was stealing its appalling meal. Marta shivered in spite of the heat.

She felt for a pulse under his bony jaw. A feeble throb beat against her fingers. She looked around but there was no one to help her lift the old man into the wagon. She went to the wagon bench and retrieved her canteen. Pouring a small amount on her handkerchief, she squeezed the water out, moistening his chapped lips. Repeating this process several times brought a response finally. He opened his mouth like a baby bird for more water. She poured a capful into his mouth, let him swallow then gave him several more. "Only a little, señor. Just a little at a time," she admonished gently as he tried to grab the canteen to take it to his mouth in his anguished thirst.

His eyes opened and tried to focus on her. Light blue, they regarded her for several seconds with the vacuous look of a newborn child. Finally, he croaked out, "Gracias, mi compadre. I knew you would find me."

Marta was taken aback slightly by his words, but shrugged it off. 'Delirious,' she thought. Aloud she said, "Señor, can you try to stand? I will take you in my wagon to the Alvarado hacienda. It isn't far. We can get a doctor for you and then get you back home." She pulled him to his feet, surprised at how slight he was. Somewhat under her own height, he was lean, his sunburned face gaunt. But there was a certain nobility about him as he drew himself up and, shakily, tried to stand on his own. Marta put his arm over her shoulder, taking most of his weight as she helped him into the wagon. Once she was settled on the bench beside him, he fainted and fell heavily against her. She turned the team around while holding the old man up, and headed back toward the villa.

Act One, Scene 1

Tessa strolled in from her morning ride along the beach, her face flushed from the salty wind and the exhilaration of the exercise. As she passed the guest room on the way to her own bedroom, she stopped and looked in, dumbfounded with surprise. The white linen bedsheet was humped over a form in the bed. The form stirred and a face appeared from under the sheet — an old man, asleep. She stepped back, wrinkling her brow in consternation. 'Who on earth is that?' she wondered. Turning back down the narrow hall, she encountered Marta coming toward her.

"Marta, there's a strange man in our guest room. Who is he?"

"Keep your voice down, querida." Marta took her arm and led her further away from the room. In a hushed voice, she said, "I don't know who he is. I found him on the trail to La Luna Canyon. I went out just after you did, to look for herbs. I saw him lying there, nearly dead. With Pablo's help, I was able to get him into bed and he has been sleeping ever since. That was about an hour ago."

"Should I send for Doctor Helm?" Tessa asked, a certain light glimmering in her eyes and a flush rising to her cheeks.

Marta smiled at her eagerness, but held up a cautionary hand. "We don't know anything about him yet, so if we send for the doctor, it may cause talk. You know how the pueblo is — everyone knows everyone else's business. Let us wait until he wakes and then he can tell us who he is and what happened to him."

With that, Marta went back toward the kitchen. Tessa watched for a moment, uncertain, then went to her room to change out of her riding attire. With a heavy sigh, she fortified herself for the dreaded task ahead --- the inspecting of the hacienda accounts.

Act One, Scene 2

'This can't be right', Tessa thought as she went over the figures again. Abruptly, she stood and went to the office door. Following the corridor to the kitchen, she found Rosa, the housekeeper, preparing their lunch.

"Rosa, please go and tell Señor Casillas I want to speak with him right after lunch."

"Si, Señorita," Rosa said as she laid the knife down on the table. A very colourful salad nestled invitingly in a wooden bowl, next to a variety of fruits and vegetables. As the heavyset woman turned to leave, she said over her shoulder, "Do not pick at the salad. I will serve it when I return."

"She's taking lessons from Marta," Tessa grumbled as she quickly lifted her hand away from the salad and left the kitchen. "Eyes in the back of her head too."

She found Marta in the parlour, working on a needlepoint that was stretched over a frame attached to a wooden stand. The Gypsy woman seemed to be wholly concentrated on the design, though now and then she swiped at the errant curls that strayed into her eyes. Tessa smiled fondly at the picture she made, the comfortable feeling of home that Marta gave her.

As if sensing she was being watched, Marta looked up. She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

Tessa ventured further into the room. "Has the old man awakened or shown any sign of life in the last few hours, Marta?"

