Aztec Century (8 page)

I felt as if every eye in the room was now on me. I did not dare turn around.

‘It’s Montezuma’s Revenge,’ I heard someone call.

The barman returned and put down a glass of water heavily in front of me.

‘Been to a funeral, have we?’ someone else called.

The tone was curious and sarcastic rather than overtly hostile, but I was beginning to be frightened. I was also mortified that someone might recognize me. I lowered my head, trying to huddle into my hood.

‘Mexican takeaway,’ another voice shouted.

Laughter.

‘Had a helping of his
tostada
, have you?’

Now the laughter was openly snide. Despite this, I became aware that the machine had fallen silent.

‘Leave her alone,’ I heard the woman call. ‘We’ve all got to make our way in this world as best we can. That’s right, love, innit?’

I wanted to flee. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and face the woman, to turn and face any of them. Then I saw, in the mirror behind the bar, Extepan emerging from the Gents. I rushed across to him.

‘Please,’ I said, almost clutching at him. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I think your countrymen are in good spirits,’ he said in English.

‘You ought to know better,’ another woman’s voice called from the back of the room.

I was dimly aware that four of our guards, all armed with automatics, had also entered the pub. I must have been too panicked to notice them. In a blur of shame, I bolted for the door.

Emerging into the rain, I was quickly surrounded by guards. I felt safe again, rescued and protected. From inside the bar there came the sound of further laughter.

Extepan emerged and led me away without another word.

‘There must be some way we can warn them,’ I said to Bevan.

He thought about it, regarding the waiting face of ALEX on the screen.

‘Wouldn’t make much difference, would it? They’re on a hiding to nothing.’

It was the early hours of the morning, and ALEX had just revealed to us that Maxixca was soon to lead the Aztec armies into Scotland, with a view to subduing the entire country. The whole of Wales was now under occupation, and the Aztecs obviously intended to establish full control over all of mainland Britain.

‘Are you suggesting we do nothing?’ I said to Bevan. ‘What about your contacts? Isn’t there someone you can pass the information on to?’

Automatically he took a pack of Raleighs from his pocket, but I glared at him and he put it away.

‘Having information’s one thing. Being able to do something about it is another.’

‘We have a duty to pass it on.’

‘I’m not saying we don’t. Just don’t expect it to make any difference, that’s all. What are we going to tell them? That half the Aztec armies here are about to cross their border? All they’ll be able to do is make for the hills and hope for the best.’

I sighed, giving him my severest look. I didn’t want to waste time arguing with him. ALEX’s image on the screen remained expectant. I felt as if we were ignoring him.

‘Leave it to me,’ Bevan said. ‘I’ll make sure the warning’s passed on.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Is what it?’

‘I’ve been patient with you, Bevan. I’ve let you take all the information we’ve obtained from ALEX to do with as you please.

It’s time you told me who you’re working for.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m not working for anybody.’

‘Then who’s getting the intelligence from ALEX?’

He shrugged. ‘Whoever I think it might be useful to.’

‘That’s no answer. I have a right to know. Without me, you wouldn’t have had any of it in the first place.’

Silence.

‘You do realize you have a sovereign obligation to tell me?’

He laughed at this, as I had expected him to.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s easier for me to move around, to whisper in the right people’s ears. That’s how word gets passed along, see? I don’t ask questions, I just do a bit of gossiping where I think it’ll work best.’

I waited.

‘What do you think we’re dealing with here? A secret army hiding underground, just waiting for the word so they can break out and free the country? Fat chance.’

‘I’m well aware of the military situation,’ I said testily. ‘That’s not the point. I’ve put my trust in you, and I want to be satisfied the information is reaching the right people. I want to know who we’re helping.’

‘Take it from me, it’s a good cause.’

‘That won’t do, Bevan.’

On the screen, ALEX was still waiting, heartbreakingly like my real husband. I noticed that Bevan had switched off the microphone.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘the main business for you should be survival. You’ve got to keep your hands clean, let others do the dirty work. You should be used to that.’

