Aztec Century (16 page)

I was still incredulous.

‘You hardly know me,’ I said. ‘We’ve scarcely seen one another in the last six months.’

‘I know. But when I watched you from afar, on television while you were travelling the breadth of this land – that only made me more conscious of your many attributes. Of your grace and strength. And beauty.’

I felt more angry than flattered. ‘I’m your enemy. Surely you know that by now. I oppose the Aztec Empire.’

‘I’m under no illusions, Catherine. I understand why you should want to fight for the liberty of your people. So does my father, and the
cihuacoatl
. I would not respect you if you did not have the courage of your convictions. That courage is one of the things that would make me honoured to be your husband.’

He gave every indication of being in earnest.

‘Do you think I’m a fool?’ I said.

‘Catherine—’

‘You never stop, do you? You never stop trying to use me!’

He reached across the table to touch my hand. I snatched it away.

‘Catherine,’ he said, ‘my proposal is a sincere and open one. I have come to admire you greatly. Perhaps more than that. I do not expect you to share those feelings wholeheartedly, but I beg you to believe this – I would rather marry you than anyone else.’

I wanted to get up from the table and march out.

‘This is absurd,’ I said.

‘Believe me,’ he replied, ‘I would prefer it if I was drawn to someone more … tractable. But that is the way it is.’

I shook my head.

‘Marriage to me would solve many of your problems here, wouldn’t it?’

‘Do you think I imagine you would change your nature? I would expect you to protect the interests of your people as before.’

‘And do you imagine my people would trust me if I were married to you?’

A sigh. ‘Catherine, it would make very little difference to them. You are not the conscience of the whole nation. No one expects you to be.’

‘That’s no good reason for marrying you.’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘It is not. But I want you as my wife for what you are, not who you are.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘That does not surprise me under the circumstances. Don’t you think I would have tried to choose a better time than this if I was able? With your sister only recently exiled, you have less reason to trust any of us than ever. But my father insists that I must marry soon, and urgent situations require urgent actions.’

Mia reappeared, approaching the table.

‘Do you need anything else?’ she asked in Nahuatl.

‘No, no,’ Extepan said brusquely, waving her away. She gave me a glance before she departed, and I was certain she knew the whole thrust of our conversation. I was certain she hated me at that moment.

‘I beg you to consider it,’ Extepan said when we were alone again. ‘There’s no need to give me an immediate answer.’

‘No amount of consideration will make me accept,’ I replied. ‘How can you possibly expect me to compromise myself by marrying you? I’ve no intention of legitimizing your rule here.
What would happen then? Would Richard have an unfortunate accident so that you could claim the throne?’

He shook his head fervently. ‘No harm is going to come to Richard. And there’s no reason for me to marry you for political reasons
because
no harm is going to come to him. Shall I tell you why?’

I waited.

‘You remember Chimalcoyotl’s daughter, Xochinenen?’

‘Of course.’

‘Your brother intends to marry her shortly.’

Again, there was something unexpected yet inevitable about his words.

‘You’re lying,’ I said.

‘He was greatly taken with her after their first meeting. At his request, she visited him while he was holidaying in Monaco There they exchanged rings as a token of mutual affection. He visited her again while he was in Mexico. He wants her to become his queen, Catherine, and she’s agreed.’

I thought of the snake ring, and Xochinenen’s tiny hands. Richard could only wear the ring on his little finger.

‘Naturally my father is delighted,’ Extepan was saying. ‘especially as the initiative came from Richard himself. So you see, we Aztecs, as you call us, will already be marrying into the British Royal Family, and at the very highest level. Politically, it would be far more expedient for me to marry someone other than you. My father would certainly prefer it, even though he appreciates your qualities. But I would rather have you as my bride.’

I was full of thoughts of Richard, aghast at what he intended Pushing back my chair, I rose.

‘Please,’ Extepan said, also rising and taking my arm. ‘Consider it carefully.’

‘I must go,’ I said, hurrying away.

Richard was in conference with Kenneth Parkhouse and his cabinet in one of the private rooms off the new House of Commons chamber. I burst in on them.

‘Richard,’ I said, ‘I have to talk to you immediately.’

‘I’m very busy now, Kate,’ he replied with child-like gravity. ‘It will have to wait.’

‘Now, Richard.’

I put every ounce of command into my voice. To my surprise, it was Parkhouse and his ministers who reacted, hastily gathering together their papers while murmuring that they would be happy to continue their business later. Soon they were gone, leaving Richard looking stranded at the head of the conference table.

‘What were you discussing?’ I asked acidly. ‘The arrangements for your marriage?’

He was incapable of hiding his surprise.

‘She’s a lovely girl, Kate. I think we’ll be very happy together.’

