Maxixca halted in front of the governor and saluted. He was not the middle-aged Nauhyotl but a much younger man, his aquamarine uniform decorated with a golden eagle grasping a stylized sun.
Maxixca formally introduced him as Extepan Iquehuac Tlancuaxoloch, third son of the
tlatoani
Motecuhzoma Xohueyacatzin, ruler of Greater Mexico and all its dominions. I scarcely glanced at him. I saw tears brim in Richard’s eyes as he gazed at us, his long-lost sisters. His lower lip began to quiver; any moment now he would begin to cry.
Maxixca continued with the interminable formalities of our introduction. I moved towards Richard, but the guards closed ranks. Then the governor, who was regarding me, waved a hand, and they parted to let me through.
Richard came forward into my arms. He hugged me with all his strength, then turned to Victoria and did the same, kissing both of us on the cheeks. Finally he began to blubber, and I realized I was already prepared when he blurted: ‘Father’s dead.’
Victoria, Richard and I were ferried the short distance to Westminster Abbey in a jetcopter. In the gloom of dusk it was difficult to make out the full extent of the destruction to the surrounding streets, though Chicomeztli stressed that both the Abbey and the Cathedral had been very fortunate to survive the bombing. The area around the site was now off-limits to the public, Aztec guards in waterproof capes patrolling the derelict streets.
Inside, the Abbey’s empty echoing spaces were lit with candles. More guards stood discreetly in the shadows. The coffin rested on an elaborate wreath-strewn plinth in the Henry VIII chapel. I hesitated, rested from my afternoon nap but far from recovered, then climbed the steps.
My father lay in a formal black suit, hands crossed over his chest with a silver crucifix lying on top of them. His hair, grey when I last saw him, was now white. His face, however, looked younger, its paleness and lines doubtless erased by those who had prepared him. The Aztecs had a long and expert tradition of making their honoured dead look immaculate.
Beside me, Victoria and Richard clasped hands, determinedly maintaining a shred of dignity in the face of their loss. Apparently Father had died of a heart attack four days before while taking a constitutional around the grounds of Hampton Court. Richard had been with him at the time.
For some reason I found myself wishing that his eyes were open, even if he couldn’t see me. I reached into the coffin and gently lifted the crucifix out.
‘We’re Anglicans,’ I said in explanation to Chicomeztli.
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Someone must have left it.’
‘Has the news of his death been made public?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘But there are plans to?’
‘I understand that this is one of the things which Governor Extepan will wish to discuss with you.’
My father was shrouded in cream silks like a sea of frozen milk. The walls of his coffin were lined with velvet the colour of old blood. Even the hairs which had once grown so abundantly in his ears and nostrils had been skilfully removed.
There was no mystery surrounding his death, no hint of foul play. His health had been poor in recent years, and the stresses of being a captive king might well have hastened his end.
I began thinking of my mother. She had died when Richard was born, her frail constitution exhausted by a prolonged and complicated labour. I remember a gentle fair-haired woman who read Grimm’s fairytales to Victoria and me at bedtime, but little else. Far rawer was my loss of my father and Alex and everyone who had perished at Ty Trist.
‘He was a brave and honourable man,’ I heard Chicomeztli say. ‘He bore all his difficulties with great dignity and did not compromise his beliefs.’
‘You mean he refused to collaborate.’
It sounded harsh as soon as it was out, but Chicomeztli gave a lop-sided smile and nodded vigorously. ‘Most certainly. He was as difficult as it was his duty to be.’
I was exhausted and still in some physical discomfort. For the next two days I convalesced in the suite of rooms which had been provided for me in the central pyramid of the administrative complex. Female Aztec servants, silent and courteous, brought me meals, and Victoria visited every day. She had her own suite immediately above mine, with private access between us via the balcony garden.
I made a swift recovery, and most of my time was taken up with comforting Victoria, who remained anxious.
‘What will they do with us, Kate?’ she asked, the first time we were alone together.
‘Don’t worry,’ I told her. ‘We won’t be harmed. We would never have been brought here in the first place if they meant to get rid of us.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘I know. But we mustn’t let them see that.’
She sat on the bed beside me, holding my hand in hers. ‘I can’t believe Father’s dead.’
‘It’s Richard we have to think about now. He’s going to need all our help.’
But I was, in fact, thinking about Alex, wondering where he might be. It would be difficult, even for someone as resourceful as him, to survive in the wilds of Wales and continue to evade capture. But at least he was still alive.
