Old Wounds
by Neil Burns

It was a pleasantly warm day and Colonel Montoya was riding through the sun-baked desert, a gentle zephyr dancing in his hair. He came upon Hacienda Alvarado and was riding up to the front door to pay his respects when he heard a banshee-like shriek from the barn. Raising a curious eyebrow, he rode to the barn and dismounted as a peon held his horse. He entered and saw some desks and chairs and a blackboard filled with letters and words in English. Marta, the peons and Tessa Alvarado were sitting in the chairs and Dr. Helm standing at the blackboard smiling at Montoya. Tessa's head was on her folded arms.

"Ingles is so frustrating!" Tessa moaned.

"There, there," Helm smirked as he patted her head in mock consolation. "Actually, during your sojourn into the future and Stiles' visit, it is not that bad. However, your Rom is nothing to write home about."

"What is wrong with her Rom, doctor?" Marta queried arching an eyebrow.

"She can, with your help, stumble through it passably without embarassing herself too much. But to be fluent, she almost needs to have been born a Gypsy."

"What a horrible fate that would be," Montoya smirked dryly.

The occupants turned and the peons immediately stood and bowed as Marta merely graced him with a cool stare.

"Colonel," Helm smiled. "What a surprise. To what do we owe the displeasure of your company?"

"Your sense of humor is delightful as always. I came here to pay my respects to Senorita Alvarado when I heard this awful shriek."

"That was me," Tessa replied. "Dr. Helm is helping me with English in honor of your distinguished American guest arriving in two days."

"Remind me to cut Grisham's tongue out. Nobody was supposed to know. Anyway, having a problem I gather?"

"Ingles is so confusing. It has rules but breaks them. How can anyone possibly learn it?"

"If it's any consolation," Helm interjected, "I had a helluva time with Spanish when I was younger. Who is this distinguished American, Colonel? If it isn't prying."

"You may know him from La Guerra de la Revolucionario. John Adams, I believe is his name."

Helm's smiled broadened dripping acid. "Well, Colonel. Quite a coup-de-grace. We look forward to meeting him."

"Until later, Dr. Helm," Montoya bowed, "I would suggest your students study very hard if they wish not to embarrass themselves." The last sentence was spoken in smooth, cultured, near-perfect English with only a light trace of an accent.

"Dr. Helm," Marta queried. "Who is this John Adams?"

"One of the Founding Fathers, Marta. One of the Chief Revolutionary leaders who signed the Constitution and, later, became the Second President of The United States of America."

The class resumed and the students were grasping the words with varying competency. Helm smirked at having such a prominent figure visiting the humble "charming little hamlet", as Montoya occassionally described it.

It was a somewhat, warm dry afternoon as Montoya and Captain Grisham waited in dress uniforms for John Adams to arrive. Grisham shifted uncomfortably, having fled the States to avoid being executed for falsfying orders and murdering the commanding officer. To see Adams would bring that up again and Grisham had spent the better part of several months to put it out of his mind. Now he was waiting for his past to confornt him and that bastard Montoya was enjoying his discomfort! Perhaps I could arrange for Grisham to return to the States to, how do they say, "face the music"?

"Grisham!" a raspy growl caught his attentioned. Grisham's back stiffened.

"Hello, Wiggins," Grisham replied sarcastically at the athletic-looking Captain riding on the black stallion.

"Long time, no see."

"Not long enough, ya lousy sonofabitch! So this is where you're hiding out."

"Nice to see you still have your sunny disposition as well."

"What's wrong? You scared to take your medicine?"

"Is there a problem, Captain?" a low, dignified voice asked.

The Captains and Montoya turned and saw a carriage drawn by two white palominos and escorted by four soldiers dressed in United States Army uniforms. The passenger was a distinguished, silver-haired, strong-featured gentlemen. John Adams! One of the soldiers helped the spry octogenerian out of the carriage. Montoya snapped off a proper bow. The two men shook hands.

"Senor El Presidente," he greeted oozingly. "Bienvenidos al Santa Helena. I am the military Governor Colonel Luis Ramirez Montoya. It is an honor, sir."

"The honor's all mine, sir," Adams smiled, his voice carried a distinct New England accent. "I am flattered by your gracious invitation."

"My aide-de-camp, Captain Marcus Grisham who is apparently not unknown to your escorts."

