Aztec Century (12 page)

Tetzahuitl made no comment on this. We began making our way back to the others, he descending into small talk about the seedless pomegranates and black roses he had been shown earlier. Around us, furtive shapes darted in the branches of trees.

‘Look,’ I said, pointing. ‘Grey squirrels.’

Victoria and I spent the following afternoon riding Archimedes and Adamant in Parliament Park under heavy escort. I returned to the complex sore-limbed and allowed myself the luxury of a long hot bath.

When I emerged, Bevan was out in the garden, stalking the rosebeds with a pair of secateurs. It was another balmy evening, and I joined him outside.

‘All right?’ he greeted me, squatting to snip a sucker from the base of a bush.

‘You’re getting green fingers,’ I remarked.

‘Keeps me busy, doesn’t it?’

He set to work on another bush with what seemed like excessive brutality.

‘Isn’t it the wrong time of the year for pruning?’

Bevan brandished a clump of suckers in his gloved hand. ‘Never too early for these. Parasites, they are. Suck the life from the plant.’

He crouched and began rummaging in the foliage.

‘I was wondering when you’d be back,’ he said presently.

‘Oh?’

‘I hear you’re off to Lords tomorrow.’

I was surprised he knew. Extepan had arranged for Tetzahuitl to attend a special limited-overs game between the England and the touring Azanian team.

‘Where did you hear that? I was only told this morning.’

‘Word gets around.’ His head remained buried in the bushes. ‘Who’s going altogether, then?’

Richard, Victoria and I had agreed to attend the match, largely
because we all knew the captain of the team, whose father was an old friend of the family. I told Bevan as much.

‘If I was you,’ he said, ‘I’d give it a miss.’

He delved even deeper into the bushes.

‘Why?’ I said.

‘Might not be safe.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s rumours going round.’

I was talking to his backside. ‘Bevan, come out of there!’

With a certain amount of grunting and muttered curses, he waddled backwards out of the rosebeds. Leaves and cuttings clung to his grey nylon sweater.

‘What’s going on?’ I demanded.

‘I picked up a whisper that something might be
planned
for the occasion, if you get my drift.’

‘What sort of thing?’

‘Something nasty. Violent, like.’

‘Are you suggesting we might be in danger?’

‘You might be killed. The lot of you.’

He spoke in a perfectly matter-of-fact way, as if we were discussing something quite innocuous.

‘How?’ I asked.

‘Couldn’t say for certain. But I reckon it’s not going to be safe for anyone there.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Take my word for it.’

He removed half a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it.

‘Bevan, you have to tell me how you know.’

‘A little bird told me.’

‘How can I trust you if I don’t know where you’re getting your information from?’

He shrugged. ‘Up to you, isn’t it? But if it was me, I’d give you the benefit of the doubt, considering that my life might be at stake.’

I sighed. ‘Who are they hoping to get? Tetzahuitl, or the whole lot of us?’

‘You think they give a damn one way or the other?’

*

Richard was in the living room with his household staff, watching an old black-and-white programme on his wide-screen TV.

I shooed the servants out so that I could speak to him alone.

‘We need to talk,’ I said through the noise of the programme.

‘Can’t it wait?’ he replied. ‘I’m watching this.’

He was intent on the screen. Zozo the masked Mexica swordsman was furthering the Aztec cause in eighteenth-century California by dispatching inept English militiamen, courtesy of Mexsat TV.

‘Something’s cropped up,’ I said. ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to go to Lords tomorrow.’

‘What’s happened, Kate? I was looking forward to it.’

On the screen, barrels were rolling and crashing around a wine cellar as Zozo evaded the attentions of a trio of lumbering Caucasian swordsmen. Richard always liked to have the volume turned right up, which I found useful on this occasion since it meant that no one could possibly overhear us.

‘Will you promise me you’ll keep what I say to you a secret?’

He looked intrigued. ‘Of course, Kate.’

‘It might be dangerous to go to Lords. We might all be killed.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone else?’

‘I promise.’

‘I think someone’s going to plant a bomb there.’

He digested this for a moment, his eyes flickering back only briefly to the screen.

‘Are you playing a joke, Kate?’

‘It’s no joke, Richard.’

‘They want to blow us all up?’

‘Not us in particular, I don’t think. But the Aztecs. The
cihuacoatl
especially, I expect.’

‘That’s not very nice.’

I said nothing to this.

‘Who are they?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘We’ll have to tell Extepan.’