‘Richard,’ I said with forced patience, ‘can’t you see they’re using you? You’re being manoeuvred into this marriage.’

‘It was my idea, Kate.’

‘You
think
it was your idea. They want you to think that.’

I could imagine Xochinenen doing everything in her power to make herself attractive to Richard; he was so innocent it had probably been no hard task.

I sat down next to him. ‘Listen,’ I said softly, ‘I’m sure she’s a charming girl and that you’re very fond of her. But she’s an Aztec, the granddaughter of Motecuhzoma. How do you think the British people will feel about you marrying one of our enemies?’

‘The Prime Minister and his cabinet believe that the country would enjoy a royal wedding.’

‘The Prime Minister and his cabinet are collaborators, stooges of the Aztecs. They’ll just tell you what you want to hear.’

‘I love her, Kate. She’s so pretty and fun to be with. She says we can have six children.’

‘She’s using you, Richard.’

‘No, she’s not! She says I’m kind and gentle. You don’t know her – she’s the only person I can laugh with. Everyone else is so serious all the time. I always have so many important decisions to make.’

I took his hand across the table. ‘Once she’s married to you, you’ll be completely in the power of the Aztecs. They’ll have the authority to do whatever they want. And you’ll carry the blame if anything goes wrong.’

I let him ponder on this, already knowing it was futile.

‘I don’t care,’ he said at length. ‘I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I love her and I’m going to marry her, whatever they say.’ He pulled his hand from under mine and gave me a fierce look. ‘If you try to stop me, Kate, I’ll have you sent away!’

Three weeks later, Extepan flew back across the Atlantic to visit his Sioux princess. On the same day, Richard’s engagement to Princess Xochinenen was made public. She had arrived from Mexico a few days earlier, and the couple were shown on the nine o’clock news attending a première of the Grey Webster musical
Tequila Sunrise
at the Ambassadors Theatre off Shaftesbury Row. The large crowd outside was uniformly rapturous. Richard and his bride-to-be paused to wave outside the theatre in a snowstorm of flashlights. Xochinenen was dressed in a sequinned Jagger costume gown, Richard in an evening suit. They looked the perfect couple.

Over the weeks that followed, I put my energies into establishing my Citizens Aid Centre, publicizing the new office on television and stressing its independence and confidentiality. Soon, with a small secretarial staff, I was spending long afternoons dealing with grievances by telephone, letter, and in person. The problems ranged from the uncompensated expropriation of land to the boorish behaviour of Aztec soldiers in public houses. But although the work proved demanding and in its way fulfilling, I was disappointed by the relative mildness of the complaints; I had a suspicion that Maxixca, who had been left in charge during Extepan’s absence, was somehow managing to keep more serious breaches of human rights from us.

Meanwhile, Kenneth Parkhouse’s first parliament was about to begin sitting. It was given full television coverage and portrayed as the re-establishment of over a thousand years of English self-government after only a brief hiatus. Everything had been done to re-create as far as possible the grandeur and ambience of the pre-invasion parliaments, Richard even appearing to read out
the government’s proposals at the opening of parliament, as tradition dictated. These proposals included a rise in pensions and state benefit, a reduction in income tax and across the board pay rises of ten per cent. It was a blatant exercise in populism, and I wondered how many people realized that the extra expenditure on these measures would be derived from the complete extinction of the defence budget. From now on, the only army, navy and air force in the country would be Aztec.

Elsewhere, Extepan was also in the news, meeting with Matogee, the leader of the Sioux Confederacy, and his daughter in the neutral city of Potomac, where his territory met with that of Greater Mexico and New England. Gushing word-portraits were painted of Precious Cloud, a willowy girl of eighteen whose mother was a French-speaking aristocrat from Montreal. Potomac, its painted triangular skyscrapers and polyglot people reflecting two centuries of bustling mercantile existence between three often-warring powers, looked almost fairytale under a limpid early autumn sky. The people, in their feathered hats, rhinestone cloaks and big Texcoco cars, seemed exotic from afar, making London sedate and drab by comparison. Extepan was shown bowing to the princess and kissing her hand. They exchanged stilted conversation in English for the benefit of the cameras. Extepan seemed very far away.

Next day, it was announced that Richard would marry Xochinenen in mid-October, the day after his nineteenth birthday. Preparations began in earnest, hastened by Richard’s declaration that he was going to marry his princess not in St Paul’s or Westminster Abbey but in the Crystal Palace on Sydenham Hill, a favourite childhood haunt consecrated for royal marriages during the eccentric later years of my great-grandfather’s reign. The palace had fallen into disrepair since it and its surrounding park were closed to the public in the aftermath of the invasion, but now an emergency programme of renovation was set in motion. Newspapers, magazines and the television channels were full of talk of the wedding, unstinting in their praise for Xochinenen, publishing poll after poll which showed that the great British public loved her too.

