Aztec Century (3 page)

Then in front of us, in an overgrown wall behind a tangle of hawthorn, a cast-iron pipe jutted out. About three feet wide, it was coated with moss and algae, a dribble of rusty water trickling from it.

‘Right,’ said Bevan. ‘In you go, then.’

Victoria’s hand tightened on mine. All three of us were panting, and I felt as if I might be sick at any moment. The pipe stood at chest height above a stagnant rusty puddle. Its interior was utterly dark.

‘We can’t go in there,’ I heard myself say.

‘Says who?’ Bevan replied. ‘Want them to have you, do you?’

‘The others,’ I murmured. ‘Alex …’

‘You leave them to me. Go on, now. In.’

The sky was lightening rapidly, and I knew we had little time left. His urgency and insistence galvanized me. Quickly I scrambled up into the maw of the pipe. Bevan helped Victoria in behind me.

I wanted him to join us inside, but he did not. Face framed in its mouth, he said, ‘Go in as far as you can, where it’s dark. Stay there until I come back. Don’t make a bloody sound.’

And then he was gone.

The pipe was dank and cheerless. Awkwardly I moved down it, Victoria clinging on to me. About thirty yards in, it broadened and began to curve, slowly eclipsing the disc of daylight as its end. I halted, unwilling to surrender to total darkness.

It was impossible to sit or crouch without getting wet, but our knees and legs were already soaked. I put an arm around
Victoria, letting her rest her weight against me, thinking all the while of Alex and the others, praying that they had got out of the house in time. I wanted to say something, to soothe Victoria with comforting words. But I had none.

Time passed, filled only with the sound of trickling water and Victoria’s fragile breathing. The pain in my back grew worse. Victoria was huddled against me like a child. I stroked her hair absently, staring towards the slender ellipse of daylight, feeling wretched.

After a lengthy silence, Victoria said, ‘I can’t bear this any more, Kate.’

Her voice was wavering, on the brink of cracking. I tried to hush her, but she wouldn’t be calmed.

‘Nothing’s worth this. Nothing.’

She began to sob, and I felt hot tears on my neck. I knew she wasn’t just talking about the attack, but the whole three years of our exile.

‘Do you think I find this easy?’ I whispered, battling against my growing physical discomfort. ‘We can’t let them capture us now. We have to hang on a little while longer.’

‘What’s the point? I’d rather be a prisoner than live like this.’

‘Bevan will be back soon,’ I whispered, without real confidence. I patted her head like a parent comforting a child.

‘You will come out now.’

I went rigid, putting a hand over Victoria’s mouth. The voice was male, accented, the voice of our enemy speaking English. It echoed down the pipe.

‘You will come out now.’

Matter-of-fact, decisive, certain we were inside. I moved my hand from Victoria’s lips and shook my head to indicate she should remain silent. She looked petrified.

‘You are being foolish,’ the voice continued. ‘We know you are in there. You will not be harmed if you come out now.’

There was a pleading look in Victoria’s eyes: she was ready to surrender.

‘We have all the others. They are quite safe and unhurt.’

Still we stayed silent. By now my own instinct was to reveal myself, to surrender so that I could find out if Alex was safe. But
I fought against it, telling myself that they were bluffing, that they couldn’t know for certain we were inside the pipe.

‘Very well,’ the voice said presently. There was the sound of orders being issued in Nahuatl, though I could not make out the words.

I waited, expecting soldiers to begin clambering into the pipe. But this didn’t happen. All went silent outside, and I was suddenly seized with the fear that the commander would order a flame-thrower fired into the pipe to incinerate us.

Seconds crept by. Still there was no further sound from outside. As the silence extended, so I began to think that the enemy commander had indeed been bluffing. And having received no answer from us, was continuing his search elsewhere.

Then I heard the rumbling. It came from deep within the pipe, and I knew immediately what it meant.

‘Quickly!’ I said to Victoria, pushing her towards the mouth.

My legs were stiff from kneeling, and the cramped space made rapid movement impossible. The rumbling swelled rapidly into a roar, carrying before it a damp breeze.

Victoria and I were almost at the mouth of the pipe when the rush hit us from behind. I was lifted up, cracking my head against the top of the pipe an instant before the gushing water propelled us out.

I landed, entangled with Victoria, cold water pouring down on us. The shock of impact took the breath from me, and it was a moment before I was able to pull us both up on to a grassy bank. Victoria was sobbing wretchedly and examining the skinned knuckles of her hand, her hair in rats’ tails.

