At the top of the escalator was a big mirrored doorway flanked by more guards. Extepan paused and said, ‘You look beautiful, Catherine.’
Our reflections were perfectly captured in the centre of the mirror. It was a clever device, giving prospective visitors one final view of themselves before they entered the inner sanctum of the greatest ruler of all time. No doubt they were meant to reflect on their own inadequacy.
Immaculately prepared in my splendid new gown, my glittering necklace and earrings, I looked like a stranger to myself. Extepan was the very model of military dash beside me.
The guards moved to open the door. We entered.
Inside, a matronly Aztec woman in a tasselled skirt and
huipil
was waiting for us. She wore gold seashell earrings and a gold noseplug with a blood-red stone at its centre. Extepan introduced her to me as Cocomicihuatl, the emperor’s principal wife for the past twenty years. Dark-skinned and broad-nosed, she greeted me soberly and without expression. I immediately saw the familial resemblance: she was Maxixca’s mother.
Without further ceremony, Cocomicihuatl led us through a series of low-ceilinged rooms furnished quite simply with native tapestries and squat upholstered mahogany furniture. There was no grandiloquence here, but rather a cosy, almost rustic atmosphere, as if in his private life the emperor preferred the simple trappings of native Mexican culture to displays of wealth and power. Dusk was falling, and the rooms were illuminated by big smoky globe lamps.
Cocomicihuatl led us towards a patio bathed in a pale golden light. Immediately I saw that the light came from the surrounding roof garden, from rank upon rank of luminous sunflowers.
I was so in awe of the sight that I scarcely noticed we had already entered the
tlatoani’s
presence. Cocomicihuatl was already retreating inside and Extepan was leading me forward. He jerked my arm to gain my full attention, and I bowed my
head instinctively, catching only a glimpse of a small man who sat in a large white
icpalli
.
‘My Lord Emperor,’ Extepan said in Nahuatl, ‘it gladdens my heart that I am able to visit you again. Allow me to introduce my great friend and respected adversary, Her Highness, the Princess Catherine, sister of King Richard of the House of Marlborough, Sovereign of the United Kingdom.’
The appellation ‘adversary’ startled me, but I maintained my composure, bowing even lower.
‘You are both most welcome,’ a throaty voice said.
Slowly, following Extepan’s lead, I straightened. And there before me, ruler of over half the earth, conqueror of lands he had never seen, sat the great
tlatoani
Motecuhzoma Xohueyacatzin, the tenth of his line to bear the illustrious name.
I couldn’t stop myself from staring. For a legendary emperor, and a man whose second name meant ‘Old Long Foot’, he was positively diminutive in stature, but I had expected this. He looked swamped in his big white
icpalli
, which hovered inches above the tiled floor. A striped blanket was wrapped around the lower half of his body, and an ancient hand rested on a control panel set into one of the arms of the chair. The chair itself, of moulded plastic and chrome, was purely functional, having no ornamentation or emblems to display his status. It made him look like an invalid.
‘Please,’ he said with a wave of his free hand, ‘seat yourselves.’
There were more conventional armchairs on either side of him. I allowed Extepan to seat me on Motecuhzoma’s right.
The
tlatoani
looked aged and frail, but his eyes were alert and the many lines on his face somehow spoke of all his achievements, as if each one had been etched there by all the momentous events which had shaped the history of his fifty-two-year reign, an Aztec century. Here was the man who, more than any other before him, had brought about a transformation of the entire world.
‘You are younger than I had imagined,’ he said briskly, leaning forward to address me, as if his hoarse voice would not otherwise carry. ‘My son always forgets to inform me of such telling details as a person’s age.’
This was said good-naturedly, and I was sure it was simply a
conversational pleasantry; Motecuhzoma had the reputation of being scrupulously well informed about anyone he met.
‘I would have liked to have visited your country,’ he went on. ‘Your father once invited me to London when I was a much younger man, but diplomatic conditions did not permit it. This has always been a source of regret to me.’