Across the Atlantic, another wedding took place – that of Extepan and Precious Cloud. After a formal courtship of only a
month, they were married in Matogee’s capital, Eagle Butte. The ceremony, shown live on television in the early hours of the morning, combined Mexican, Sioux and Christian rituals, the couple knotting the hems of their marriage robes and exchanging gifts before a shaman and a Catholic priest. Tetzahuitl stood among the dignitaries, attending for Motecuhzoma, who seldom left Tenochtitlan these days. Among the guests were Cheyenne and Mohawk princes, the Brazilian emperor, entourages from China, Japan and Peru. But it was the New English who made the most impact by dispatching both President Vidal and Vice-president Wolfe to the ceremony, funereally attired in black suits and stovepipe hats as a sartorial expression of their disapproval for the whole affair.

I watched the ceremony with mixed emotions, relieved to have escaped Extepan’s designs on me but also regretting that I was now less likely to have his ear than in the past. Though I remained as opposed as ever to what he represented, I had grown to enjoy his company more than I was prepared to admit.

Not a day passed when I didn’t think of Victoria, but there was no further news of her. Bevan no longer seemed to have the ear of any revolutionaries, and he gave me the impression that the resistance movement to Aztec rule was dormant, perhaps even extinct. He seemed to be biding his time, pottering about the balcony garden and apparently content to do little else.

Perhaps he shared my feeling of being reduced to a mere observer in events. When Xochinenen first arrived in London, I arranged an audience with her in the hope of gauging the sincerity of her feelings towards Richard. Now seventeen, she received me courteously enough but remained infuriatingly lighthearted, very much the older child rather than the young woman. She had been taking English lessons, and her command of the language was considerably improved, something I accepted as positive evidence of a degree of commitment to her prospective role as Queen of England. To all appearances, she was delighted at the prospect of marrying Richard and was thoroughly fond of him. I could not decide whether she genuinely lacked maturity or was already very accomplished at hiding her real feelings.

Extepan was still technically Governor of Britain, and a week before Richard’s wedding we were told that he and Precious
Cloud would be returning to London to attend the ceremony, after which he would resume his duties. The news cheered me, because I had imagined that we were condemned to suffer Maxixca’s over-zealous administration from now on. It also meant that I would, at least, have some continued access to him.

On the day before the wedding, I had the final fitting of my dress, an Eastwood creation which combined English silks with Tlacopan lace. Privately I thought it too elaborate, but on this occasion I was determined to play the part required of me in the ceremony.

Bevan appeared from the garden just as the leather-clad designer himself was putting the finishing touches to the dress.

‘Very nice,’ he observed. ‘Pretty as a picture, as my mam would say.’

‘Are you taking the mickey?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it. An English rose without the thorns.’

‘Don’t you believe it.’

‘Talking of roses, any chance of giving me a few minutes in the garden? Nasty case of black spot we’ve got.’

He obviously wanted to talk to me in private. Since Maxixca’s security sweeps at the complex, we both operated on the assumption that our rooms might be monitored and never said anything confidential indoors.

I got rid of the dressmaker, changed into informal clothes, and went outside. The garden had flourished all summer under Bevan’s attentions, and the mild autumn meant that buddleia and Michaelmas daisies were still attracting a variety of butterflies, among them New World monarchs, whose larvae Extepan had shipped to London from Mexico each spring – an indulgence typical of the Aztecs.

Bevan was perched on the balustrade at the edge of the balcony.

‘What’s up?’ I said to him.

He was looking down towards the river, where a pleasure boat was carrying Mexican tourists up the Thames.

‘You might not be interested in this,’ he said, ‘but I thought I’d mention it anyway, just in case.’

‘What?’

‘You’ll be at the palace, tomorrow, for the wedding.’

‘I’m well aware of that, Bevan.’

‘There’s a rumour going round.’

He was slouched against the rail, turning a blob of
tzictli
in his mouth.

‘I’m listening,’ I said.

‘It may be nothing, but there’s talk about the park. Word is, they’ve built something there, in the grounds near one of the lakes. Some sort of secret installation.’

I waited for more, but nothing further was forthcoming.

‘What sort of secret installation?’

He shrugged. ‘That’s what nobody knows, do they? Might be worth taking a look, if you get the chance.’

Today he was dressed in a crimson-and-navy lumberjack shirt and an ancient pair of black barathea trousers. It was a balmy day, but he made few concessions to the weather – or to good grooming. He looked as if he had walked in off the street, a rather seedy character.