Around us, encircling us, were soldiers in green and brown combat uniforms, all armed with assault rifles. Swarthy-skinned and black-haired, some wore forage caps with the stylized gold sunburst emblem. These were no ordinary troops but crack commandos, the cream of the Aztec army. Among their number was a squat figure dressed in an olive-green commander’s uniform. Beside him stood Bevan.

I made an effort to climb to my feet, to stand upright and face them. A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over me, and I felt a rush of hot liquid between my legs.

I woke to a steady engine hum in the gunship’s sickbay. I was lying on a hard bed, a blanket drawn up to my chest.

The moment I stirred, two figures appeared at my side. One was obviously a doctor, the other a very short man in the buff uniform of a non-combatant officer.

The doctor took my wrist and checked my pulse. He was middle-aged, plump, perhaps a Mayan or Quauhtemalan. He peeled a strip thermometer from my armpit, then said in Nahuatl: ‘Everything appears normal.’

The short man had a broad-nosed face and a turn in his left eye.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked me in English.

‘Like death.’

‘It was a haemorrhage.’ He pronounced the word with difficulty. ‘You lost some blood, but there is no further cause for alarm.’

I knew it was more than that. A child. I had been carrying a child. I felt a vast futile sorrow. For the past two months I had had no period but took little account of it because most of the women in our group had irregular cycles. Yet without acknowledging it to myself, I had
known
I was pregnant.

‘It was necessary you were examined internally,’ the small man said. ‘The doctor is confident there is no permanent injury. No complications.’

I could see he knew that I knew.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘Not as sorry as I am.’

‘It is very important that you rest. We shall be arriving in London in an hour or so.’

I almost said Victoria’s name, but stopped myself. ‘The others? What’s happened to them?’

Now he looked pained.

‘It is my sad duty to tell you that they were sheltering in the cellar of the house when it was destroyed.’

I closed my eyes. ‘All dead?’

‘There were no survivors.’

So it was not just a disaster, but a massacre. Alex, and all the others, incinerated. I tried to hold on to this as a brutal fact that would inspire my hatred rather than grief.

‘You murdered them. They were defenceless.’

He surprised me by nodding.

‘I cannot excuse what has happened. No one should have died.’

‘What’s your name?’ I demanded.

‘Chicomeztli.’

‘Are you in charge here?’

He shook his head. ‘I believe you met our commander earlier.’

‘I want to see him now.’

‘Soon. He will be here soon. You must believe me – it was never our intention that any of you be killed.’

‘Fire-bombing a house is hardly likely to minimize casualties.’

My tone was withering, and only my weakness prevented a more physical demonstration of my rage.

‘I can offer no excuses. It was unpardonable.’

I couldn’t stop the tears. The doctor made to approach, but Chicomeztli stopped him with a glance. He stood patiently, almost respectfully, in front of me, knowing he could do nothing but duty-bound not to withdraw.

I made a great effort to compose myself.

‘Please,’ I said. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘Shall I fetch the others? They have been most concerned about you.’

‘You killed them all. I can’t believe it.’

This time he did withdraw, hurrying out through the door.

The doctor was standing back, looking very guarded. In English I asked for another pillow so that I could sit up. He looked at me uncomprehendingly. After a few moments of mime
and muddle, he finally understood. I didn’t want him to know I could speak Nahuatl.

There was a soreness at my centre, but my grief overwhelmed it. I wondered if they realized who they had captured. No names had been mentioned, and in three years of exile Victoria and I had changed our appearances and might not be recognizable. It was possible that the raid had been just a part of general Aztec incursions in the area. Though this was unlikely, I held on to it, held on to any thought that stopped me dwelling on the loss of everyone who had been my life in Wales.

Chicomeztli returned with Victoria and Bevan. Bevan was still wearing his shale-stained clothes, but Victoria was dressed in a clean maroon sweater and a grey skirt.

‘You may have a few minutes to talk alone,’ Chicomeztli told us. ‘Please remember there are guards just outside the door.’

He and the doctor went out. Victoria immediately came to my bedside and hugged me. She began to cry in my arms. I would have done the same if Bevan hadn’t been there.

‘Are you all right?’ she wanted to know. ‘You were bleeding terribly.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said. I wasn’t going to tell her about the baby in front of Bevan. ‘I strained something when we fell, but it’s nothing serious. They said everyone else is dead.’

