Aztec Century (9 page)

Now he shook his head, as if to say I misunderstood the situation completely. ‘We are brothers, bound by family ties and mutual respect. Each of us has a different role to play. Likes or dislikes do not enter into it.’

‘That’s no answer.’

He made an exasperated sound. ‘His behaviour at the banquet – and the general sentiments he expressed – was inexcusable, and I could never condone it. Is that what you wanted me to say? That he acted with dishonour? It’s true. I do not deny it. He’s a hothead who too often speaks before he thinks. But I am certain of his loyalty.’

‘Are you? I had the impression that he disagrees with many of your decisions.’

He smiled then. ‘That will not stop him from doing his duty.’

‘How do you know I haven’t already passed on information about the invasion to interested parties?’

He took a chestnut from his tunic and began to peel it. ‘It would make no difference either way. Maxixca left for the borders immediately after the banquet. The attack will begin within forty-eight hours, and you can be sure that he will be intent on restoring his honour by making it a swift and successful campaign.’

He popped the chestnut in his mouth, turned and walked away.

I wandered around the outskirts of the crowd, aware that two Aztec guards were discreetly shadowing me. Richard sat on a blanket near the fire with Xochinenen and an interpreter. She was reading Richard’s palm. I was tempted to intervene, to stress to Richard that his future could not be read in the folds of his skin. But I stopped myself: I couldn’t shield him from the influence of others, and he would have to learn to use his own judgement.

As the night wore on, the clouds thickened and a drizzle began to fall. Servants emerged from the castle with bowls of hot punch and
octli
, the fermented juice of the maguey. It was shipped in
frozen from Mexico for special occasions; despite their skills, the Aztecs had never succeeded in growing the plant elsewhere.

Slipping away from my guards and everyone else around the fire, I entered the State Apartments. It was several years since I was last at Windsor, and I had a whim to see the Dolls’ House, which had fascinated me as a child.

But there was no opportunity. Victoria was standing at the bottom of the stairs with someone. She seemed to be struggling with him.

It was Tlacahuepan. He held her close. Victoria broke free and rushed to me. She was flushed and dishevelled.

‘What’s going on?’ I demanded.

Tlacahuepan stood expressionless, staring at me.

‘Tell him to go,’ Victoria said, an edge of panic in her voice.

‘What’s going on?’ I said again.

Victoria shook her head, but I had already guessed.

‘Leave us,’ I said to Tlacahuepan in Nahuatl. It was an order, not a request.

For a moment he didn’t move. Then he pulled his tunic straight and marched briskly out.

Tears were running down Victoria’s cheeks.

‘He asked to see the paintings,’ she sobbed. ‘The Rubens and the Stuyvesants. So I brought him here. He was charming at first, perfectly correct. But then, as we came down the stairs … he took hold of me, tried to kiss me … There was no one to help …’

I embraced her, holding her tight.

‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘It’s finished now.’

‘I couldn’t make him understand.’

‘Was he drunk?’

She nodded through her tears. ‘I think he was saying that he was a prince, so he was entitled to make love to me.’

My anger boiled up. I held Victoria until her tears subsided. Then I straightened her clothing and led her outside.

I was intending to take her directly to bed, but Extepan intercepted us.

‘Catherine, I’m glad I’ve found you. Will you and Victoria give me a few minutes?’

‘Not now,’ I said curtly.

He indicated the sky.

‘It’s dawn. I have something for you.’

An aide stood close by. Extepan motioned to him, and he hurried off to the George IV gateway.

Victoria began shivering against me. I wanted to give vent to my fury, but now was not the time. Extepan was looking across the grounds of the castle; he hadn’t noticed Victoria’s distress. The fire in front of the tower was almost dead, sooty smoke rising from its ashes. Those celebrants that remained were heading off towards the chapel for a brief morning service.

The aide appeared, leading two colts, one chestnut, one grey.

Extepan took their reins.

‘These are for you,’ he said. ‘Merry Christmas.’

Victoria led the gallop down the Long Walk from the castle. I spurred the grey, tugging its reins to ensure that it did not charge off in another direction entirely. It was the more wilful of the two, and it was just my luck after giving Victoria first choice of the pair. She was a far superior rider, and had spent a great deal of time at our stables in Okehampton before the invasion. The horses we had once kept there had reputedly been served up as meat for the hungry town in the chaotic aftermath.

