Christopher Evans - Aztec Century

There was no mystery surrounding his death, no hint of foul play. His health had been poor in recent years, and the stresses of being a captive king might well have hastened his end.

I began thinking of my mother. She had died when Richard was born, her frail constitution exhausted by a prolonged and complicated labour. I remember a gentle fair-haired woman who read Grimm’s fairytales to Victoria and me at bedtime, but little else. Far rawer was my loss of my father and Alex and everyone who had perished at Ty Trist.

‘He was a brave and honourable man,’ I heard Chicomeztli say. ‘He bore all his difficulties with great dignity and did not compromise his beliefs.’

‘You mean he refused to collaborate.’

It sounded harsh as soon as it was out, but Chicomeztli gave a lop-sided smile and nodded vigorously. ‘Most certainly. He was as difficult as it was his duty to be.’

I was exhausted and still in some physical discomfort. For the next two days I convalesced in the suite of rooms which had been provided for me in the central pyramid of the administrative complex. Female Aztec servants, silent and courteous, brought me meals, and Victoria visited every day. She had her own suite immediately above mine, with private access between us via the balcony garden.

I made a swift recovery, and most of my time was taken up with comforting Victoria, who remained anxious.

‘What will they do with us, Kate?’ she asked, the first time we were alone together.

‘Don’t worry,’ I told her. ‘We won’t be harmed. We would never have been brought here in the first place if they meant to get rid of us.’

‘I’m scared.’

‘I know. But we mustn’t let them see that.’

She sat on the bed beside me, holding my hand in hers. ‘I can’t believe Father’s dead.’

‘It’s Richard we have to think about now. He’s going to need all our help.’

But I was, in fact, thinking about Alex, wondering where he might be. It would be difficult, even for someone as resourceful as him, to survive in the wilds of Wales and continue to evade capture. But at least he was still alive.

‘You’re not seriously ill, are you?’ Victoria said. ‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.’

At that moment I decided I wasn’t going to tell her about the baby.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I’m not ill. And I’ve got no intention of abandoning you.’

She was silent, still anxious.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Do you think…’ She paused, hesitated. ‘Do you think they still…’

Again she faltered. I knew what she was trying to say.

‘Hush. They’re Catholics. It’s the state religion, you know that. They prepared Father perfectly decently for a Christian burial.’

‘But people say—’

‘People are always saying things. You can’t believe all you hear.’

She lay with her head in my lap. Little did she know that I shared similar fears to her, the same fears as all the Aztecs’ enemies.

Ostensibly we were alone, but it seemed likely that the apartments were monitored with hidden microphones and perhaps even cameras. As I stroked Victoria’s hair, I wondered what kind of eyes and minds might secretly be dwelling on us even at this very moment.

On the third morning I woke to find Bevan outside in the garden, watering the flowerbeds. I dressed and went outside.

‘Good morning,’ I said.

‘Up bright and early, aren’t you?’

He did not look at me. I walked around until I was facing him.

I hesitated, then said, ‘Bevan, I’m sorry.’

Water sprinkled my toes, forcing me to step back.

‘I shouldn’t have accused you of disloyalty. I was upset. With the killing of the others.’

‘Didn’t mess about, did they? I reckon you and your sister were lucky.’

He continued watering along a row of multicoloured daisies.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I said. ‘There’s been plenty of rain.’

‘They told me I was to be your gardener and general factotum. That’s what you asked for, wasn’t it? So I’m doing my job.’

‘That was just an excuse. I didn’t want anything to happen to you. Are your living quarters all right?’

‘Very plush,’ he replied. ‘Key’s on your side of the door, is it?’

I had asked for Bevan to be given a room next to my suite, and to my surprise the request had been granted. An adjoining door linked his quarters with mine.

‘I thought it was the least I could do,’ I said.

‘Very considerate of you.’

He put the can down and took out a pack of Raleigh Full Strength, lighting one.

‘If you’d rather go back to Wales, I’ll see if I can arrange it.’

‘They’re not going to let me go. They know I’ve been hobnobbing with you lot for a while.’

I ignored his disparaging tone. ‘You helped us out in Wales, and I’m very grateful. I might be able to pull strings. You must be worried about your mother.’

‘She’s used to managing on her own.’

‘I’ll do what I can if you want.’

He took a contemplative pull on his cigarette. ‘You’d like me to stay, wouldn’t you?’

I was surprised by this – surprised by its accuracy. At the same time, I was reluctant to admit any such need.

I let him smoke his cigarette, making a show of watching a blackbird root about under a stand of blackcurrant bushes.

Presently I said, ‘Do you know anything about computers?’

‘Ought to, didn’t I? Seeing as how I worked for IBM.’

‘Imperial Business Machines?’

‘It’s the only IBM I know of.’

This was hard to credit. He looked more like a labourer than a computer technician.

‘You never said.’

‘Never asked, did you?’

An Aztec transporter flew past, the whine of its engines drowning out everything else. When it was gone, Bevan said, ‘They’re hoping I’ll keep an eye on you. Report back to them.’

‘The Aztecs?’

‘Thing is, they’ve checked my credentials and they know I’m not exactly a royalist.’

‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged. ‘Makes no difference now, does it? We’re all in the same boat.’

What was I to make of this? I was tempted to question him further, but I felt sure he wouldn’t tell me any more.

‘I’m going to need someone I can trust,’ I said.

He spat out a fragment of tobacco.

‘Not something you find easy, is it?’

There really was no limit to his impertinence.

Governor Extepan was in his mid-twenties, and of mixed Mexican and European stock. Thirty years before, Motecuhzoma had broken with Aztec tradition by taking a Spanish noblewoman as his wife, though she had later been killed by a Catalan bomb while visiting Valencia after the Aztec conquest of Iberia. Extepan was taller than most of his countrymen, and Spanish rather than Mexican in his looks.

He greeted me in his private quarters high in the central pyramid. Outside it was another rainy afternoon, and he stood flanked by Maxixca and Chicomeztli before a real coal fire in a large hearth. The fire was plainly an affectation since the complex derived ample power for heating from the solar generators atop each of the subsidiary pyramids. Richard was perched at a desk console nearby, a patolli game on the screen. He gave me a small wave as I entered but did not get up. It was as if he had already accustomed himself to my presence in his life again.

Extepan took my hand and inclined his head.

‘I trust you are feeling better.’

His tunic was unbuttoned at the neck, and he had a casual air about him. Maxixca, by contrast, was dressed very correctly and stood with his hands at his back, regarding me with open hostility.

‘I’m truly sorry about all the unfortunate circumstances which brought you here,’ he said. ‘We had no idea you were carrying a child. You have my deepest sympathies.’