Christopher Evans - Aztec Century

‘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—’