"An honor to meet you, sir," Grisham saluted trying not to appear nervous. "Yes," Adams mused. "I wonder what your man and Captain Wiggins were discussing so vigorously?"

"It is a long story, sir."

"Captain John Wiggins of the United States Army 5th Corps, sir," Wiggins saluted properly. Montoya returned it with dry amusement. "The man is a deserter."

"And worse from what I hear," Montoya observed insouciantly He was enjoying Grisham's discomfort enormously. Every delicious second of his sometime rebellious right-hand man sweating was music to his ears.

"I am curious, Colonel," Adams intoned, his hawk-like eyes studying over Grisham. "Exactly how does a United States Captain wind up being an aide-de-camp to a Spanish officer?"

"It is, how you say, 'a long story'. Here comes somebody you should meet."

The men turned to see Tessa approaching with the Gypsy Marta by her side. Stopping before Adams, she beamed amiably and politely curtsied, her hand offered in greeting.

"It is an honor to meet you, Senor Adams," Tessa's English was decent though with a prominent Spanish accent. "I am Maria Teresa Alvarado, daughter of Don Rafael Tobias del Leon y Alvarado. This is my duena Marta."

"The pleasure is mine, Señorita Alvarado," Adams smiled as he took her hand and bowed his head over it. "May I say, after a long dull journey it is nice to have such a lovely vision grace my presence."

"You are too kind, Senor Adams. Perhaps you and your men would like to join me for dinner tonight? If Colonel Montoya has not objection."

"Such a gracious offer," Montoya beamed. "Of course, I do not object, Senorita Alvarado. Come, Senor Adams. Let us give you a tour."

Montoya put a friendly supporting arm around Adams and he and Tessa began to walk off. Two of the soldiers dismounted to join the trio.

"What about Captain Grisham?" Adams asked, noticing the ex-patriate's distraught visage. "He can take care of himself. Besides, I can tell he and Captain Wiggins are old friends. I figured I would, how you say, 'let them catch up on old times'?"

The group left for the cantina as Grisham stared distraught after them. That bastard Montoya! I am going to get him for this! He turned to face Wiggins and the remaining soldiers regarding him in something less than an amiable manner.

"So," he smiled. "Any of you up for going to my place for a few rounds of poker?"

The dinner party at Hacienda Alvarado was lively, to say the least. Per usual, Marta was a triumph as a cook and praise was flowing. Tessa sat between Grisham and Wiggins so they would not kill each other. Robert Helm was also at the party, curious about the man who helped let The Colonies to throw off George III's yoke of oppression.

"It seems foolish," Tessa stated drinking her wine. "All this nonsense over some tea? If the tax was a pittance, why not just pay it?"

"A matter of principle, Señorita Alvarado," Adams replied.

"What principle? Disobeying your sovereign?"

"Precisely," Helm smiled. "He felt, along with the other people of Massachusettes, where this took place, that Governor Hutchinson did an inadequate job representing them."

"He did, Dr. Helm," Wiggins replied. "Taxing the colonies without giving them any say in the matter?"

"George was the ruler of your colonies," Montoya put in. "He therefore had the Divine Right to tax however much and how often he wished."

"It doesn't matter, Colonel," Grisham interjected. "It's over. We're free and if the Brits want to cry over spilt milk, let them."

Helm sipped his wine and took a few puffs of his cigar. Normally, Tessa did not permit smoking in the hacienda, but because it was a special occassion, she made an exception.

"Well, Mr. Adams," Helm gave a mock-polite bow. "All due repsect, you were bloody lucky that Lafayette saved your asses. Otherwise, you, Washington, Franklin, Jefferson and the like would've swung from the gallows in Trafalgar Square for commiting treason."

"Well, Dr.Helm," Wiggins replied. "Then it is a good thing we won."

"Yeah, doc," Grisham mused. "Do I detect sour grapes?"

"I'm not bitter," Helm replied. "Just that I'm sure our two countries could've tried to work out our differences without violence."

"We tried that, Dr. Helm," Adams intoned. "Unfortunately, George refused to be reasonable. Señorita Alvarado I must say your maid is quite a cook."

"Gracias, Senor Adams," Tessa smiled, glad the topic switched to more familiar territory. "She has been with me since I was seven."