Trying to keep any hint of sarcasm out of my voice, I said, ‘It would be perfectly possible for you to visit now.’
He waved the bent fingers of his hand. ‘I’m too old, and my legs no longer work as well as they once did. I have to sit here in this contraption –’ he slapped the arm of his chair with his palm ‘– for hours on end, resting them. Rest, rest. All my doctors ever tell me to do is rest.’
He wore a plain white tunic beneath a quilted cotton cardigan in the imperial turquoise. His ash-grey hair, cropped short all over his head, was unadorned, confirming the rumour that he, unlike many of his countrymen, disliked headdresses and seldom wore his crown.
‘I gather Extepan’s been showing you around my gardens. What do you think of them?’
I stared again at the luminous sunflowers.
‘They’re magnificent,’ I said.
‘A useful trick, eh? Sunflowers that really shine. I had them put in so that I could read outside here in the evenings.’
I noticed papers in a recess in one of the arms of the chair. As he moved, the chair adjusted itself, and gusts of air blew about my ankles. Conflicting stories had circulated about his state of health for many years. It was known that he suffered from arthritis of the hips and found walking any distance painful, but other rumours had him near death of heart failure, a liver disorder, leukaemia. To me, he looked reasonably fit for a man of his age, despite his lack of mobility. His movements were brisk and purposeful, and his eyes constantly caught the light of his garden. Extepan had inherited their almond shape, along with his high cheekbones and wedge-shaped jaw.
‘I’ve brought you a small gift,’ I said, reaching into the folds of my gown and removing a small rectangular package. It was long and thin, wrapped in dark blue crêpe paper.
He took it from me and removed the wrapping before opening
the lid of a small box. Inside it was a brown-and-gold tortoiseshell Chamberlain fountain pen.
‘It was my father’s,’ I told him. ‘His favourite pen. He used it for signing official documents, including, I believe, the surrender of India to you in 1951. I thought you should have it.’
There was a frozen moment of silence, and I could almost feel Extepan going rigid with apprehension. He had not known about the gift, and was doubtless afraid that his father would regard it as an insult. And in truth, I intended it to be an ambiguous present, at once a concession and a challenge.
Motecuhzoma held the pen in his hand as if it were a dart which he was about to throw. As a young man, he had been renowned for his temper, ordering savage reprisals against those who brooked him or insulted his honour.
For long moments, the only sound was the faint hum of his chair. Then he leaned back in it, giving a smile.
‘Thank you,’ he said softly. ‘I accept it in the spirit in which it is offered.’
Cocomicihuatl reappeared, pushing a trolley which held drinks and confectioneries. Motecuhzoma took a glass of lime juice along with a bowl of honeyed nougat which he placed on his lap. There were wines and spirits on the trolley, but Extepan and I both opted for mineral water in deference to the
tlatoani
having renounced alcohol in his later years.
Cocomicihuatl withdrew. She had not uttered a word to any of us, and Motecuhzoma had paid her no attention whatsoever.
‘Doesn’t your wife wish to join us?’ I said pointedly.
‘She likes nothing better than to be left in peace,’ he responded. ‘I’m afraid she finds foreigners an irritation, no matter how high-born.’
I was firmly put in my place. We sat in silence for a short while as Motecuhzoma ate a piece of nougat. I caught Extepan’s eye, and he gave me a rather sheepish smile.
‘Tell me,’ Motecuhzoma said presently, ‘what do you think of Extepan here? How has he served your country?’
It was plain that Extepan was unprepared for this; he looked distinctly uncomfortable.
I said, ‘Given that I would have preferred him not to have
been there at all, I think he acquitted himself quite well. We might have had a worse master.’
‘Indeed? Were you thinking of anyone in particular?’
I wasn’t going to fall into the trap of mentioning Maxixca.