Victoria was already disappearing towards Windsor Great Park, her mount throwing up snow from its hoofs, giving me an unerring trail to follow. I held the reins tight to maintain the line, though the grey kept pulling to the left. Behind me, Richard, Xochinenen and several Aztec guards followed at a much more leisurely pace on their own mounts.

It was a cold January morning, and the overnight snow was still pristine. Every morning for the past week Victoria and I had raced the horses to the George III statue in the park, and I hadn’t won once. Again I knew it was hopeless, so I gave the grey its head. Immediately it veered off on its own uninhibited path in pursuit of its stable-mate.

Victoria had long dismounted by the time I reached the statue. I was exhausted yet exhilarated by my efforts to control the colt.

‘Where have you been?’ she said cheerily.

I climbed down from the saddle. The insides of my thighs were already sore, and my feet felt crushed in my riding boots. I had never been a particularly horsy person, in contrast to Victoria.

‘He thinks he can run off whenever he pleases,’ I said. ‘He has a mule’s brain.’

‘Isn’t it time you gave him a name, Kate?’

Victoria had already christened her chestnut Archimedes after a favourite childhood pony which we had kept at Marlborough.

‘I can think of plenty of names,’ I said. ‘Stubborn, Pig-headed, Obstreperous, Perverse, Adamant—’

‘Adamant!’ she interrupted. ‘That’s perfect, Kate. Adamant and Archimedes.’

The others cantered up. Xochinenen was riding side-saddle on her horse, a big fur cloak draped around her tiny frame. Her plaited hair had been tied up under a fur bonnet. She had remained behind at Windsor while her father was in Eastern Europe, inspecting Aztec forces on the Rhine and meeting with the Polish government in Warsaw in order to sign a non-aggression treaty.

Richard clearly enjoyed Xochinenen’s company. She had a similar child-like air to him, and he was supposedly teaching her English, though I suspected she spoke it well enough already and was simply indulging him. They spent much of their time together flying kites from the castle walls, playing hide-and-seek in the State Apartments and even sliding down banisters to the mute displeasure of almost everyone.

I was glad that Richard had agreed to extend our holiday at Windsor. The castle was a place of many happy memories for the whole family, and both he and Victoria had benefited from escaping the hothouse atmosphere of London. Extepan had returned promptly to his duties on New Year’s Day, but not before I had met him privately and told him about the incident with Victoria and Tlacahuepan. He said nothing at the time, but the following day I learned that Tlacahuepan had been transferred to Canberra to join the governor’s staff in the Australian Protectorate.

The sun began to show through the cloud. Presently Chicomeztli cantered up on a trap which held a solarized hamper and collapsible furniture.

We unfolded the chairs and a small table. Inside the hamper were hot sausages, croissants, scrambled egg and piping coffee. The black-panelled chairs were already warm when we sat down in them, converting the grey winter light into heat with an efficiency which only the Aztecs had mastered. So we picnicked
on that cold winter morning while transporters and interceptors whined by overhead, flying into and out of Heathrow.

Presently Richard suggested we go skating on the pond, but our responses were drowned by a swallow-tailed shuttle flying in low. We all watched as it decelerated, then dropped down behind the walls of the castle itself.

The horses had been startled by the craft, and it took a while to settle them. I saw a black ground-car approaching from the castle, a Molotov Aeroflot with the governor’s stylized golden eagle insignia on its slanted bonnet. Wings of snow spewed from its flanks so that it looked like a speedboat cruising through a white sea. It sped directly towards us, braked, and finally settled in the snow.

A door flipped up, and Extepan stepped out. He approached me.

Something in his face filled me with a sense of dread.

‘Catherine,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but I think you should accompany me back to the castle immediately.’

I asked him nothing, but meekly accompanied him to the car. I sat in silence while the driver took us back to the castle. I wouldn’t even look at him.

The main gate was open, lined with guards who waved us through. The driver steered the car into one of the parking spaces in front of St George’s chapel.

Extepan swung open the door.

‘Come with me,’ he said.

I followed him up the chapel steps. At the entrance he paused and put a hand on my arm.

‘Catherine, forgive me. This is not going to be pleasant.’

I pushed past him into the chapel.

Standing in the aisle was a hospital trolley, flanked by Aztec guards. A body draped in a white sheet lay on it. Dimly I was aware of the chapel’s splendour all around me – the stalls, the banners, the helmets of the Knights of the Garter, the blue-and-white diamond-patterned floor. But I did not take my eyes off the shape under the sheet.

