Aztec Century (28 page)

Cuauhtemoc himself was a delight by comparison. Strong-limbed yet placid, he proved an excellent traveller and happily nestled in my arms without a murmur. Of course, I kept thinking of my own lost child, and of others I might have with Extepan. How would children of my own affect my feelings towards this, his first-born? Already the complications of my decision were multiplying.

We flew on from Acapulco to California, chasing the setting sun westwards on the last leg of the flight across the Mojave Desert. The desert was green with ripening corn, a veritable ocean of grass.

In California, descendants of English and Spanish settlers had become full Mexican citizens after the province was annexed by the Aztecs in the nineteenth century. For three days we visited vineyards and citrus plantations and coastal waters which shimmered at night with shallow plantations of
tonatiuhacatl
, the ‘sun reeds’ which were the very basis of Aztec technological superiority. Half plant, half optical fibre, the reeds could be spun into fabrics, embedded in high-performance alloys, fashioned like paper into sheets which stored and could re-emit the energy of the sun with up to eighty per cent efficiency.

North again, to Zanhuanxico, with its pneumatic carriages and its great Aztec bridge spanning the bay. It was while staying there that we received the news which prompted an immediate return to Tenochtitlan.

I was woken early one morning by Citlalxauhqui, who announced that Chicomeztli was on the telephone.

As soon as I sat down at the screen, I saw the anxious look on his face.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked.

‘There is news from the north,’ he told me.

‘Extepan?’ I said immediately. ‘Is he all right?’

‘He will not be able to return as soon as he intended. His negotiations were not successful, and there has been another development.’

‘What?’

‘The New English have occupied Potomac.’

I understood only too clearly what this meant. Mexico and New England had signed a treaty many years before guaranteeing the city’s independence. Breaking it was tantamount to a declaration of war.

‘It appears the Canadians are intending to support their action,’ Chicomeztli told me. ‘We are mobilizing our armies in the north. Extepan will command them.’

We arrived back in Tenochtitlan after midnight. The city already seemed asleep, as if nothing had disturbed its usual placid rhythms. But Motecuhzoma was ensconced with Tetzahuitl and the other members of the
tlatocan
in his council chamber.

I switched on the television in my apartment. There were fifteen channels, and it was a simple matter to find one which carried news of the crisis. Pictures were being shown of a heavy military build-up in Virginia and Ohio, the most north-easterly provinces of Greater Mexico. Tanks and missile launchers were massed near the border with New England, and squadrons of jetcopters and interceptors filled the skies. Crack units of Eagle and Ocelotl commandos had been mobilized, we were told, ready to repel any further New English aggression.

The entire report had the expected jingoistic flavour, with Tetzahuitl appearing on the screen to condemn the illegal occupation of the city and demand that the New English withdrew. This is rich, I thought, from a man who had helped orchestrate the invasions of half the sovereign territories of the world. Motecuhzoma himself did not appear, though his name was frequently invoked in support of Mexican efforts. There was no mention of Extepan.

I searched the channels, looking for different slants on the story. Gradually it emerged that New English troops had entered Potomac at the request of the city’s rulers, who were promptly condemned as traitors to their own people. It was difficult to winnow any truth from the propagandizing, but I began to
wonder if the Aztecs had precipitated the crisis as a pretext for invasion. Was Extepan himself personally responsible for engineering the situation?

Over the next few days, events moved swiftly to an inexorable climax. The Aztecs issued an ultimatum for the New English to withdraw. They refused, with the full backing of the Canadians, claiming that they had been asked to defend the city from Aztec aggression – this was not actually said in the commentaries, but it was easy to read between the lines. Extepan, celebrated as Motecuhzoma’s eldest son and victor of Russia, was shown in battle gear, consulting with his chiefs-of-staff. He seemed infinitely remote, in another world entirely from mine. A second ultimatum was rejected, and all Mexican citizens were ordered to evacuate the city. A third and final ultimatum was ignored. At dawn the next day, the invasion of New England began.