‘I’m speaking generally,’ I said. ‘He carried out his duties honourably, in the circumstances. I believe he fulfilled what you asked of him, while always trying to take into account the wishes and concerns of those he governed.’
‘High praise indeed,’ Motecuhzoma said, ‘from so stern a critic of our rule.’
They were practically the same words that Tetzahuitl had used in Kew Gardens. How much of this audience was a ritual, a game, with everything pre-ordained?
Motecuhzoma put another piece of nougat into his mouth and licked his fingers. Plainly, he was enjoying himself.
‘You can’t expect me to be pleased that my country was occupied by your armies,’ I said sharply. ‘You’ll forgive me if I sound angry, but I didn’t expect to be discussing the merits of colonialism.’
‘No, no,’ Motecuhzoma said swiftly, ‘the fault is mine. I shouldn’t have raised the subject. Old age makes me forget my manners. You are our guest here, our honoured guest. I don’t want to open old wounds. I’m simply concerned to make the correct decisions regarding Extepan’s future. Having recently lost two sons, I have no desire to throw away the lives of those that are left to me.’
‘I understand,’ I said tersely.
‘I hope your stay in Tenochtitlan will be a lengthy one. Everything will be arranged for your convenience, you have my personal guarantee. Whatever you require, we’ll endeavour to provide it.’
I was not swayed by this newly accommodating tone, but it had given me an opening.
‘There is something,’ I said.
‘Ask.’
‘It wasn’t directly connected with my visit here.’
‘Nevertheless …’
‘It’s about my sister. Princess Victoria.’
He waited.
‘She’s been in exile for two years now, and I’ve heard nothing from her. If she can’t be released, then it would be good to know where she is, to hear from her.’
Motecuhzoma stroked the underside of his chin with a fore-finger, as if in contemplation. He turned to Extepan. ‘Where did we send her?’
Extepan was silent for a moment. ‘Beijing, I believe.’
‘Ah, yes. You can be assured she’s being well looked after. Of course, I can’t authorize her release from custody, given the seriousness of her actions …’
He allowed a pause, as if to give me room to protest her innocence. But I didn’t do so, even though I believed as firmly as ever that she had never confessed.
‘… but it may be possible to arrange some kind of communication, so you may be satisfied that she is safe and well. Would that do?’
‘It would be something.’
‘Good. Then leave the matter in my hands, and we’ll arrange it. Now, was there anything else?’
‘I can’t think of anything at the moment.’
‘Then shall we take a walk around my garden? Of course, I use the term “walk” in a figurative sense in my case.’
A hoarse chuckle. He put the bowl of nougat back on the tray.
Extepan and I rose. The
tlatoani
’s hand was on the control panel. The chair abruptly jerked forward, then began to move at quite a moderate speed towards the path which wound through the sunflower beds. The flowers shone brighter now that the darkness had deepened, and it was easy to understand why even an emperor would be proud of them.
Extepan grasped my hand briefly and squeezed it, as if to congratulate me on passing a test. We hurried off after the diminutive figure in the weaving white chair.
The next day was sweltering, and I spent much of the morning dozing. In the afternoon I visited the steam baths at the palace, sitting in a humid cubicle filled with the scents of resinous wood. That evening, dancers from Chiapas performed a mime for us, all feathers and swirling mantles, their story symbolizing the acceptance of Christianity as the official religion of the empire by the
tlatoani
Tezozomoc in the seventeenth century.
I sat with Richard and Xochinenen, who were flying on to Honolulu the following day. Richard was thrilled at the prospect of going surfing, his latest passion. In a quiet moment I whispered in Nahuatl to Xochinenen, ‘Will you be returning to London after Hawaii?’
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Richard wants our son to be born in England. He’s certain it’s going to be a boy.’
I think I must have had some foreboding that a lengthy separation was imminent.
‘You will look after him, won’t you?’