"Any objection to my borrowing her to help the Mrs. in the kitchen?"

"A generous suggestion, senor. However, Marta's English is not sufficent enough to help you nor am I sure how tolerant your culture is of Gypsies."

"Excuse me, Señorita Alvarado?" Wiggins puffed. "I was wondering where the man of the house is?"

"He is dead, Captain."

"My condolonces, ma'm."

"Yes," Grisham chirped feigning sympathy. "He fell off a horse while he was out riding one day. Just a damn shame."

"BULLSHIT! You probably shot the poor sonofabitch in the back, Grisham! Like you did to Major Cole at Stone Mountain!"

Tessa's eyes narrowed slightly at this. She knew Montoya had ordered her father killed and somewhat suspected that maybe Grisham might have at least known, but this was the first time he was actually being accused of being the triggerman. I better examine this possiblity more closely. Another spirited hour or so passed before everyone decided to head home and call it a night. So many old wounds tonight. Captaina Grisham and his old outfit. The Ingles and Americanos. My father. I should see if I can not maybe heal some of them.

It was a clear starry night and Captain Wiggins walked out of the cantina considerably richer, having won a very sizeable amount of money in poker. He found the dinner and the hostess quite intriguing. Yet, the night was ruined with Marcus Grisham there. His mind flashed back to the War of 1812 and his unit and the British were fighting at Stone Mountain, Georgia where it was caught in an ambush and nearly wiped out. The unit retreated yet one of the junior officers, Marcus Grisham sent word not only did the unit only suffered a few casualties, but that the British were driven off. When the commanding officer, Major Elijah Cole, got wind he confronted Grisham only to be shot in the back when he turned to report.

"Your money, gringo!" A harsh voice hissed behind him. "Or your life!"

"I am sorry, sir," Wiggins replied seeing a band of thieves appear out of nowhere and surround him. "I won this money and I plan to keep it."

"That is the wrong answer!"

"It's the only answer you're going to get."

Suddenly, Wiggins was attacked ruthlessly and knocked to the ground. A flurry of kicks and punches rained down on him as he quickly found himself disarmed and helpless. The leader stood over him sneering.

"That was a warning! Hand over your money or DIE!"

"The Captain said no, senor," a soft alto purred behind the group.

"The Queen of Swords!"

Wiggins turned his head with the group to see this "Queen of Swords" and saw a lithe-yet-curvaceous figure in black regarding the activity with amusement and pity. Her face was half covered by a mask of fine Spanish lace. Three men attacked with their knives drawn. The Queen simply outparried them and sent them flying into a water trough. Two more attacked only to have the Queen do a split and nail them downstairs, doubling them over, and dropping them with uppercuts. The leader and the masked woman crossed swords and parried and counterparried all along the street with the Captain watching in amazement. This little lady can swing a mean blade! Finally, the Queen sidestepped him, slicing his throat in the process. She took out the Tarot card and dropped it on the corpse then returned to help a bemused and grateful Wiggins up.

"Buenos noches, Capitan," she purred. "You are not hurt?"

"Just my pride, little lady," Wiggins replied. "Thanks for rescuing me."

"It is my pleasure. The streets are filled with bandits."

"I'll be careful then. Thank you, Queen?"

"Good night, Captain. A safe walk home and pleasant dreams."

The Queen hopped onto Chico waiting nearby and rode off. Wiggins dusted himself off and checked to make sure his winnings were still there. He then returned to Montoya's villa where he and Adams slept in adjoining bedrooms. He entered to find a man sitting at his desk, dressed in expensive clothes.

"You're late." the cultivated voice was British.

"My apologies," Wiggins replied. "I was accosted by thieves but was rescued by a masked woman."

"Really?" a dry smile. "I thought you were supposed to be the knight in shining armor. Anyway, is it set?"

"Yes. Tommorrow afternoon, during an execution the Colonel planned I will shoot that bastard Adams as Grisham yells "Fire!""

"Good. Then, your family and other Loyalists will be forever grateful."

The Queen happened to be outside the window listening to this. Wiggins is a traitor! I must warn Senor Adams about this! But then, her thoughts turned to the man Wiggins was talking to. The British visitor. Is it Robert? It can not be! The Queen slunk into Adam's room and gently touched her dagger to his neck.

"What the--" he was cut off by a gloved hand covering his mouth.