Extepan came to my side. I heard myself saying, ‘Who is it?’ though I already knew.

‘We’re not certain, but I think you should prepare yourself …’

I moved to pull back the sheet, but Extepan took hold of my wrist.

‘Let go of me!’

‘The face is unrecognizable, Catherine. He was killed by falling stonework during the assault on Edinburgh Castle.’

I wrenched myself free and pulled back the sheet.

And recoiled.

The body was naked except for a pair of white briefs. Above the chest it was just a mass of bloody pulp and matted hair. Chestnut hair. I forced myself to look again. There was the appendix scar, there the pale mole on his left thigh, there the familiar V of golden hairs bisecting his abdomen.

Extepan moved swiftly to cover up the body again. I was dimly aware of him telling me that it was a terrible accident, that they had not known Alex was part of the garrison, that Maxixca had given the order to destroy the castle only as a last resort. Something broke in me then, and I fled from the chapel in grief and rage.

Beds had been crammed into every available space in the wards at the infirmary, and the freshly disinfected floors could not disguise the smell of sickness. An Asian doctor and a native Tynesider who was the hospital’s administrator accompanied me on my tour, with Chicomeztli close at my heels.

The ward we had entered was filled with casualties and refugees from the war in Scotland, sick and wounded alike. I stopped at the bed of a young woman who lay in a feverish sleep with a small child also asleep beside her.

‘What’s the matter with them?’ I asked.

‘Pneumonia,’ the doctor told me.

‘Only the mother,’ the administrator said hastily. ‘Her child’s fine. We try to keep parents with their children wherever possible. I understand her prospects of recovery are very good, isn’t that true, doctor?’

‘Yes,’ the doctor said wearily, not looking at either of us.

‘What are you short of?’ I asked him.

His smile was politeness itself. ‘You name it. Our most pressing need is for antibiotics and dressings.’

‘It’s not surprising our supplies have run short,’ the administrator said. ‘We’ve had to take in hundreds of casualties from the front. The entire staff have been doing a remarkable job under the circumstances.’

‘They tell us it’s a question of supply and demand,’ the doctor said. ‘We tell them the demand is enormous, the supply, pathetic.’

I saw a hint of annoyance on the administrator’s face, as if he considered the doctor had spoken out of turn.

We moved down the corridor into another ward, this one filled
with children. They were suffering from typhoid, cholera, tuberculosis, septicaemia – all consequences of the collapse in public services in the area following the fighting in Scotland. Maxixca had completed the conquest within a month, but the disruption caused by the fighting lingered on months later.

The ward was hot and filled with the sickly sweet smell of childhood sickness. Some of the youngsters were sitting up in bed and playing games with one another, while others lay in a sleep that looked close to death. The nursing staff were lined up in their crisp uniforms, despite my prior pleas that I didn’t want any special arrangements made for my visit. They smiled and curtsied brightly, though I could see the weariness in their eyes.

I stopped to speak with them. They answered my general queries about the day-to-day running of the hospital with equally general assurances that they were managing to cope despite all the difficulties; they had obviously been primed beforehand to say nothing controversial.. It was the kind of response I had met with all over the country over the past five months, as if everyone was in awe of offending my royal sensibilities. Only when I contrived to turn up unannounced at hospitals and institutions did I manage to get uncensored facts and opinions; and it was plain that the welfare services throughout the country were desperately under-resourced.

At the far end of the ward, the administrator was ushering a nurse holding a screaming toddler out through the doors. Though I knew it was impossible for hospitals to treat my visits as normal affairs, I found it extremely frustrating to be constantly shielded from the harsher facts of life in the wards.

The June sunlight highlighted the grubby windows and bedlinen.

‘Are you getting much sleep?’ I asked the doctor.

‘We take it when we can,’ he replied. ‘There are staff shortages, and some of us spend the nights here so we can be on hand if we’re needed. It’s the only way.’

The administrator returned, suggesting that we move on. He looked perfectly fresh and rested, positively prosperous in his dark suit and silk tie. I waited for Chicomeztli to slip a new cassette into the recorder I insisted we take with us on our visits so that I would miss nothing that was said.

Down another corridor towards the open doors of a gleaming operating theatre. The administrator was talking proudly about the hospital’s new body scanner when my attention was diverted by a quarantine sign outside another ward.

‘What’s in there?’ I asked.