No,’ I said firmly, not entirely surprised by this. ‘You must remember the Aztecs are our enemies, Richard. You have to expect our people to try to find ways of striking back at them.’

‘Innocent people will be killed, won’t they?’

‘Most probably,’ I admitted.

‘That isn’t fair.’

‘It wasn’t fair that they invaded us in the first place, was it? Some of our people are never going to accept that.’

‘I think you should tell Extepan, Kate.’

‘No. I can’t.’

‘It would be cowardly of us to stay away and let them walk into a trap.’

‘They’re our enemies,’ I repeated. ‘They’re occupying our country. They attacked us and killed many of our people.’

‘At least it was a fair fight.’

‘Hardly fair, since the invasion was unprovoked. And don’t you think that innocent people didn’t die in the fighting? If we warn them, we’ll be collaborating, betraying the people who still believe in our freedom.’

Again Richard thought about this while Zozo sword-slashed his initial on a stuccoed fort wall before galloping away into a monochrome sunset.

‘I’m going to go to the match, anyway,’ he said. ‘They won’t do it if I’m there.’

‘You’re foolish if you think that,’ I said gently. ‘They almost certainly will.’

‘But I’m their King.’

‘That won’t make any difference. They’ll see you as a traitor.’

‘Then I’ll just have to die, won’t I?’

‘That’s even more foolish. What purpose would it serve?’

‘I don’t know, Kate. But that’s what I’m going to do.’

I gripped his arm. ‘Use your head. Do you want to be a martyr? Is that what you want?’

‘I can’t let them frighten me off.’

‘They’re on
our
side, Richard. Fighting for
our
people.’

‘There might be women and children there. How can people let children be killed?’

I almost said that he was a child himself. His eyes were wet at the thought, but at the same time he looked stubborn and determined.

‘We can’t do anything to stop it,’ I said urgently as the closing
credits rolled with a crescendo of warped and tinny brass. ‘It’s going to happen whether we like it or not.’

‘It’s wrong, Kate. I think it’s wrong. If they’re going to do it, they’ll have to blow me up, too. That’s my final word.’

I went directly to Victoria’s suite. Chantico, her lady-in-waiting, told me that she had gone out for the evening.

‘Where?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Out with friends.’

From Bevan, I already knew that Victoria had taken to frequenting nightclubs and casinos with other members of what was termed the New Court – bright young things, mostly Aztec, who preferred the attractions of the West End to the duties and responsibilities of their positions.

I sat up into the small hours, waiting for her to return. Finally I fell asleep and woke with the dawn.

Again I went to her suite. A bleary Chantico admitted me. Her mistress was not yet back.

‘She is sometimes gone all night,’ Chantico told me. ‘She stays with friends.’

‘Where?’

She shook her head.

Chantico was a timid and courteous Navajo, and I knew she was both loyal and easy to bully.

‘I insist you tell me where she is!’ I said fiercely.

‘I don’t know,’ she assured me. ‘She never tells me where she’s going. She says it’s for security reasons.’

‘This is urgent! Vital! It goes beyond any personal loyalties you might have towards her!’

‘Please.’ She was close to tears now. ‘You have my word of honour. I don’t know!’

I relented, convinced that she was telling the truth. More softly I said, ‘Is there any way you can think of that I could contact her?’

A further shake of the head.

‘Somewhere I could leave a message?’

‘I’m sorry. I know nothing of her movements.’

I sought out Bevan, who was suitably disgruntled to be woken and marched out into the garden in his dressing gown.

‘Richard’s adamant on going to Lords today,’ I said.

‘You told him?’

‘I swore him to secrecy. Do you think I’d let my own brother – the King – die? I need to know when and where the bomb’s going to go off.’

He huddled into his dressing gown. ‘I never said anything about a bomb.’

‘You implied as much. I’ve no time for games, Bevan. I need to know. These are the lives of my family we’re talking about. The only people I have left.’

A shrug. ‘I don’t know any more than I’ve already told you.’

‘You must have some idea of when it’s going to happen.’

He shook his head.

‘Please, Bevan. Help me.’

‘My guess is the pavilion. It’s just a guess, mind you, but it’d make sense. You’d all be crammed in there. That way they’d be sure of getting everybody.’

‘I want to speak with whoever told you this.’

‘No chance. Even if I could arrange it, there wouldn’t be time. And they wouldn’t come within fifty feet of you.’

I could have hit him then. He was so stubborn, so infuriatingly wooden at times.