I followed the progress of the war from my apartment, with Chicomeztli often at my side. Bevan had taken himself off marlin-fishing in the Caribbean during my absence, and his return was delayed by the outbreak of the war. I had a suspicion he was also sulking.

The war began promisingly for the Mexicans, with Extepan’s armies making rapid gains after striking eastwards from Ohio rather than attacking as expected from the south. But Canadian forces were massing across the border, and the Sioux Confederacy joined them. They struck more swiftly than expected, sweeping down towards the Ohio river and endangering Extepan’s supply lines. With the New English stiffening their resistance in the east, within days a danger developed that Extepan’s armies might be cut off between both forces and destroyed. None of this was reported on television, but Chicomeztli daily brought me the latest intelligence, sparing no details. Motecuhzoma and Tetzahuitl remained incommunicado, a measure of the seriousness of the situation.

Chicomeztli obviously sensed my concern for Extepan, and I felt a growing need to unburden myself to him. He had always been a friend to me, and in some ways I trusted him more than anyone else.

Only a week after the war had begun, Chicomeztli informed
me that the Caucasian provinces of Ohio and Kentucky had revolted and declared for the New English. Extepan’s armies were in retreat, fighting their way southwards towards Potomac.

I didn’t attempt to hide my surprise.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘The Empire has more troops and equipment than all theirs put together. Why isn’t Extepan getting the support he needs?’

‘It is not so easy to move armies swiftly across a whole continent,’ he replied.

‘But he’s the
tlatoani
’s son. And he’s in danger.’ I hesitated. ‘And you have the beam weapon.’

He smiled at this. ‘Ah, yes. That is true.’

‘Then why hasn’t it been used? Surely that would end the war swiftly, just like in Russia.’

He agreed. ‘But there is honour at stake.’

‘Honour?’

‘Both we and our enemies are contesting a point of international principle. There would be no contest if they were forced to surrender immediately.’

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. In the background, the TV featured a bombastic report about the Mexican naval blockade of New York and Philadelphia. It seemed a farce, a pantomime.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said again. ‘You could have probably avoided the war altogether, just by threatening to use it.’

It was not that I wanted the beam to be used – far from it. I was simply trying to understand the mentality of a nation that had such a powerful weapon yet refused to employ it.

Chicomeztli’s smile was almost condescending. ‘There would be great shame for our enemies if they were forced to surrender before they had the opportunity to defend their positions.’

I glanced around the apartment. We were surrounded by the products of the most sophisticated civilization on earth, yet it seemed to me that the sentiments which Chicomeztli was expressing were entirely primitive. In Russia, they had waited until two armies were obliterated before using the beam. ‘Are you telling me this war is being waged to satisfy not just your own honour but that of the New English, too? Even if the emperor risks losing another of his sons in the process?’

His skewed eye darted in its socket. He shrugged. ‘It’s our way.’

By now, I was thoroughly bemused by the conduct of the war, which had brought home to me how superficially I had always understood the Aztec character. In pre-Christian times, the Aztecs often pursued the
xochiyaoyotl
, or flowery war, whose chief purpose was to secure prisoners for sacrifice rather than conquer enemies or acquire new lands. Over the past four hundred years, they had waged war for territorial gain, but it seemed as if the underlying ideal of war as an end in itself, war as a ritual vital to their race, remained. Of course, Extepan had said as much when I visited him in Russia, but I hadn’t quite believed him. Now, with his own life possibly in the balance, I saw too clearly that the Aztecs were indeed prepared to put death before dishonour.

By now, even Mexican television was reporting the reversals in the north, and when a still picture of Extepan was shown on the screen, my emotions were close to the surface. Naturally, Chicomeztli noticed immediately.

‘You care greatly for him,’ he observed.

‘We were betrothed before he left,’ I admitted.

Chicomeztli beamed. He got up from his chair and hugged me.

‘I am so sorry. And so happy for you both. It will all be well in the end, you will see.’

‘It has to be kept secret,’ I stressed. ‘Especially now. Only Motecuhzoma and Tetzahuitl know. It might endanger Extepan’s position even further if the news were made public.’