With little hope of an answer, I said, ‘Bevan, who are you working for?’

He squinted at me in the hazy light. ‘Work for you, don’t I?’

‘You know what I mean. All this time together, and you’re still a mystery to me.’

‘What you see is what I am.’

I sighed. ‘Can I trust you?’

He cracked a pink bubble of gum. ‘Never let you down yet, have I?’

‘It’s important for me to believe you’re on my side.’

The gum squelched between his teeth. ‘I’ve told you before – I’ve got a lot of time for you.’

‘How gracious you are! Am I supposed to feel flattered?’

‘Take it as you please. But if you’ve got to have a reason, then you can say I still owe you. You kept me out of it when Mad Mash found the disk. So I’m keeping you in the know about anything that crops us.’

As always, there was no sense at all that he was being deferential to my status. He treated everyone the same. I had grown to admire him for that, even when I found him blunt to the point of rudeness.

‘This installation, as you call it. Do you think it’s important?’

‘I reckon the fact they want to keep it under wraps speaks for itself.’

‘Then why run the risk of letting Richard marry in the palace, so close to it?’

‘Popular sentiment,’ he said emphatically. ‘It’s what he wants, and everyone’s behind him at the moment. They’d risk drawing more attention to the place by refusing, wouldn’t they? It’ll be crawling with guards, no doubt, and you’ll be lucky if you get a look in. But you stand a better chance than anyone else. It’s worth a shot, if you’re up for it.’

‘And if I find anything interesting, what am I supposed to do? Report back to you?’

He pulled a string of gum out from between his teeth.

‘Wouldn’t do any harm, would it?’

Richard and Xochinenen were married in the central transept of the Crystal Palace at noon on a bright autumn morning; the wedding march was played on the great organ, a relic of Victorian days. I was seated at the front of the congregation with Extepan and his new bride. Earlier I had briefly been introduced to Precious Cloud, whom Extepan had christened Chalchi. She seemed rather overawed by the occasion, but friendly enough. Extepan kept her close to his side and paid solicitous attention to everything she said.

The ceremony was conducted by the Archbishop of Canterbury. In the weeks leading up to the wedding there had been considerable debate over whether the Aztecs would allow the primate of the Church of England to conduct the marriage of a Roman Catholic princess; but the controversy never came to a head since Xochinenen indicated that she and all her family were perfectly happy with an Anglican ceremony. Pope Leo, himself a Mexican, also gave his blessing.

The transept was thronged with guests, a sea of faces framed and compartmentalized by the freshly painted wrought-iron pillars and balustrades of Joseph Paxton’s great creation. The palace had miraculously survived several fires since it was first built. It was now fully air-conditioned, and solar generators had been mounted atop its two water towers, providing constant
power for heating, lighting and humidity. I had to admit it was a perfectly splendid place for a wedding.

Despite this, I sat through the service in a state of distraction, outwardly attentive but secretly wishing I were elsewhere. I think my years in hiding had given me less tolerance of state occasions than I once possessed, and it was hard to feel confident about Richard’s future happiness while I remained convinced that his bride was simply an instrument in the political ambitions of Motecuhzoma’s dynasty.

The ceremony was carried live on all six domestic channels, and the galleries were crammed with cameras, sound recording equipment and all the other paraphernalia of modern television. Foreign film crews from all the major nations were also covering the event, and I wondered if the
tlatoani
himself was watching from some private room in Chapultepec Castle at the very heart of the empire.

As I had expected, there was a heavy security presence, discreet within the palace itself but obvious outside, with armoured personnel carriers patrolling the environs and jetcopters hovering over the formal gardens which led down from the palace. I had no idea how I was going to attempt to locate Bevan’s mysterious installation; but I was determined to try if the opportunity presented itself.

Despite all my cynicism, I must admit that Richard and Xochinenen looked a happy and well-matched couple, Richard the perfect model soldier in his Royal Guards’ uniform, Xochinenen prettily petite in a traditional white English wedding dress. When the rings were exchanged and they finally kissed, the entire transept blazed with flashing lights, and I remember wondering if it was possibly the most photographed instant in history.

Because of the clement weather, a last-minute decision had been made to hold the reception outside on the terraces, and hordes of waiters served cold dishes and drinks while the guests mingled and made small talk among the lawns and flowerbeds. I was introduced to admirals, diplomats, members of the nobility from France and Germany, relatives of Xochinenen and Precious Cloud, financiers, businessmen, cinema celebrities – it went on and on. Very few of the most eminent British citizens and
aristocrats were familiar to me from my father’s days; those that had resisted the invasion had been purged by Nauhyotl after the conquest, and the new breed thrived precisely because they accepted Aztec rule.