I couldn’t believe his effrontery. I rounded on him.

‘How dare you! I’ve always been prepared to do as much as anyone else. My interests are the same as the great mass of ordinary people.’

He gave a laboured nod. ‘Ordinary people, right you are. The poor sodding masses.’

‘What the devil is that supposed to mean?’

He lit a cigarette. ‘Maybe you’re not so much of a democrat as you think.’

I was on my feet. ‘I won’t have you speaking to me like that! Get out!’

He rose, looking completely unruffled by my fury. Hoisting his trousers, he walked out.

I stood there in the silence for a long time, still furious, thinking that I had every right to pursue him and demand he apologize. I had never encountered such bare-faced cheek.

My anger subsided only slowly. What a perfectly awful day it had been! First the humiliation of the pub, now this. I felt as if those I cared about despised me. And perhaps with some reason. Didn’t my reaction to Bevan merely prove my snobbery and immaturity? Both Alex and my father had been in awe of my temper; when wounded, I reacted with a righteous outrage. It was not an attractive side of my character.

ALEX was a picture of composure on the screen. I switched on the microphone.

‘ALEX?’

‘Yes, Kate?’

‘I miss you so much.’

‘I’m sure you do. If I were real, I’d give you a big bear’s hug.’

It was a pet expression of the real Alex, and I was delighted to hear it. Only the slight pause before all of his responses prevented me from surrendering to the illusion that he was the real person.

‘Do you have any information on his whereabouts?’ I asked.

‘There’s been no change since we last spoke. No data. I’m sorry, Kate.’

I asked the question each time we spoke, and the answer was always the same.

‘How many of his memories did he give you?’

‘As many as he could to produce an effective simulacrum. He took great pleasure in personalizing me, Kate.’

‘Do you remember when you proposed to me?’

A longer pause.
‘It was during your second year in Cambridge. April Fool’s Day. I turned up that morning with a first edition of Motecuhzoma Xocoyotzin’s Dialogues
,
which you needed for your Comparative History exam.’

‘You also brought a bottle of tequila to toast the occasion.’

‘As I recall, we drank it with cherryade.’

I laughed.

‘You wouldn’t take my proposal seriously at first. You thought it was just an April fool.’

‘I drove home the next day to tell my father. I had a terrible hangover.’

‘I joined you later, never expecting the old man would agree to it. I don’t believe I’ve ever been quite so nervous.’

‘That night you and your BSA ended up in a village pond.’

ALEX laughed.
‘High spirits. That car was brand new, you know. It took me ages to recover from the shock. The repair bill was astronomical.’

‘Reminiscing, are we?’

I spun around. Bevan was standing there.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Had an idea, didn’t I?’

My response was stony silence. Bevan ignored it.

‘How about we use your friend there to muddy the waters? We’ll get him to plant a bit of false information. We could add a few Scottish armies, move their dispositions around, make sure it’s fed into the system so we can create a little havoc.’

I remained silent but moved aside so that he could sit down at the console.

Previously he had argued against tampering with the files in case our interference became obvious to the Aztecs. Stiffly, I reminded him of this.

‘Time’s ripe now,’ he told me. ‘Let’s do a little – what do they call it? –
creative counterfeiting
. No point in having a weapon unless you use it, is there?’

Richard was crowned at Westminster Abbey on Christmas Day. Neither Victoria nor I attended the ceremony, though we watched it on the television in my suite with Bevan and Chicomeztli. I knew that Victoria would have dearly loved to be present, given a free choice, but I hoped that by our absence we would make plain that we did not sanction the occasion.

The entire proceedings were conducted with due reverence to the ancient traditions of our country, Richard, in ermine, sitting enthroned while the Archbishop of Canterbury placed the crown on his head. He was unable to prevent a smile of pure pleasure escaping him at that moment. As if further to legitimize the ceremony, Motecuhzoma had sent his eldest son and likely successor, Chimalcoyotl, to London. He sat with Extepan and his retinue, a tall man in his early forties, dressed in the rust and gold uniform of the
tlacateccatl
, one of the two highest ranks in the Aztec army.