‘Severe cases,’ he replied. ‘Infectious diseases.’

His edgy manner made it plain he didn’t want me to enter the ward – which only made me more determined to so do.

I pushed open the doors – and was met with a powerful odour of sweat and sickness. The massed beds were filled with men and women whose skins were raw with sores and lesions. The nursing staff wore green rubber gloves, and it was plain that they hadn’t had fresh uniforms in days.

‘What’s happening in here?’ I asked.

The doctor had come up beside me. ‘Duran’s Disease,’ he said softly. ‘You probably know it as the New Indies pox.’

I was shocked in more than one sense.

‘New Indies pox?’ I repeated, incredulous.

He nodded.

‘I thought it had been eradicated years ago.’

‘Suppressed,’ the doctor said. ‘Controlled. But never entirely wiped out.’

‘But isn’t it easily treatable with antibiotics?’

‘Of course. If you have adequate supplies.’

I was truly appalled. The pox, endemic to the New World in the pre-Christian era, had been brought to Europe by Spanish sailors and had decimated populations from Ireland to Siberia in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It had continued to flare up in Europe and Asia until the discovery of antibiotics, and was often fatal if left untreated. To Europeans, it was as big a scourge of history as the Black Death, and some historians argued that the bacillus had enabled the Aztecs to rise to world-power status since it had stalled European exploration of the New World for over a century. To see it now, in modern-day Newcastle, was horrifying.

The administrator was fluttering around me. ‘Your Highness, I think perhaps we should press on. The risk of infection …’

An elderly man in a nearby bed sat up suddenly. He looked delirious, but he stared directly at me.

‘Who’s she?’ he demanded of no one in particular. ‘I know her face.’

I went to the foot of his bed.

‘You’re one of the Royals.’

His cheeks were hollow, the skin on his neck slack between prominent tendons. The grey stubble on his chin was pocked with festering sores and weals. He grinned at me, gap-toothed.

‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.

‘Like fucking death.’

Everyone around me went rigid with mortification. Before I could say anything, the old man went on, ‘What are you doing here? Seeing how the other half lives, are you?’ He heaved himself up. ‘What I want to know is, since you’re gracing us with your presence, what’s going to be done about it?’

Two nurses moved swiftly to restrain him. The administrator tried to shepherd me away, but I held my ground.

‘It’s a disgrace,’ I told the old man. ‘I promise you, something
shall
be done about it – as quickly as I can manage.’

‘That’s what they all say.’

‘I promise you. You have my word of honour.’

His bright eyes regarded me. He made a contemptuous sound.

‘That right? Shake on it, will you?’

Despite the restraining hands of the nurses, he thrust out an arm.

His knuckles were cracked and oozing lymph, the back of his hand an open sore filled with pale pus. Because I knew there was nothing else I could do, I reached out both hands and grasped his.

He crushed my fingers in his palm, never taking his eyes off me. The texture of his skin was wet and yielding, yet there was great strength in his grasp, a strength of rage and desperation. I made no attempt to withdraw my hand until he released it.

‘Next time you come I’ll let you see my war wounds.’

He slumped back on the pillow.

The doctor led me away to the broken sound of his laughter.

I was sitting in the light from my desk-lamp, completing my report for the day, when Chicomeztli arrived.

‘We have found a local supplier,’ he announced. ‘They have
stocks of—’ He thrust a piece of paper in front of me to spare himself a struggle with the brand-names. ‘About three months’ supply of each.’

‘Excellent. When can they deliver?’

‘Within forty-eight hours.’

‘Even better. But I want you to send someone around there and pick up some emergency stock. I want it delivered tonight.’

Chicomeztli nodded. ‘Anything else?’

‘I think that will do for now.’

He gave a cheery salute, and went out.

I put down my pen and stretched. Then I rose and went over to the window.

We were staying in Jesmond Dene Hall, which had a good view out over the city. Like most industrial cities in the Midlands and North, Newcastle had suffered badly from aerial bombardment during the invasion, and tracts of the city looked derelict. Yet the people I had met since my arrival were generally positive and practically minded: given the means, I was sure they would swiftly rebuild what had been destroyed. This was also true for the rest of the country. All that was needed were the raw materials.