She knew immediately I was referring to Richard rather than the child. He was clapping his hands to the music which accompanied the mime, completely engrossed in the performance.
‘You mustn’t worry,’ she said, putting a hand on my wrist. ‘I would never do anything to hurt him. Do you know he’s been teaching me how to speak English correctly?’ She paused, licking her scarlet lips. ‘“How now brown cow.”’ Her accent was thick, the Os ostentatiously rounded. ‘“The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.”’
She giggled. I couldn’t help smiling.
*
Later the following morning Chicomeztli came to my apartment to tell me that a message from Victoria had arrived. I was drinking coffee with Bevan, and we waited while Chicomeztli went to the keyboard of the console. Though the telephone and domestic television channels on the unit were operational, there was a security lock on its other functions. Evidently Victoria’s message was being transmitted on a private channel.
Presently the screen lit up, showing a still image of Victoria. She sat at a table in a wood-panelled room, dressed in a plain cream kimono-like blouse. She looked healthy enough but rather drawn: lines bracketed her mouth and radiated from her eyes.
‘The message was recorded earlier this morning,’ Chicomeztli informed me.
‘I’d like to watch it alone, if you don’t mind,’ I said.
‘Of course.’
He promptly withdrew. But when Bevan made to leave, I put a hand on his arm and said, ‘Stay.’
I went to the console and pressed the
PLAY
button. For several moments Victoria’s fixed expression did not alter. Then abruptly she came alive.
‘Catherine,’ she began, staring straight out of the screen. ‘It’s good to be able to talk to you after such a long time. I’m sorry I can’t speak to you face-to-face, but they wouldn’t allow it. I’m well, as you can see – as well as can be expected, anyway, under the circumstances. How are you? They tell me you’re visiting Tenochtitlan. I wish I was there with you. Beijing’s pretty enough, but I mustn’t leave the palace and it gets very cold here in winter. I miss you terribly.
‘How’s Richard? I’m told he’ll soon be a father – that was quite a surprise. As you can tell, I’m not completely isolated from the outside world, they do let me have some news from time to time. But it’s not the same as being there with you all. I’ve made a few friends here, but not many people speak English and I’m perfectly hopeless at learning Mandarin. I miss so many things – I can’t begin to tell you.
‘How are Archimedes and Adamant? Have you mastered Adamant yet? There’s no opportunity to ride here, but I swim most days. They have a heated pool outside.’ She paused, nibbling her lower lip. ‘I’m sorry this is so hasty and rambling. I
haven’t really got any news to report – not much happens here, and if it did I probably wouldn’t be allowed to tell you about it.’ An empty laugh. ‘I hope you’re still battling on … you always were a fighter, not like me.’
She paused again, looking off-screen, looking pained. ‘This is difficult for me. Can I go now?’ There was a pause, a muffled voice in the background, a foreign voice speaking English. Then Victoria turned back to the camera. ‘I’m sorry, Kate. I don’t know what to say. Do take care of yourself, won’t you? I think of you often.’
I saw her rising from her chair. Then the image blanked.
I did not move for some time but simply stared at the flickering lines on the screen.
It was Bevan who rose and pressed the
STOP
button.
‘What do you think?’ I said to him.
‘Very interesting,’ he replied.
‘She sounded as if she had been told what to say.’
‘I reckon that’s a fair bet.’
Bevan went out on to the balcony to smoke a cigarette. I followed him.
‘What is it?’ I said.
He broke a match between his fingers. ‘Maybe we can do some checking.’
‘Checking?’
‘Might be possible to get into the networks here.’
‘What?’
A sly grin. ‘Watched him, didn’t I? He used the network code.’
‘You can remember it?’
‘Piece of cake.’ He tapped his gleaming forehead. ‘All in here, it is.’
I put my face in front of his. ‘What are you saying? That we might be able to find out more about Victoria?’
‘Worth a try. We could root around in the system, see what we can come up with. Who knows, we might even be lucky enough to find her phone number.’