‘You’re not seriously ill, are you?’ Victoria said. ‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.’
At that moment I decided I wasn’t going to tell her about the baby.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘I’m not ill. And I’ve got no intention of abandoning you.’
She was silent, still anxious.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘Do you think …’ She paused, hesitated. ‘Do you think they still …’
Again she faltered. I knew what she was trying to say.
‘Hush. They’re Catholics. It’s the state religion, you know that. They prepared Father perfectly decently for a Christian burial.’
‘But people say—’
‘People are always saying things. You can’t believe all you hear.’
She lay with her head in my lap. Little did she know that I shared similar fears to her, the same fears as all the Aztecs’ enemies.
Ostensibly we were alone, but it seemed likely that the apartments were monitored with hidden microphones and perhaps even cameras. As I stroked Victoria’s hair, I wondered what kind of eyes and minds might secretly be dwelling on us even at this very moment.
On the third morning I woke to find Bevan outside in the garden, watering the flowerbeds. I dressed and went outside.
‘Good morning,’ I said.
‘Up bright and early, aren’t you?’
He did not look at me. I walked around until I was facing him.
I hesitated, then said, ‘Bevan, I’m sorry.’
Water sprinkled my toes, forcing me to step back.
‘I shouldn’t have accused you of disloyalty. I was upset. With the killing of the others.’
‘Didn’t mess about, did they? I reckon you and your sister were lucky.’
He continued watering along a row of multicoloured daisies.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I said. ‘There’s been plenty of rain.’
‘They told me I was to be your gardener and general factotum. That’s what you asked for, wasn’t it? So I’m doing my job.’
‘That was just an excuse. I didn’t want anything to happen to you. Are your living quarters all right?’
‘Very plush,’ he replied. ‘Key’s on your side of the door, is it?’
I had asked for Bevan to be given a room next to my suite, and to my surprise the request had been granted. An adjoining door linked his quarters with mine.
‘I thought it was the least I could do,’ I said.
‘Very considerate of you.’
He put the can down and took out a pack of Raleigh Full Strength, lighting one.
‘If you’d rather go back to Wales, I’ll see if I can arrange it.’
‘They’re not going to let me go. They know I’ve been hobnobbing with you lot for a while.’
I ignored his disparaging tone. ‘You helped us out in Wales, and I’m very grateful. I might be able to pull strings. You must be worried about your mother.’
‘She’s used to managing on her own.’
‘I’ll do what I can if you want.’
He took a contemplative pull on his cigarette. ‘You’d like me to stay, wouldn’t you?’
I was surprised by this – surprised by its accuracy. At the same time, I was reluctant to admit any such need.
I let him smoke his cigarette, making a show of watching a blackbird root about under a stand of blackcurrant bushes.
Presently I said, ‘Do you know anything about computers?’
‘Ought to, didn’t I? Seeing as how I worked for IBM.’
‘Imperial Business Machines?’
‘It’s the only IBM I know of.’
This was hard to credit. He looked more like a labourer than a computer technician.
‘You never said.’
‘Never asked, did you?’
An Aztec transporter flew past, the whine of its engines drowning out everything else. When it was gone, Bevan said, ‘They’re hoping I’ll keep an eye on you. Report back to them.’
‘The Aztecs?’
‘Thing is, they’ve checked my credentials and they know I’m not exactly a royalist.’
‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘Makes no difference now, does it? We’re all in the same boat.’
What was I to make of this? I was tempted to question him further, but I felt sure he wouldn’t tell me any more.
‘I’m going to need someone I can trust,’ I said.
He spat out a fragment of tobacco.
‘Not something you find easy, is it?’
There really was no limit to his impertinence.
Governor Extepan was in his mid-twenties, and of mixed Mexican and European stock. Thirty years before, Motecuhzoma had
broken with Aztec tradition by taking a Spanish noblewoman as his wife, though she had later been killed by a Catalan bomb while visiting Valencia after the Aztec conquest of Iberia. Extepan was taller than most of his countrymen, and Spanish rather than Mexican in his looks.
He greeted me in his private quarters high in the central pyramid. Outside it was another rainy afternoon, and he stood flanked by Maxixca and Chicomeztli before a real coal fire in a large hearth. The fire was plainly an affectation since the complex derived ample power for heating from the solar generators atop each of the subsidiary pyramids. Richard was perched at a desk console nearby, a
patolli
game on the screen. He gave me a small wave as I entered but did not get up. It was as if he had already accustomed himself to my presence in his life again.