‘How much a part of this are you?’

‘Like I told you, I just hear things. Pass them on.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Believe what you want.’

‘You told me the Aztecs expected you to keep an eye on me. Is that what you’re doing, Bevan? Working for them? Leading me a merry dance?’

He laughed. ‘What do you take me for? Look, I’ve given you the tip-off. Now it’s up to you. Save yourself if you can’t save anyone else, for Christ’s sake.’

The silence was filled by a single bird singing a belated dawn chorus somewhere in the shrubbery. At that moment the entire situation seemed utterly improbable – I standing in a garden with a pyjamaed Welshman who was continually offering me ‘help’ in the most obstructive manner possible.

‘You told me once you weren’t exactly a royalist,’ I remarked.

‘You won’t find many from my background that are.’

‘Why bother telling me, in that case? What difference would it make to you if we were all killed or not?’

‘I look after my own.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Whatever you want.’

He pushed past me and went inside.

I bathed and took breakfast alone in my suite, then went to see Richard again. But he had departed early for Lords, obviously intent on avoiding me. I could scarcely believe he intended to risk his life.

At ten thirty, Chicomeztli arrived to escort me up to the launch pad for the flight to the ground. He was his usual cheery self, but I brushed aside his pleasantries.

‘Do you know where my sister is?’

He followed me into the elevator. ‘I believe she went out last night with some friends. To a rock concert at Wembley Stadium.’

I was suspicious. ‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it.’

‘Nepantla. She is a fan, yes?’

Nepantla were a very popular Aztec band, and I knew they were touring England.

‘She didn’t come home last night.’

Chicomeztli shrugged. ‘There will be an escort to watch over her. Perhaps she stayed with friends.’

This sounded suspiciously casual. ‘Does she often do this sort of thing?’

Chicomeztli looked puzzled. ‘There is no bar on her freedom of movement providing her personal security is assured. Is something wrong?’

I watched the ascending numbers on the floor-level indicator.

‘Is she going to Lords today?’

‘I do not know. Is there some difficulty?’

I sighed, then shook my head. ‘No. It’s nothing.’

He was silent for a while, but I was aware of him watching me.

‘I hope you’ll forgive me,’ he said, ‘but I think perhaps you should take a leaf, as you say, out of your sister’s book.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Some pleasure and relaxation. You take too little, maybe?’

‘Isn’t that what I’m doing? Relaxing? Having a day out at Lords?’

The harshness of my tone obviously took him aback. The elevator lurched to a halt, and the doors ground ponderously open.

The flight to Lords took only twenty minutes. Extepan, Tetzahuitl and Richard were already there in their seats when I arrived. Extepan was dressed in his ultramarine uniform, Tetzahuitl draped in a carmine and charcoal robe, Richard entirely in white. All three were conspicuous targets, I thought immediately, for any assassin. Richard pointedly did not look in my direction. It was almost as if he had blotted our conversation from his mind – or more likely had simply decided to carry on regardless with that special rigidness of attitude which he adopted once his mind was made up.

The old pavilion had been destroyed during the invasion, but the new structure of glass and chrome aped its stately Palladian contours while being thoroughly modern inside. The new Long Room was equipped with contour couches, video screens and the control centre for the all-weather dome which enabled matches to be played during rain and even in winter. Apparently the Lords committee was aghast when Extepan had insisted that women be admitted to the room for the first time in its history

We were introduced to both teams. Jeremy Quaintrell, the English captain, was the youngest son of the Earl of Eltham a former friend of my father but now a partisan of the Aztecs. Jeremy had been a childhood friend of ours, but he now struck me as haughty and smug. The polyglot Azanian team seemed rather ill at ease, as if they were reluctant participants in the event. Though the country had welcomed its Aztec-supported liberation from British colonial rule and its infamous Aparthood system, independence was brief and its current protectorate status was seen by many of its citizens as just another form of colonialism.

The Long Room was filled with dignitaries and guests, many
of them Aztec but many also English who had no connection with Aztec rule. Had the bomb already been planted here? Would it be detonated by someone now present? Or would some other means be used? Poison gas or a concussion grenade? A mortar attack from outside the ground? Mass poisoning of the Earl Grey or cucumber sandwiches? My mind raced over lurid possibilities.