Victoria nodded, cheeks streaked with tears.

I drew her close and whispered, ‘Do they know who we are?’

‘No one’s said anything. I told them I was your sister, that’s all. They’ve treated us quite well so far.’ I felt her hand tighten on mine. ‘I was frightfully worried about you, Kate. You look ghastly.’

I reached up and began stroking her hair. I was deliberately forcing back all thoughts of Alex and the others. Bevan kept his distance.

‘I hope you’re satisfied,’ I said to him.

He looked quizzical.

‘You betrayed us. You led them to us, didn’t you?’

I couldn’t gauge his reaction. Was it surprise? Amusement? Contempt?

‘You hid us so you’d know where we were. So you could lead them straight to us.’

‘Don’t be bloody daft.’

‘There’s no point in trying to deny it. You were standing right next to their commander when they flushed us out of the pipe. You brought them there.’

He gave an amused grunt. ‘Joking, are you?’

‘Far from it.’

‘Maybe you didn’t notice, but I was standing there with a rifle barrel stuck in my back. They nabbed me when I was trying to find the others.’

‘Then how did they know where to find us?’

‘They searched everywhere, didn’t they? The pipe was the only place left.’

He had a graze on his left temple, as if he had tried to resist capture. But I didn’t let that influence me.

‘Why didn’t they assume we were in the house with the others?’

‘How the Christ should I know?’

‘It’s true,’ Victoria said. ‘They were guarding him, Kate. He’s a prisoner just like us.’

I heard voices outside, an angry voice saying in Nahuatl: ‘You had no business allowing them to see her without my permission!’

The door swished open, and in bustled the commander himself, closely followed by Chicomeztli and several soldiers. He had changed out of his combat fatigues into a tawny uniform with gold chevrons and the insignia of his rank, three stylized eagle-heads.

He strode to the side of my bunk. He was burly but short, with a flat forehead, dark eyes and a broad flared nose. Turning to the guards, he indicated Bevan and said: ‘Remove him!’

Bevan was promptly led away. When this was done, the commander executed a curt bow before me and said in English: ‘I am Maxixca, Chief Commander to the governor of these islands.’

Ignoring my wretchedness, I stared him out. He was a pure-blood Aztec, his cropped hair tar-black, his coppery skin smooth. He looked no older than I.

Mustering my most imperiously sarcastic tone, I said, ‘Really? And do you make a habit of visiting the bedsides of all your prisoners?’

He was taken aback at this but quickly recovered. ‘You are Princess Catherine, daughter of King Stephen of England. Your sister is the Princess Victoria—’

I forced a contemptuous laugh. ‘If you think that, then you’re more foolish than you appear.’

Again he stopped in some confusion.

‘It’s a charming notion,’ I said, ‘but I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken.’

Impatiently he delved into the breast pocket of his uniform and produced a photograph. It showed our family in Windsor Great Park on my father’s sixtieth birthday. Taken only six months before the invasion, its likenesses of Victoria and myself were unmistakable.

‘You are Princess Catherine,’ he said again. ‘And this is Princess Victoria. You are now prisoners-of-war, but you will be treated in accordance with your status. When we arrive in London, the governor will greet you personally.’

His manner was overbearing. I determined to prick his self-importance.

‘Is that so?’ I said. ‘I suggest you radio and inform him that I’m indisposed and have no desire to meet with common murderers.’

This time he looked angry. He turned to Chicomeztli. Speaking in Nahuatl, Chicomeztli confirmed that I knew about the destruction of the house and the deaths of everyone.

‘It should not have happened,’ Maxixca said to me. ‘The soldier responsible will be disciplined. He failed to obey his orders. You must accept my apology.’

‘I accept nothing of the sort,’ I said. ‘You killed my husband and my friends.’

For a moment there was silence. Then Chicomeztli said, ‘Your husband was not in the house.’

I looked at him, then at Maxixca.

‘There were nine corpses in the cellar,’ Maxixca said. ‘Your husband is a tall man, I believe. His was not among them.’

Immediately my spirits lifted, despite his cold-blooded manner. But I did my best to maintain an appearance of rigid composure.

‘It must be galling to be denied one of your victims,’ I said.

Maxixca obviously disliked the fact I was not cowed.

‘When he is captured,’ he said, ‘he will be brought to you. Alive, if possible.’

I felt a surge of hatred for him.

‘Tell me – how does it feel to be a murderer?’