I found the television commentary on the event extremely grating. It was provided by a former quiz-show host who had been promoted to become the ‘voice’ of the BBC after the invasion. He lacked the gravitas to do the occasion full justice, and I had, in any case, come to despise all those who had risen to prominence by accommodating themselves to Aztec rule.

Chicomeztli and Bevan said little during the ceremony, Chicomeztli plainly sensing my mood and not wanting to do anything to provoke me, Bevan adopting his usual air of detached amusement, as if to him the whole affair was just theatre.

Constitutionally, Victoria and I were obliged to declare our fealty to Richard, and I had compromised on that score by writing a letter which the Archbishop now read out to the
congregation. While emphasizing my loyalty to the Crown and to Richard personally, I also made a point of stressing my hostility to the occupation of our country. I was surprised when this part of the letter was read out: I had not imagined that Extepan would allow it.

As the ceremony drew to a close, I felt more strongly than ever the absence of Alex and my father, both pillars of my old life. What would my father have made of it all? I was certain he would have been ashamed.

The ceremonial banquet was held that evening in the Louisiana Chamber at Windsor Castle. There we assembled, English and Aztec nobility alike, surrounded by burgundy and gold furnishings and the portraits of monarchs, statesmen and generals once glorious but long dead. I had agreed to attend the banquet in order to avoid insulting our eminent visitor from Tenochtitlan.

Richard occupied my father’s old seat at the centre of the table. Extepan was seated between us, with Maxixca and Chimalcoyotl directly opposite. The
tlatoani
’s eldest son was a powerfully built man with dark penetrating eyes and a commanding physical presence. Though the Turquoise Throne could be inherited by the brothers or younger sons of the former emperor, Chimalcoyotl was widely expected to become
tlatoani
when his father’s long reign finally came to an end. Like all the sons of Motecuhzoma, he had been fully blooded in war and had a distinguished military career, having successfully led Aztec armies in Malaya, North Africa and Palestine.

Extepan had arranged what he doubtless considered traditional English Christmas fare of pheasant and brandied puddings. The meal was accompanied by Peruvian wines and bourbons from the north-eastern provinces of Greater Mexico. The Aztecs, normally abstemious, drank freely.

Richard was allowed only mineral water on my advice; he had no tolerance for alcohol and did not need it to enjoy himself. Already he was talking happily to Xochinenen, Chimalcoyotl’s sixteen-year-old daughter, who had presumably been seated next to him to keep him company should the adult conversation around the table prove too taxing. Poor Richard: his life had never been his own.

‘I am surprised there is no snow,’ Extepan presently remarked to me. ‘I always imagined that Christmas in England would be white, as in the days of Charles Dickens. Are you familiar with his works?’

I nodded. ‘Of course. I think he was recalling his own childhood, when winters were colder. Once upon a time, the Thames froze in winter and Londoners went skating on it.’

‘Your soft weather comes from us,’ Chimalcoyotl said. ‘What is it you name it – the Gulf Stream, yes?’

I nodded again, noticing that the septum of his nose had once been pierced, evidence of a very traditional Mexican upbringing. He spoke English haltingly but understood it well enough.

‘There’s nothing here but rain and cloud,’ Maxixca murmured to him in Nahuatl. ‘The English like the cold and damp. They shrivel in the sun.’

If this was meant as a joke, it fell flat, because neither Chimalcoyotl nor Extepan smiled.

‘The heat saps their spirits,’ Maxixca went on, grinning a little slackly. ‘We have evidence of it over and over again, in Egypt and India and Palestine. We overwhelmed their armies.’

I wondered if he was drunk. The wine bottle in front of him was almost empty.

‘The same might be said of us in our response to the cold,’ Extepan retorted diplomatically.

‘I hardly think so,’ Maxixca said. ‘Look at how well our troops performed in Alaska and Scandinavia. We took Berlin in the middle of February. The white races have no stomach for battle, though I will admit that they’re industrious when firmly controlled.’ He lifted the bottle and poured the last of the wine into his glass. ‘Where would our Californian vineyards be without them?’