"Shhhh. Senor Adams," the Queen whispered softly. "I am a friend. Your life is in danger tommorrow."

"Who are you?" Adams demanded, removing her hand. "How did you get in?"

"The Queen of Swords. Your Captain was attacked by thieves and I rescued him."

"Well, how nice--"

"However, just now I overheard him speaking with an Ingles conspiring to kill you tommorrow afternoon."

"My dear. I don't know what--"

"Mr. Adams?" Wiggins' voice called through the door. "Are you talking to somebody?"

The Queen got up from the bed and went to the window, turning back.

"Remember. Do not trust Captain Wiggins."

With that, she disappeared out the window and into the night as Wiggins entered.

The next afternoon was a fairly warm one with Sol smiling benevolently on the gathering spectators and the soldiers cleaning their rifles. Montoya and Adams were sitting center row with Grisham on Montoya's right and Wiggins on Adam's left. Helm was sitting one row below them. He turned to the men above him.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Helm smiled. "Sleep well?"

"Very well, Dr. Helm," Montoya replied. "I assume you did?"

"Yes, Colonel. Quite." "Colonel," Adams inquried. "Who is this Queen of Swords?"

"Queen of Swords?" Montoya's eyebrows arched. Not her again!

"Yes. She visited me last night with some notion there would be an attempt on my life, Colonel."

"That is preposterous. You are as safe as in your mother's arms. She is a rabblerouser and a blight that will be expunged."

"She visited you?" Helm smiled. "Interesting. She does that to me a lot."

"Maybe she finds you irresistable, doc," Grisham smirked.

Wiggins scanned the crowd gathering as if calculating. He turned to Montoya who was engaged with Adams.

"Excuse me, Colonel?" he interrupted. "I just noticed that Señorita Alvarado and her maid aren't here."

"Executions do not agree with the senorita," Montoya oozed oilily. "Besides, the condemned is a Gypsy and the senorita's duena can not bear to see one of her own be executed. Grisham?"

Grisham saluted and walked down the elevated benches and summoned the firing squad together.

"Soldiers! Bring the condemned forward!"

The six soldiers marched toward the jail and waited until the keeper brought out two Gypsy girls about fourteen and escorted them to the waiting posts. Adams' mouth dropped.

"For God's sake, " he spouted. "They're children!"

"They stole food," Montoya replied, "and assaulted my men. Besides, they are Gypsies, the lowest form of life on Earth. Two less will make no difference."

"What about a trial?" Wiggins put in also unamused at the concept of two teenage girls being executed.

"Captain. This is untamed, savage country. We do not have the luxury of a court system where one can get reperesentation. Therefore justice must be swift and decisive. Grisham! At your leisure."

Grisham led the two Gypsies to the posts and tied them to them. He offered cigarettes and blindfolds, both refused. He walked back to the soldiers and raised his sword.

"Soldiers! Prepare!" The soldiers lined up and loaded their rifles. "Ready! Aim!"

"What do you know about justice, Colonel?" that voice!

A dagger flew from nowhere and caught one soldier in the throat. Everyone looked up and saw the Queen of Swords, her amused, pitying half-smile present. She leaped onto one of the soldiers, snapping his neck. Grisham smiled as he drew his sword.

"It's always a pleasure, dearie," he purred. "How you make this nothing town less boring."

"Do you say this to all your lady friends?" the Queen replied as she drew her own.

The two battled as if it were life-and-death. Parrying. Counterparrying. No advantage could be kept. The crowd oohed and ahhed at the beautiful yet brutal display of swordplay, fighting and acrobatics. Grisham was the power fencer using his strength and size advantage to overpower his opponent yet his technique was crude. However, the Queen dazzled with her pantherlike quickness and skill. Suddenly, Wiggins stood up and drew his gun against Adam's head.

"John Adams!" He announced with vitriolic solemnity. "You are guilty of treason against King George III!"

"Captain Wiggins!" Adams demanded. "What in God's name are you doing?"

"Justice! For forcing my family and others who supported the TRUE authority, His Royal Majesty, to leave their homes forever!"

"Captain Wiggins a Loyalist?" Helm replied as he tackled Wiggins and struggled to get the gun from him. Wiggins knocked Helm aside and reaimed his gun at Adams.