Extepan took my hand and inclined his head.
‘I trust you are feeling better.’
His tunic was unbuttoned at the neck, and he had a casual air about him. Maxixca, by contrast, was dressed very correctly and stood with his hands at his back, regarding me with open hostility.
‘I’m truly sorry about all the unfortunate circumstances which brought you here,’ he said. ‘We had no idea you were carrying a child. You have my deepest sympathies.’
To my relief, Richard appeared not to have heard this. He was tapping buttons and making counters leapfrog over one another on the screen.
‘Your sympathies are better reserved for the relatives of those you killed,’ I said bitterly.
I could see Maxixca bridle at this. Extepan nodded gravely.
‘It was most unfortunate. A tragic error. I trust that that was explained to you.’
‘An error that cost the lives of innocent people. If that’s really what it was.’
‘You have my word of honour.’
His English was excellent. He motioned to chairs on either side of the fire. They were Aztec
icpallis
, made of black mahogany, tall-backed and legless, though lavishly upholstered with a chevroned cloth. I did not move.
‘I regret, too, your father’s passing,’ he said.
‘Really?’
‘He was a good man. I had great respect for him.’
‘Even though you kept him captive in his own country?’
He looked wry. ‘Maxixca told me you would be uncompromising. I can see you have inherited all your father’s strength of character.’
‘Don’t patronize me.’
Now he was distinctly abashed. ‘Forgive me. I realize you have no reason to be amused. But there is room for common courtesy, yes?’
Again he indicated the chairs. Again I did not move. He had striking black eyebrows and greenish eyes ringed by dark brown which gave him a very direct stare.
‘You weren’t brought here to be humiliated,’ he said. ‘I assure you I intend nothing but honour for all your family.’
‘Honour? The same kind of honour that entails destroying a house of helpless civilians?’
‘It was a savage foolishness. I do not expect you to believe me, but I share your outrage.’
He matched my stare.
Tap, tap, tap
, went Richard at the keyboard.
‘Is there any news of my husband?’ I asked.
‘Ah, yes, the Duke. That I cannot say with any certainty. As you can no doubt imagine, we would prefer to have him safely in our hands, but our search parties have found nothing. I think it is likely he has escaped. That is good news for you, yes?’
‘Very good news.’
‘Perhaps you would like some tea?’
I almost laughed at this
non sequitur
. Instead, I shook my head.
‘We have many things to talk about,’ Extepan said. ‘But first the matter of your health—’
‘I’m fully recovered,’ I insisted.
‘That is good to hear. We can make arrangements for your family physician to be available, should you wish.’
‘That won’t be necessary. I feel perfectly well.’
‘Good. Then perhaps we can press on with our consultations.’
‘Consultations?’
‘Perhaps you would prefer to combine them with an overfly of the city? I have a shuttle available. I imagine you must be
concerned to see how your people are faring and what damage we have caused.’
There was an almost naïve eagerness about him, but his voice also had a mocking note – self-mocking rather than directed at me. He was quite a contrast to the stiff and suspicious Maxixca.
‘The first thing we must discuss,’ Extepan said, ‘is the matter of your father’s funeral.’
I sat with him and Maxixca behind the flight crew, gazing out through the slanting cockpit windows as the craft lifted from the landing pad and flew across the river.
Sarcastically I said, ‘Do you intend it to be a full state occasion?’
‘Of course,’ he replied quite seriously. ‘I assume that you and your family would wish this.’
I searched for a hint of deviousness, of game-playing, in his face, but there appeared to be none.
‘So you intend to make the news public?’
‘It is not something we could hide indefinitely from your people, is it? Nor would I want us to.’
A fan-tailed support craft had appeared to shadow us discreetly on our overfly. Maxixca kept track of it with his eyes.
‘How long have you been governor?’ I asked Extepan.
‘Since April,’ he replied. ‘I replaced my uncle. He was assassinated by one of your countrymen while shopping at Harrods.’
I saw Maxixca stiffen, as though aghast that Extepan should reveal this. Extepan himself was fatalistic. ‘We may have vanquished your armies, but we cannot predict the actions of individuals. It is in the nature of things. But my uncle did not help our cause by treating your people harshly. I hope to enlist their co-operation more.’
From what little information we had been able to glean during our exile, I knew that Nauhyotl had instituted severe repressions on his arrival in the country. But ‘co-operation’ was a word with many interpretations.