It seemed to me that Maxixca was trying to impress Chimalcoyotl, whose blocky face remained unreadable to me.

‘You’ll soon have the opportunity to test your mettle under colder conditions,’ Extepan remarked.

‘Scotland will pose no problem,’ Maxixca said. ‘I anticipate the campaign—’

‘I think you’ve said quite enough,’ Extepan said firmly. ‘The dinner table isn’t a fitting place to discuss the future conduct of
our armies or to insult our hosts – especially when Princess Catherine can understand your every word.’

Both Chimalcoyotl and Maxixca registered surprise.

‘Is this true?’ Chimalcoyotl said to me. ‘You understand Nahuatl?’

‘Perfectly true,’ I replied in the same tongue.

For an instant Maxixca looked shocked, but his face quickly took on an expression of sullen anger.

‘I hope you will forgive my half-brother,’ Chimalcoyotl said in Nahuatl. The wine has made him boastful and ill-mannered. Even if you had not understood him, his slurs on the character of your people would remain. Please accept my apologies on his behalf.’

Chimalcoyotl had begun talking as if Maxixca were no longer present, and Maxixca reacted swiftly to his change of tone, rising to his feet. He had been shamed, and now his only recourse was to withdraw. He practically fled from the hall.

On either side of the long table, numerous conversations continued unabated. Defying protocol, both Richard and Victoria had moved to other seats, and no one else seemed to have noticed our little drama. I wondered how long Extepan had known that I could understand and speak Nahuatl. It was a matter of public record that I had studied the language while at Cambridge, but he had never referred to it until now. Had he deliberately contrived Maxixca’s embarrassment by letting him compromise himself in front of Chimalcoyotl?

‘I’m very sorry,’ Extepan said to me with apparent sincerity. ‘I don’t believe he really meant it—’

‘Is it true?’ I interrupted. ‘You’re sending Maxixca into Scotland?’

There was the briefest exchange of glances between Extepan and Chimalcoyotl before Extepan said, ‘There has been a growing number of raids across the border on garrisons and towns in northern England. Civilians –
English
civilians – are suffering far more than our troops. Towns have been burnt, women and children killed. It’s become necessary to put an end to the threat.’

This confirmed what I knew from ALEX, and I only hoped
that Bevan’s ‘creative counterfeiting’ would give Maxixca a suitably nasty surprise.

‘Maxixca has strict orders to move swiftly but do everything to minimize casualties,’ Extepan said.

‘I’m sure that will be a great comfort to all those who are going to be killed,’ I replied.

I noticed a smile on Chimalcoyotl’s face.

‘Does something amuse you?’ I asked in Nahuatl.

He shook his head slowly, but then said, ‘Perhaps it does. You understandably object to our activities in your country, yet here we sit, surrounded by all the evidence of your own glorious military past.’

I wondered if he was being sarcastic, then decided not. Of course the Louisiana Chamber, with its portraits of Wellington, Napoleon and Andrew Jackson, was a monument to the great victory of the colonial Anglo-French armies over the forces of the
tlatoani
Cozcatezcatl at New Orleans in 1815 which had halted Aztec expansion into the Mississippi Valley for over half a century. No one but Chimalcoyotl appeared to have appreciated the significance of the room until now.

Chimalcoyotl indicated a painting which showed the three generals surveying from a ridge the carnage of their great victory.

‘As I recall,’ he said, ‘the weather was unseasonably hot during the battle.’

I had to admire his aplomb, the graceful way he was repudiating Maxixca’s insults.

‘It was Princess Catherine who proposed the use of the room for the banquet,’ Extepan observed.

He spoke a little uncertainly, as if he feared Chimalcoyotl might be privately offended by the reminder of a famous Aztec defeat.

‘We’re always prepared to honour the past greatness of other nations,’ Chimalcoyotl said lightly.

‘Are you proposing to subdue the whole of Scotland?’ I asked.