We assembled on the balcony for the start of the match. Victoria’s seat was empty. The ground was full, many of the faces black Azanian émigrés or descendants of West Indians who had fled to Britain when the Aztecs occupied the Caribbean islands at the turn of the century. How many would die if there was a big explosion? I kept looking around, searching for some furtive movement or surreptitious gesture. I caught Richard staring at me, his face a mask of reproach. He said nothing, looked away.

The team captains emerged with the umpires. A coin was tossed. Quaintrell won and elected to bat. My father, a keen Middlesex supporter, had taken me to many matches as a child, and I had developed a real appreciation of the game. Today, however, it was the last thing on my mind.

‘Where’s Maxixca?’ I asked Extepan.

‘He has other duties elsewhere today,’ he told me.

This only made matters worse. If Extepan were killed, there was an even stronger possibility that Maxixca would be appointed governor in his place. This is madness, I thought. I must do something. But what? How could I betray those who were fighting for a cause I believed in? How could I let innocent people die?

The sun broke through the clouds as the match commenced. Extepan, cognoscente of all things English, began explaining the rules of the game to Tetzahuitl with that combination of pedantry and naïve misunderstanding typical of the newly knowledgeable. Richard also seemed remarkably carefree, reading aloud from the team notes. Was it possible he had actually forgotten the threat to his life and everyone else’s? It wouldn’t be the first time he had successfully blocked unacceptable facts from his mind.

The England innings began with the opening batsmen facing
a barrage of Azanian fast bowling. Few runs were scored, but no wickets fell. Union flags and St George’s crosses were unfurled around the ground, along with the black, green and gold Azanian flag. Isolated cheers went up each time a good stroke was played or a boundary scored. The sun grew hot on my face as I wrestled with my conscience and fear. I sat rigid, beside myself with fear and indecision.

A wicket fell, and Quaintrell came in to bat. He was blond and handsome, the epitome of the English captain in his whites. On his first ball he survived a strong call for leg before wicket Extepan’s attempts to explain the intricacies of this particular law to Tetzahuitl diverted me momentarily from my anxiety. The
cihuacoatl
’s face remained a picture of inscrutability.

Quaintrell hooked an outswinger to the boundary, took two leg byes, then lofted the final ball of the over for six. The crowd’s cheers became more forceful. A single, then another boundary, and now a ragged chant of ‘England, England’ went up. The next delivery took away two stumps, and Quaintrell began a hangdog walk back to the pavilion.

Waiters attended us with cocktails and soft drinks, while around the ground shirts were peeled off under the sun and cans of beer cracked open. It was almost possible to believe that the match was being played under ordinary circumstances.

I sat numbly, conversing only when directly addressed, my mind racing. Even now I don’t know how I was able to remain motionless for so long. No one appeared to notice my agitation, which surprised me because I have never, despite my upbringing, been good at hiding my emotions. When parasols were produced for us against the sun, I gratefully hid myself under one while continuing to scan the surroundings. I saw nothing amiss. Perhaps the bomb – I was sure, now, that it would be a bomb – had been planted under the very balcony days before, with a timing device. Another wicket fell, but I scarcely noticed it. The sheer normality of everyone around me, Richard included, only persuaded me that something dreadful was certain to happen at any moment.

Then Victoria arrived, murmuring her apologies for her lateness, escorted by a young Aztec called Huahuantli. She slumped in a seat beside me, looking ragged and flustered. Her arrival
seemed to galvanize me. All I could think about was that my entire family would be killed, that Maxixca would inherit everything. As soon as I had the opportunity, I leaned close to her and whispered, ‘Where have you been?’

She told me about the concert, then said, ‘There was a party afterwards. It went on till four in the morning. You look dreadful, Kate.’

‘Not half as bad as you. You should have had a lie-in. Why did you bother to come?’

She appeared not to hear me, instead hailing a waiter and taking a glass of lemon barley water which she promptly drained.

‘God, that feels better,’ she said. ‘I was as dry as a bleached bone. What time’s lunch?’

With a shock I realized it was approaching one o’clock. Soon we would go inside and sit down to a cold buffet during the interval. Now I became certain that the assassination attempt would take place as we ate.

Before I could say or do anything further, the last ball of the morning was bowled, and the teams promptly began filing off the pitch. Already Extepan and Tetzahuitl were rising. Aztec security guards closed in to escort us inside.

In the Long Room, tables were laden with sunbursts of melon, crudités, crystal bowls heaped with strawberries. No one bothered to sit down but instead piled food on to a plate and stood chatting while waiters wove expertly between knots of people, serving more drinks. I took up a position near one of the doors, feeling cowardly and foolish. If a bomb went off, I would have no chance of escaping.