We were flying low over Oxford Street. It was as crowded as ever with shoppers. Fast-food lunchers milled about outside the red-and-gold façade of a MexTaco restaurant. The Centre Point
cinema complex was advertising the latest Acapulco productions,
Otomi Onslaught
and
Totonac Attack
. Everything appeared normal.
‘The next pressing problem’, Extepan said, ‘is, of course, the succession.’
I turned away from the window. Richard sat with Chicomeztli under the supervision of the co-pilot, moving a sightfinder on one of the screens with all the enthusiasm of the uninitiated.
‘Are you proposing to crown Richard king?’
Extepan did not react to my sarcasm. ‘Is there any reason why we should not?’
Richard was making shooting sounds, downing imaginary enemies with great delight.
‘Your country has always had its own monarch. There is no need to depart from tradition, even under the present circumstances.’
‘You can’t possibly expect me to condone it,’ I said.
He frowned. ‘I don’t understand. He is heir to the throne.’
‘Of a country under occupation. He would be a puppet ruler. You are our enemies. We won’t collaborate with you.’
Maxixca made to say something, but Extepan raised a hand. He was as calm as Maxixca was agitated.
‘You know I’m intending to restore your parliament?’ he said.
‘Why? So they can rubber-stamp everything you do? Give you a spurious respectability with our people?’
‘It will have considerable freedom in all sorts of spheres. You must believe me when I say I do not wish your people to suffer unduly—’
‘Then evacuate your armies and leave us in peace.’
Maxixca was unable to restrain himself any longer.
‘We don’t have to negotiate with her!’ he said in Nahuatl. ‘She must accept whatever we decide.’
‘Leave this to me,’ Extepan replied, evenly but with authority.
The sun had broken through the cloud, and below us people were strolling in Hyde Park. Some wore brightly patterned Aztec capes, but most were English. The balcony of the café on the bank of the Serpentine was full.
‘Perhaps we should ask Richard himself,’ Extepan said to me.
‘He’s just a child,’ I replied. ‘He’s not capable of making decisions for himself.’
Richard had suffered oxygen starvation during Mother’s protracted labour; his mental and emotional development would always be limited.
‘That may be so,’ Extepan said, ‘but he deserves to be consulted.’ He motioned to Chicomeztli, who had apparently been listening to everything while appearing not to be. Reluctantly, Richard was persuaded to abandon the joystick.
Chicomeztli led him over to us.
‘That was fun,’ he said to me. ‘When am I going to be king, Kate?’
‘These people want to crown you,’ I said. ‘But you must remember that they invaded our country and imposed their rule. You would be king in name only.’
He looked at Chicomeztli, at Extepan and Maxixca. There was confusion on his face. I was sure he was thinking that if people were kind to him, then they were his friends.
‘Father said I would be king after him.’
‘You’re his successor,’ I agreed. ‘But I don’t think he imagined our country would be under armed occupation. If you let these people make you king, you’ll be accepting their authority over us. You’ll be confirming their right to make decisions for our people.’
‘It’s my duty to be king.’
‘You have to try to put your own feelings to one side and think about the consequences.’
It was clear he didn’t like the sound of this. Even pitched so plainly, the argument was probably too subtle for him. Then something took his eye through the cockpit window.
‘Look!’ he said, brightening. ‘Buckingham Palace!’
We were tracking westwards again, and the palace was directly below. At first glance it looked intact, but then I saw it was roofless, its walls blackened.
‘It was gutted during the fighting,’ Extepan remarked. Throughout my conversation with Richard, his eyes had been on me.
‘Do you plan to restore it so you can install Richard there?’
His forbearing look seemed to say he was prepared to tolerate all my immoderation.
‘I know this is very difficult for you,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it would be easier if the decision were taken out of all our hands. We could let your people decide for themselves.’
‘And how would you propose to do that? By popular vote?’
‘Exactly. I think you call it in your country a referendum.’
In the middle of the night I rose and unlocked the door which gave access to Bevan’s apartment. For several moments I hesitated. Then I turned the handle and crept in.
Bevan’s apartment was in darkness, redolent of maleness and stale tobacco. His bedroom door was ajar.
‘That you, is it?’
His voice startled me. I swallowed, said, ‘Yes.’
He sat up blearily. By night our rooms were bathed in the soft radiance of the generators, and I could see he was wearing striped pyjamas.