Though I knew he was half-joking, I was excited by the idea.
‘We could use the terminal here?’
He nodded. ‘Like we did in London. Sniff about at night.’
I was smiling. ‘Just like old times.’
‘Want to give it a go, then?’
‘Yes,’ I said emphatically. ‘But first I’m going to see Extepan.’
I was not surprised when my request to send a return message to Victoria was turned down. Extepan was apologetic but firm.
‘There’s nothing I can do,’ he told me. ‘As an exile, she isn’t permitted any unofficial communication from outside. Her message to you was a special favour from the
tlatoani
, but he made it clear to me that this was the extent of his concession.’
I had expected as much. Not for the first time, I demanded to know how long Victoria was to be kept in exile.
‘At the moment it’s indefinite. You must remember she confessed to serious charges. As far as we are concerned, she’s an enemy of the state. But circumstances may change.’
‘The charges were false.’
‘Catherine, please. I don’t want us to argue about this. At least you know she’s safe and well.’
We were in his apartment, and Mia sat on a sofa, feeding Cuauhtemoc, watching us in silence. I had come to feel uneasy in her presence.
‘I hope you’ve packed a bag,’ Extepan said.
‘What?’
‘I’m taking you sightseeing this afternoon.’
I returned immediately to my apartment. There I found a scrawled note from Bevan to say that he and Chicomeztli had gone to a football match at the Anahuac stadium and would not be back until late. I wrote a note of my own, explaining that I would be away for a few days and instructing him to feel free to use the facilities in my apartment during my absence. I left the adjoining door unlocked, hoping he would understand what I meant.
After a late lunch, Extepan and I took a hydrofoil across the lake. We spent the afternoon in Tlatelolco Market, its endless stalls piled with fruit and vegetables, its traders selling clothing, jewellery and bric-à-brac from every corner of the world. We walked unhindered among the crowd, I marvelling at their orderliness, my senses swamped by bolts of bright-patterned cloth, iridescent glassware, tiers of fruits in every colour, shape
and rich, elusive aroma. This was the commercial heart of the empire.
Heading north across the lake to Tepeyacac, we visited the old Hispanic church of Our Lady of Citlaltepec, a cool stone building commemorating the native woman who had had a vision of the Holy Virgin four hundred years before. It was one of the first Christian churches to be built in Mexico with Aztec approval, and it remained one of their holiest places.
As dusk began to fall, we returned again to Tenochtitlan, entering the broad canal which led to the very heart of the city. We were finally going to visit the place which fascinated me most of all – the ancient temple precinct.
Already the city was largely quiet, its few residents ensconced in their own homes, whose windows and courtyards faced inwards so that only blank walls were presented to the passing traveller. We moved swiftly down the globelamp-silvered waterway. Despite our escort, I felt that Extepan and I were alone.
The shadows of the pyramids loomed ahead of us. We disembarked from the hydrofoil to stand at the main entrance to the precinct. It was a low pillared structure guarded by soldiers in
ocelotl
skins and feathered headdresses. The sight of them unnerved me.
Surrounded by canals and the palaces of ancient rulers, the precinct stood on the very site where Tenochtitlan had been founded, the only dry land in a swampy lake, over six centuries before. Then, the Aztecs had been a despised nomadic tribe, scarcely civilized. It was remarkable to contemplate how far they had come since then. The precinct had withstood earthquakes, floods and the subtler devastations of progress, secure behind its Serpent Wall.
Extepan took my arm as we stood there on the threshold. Beyond, the precinct was deserted, bathed in harsh magnesium light. It looked sterile yet eerie, a place of history and silence, filled with ghosts from former times – rulers, frantic priests, the flailing bodies of innumerable sacrificial victims.
‘Shall we go in?’ Extepan said in a whisper.
Numbly, I nodded. The guards moved aside to let us through. Night had fallen abruptly, a moonless night which, against the glare of the lights, looked utterly black.