Victoria took a tall glass of white wine and soda from a tray and came over to me. Huahuantli was with her. He was tall and fair-skinned for an Aztec, a natural stripe of blond in his dark hair giving him a striking appearance. He spoke excellent English, telling me that his mother was a Caucasian from the Virginia province of Greater Mexico. I amazed myself with my capacity for small-talk in such a situation.

Jeremy Quaintrell appeared, and there was a brief ceremony in which he presented Tetzahuitl with a bat once used by the legendary Archibald Leach. The
cihuacoatl
accepted the bat as if someone were laying a baby in his arms. He then shook both
Quaintrell’s hands before the captain returned to his dressing room.

I took a gin and tonic and gulped it down. Richard was in the centre of a knot of people, among them Kenneth Parkhouse and his wife. The Prime Minister tried to catch my eye, but I studiously avoided him. I suddenly found myself confronted by Extepan and Tetzahuitl.

It was Extepan who spoke first. ‘I think it’s been a successful morning for the English team, yes? One hundred and twenty-one for the loss of only two wickets.’

He was speaking in Nahuatl. I looked helplessly at Tetzahuitl. His dark eyes stared back at me. He was holding the cricket bat in one hand, something I would have found comical in any other circumstance.

‘Tell me something,’ he said. ‘Does the game of cricket have any religious significance for your people?’

Somehow I managed to smile. ‘In a manner of speaking, I suppose it does.’

‘To the stranger it appears quite perverse and unfathomable.’

‘You’re not the first to say that.’

‘There are so many imponderables. How can you begin an over? Why, when a team is in, do their opponents take the field?’

My smile remained fixed.

‘Are there really such situations as silly mid-off and backward short-leg?’

He pronounced both with difficulty. Behind him I saw an English waiter suddenly bend down behind the table. Instantly I froze. Both Tetzahuitl and Extepan must have seen the look of horror on my face.

‘What’s the matter, Catherine?’ Extepan said.

‘I think—’ I began, ‘I think it might be wise if—’

The waiter reappeared, holding a fallen serviette. I had imagined him about to trigger a bomb or take cover from a hail of automatic fire. I stopped.

‘If?’ said Tetzahuitl.

I stared blankly at him.

‘You were saying?’ he persisted.

‘I think,’ Extepan interjected, ‘Princess Catherine was going to warn us that our lives might be in danger, isn’t that so?’

In truth, I wasn’t sure what I had been about to say; but I found myself nodding.

‘There’s no cause for alarm,’ Tetzahuitl said. ‘We were aware of the assassination plot. An explosive device intended for use in this very room was neutralized by our security people last night.’

So it had been a bomb, after all. Swallowing, I said, ‘Have you arrested anyone?’

Tetzahuitl’s lined face creased further in a basilisk smile. ‘Who would you expect us to arrest?’

‘I have no idea,’ I said quickly.

‘Really? But you knew about the plot.’

‘It was just a rumour I heard.’

‘You took a risk in coming here in that case.’

‘I had no choice.’

‘Your brother, the King, alerted us to the danger. He wasn’t prepared to countenance such a waste of lives.’

He appeared to be inviting some comment from me. Despite my disappointment with Richard, my main feeling was one of relief, because it increased the chances that the leak might not be traced to Bevan, and from him to others unknown.

‘Tell me something,’ Tetzahuitl said. ‘When we arrest the culprits – as we intend to do shortly – what would you recommend we do with them?’

I looked at Extepan, then back at him. There was no way of telling whether he was in earnest or simply baiting me. His unfathomable eyes told me nothing.

‘You can’t possibly expect me to answer that,’ I said hotly.

‘I’m not asking for your opinion on the rights and wrongs of their action. I want your advice. The two are quite different. What do you think we should do with them?’

He held the bat in his hand as if it were a cudgel, as if he might at any moment erupt in violence and begin bludgeoning me with it. Yet I was certain there was amusement in his face.

‘You’re a fool if you believe I’ll tell you,’ I said angrily. ‘Or you think I’m one.’

Extepan looked horrified at the insult, but Tetzahuitl raised the bat in a calming motion.

‘I’m not asking the question without self-interest,’ he said to me. ‘I’m hoping to gain some appreciation of the consequences
of our actions. What would your people think? Should we be harsh or magnanimous?’

‘What are you saying? That I should tell you what to do to make sure your public image isn’t damaged?’