He was easily aroused by insults, I saw; but he bit back an immediate response.

‘All the preparations have been made for your arrival in London,’ he said. ‘The governor—’

‘Get out,’ I interrupted, intent on deflating him. ‘I have no intention of discussing any such arrangements with a common soldier. You Aztecs—’

‘I am Mexicatl! A son of Motecuhzoma and a lady of Tlaxcala!’

I had guessed as much; his name was familiar to me. Of course, I knew he would bridle at the term ‘Aztec’, a catch-all description for the many peoples of the empire.

‘That may be so, but you have the manners of a
teochichimecatl
. You can see I am unwell, yet you burst in here without ceremony or courtesy.’

Teochichimecatl
meant ‘barbarian’, and Maxixca looked suitably furious. I thought I glimpsed the merest hint of a smile on Chicomeztli’s lips.

‘You are our prisoners,’ Maxixca said with a barely controlled anger. ‘You will do as you are ordered.’

He stalked out.

Victoria looked appalled, and there was an awkward silence.

‘Is it true about my husband?’ I asked Chicomeztli.

‘It is true,’ he assured me. ‘He was not found among those who died in the house. I believe he has escaped.’

‘That’s wonderful news.’

He acknowledged my small triumph with a wry smile.

‘You greatly angered our commander,’ he said gently.

‘That was my intention.’

‘He is a son of the
tlatoani
. You would be wise not to provoke him.’

But there was amusement in his eyes.

Of course I knew my show of bravado would do us no good, but it was my only means of striking back. Though I felt fragile and exhausted, I insisted on getting dressed. Chicomeztli went
away and returned with a plain sweater and skirt like those Victoria was wearing.

By now I had remembered the disk in my jacket.

‘I’d like my own clothes,’ I said.

He shook his head. ‘That is not possible. They were soaked and filthy. We had them burned.’

The craft was banking over London, and I glimpsed St James’s Park and the Mall through the porthole. I was still furious with myself for losing the disk. Fury seemed preferable to complete desolation.

Victoria, Bevan and I sat together in the forward passenger section, our guards paying us little heed now we were securely in their hands. I remained suspicious of Bevan, even though he seemed as much a prisoner as Victoria and I.

Our return to London prompted thoughts of my father and Richard. From intercepted radio transmissions we knew that both had been held at Hampton Court Palace since the invasion; but I had had no definite news of them for over a year.

I strained to see across Victoria as the craft flew over the Thames. Some central areas of the city had been devastated during the invasion, and the area north of the abandoned Houses of Parliament had been landscaped into a park. On the opposite bank, where County Hall once stood, there rose an entirely new building, a quincunx of tiered pyramids in creamy marble and glass, the levels planted with shrubbery. At the top of the innermost pyramid was a landing pad.

Bevan shuffled closer to me. I eyed him without approval, convinced he had contacted the Aztecs on the radio the night before, prompting them to launch the raid before we could escape to Russia.

‘You’ll be wanting this,’ he murmured, thrusting something into my lap.

I looked down. It was the disk.

Bevan’s eyes were on the unheeding guards.

‘Fell out of your pocket when you were climbing into the pipe, didn’t it? You ought to be more careful.’

I quickly hid it away, then felt a nauseous tug on my stomach as the ship began to decelerate.

Victoria, intent on the view through the porthole, noticed nothing. She gripped my hand, but I found myself holding on to her as much as she to me. Then the ship touched down with a shudder and a thud.

We waited in silence for some time. Two soldiers came and led Bevan away. Then Maxixca marched in, with Chicomeztli following.

The commander was still bristling from our earlier encounter. Stiffly, he instructed his guards to escort us out.

We were led down through the ship to a wide hatchway. The daylight at the bottom was wan and grey. Chicomeztli stepped forward and draped cloaks around the shoulders of myself and Victoria. The cloaks were hooded, black. With soldiers surrounding us and Maxixca at the head, we descended the gangway.

Cloud filled the sky, and a thin rain was falling. I felt shivery and frail, but I steeled myself. At the opposite end of the landing pad, a small group of people awaited us. Most were guards, but among them, standing under a big black umbrella, was Richard.

He was now a young man of eighteen, taller than three years before, his curly hair newly cut. Catching sight of us, his face filled up with that wonderfully open smile which had endeared him to so many people. He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and striped tie; he looked the perfect schoolboy. I wanted to burst out of our cordon and rush to him.