"I looked in on him only a while ago, and he had not stirred."

A soft sound from the corridor drew their attention suddenly. The old man emerged from the guest room, staggering and hanging onto the wall for support. Immediately, Marta rushed to his side.

"Señor, you should not be up yet. You may be very ill. Please go back and lie down."

The old man's gaze moved past Marta to Tessa. His blue eyes brightened; his chest expanded in a large sigh. Straightening himself to his full height, somewhat below Tessa's, he smiled widely. He had put on his jacket, an older style which reached just above his belt and was decorated with gold braid designs on the front panels and sleeves. With his pure white hair and pointed goatee, he cut quite an elegant figure. The courtly bow he made toward Tessa cost him an effort and he wheezed as he pulled himself erect.

"Ah, my fair lady. At last I have found you. I thought I would never see you again in this life." His ancient voice croaked and broke over the words; his lungs heaved with the emotion of his sentiments. In spite of his difficulties, the old man seemed determined to move closer to Tessa. He shook off Marta's hand and tottered further down the hall. When he reached Tessa, he place his hand over his chest and sighed deeply again. His eyes were bright with veneration.

"My beautiful Dulcinea," he exclaimed. "You have lived in my dreams and in my heart all these long years. You have never changed, always pure and lovely as a flower. Gracious lady, queen of my heart," he said reverently as he lifted her hand to place a dry kiss softly on its back.

Tessa glanced over his head to Marta who seemed as bemused as she was. At a shake from Marta's head, Tessa chose her next words carefully. "What should I call you, señor?"

The old man gave her a quizzical look, then replied, "Don't you remember me, Dulcinea? I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, your champion, your knight." His face fell and tears welled into his bright eyes. "I called myself 'The Knight of the Sad Countenance', and as I see now, for good reason. My fair Dulcinea has forgotten me." He looked up at Tessa with a hopeless expression. "Is there another who has claimed my place in your heart?"

Tessa gently squeezed his hand. The skin was thin and dry as parchment, the fine bones standing out starkly against the dark tan on his hands. "Dear Sir Knight," she said with a soft smile. "Of course, I haven't forgotten you. I just needed to be reminded what to call you. How many new honours have you received since we last met? What new adventures have you had?"

The old man turned to Marta. "Ask my squire. He knows everything." He gestured to Marta and said, "Sancho saved my life."

Tessa stifled a sudden urge to laugh at the look on Marta's face, frozen as it was into an expression of complete astonishment. "Yes, 'Sancho'," Tessa prompted, "tell me of your adventures." For the only time Tessa could remember, Marta seemed at a loss for words.

Finally, she stammered, "Another time, señorita. First, the don must take some nourishment and rest." With a firm hand under his arm, Marta began to lead the don toward the dining room. "We are having lunch in a few minutes. Please join us for our meal."

She settled 'Don Quixote' in a chair then placed a plate of salad in front of him. His bushy white eyebrows drew down over his brow and he croaked, "What is this? Rabbit food? Where is the meat and potatoes?" He glared angrily at Marta, and exclaimed, "A man needs red meat for his meals, Sancho. How many times must I tell you? Get me something to eat!" With that, he sat back, folding his arms across his chest, eyeing Marta truculently.

'How she must be biting her tongue not to say anything', Tessa thought. It was all she could do not to giggle at the way Marta's face turned red to the roots of her auburn hair. Even it seemed redder to Tessa's eyes. With a warm smile, Tessa said, "Señor Quixote, please forgive the meagreness of the fare. We usually have our meat at the evening meal. I'm sure 'Sancho' will be sure you have all the meat you want for dinner."

Immediately, the old don was apologetic. "Dulcinea, my dear, please forgive my outburst at your table. Whatever you offer is food for the gods if it is served in your company." He lifted his wineglass and saluted her with it, then took a sip. With a slight grimace, the don picked up his cutlery and began to eat.