I stayed close to Extepan as we entered, telling myself that my fears were entirely irrational, that the precinct was an architectural museum, with no one even being allowed into it these days except for privileged visitors like myself. All the structures had been restored to perfection, painted gold and turquoise, scarlet and white, their decorative motifs pristine. They were immaculate sculptural edifices rather than still-functioning buildings – or so I kept assuring myself.
Extepan was talking, pointing out the ball court, the palace of Axayacatl, the skull rack …
Grass grew thick in the ball court, the skull rack was empty, there was no one here but us and our guards and the enveloping night …
‘Catherine?’
Something small and dark flitted past overhead. Instinctively, I cringed.
‘It’s only a bat,’ Extepan said with some amusement. ‘Do you want to go up to the top?’
Two broad balustraded stairways rose sharply in front of us climbing the main pyramid to the shrines of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc. One shrine was decorated with white skulls on a red background, the other white banded with blue. No blood soaked the steps, no black-skinned priests pranced with obsidian blades, no bodies lay piled at the foot of the steps with gaping chests …
I shook my head. ‘It’s too steep.’
‘You can see right over the city from the top.’
‘No.’
‘Catherine, what’s the matter?’
I was still staring around me, looking for shadows, or movement, or evidence, I didn’t know what. When I turned, Extepan’s face was close to mine. He looked genuinely anxious.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s all so … overwhelming. Why is it closed to the public?’
Extepan smiled. ‘Did you know that Venice is slowly sinking? Under the weight of its tourists? My father is determined that the same thing will not happen here.’
Directly opposite us stood the Quetzalcoatl temple, its rounded stairs and painted conical tower unlike the others, its entrance a monstrous dark mouth. It inevitably made me recall the building
in Crystal Palace Park, and this was also a reminder that the Aztecs certainly did have secrets which I knew nothing about.
‘Tell me something,’ I said to Extepan. ‘What do you think of when you come here?’
‘I think of history,’ he said promptly. ‘Of the past, and sometimes the future.’
‘The future?’
‘That’s where the road from the past leads, isn’t it?’
I could see more bats now, three or four, constantly fleeing into the darkness the moment I glimpsed them, as if they were creatures who could only inhabit the periphery of vision.
‘I feel uneasy here,’ I said. ‘This place unnerves me.’
He laughed, but not mockingly. ‘It shouldn’t do. This is what we
were
, Catherine, not what we
are.’
‘Can we leave now?’
‘If you wish. Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to see?’
I merely looked at him.
He took my arm again and led me from the place.
We stayed overnight at one of Motecuhzoma’s houses near the Tlacopan Causeway. The next day Extepan took me around some of the big department stores off Tlatelolco Square, which were closed to the public that day. The stores sold everything from Simreal electronic games to death masks fashioned from real human skulls and adorned with semi-precious stones.
Later that day, we took the hydrofoil south and visited the floating gardens of Xochimilco, where farmers grew cereals and vegetables to feed the Valley. It was tranquil here, the canals flanking green
chinampas
with their tall poplars and cypresses and their neat rows of maize, squashes and potatoes. We slept in a palace belonging to one of Extepan’s uncles in the ancient city of Culhuacan. Next morning we flew on to Texcoco and the great Nezahualcoyotl University, where Extepan himself had studied. This was the intellectual centre of Mexico, whose scholars and philosophers had done so much to unite the many different peoples of the region under a single cultural and political ideal. The university was housed in the palace of the pre-Christian monarch whose name it celebrated, and the tiered gardens which surrounded it were the equal of those on Chapultepec.
The following day we flew north-east to the even more ancient site of Teotihuacan, built by an earlier civilization which the Aztecs still revered. It had once been a great cultural centre, but now its great temple-pyramids stood dusty and deserted. Extepan had obviously arranged for all other tourists to be turned away that day.