“No!” she gasped. “I—what is taking place? There is so much confusion—”
“A battle is taking place, wench!” the woman declared, bracing her fists against her hips. “Some caballeros came in a ship and saw fit to attack the camp. Many of them will see nothing more.”
“And—and the battle—”
“How goes it, mean you? Ha, wench! The caballeros are being cut down, of course. We have them three to one! Some are to be taken prisoners, some held for ransom, others tortured. It will be a lesson to the men of gentle blood not to fight with pirates! Gentlemen are only gentlemen—but men are men!”
“Gentlemen are always gentlemen, and sometimes mere men are beasts,” the señorita told her.
“How is this? Do you want me to rock your head with a blow, wench? Ha! There will be rare sport if this Señor Zorro is taken prisoner.”
“Zorro?” the señorita gasped.
“The same, wench! You were to wed with him, I have been told. Ha! He’ll not be ready for his wedding when Barbados has finished with him!”
“Señor Zorro is dead!”