Act One, Scene 3

After lunch, Marta tucked the old don back into bed in the guest room. Though he protested irritably, when she had finally pulled the sheet over him, he sighed deeply and fell asleep. 'Like a baby,' she thought, 'an overgrown baby.' She hung his jacket in the armoire, and laid his trousers over a chair back. For several minutes, she studied the old man as his spare chest rose and fell ever so lightly, scarcely causing a movement in the covers. 'Somewhere, someone must be looking for him. A wealthy man, probably the owner of a hacienda. Surely, someone is missing him.'

She reviewed in her mind what she knew about him and realised it did not amount to much. He was very old, and suffering from some sort of delusion. 'Living inside a book, like Don Quixote.' She stifled a laugh. 'And he thinks I am his squire, Sancho Panza.'

With a fond touch, she moved a lock of white hair off his gaunt face. 'He reminds me of Tessa's grandfather,' she thought wistfully. She compressed her lips at the memory. 'He had pneumonia, and his doctors would not let me near him. They bled him and gave him drugs that did not work. I could perhaps have helped him, but they would not let me do anything.'

She shook off the melancholy of that reminiscence, and tucked the sheet around the old man more securely. 'I don't know if there is anything physically wrong with the don. But he seems quite obsessed with Tessa, or should I say, Dulcinea.' Marta chuckled softly at the thought of Tessa as the heroine in Cervantes' classic books. 'Suits her,' she thought as she crossed the room and quietly closed the door behind her.

Act One, Scene 4

Tessa stood up as Señor Casillas entered the room. She began to pace agitatedly. Finally, she said, "The latest tally of our cattle shows there are at least twenty less than there should be since the last count. And with all the calves that were born in the spring, the number should be much higher than this." Tessa pointed to a spot on the account book and her foreman moved closer to take a look. She could see he was nervous, but she was angry, holding herself in check by a bare thread. "How do you account for the loss of all those cattle? Are they being stolen from my herd?"

Her voice was sharper than she meant it to be and she noticed him recoil from it. 'But,' she reassured herself, 'if my father was here, he would be at least as demanding over this loss. I must not let my workers think I am weak or careless.'

Casillas shook his head in uncertainty and confusion. "Señorita Alvarado, I cannot explain it. But there are pumas roaming the canyons and plains, cattle wander and get lost, sometimes they just die somewhere and we don't find them. Many things can happen to cattle." His tanned face betrayed fear. The whites of his eyes seemed more vivid, his mouth twitched and a muscle worked in his jaw. In his grimy leather jacket and pants, he smelled of cattle and horses. He held his battered sombrero in his hands, nervously kneading it in his fingers.

Tessa's dark eyes snapped in frustration. "I have a small herd, under a hundred head. The loss of these cattle is quite costly to me. I will get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, order the herd to be gathered into La Luna Canyon and guarded day and night. Do you understand, Señor Casillas?"

The foreman glanced down at dusty boots, a flush of chagrin rushing into his face. "Si, señorita, it will be done as you say."

He turned and marched from the office, leaving Tessa feeling a twinge of guilt at her harshness. 'But, after all,' she rationalized, 'I hired him for his expertise with cattle. He should be aware of what is happening to the herd. I wonder if other dons are losing cattle also. I must go into Santa Elena to find out, and...' she grimaced at the thought, '...probably ask Colonel Montoya for help with this problem.'

Act One, Scene 5

Tessa laughed until tears streamed from her eyes. The old don's eyes twinkled with merriment as he watched her fondly, obviously cherishing the enjoyment his stories had given her. Marta studied him covertly and was pleased with his speedy recovery from his misadventure earlier that day. Tonight, at the evening meal, he seemed quite animated by Tessa's company. The meal, too, was more to his taste, she thought with a quiet smile. He had indulged in the beef and polenta with an excellent appetite, and had several glasses of rioja, complimenting her, as Sancho, many times for the food and wine.

She set down her cutlery. Rosa stepped forward to remove the used plates and flatware from the table. Marta waited for Tessa to suggest they go into the parlour for the coffee. It was a ritual they had kept for years, a chance to sit and talk over the day's events quietly in the sanctity of their private world. Some evenings, Marta would play her violin for Tessa. Other times, Tessa would strum some folk ballads she had learned, or a song she had written herself.