Suddenly, a gunshot was heard and Wiggins looked down and saw a gaping wound appear on his chest. He looked for the bullet's source and saw Grisham staring back at him, his gun drawn. Wiggins collapsed and rolled down the benches onto the ground at Grisham's feet.

"Long Live England!" he weakly hailed. "Long Live George III!" Wiggins then expired.

The crowd murmured as they gathered around the dead soldier and congratulated Grisham on saving Adams.

"Nice shot, Captain," Montoya smiled, inwardly wincing at assuring Adams that nobody would attempt to take his life. "You saved Mr. Adams."

"Indeed, young man," Adams replied. "I am no longer president, but I am a good friend of James Monroe. When I go back, I will see about getting him to pardon you of your actions as a US officer."

"All in a day's work, Mr. Adams," Grisham smiled in reply.

During the furor, nobody noticed the Queen cut the Gypsy girls loose and escort them quickly and quietly out of town. Montoya observed this, but decided against chasing her this time. He had a guest who was the target of assassination attempt and his aide-de-camp saved his life. The opportunity to redress this political gaffe took precedence over hunting down his adversary this time.

"Another time, my dear Queen," he smiled to himself.

The next morning, Adams was packing for his trip back to America. It had been an adventuresome stay. His escort head tried to kill him because of his Tory family being supplanted during the Revolutionary War. The ex-patriate Captain Grisham saved his life by killing Wiggins. To top it off, a mysterious masked woman Queen of Swords not only paid him a nocturnal visit to warn him, but appeared in the square to disrupt and execution and save two Gypsy girls. He suddenly felt a presence and turned to see the Queen there, a pleasant smile on her face.

"I owe you a debt of thanks," Adams intoned. "Were it not for you, I probably would have been dead and not even know about it."

"It was an honor and a pleasure, Senor Adams," the Queen replied. "You are a good man. The Americanos are fortunate to have you."

"Just like Colonel Montoya is fortunate to have you--to keep him in check." A wry grin. "Dr. Helm told me about your exploits yesterday."

"I am flattered." Her smiled wryly broadened. "I am curious. How is the relationship bteween you and the Ingles?"

"We may be friends one day, but right now we're just civil to each other."

"I see. " She pulled out a Tarot card with THE QUEEN OF SWORDS depiction and gave it to Adams. "I do not know if you believe in this but as souvenir."

"Thank you, little lady," Adams replied taking the card and offering his hand. "Take care and if you see Señorita Alvarado and her maid, tell them goodbye and thank for their gracious hospitality."

"Very good, Senor Adams. Adios y Vaya Con Dios." they shook hands. "What does that mean?"

"Go with God's blessings."

"God's blessings be with you, too."

Robert Helm was again dreaming of hundreds of Ian Lathams chasing him through Sherwood Forest hunting him when that familiar jabbing in the back of the neck woke him. He rolled over and opened his eyes seeing a very familiar outline sitting on the bed, a slight half-smirk on her face.

"Note to self," he sighed. "Purchase bell to hang around a certain masked vigilante's neck."

"Good evening, Robert," that soft husky alto tickled his ears.

"Good evening, Your Majesty. What important business justifies denying me sleep this time? Is Marta pregnant?"

"The night before yesterday, I overheard Captain Wiggins talking to someone about killing Senor Adams. By the accent, he was an Ingles."

"So, plenty of English ships dock here, luv."

"You are the only Ingles living here. Were you speaking with Wiggins that night?"

"Your brain needs sleep. Why the hell would I want Adams dead?"

"He led the Americanos to revolt against your King Jorge."

"That is old news, Tessa. I'm not bitter. Besides, I was barely a child when the Revolutionary War ended. So it doesn't impact me that much."

"So, who was the Ingles with Wiggins?"

"I don't know. Mind if I get back to sleep now? It's bloody late."

"Very well. I hope you are right, Robert," Tessa/Queen smiled rubbing her dagger against Helm's crotch. "I hate to have to perform 'surgery' if you are lying."

She removed the blade and planted a long loving kiss on his lips and then vanished into the night like a phantom. God, that woman is a pain. Why do I put up with her? Helm got up to lock the door, then returned to bed, wandering off into a deep sleep.

THE END

©Old Wounds - Neil Burns - March 2001

Please send your comments on this story to the author Neil Burns