‘Of course.’ He seemed to wink at me. ‘Mum is the word.’

Next day, Chicomeztli brought me more welcome news: Bevan was returning.

I had not seen him in almost a month, and when I learnt that he would be landing at Cuauhtitlan Airport that afternoon, I decided to go and meet him. I needed to get away from the palace and the war, if only for a short while. I also felt that friendly overtures were necessary, in case he was still aggrieved with me.

Arrangements were made for a glidecar to bring him direct
from the airport to a private mooring where I was waiting for him aboard a long low-slung motorboat. I intended to ferry him leisurely across the lake to Chapultepec, giving us time to be alone and renew our acquaintance.

As his glidecar drew up on the jetty, I was as expectant as any child anticipating a reunion with a rapscallion but good-hearted uncle.

When Bevan emerged from the car, I saw that his face and arms were brick-red from the sun. He wore a floppy white hat with navy flannels and a holiday shirt on which parrots and toucans disported themselves in radiant colour. His bulging travelling bag was slung over his shoulder.

He eyed me curiously as he was escorted aboard the boat.

‘Welcome back,’ I said with a smile.

I received only a grunt in reply.

‘Did you have a good time?’

‘Good enough, I reckon.’

He moved to the bow of the boat, dumping his bag on one of the seats.

‘Catch any fish?’ I asked.

He took off his hat and mopped his forehead with it. ‘Spent most of my time drinking Marley’s and eating seafood salads.’

He let out a burp as if in emphasis. I sat down beside him as the boat was unmoored and we headed out into the lake.

‘I missed you,’ I said.

‘That a fact?’

He was making it difficult for me. I was determined to remain cheerful.

‘Do you like the launch? It was modelled after the old Aztec canoes.’

‘Executive barge, is it?’

‘Bevan!’

Only now did he look me straight in the face.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t want there to be any friction between us. Especially now.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Been having problems, have you?’

I shook my head. ‘It’s just … you know, all the fighting in New England.’

One of the escort brought us a jug of iced lemonade. Our boat was heading south, shadowed by two motor launches. The escort were congregated at the stern with the pilot, out of earshot of us.

‘Do you know what’s been happening in the north?’ I asked.

Bevan stroked his misted glass. ‘I’ve got the gist of it. Number One Son in big trouble, is he?’

I didn’t know what to say to this. Bevan was obviously enjoying my discomfort. He swallowed his drink then proceeded to take off his sandals and socks. Rolling his trousers up to his knees, he perched himself on the edge of the boat and dangled his feet in the water.

The afternoon was bright and still, the lake tranquil.

‘Watch the
ahuitzotl
doesn’t eat your toenails,’ I remarked.

‘Missing him, are you?’

This threw me completely. ‘What?’

‘The man of the hour. Your favourite Mexican.’

I hid my face behind my drink. But Bevan wasn’t even watching me: he was staring out over the lake. We were hugging the western shore, and herons were congregated in the coastal marshes.

‘He proposed marriage to me,’ I said.

‘Did he now?’

‘I accepted.’

He flattened his sunhat on his head, tugging at the droopy brow.

‘That’s a turn-up for the book.’

‘Do you think I’m a traitor?’

His smile was like a sneer. ‘I think you don’t know the half of it.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

He swung his feet out of the water. ‘Ever heard of Quauhnahuac?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘It’s a city. To the south of here.’

‘Your sister’s there.’

I just stared at him.

‘They never sent her to China.’

‘What?’

‘I got into the networks here, like you asked. They brought her here. To Mexico. It’s where she’s been all the time.’

I was staggered by this. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure, all right. It was all on file – dates, flights, even her address. They’ve put her up in an old Spaniard’s retirement home.’

It was not just the rocking motion of the boat which made me steady myself.

‘There must be some mistake.’

‘There’s no mistake.’

‘Was that what you were trying to tell me?’

He took a battered pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit one. They were Kingston Clouds, their smoke resinous and aromatic.

‘Wasn’t going to leave you a note about it, was I? Besides, I could tell something else had happened. You weren’t ready for it.’