"We'll have our coffee in the parlour, Rosa." Tessa arose and waited courteously for the old knight to shuffle to his feet. She took his arm and led him through the double doors into the elegantly appointed room. "Please take this comfortable chair, señor," she said, gesturing to a brocaded easy chair near the fire. In spite of the heat of the day, the evening had turned cool with a brisk breeze off the ocean. A small fire snapped in the fireplace, taking the chill off the large room. Tessa seated herself opposite on a sofa and Marta sat beside her.

For several minutes, only the crackling of the fire broke the silence in the room. Then Rosa entered with a carafe of coffee and three cups on a large tray. Next to the cups was a plate of sweetmeats and some chocolate. Rosa set the tray on the sidetable and poured out the coffee, handing it around. At a gesture of dismissal from Tessa, and "Thank you Rosa, that will be all for tonight," the woman rolled her ample weight to the door and went out, closing it behind her.

"Would you care for some brandy with your coffee, señor," Tessa asked. She arose and went to the credenza where a decanter and several glasses twinkled in the firelight. Half-filling two round glasses, she returned and handed one to the don, keeping the other for herself and resumed her place by Marta.

"What about my squire? Sancho likes brandy quite well, maybe too well," the old man chuckled. " You may give him a drink. I will allow it."

Tessa waited, highly amused to see how Marta would get out of this. She seldom touched strong drink except under extreme duress. She nudged Marta lightly with her elbow. "Yes, 'Sancho'. Please help yourself to the brandy. It is of the best quality, just arrived from France."

"I thank you, but I do not care for any brandy tonight. The coffee will be fine." With a quick reproachful glance at Tessa, she resumed sipping at the fragrant black drink.

"I am curious, Don Quixote," Tessa began. "How did you come to be on the trail today where 'Sancho' found you? What adventure befell you today?"

His face contorted with strain, and paled slightly. "I was on my way to the castle of an enchanted princess, when a gang of brigands swooped down upon me. Though I was outnumbered, I nearly vanquished them all when a felon struck me from behind. A dastardly act. After that, I remember nothing until my squire found me." His brilliant blue eyes lit up with anger as he looked at Marta. "Where were you when I needed you, Sancho? Now I shall never get there in time to break the spell and the princess is doomed forever." He fell into a melancholy silence, brooding over his glass of brandy.

"Perhaps another knight will rescue her," Tessa suggested with a soft smile.

"No," said the old man sorrowfully, "This land is filled with barbaric men with no honour. I am the last knight."

Later that evening after Marta had tucked the old don into bed, she joined Tessa in her room. She found Tessa brushing out her long dark hair, while gazing off into space. Marta's entrance made her start.

"What are we going to do with him, Marta?" she sighed. Tessa paused in mid-stroke, and set down her brush. "He doesn't seem to know reality from fantasy. We can't even get him to tell us coherently what happened to him today." She watched Marta's reflection in the mirror as the other woman sat on a nearby chair.

"Well, at least his health is good. He seems to have recovered quickly from his ordeal. I think we must take him into Santa Elena and see if anyone recognises him." Marta smiled wistfully. "He is such a fine gentleman. I hope we can find his people for him and get him home safely. Does he not remind you of your grandfather on your mother's side?"

"Now that you mention it, he does." Tessa turned with a warm glance. "My grandfather was very fond of you, Marta." She laughed and added, "He was always chiding me that I would grow up to be a Gypsy. Maybe he was right." Tessa regarded her companion fondly for a moment, then continued, "We will go into the pueblo tomorrow, Marta. Besides finding Don Quixote's family, I have some urgent business with Colonel Montoya."

"What business could you have with him?" Marta asked sharply. She stood and began to roam around the room. Mention of Montoya always seemed to make her agitated and nervous.

"Many of my cattle are missing, according to the latest count. I'm sure someone is stealing them. I want to find out if other haciendas are losing cattle also. I had Señor Casillas round up our herd and place them in La Luna Canyon for protection."

Continued in Part Two of Three