The sun was finally setting on the long summer evening. Returning to my desk, I scanned my report on the hospital visit. It would be sent direct to Extepan, the latest of many. Would any action be taken? Perhaps Extepan was merely indulging me and had no intention of treating them seriously. Perhaps he thought I was just burying my grief for Alex in a nationwide crusade. Perhaps he was right – but this wasn’t the whole story. The crusade, if that’s what it was, was something I took seriously.

The desk console held a computer terminal, and in my jacket pocket was the disk. I had carried it with me ever since leaving London, but I hadn’t once tried to summon up ALEX, despite ample opportunities, and the ever-present sense of the real Alex’s loss. Chicomeztli gave me plenty of privacy, being much occupied with arranging my itinerary and responding to demands for emergency supplies of food and medicines wherever I discovered a need. My respect and even liking for him had grown enormously during our travels. In many ways he was the perfect
companion: cheerful, efficient, attentive, yet demanding nothing of me.

I took out the disk and contemplated the screen in front of me. It would be a simple matter to slot it into the machine and bring ALEX to life. And yet I hesitated. I was afraid to hear the sound of his voice again for fear that it would make all the pain of his loss return.

The phone bleeped, startling me. Hastily I pocketed the disk and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘Your Highness?’

The tone was tentative but also teasing. It was Extepan.

I switched to visual. He was sitting in his office, dressed in full uniform.

‘How did you know I was here?’

‘Chicomeztli keeps me informed of your progress, as you would expect. You look well, Catherine.’

‘It’s all the fresh northern air I’ve been getting lately.’

We hadn’t spoken since I left London late in January. I had wanted to get away from everything connected with the capital for a while.

‘Have you been getting all my reports?’ I asked.

‘Most certainly. They’re extremely thorough.’

‘You mean relentless in all their detailing of everything that’s wrong.’

He smiled. ‘I expected no less.’

‘It’s bad here. Do you know they’ve got an outbreak of the New Indies pox? It’s disgraceful.’

Extepan held up a binder, which I saw held my reports.

‘Many of your recommendations are already being acted upon,’ he said. ‘Even as we speak, a bill is being debated in your parliament to provide emergency relief throughout the United Kingdom.’

I eyed him. He was as bright and companionable as ever.

‘No doubt Kenneth Parkhouse will be eager to hug all the credit.’

Extepan looked surprised. ‘Your tour of the country has been widely publicized.’

‘I didn’t mean that. I’m not doing this to improve my image.’

‘I know, I know,’ he said hastily. ‘As long as it achieves the ends you wanted, does it matter?’

I considered, then said, ‘I just don’t like that man, that’s all.’

He was still smiling. ‘You seem more your old self.’

‘Bloody-minded and argumentative, you mean?’

A laugh. ‘Yes, that’s part of it. We’ve all missed you here.’

So strong was my desire for a complete change that I had studiously avoided all gossip about London during my travels. I was tempted to ask after Richard and Victoria, but restrained myself. I wasn’t ready yet to plunge back into their world.

‘Is this purely a social call?’ I asked.

‘Not entirely,’ he replied, ‘though I’m pleased to find you in such good spirits. Has it been worth it, Catherine?’

‘Yes,’ I said emphatically.

‘I hope it’s helped you overcome your grief.’

Even an indirect mention of Alex brought back all the pain and anger I still felt. I fought the urge to reply that he was responsible for it.

‘That wasn’t the only reason I did it.’

‘Of course not. But I was wondering if you might now contemplate the idea of returning to London.’

Since January, I had travelled from Cornwall to Northumberland, visiting parts of the country I had scarcely known existed before. I knew I had done all I could for the time being, yet I was reluctant to give up the freedom and purposefulness I had felt. And reluctant to confront London and all the memories of Alex associated with it.

Extepan obviously sensed this.

‘We have a very important visitor arriving soon,’ he said.

‘Oh?’ I didn’t bite further, though I was curious.

‘My great-uncle,’ Extepan said. ‘Tetzahuitl.’

‘The
cihuacoatl
?’

‘None other.’

The
cihuacoatl
– a title which translated as Woman Snake, though it was a male office – was second in eminence only to the
tlatoani
himself. And Tetzahuitl’s renown was almost as great as Motecuhzoma’s.

‘When’s he coming?’ I asked.

‘Within a matter of days. I’ve only just received confirmation.’

Was I ready for London again? Could I afford to miss meeting a man almost as powerful and influential as the emperor himself?

‘I’d very much like you to be here when he arrives,’ Extepan said.

‘Why?’

‘Apart from anything else, he might consider your absence an insult.’