‘How did you come about your knowledge of Nahuatl?’

Still his tone was light. He was refusing to answer my question by not acknowledging it in the first place.

‘At university,’ I replied. ‘My father suggested it. He used to
say that if you know how your enemy speaks, you’ll have a much better idea of how he thinks.’

‘True indeed. English is compulsory in all our schools. Do you know our poet Olintlacochtli?’

‘Of course.’

‘He writes: “The mirror reflects the face, the sword, the heart, the voice, the soul.” I often think it’s just as important to listen to how a thing is said as to the words themselves.’

I was unsure what he was trying to convey to me, but I knew myself well matched.

The meal over, we retired to the drawing room, where port and brandy were served along with silver platters of
tzonpelic tamalli
, traditional Mexican sweetmeats. At the far end of the room stood the Christmas tree, cut as always from Windsor Great Park and formerly chosen by my father each December. Richard had selected it this year, and would doubtless continue to do so as long as he remained king. The tree was adorned with lights, baubles and presents wrapped in gaily coloured crêpe paper. Among the parcels were a new evening gown for Victoria and my father’s old Bible for Richard, the only presents I was giving to mark the occasion.

I sipped my coffee, watching Richard chat animatedly with Xochinenen, who spoke English only haltingly but seemed amused by his attentions. Victoria sat in a group which included a young nephew of Motecuhzoma’s called Tlacahuepan, who had accompanied Chimalcoyotl from Tenochtitlan and whom I knew from ALEX was joining Extepan’s staff. He was the same age as Victoria, a handsome young man who gesticulated as he spoke to her with the help of an interpreter.

As midnight drew on, the staff brought cloaks for the Aztecs and Extepan approached to ask if I would join them in the grounds of the castle. I was already prepared for a long night, knowing that it was the Mexican custom to spend the hours from midnight to dawn on Christmas morning in the open, under the night sky, before exchanging presents when the sun rose.

Outside a big log fire blazed, highlighting the old Round Tower, built by Henry II over eight hundred years ago in a time when the Normans, the last conquerors of the land, were becoming English. The royal standard had been raised above the
tower to indicate that the monarch was in residence. Though I welcomed Extepan’s removal of all the booths and displays which had formerly made the castle a circus for tourists, I thought how improbable the Aztecs, in their feathered ceremonial cloaks, looked in such a setting.

The night was still and chill, stars flickering dimly through a haze of thin cloud. Some of the staff were roasting chestnuts on braziers, and a candy-striped bell-tent had been set up to shelter those who found the cold too arduous. Sparklers were lit and waved in the darkness; Mexican songs were sung, the words of the old philosopher-king Nezahualcoyotl of Texcoco set to Spanish court music, dignified but gloomy songs filled with the evanescence of human life. The songs oppressed me not in themselves but because they symbolized the arrival of the Aztec nation in the heart of England.

Extepan appeared, gingerly holding a palmful of hot chestnuts.

‘These are delicious,’ he remarked to me. ‘You should try one, Catherine.’

He extended his hand. I shook my head. ‘No thank you. I’ve eaten my fill.’

He slipped the chestnuts into the pocket of his tunic. ‘I’m sorry about Scotland. We really have no choice.’

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘How long have you known that I could speak Nahuatl?’

‘Your father confirmed it when I asked him.’

‘So you’ve known from the start.’

‘It’s only natural that I would have been fully briefed on all your family before I took up my position here.’

‘But Maxixca wasn’t?’

‘He probably had every opportunity. But he’s a soldier and has little time for such matters.’

‘You didn’t think to mention it to him?’

‘Why should I have done?’

I eyed him. He gave every appearance of perfect innocence.

‘I think you enjoyed the way he compromised himself at dinner,’ I said.

He looked wounded by the suggestion. ‘That’s unfair, Catherine. I wouldn’t wish such shame on anyone.’

‘But there’s no love lost between you, is there?’

We were speaking in English, and he looked puzzled by the colloquialism, so I said, ‘You don’t really like one another, do you?’