Aztec Century

One

In those thousand days of our first exile, my dreams were always of London burning. Although I was twenty-one and already married at the time of the invasion, dreaming, I became a child again, a young girl running along the palace corridors, passing tall windows where I glimpsed the night sky full of the enemy’s luminous golden ships. They hovered and darted, raining bright fire down on the city. I was confused and terrified, desperately seeking my father.

Finally I burst into his council chamber, where he sat at the head of a long gleaming table, my brother Richard on his lap, a child like myself. The silence made me halt, see the grimness in everyone’s face. I ran to my father’s side, and he embraced me. He wore a dark suit and a white open-necked shirt; his face was grey with exhaustion. He kissed me on the forehead and shook his head sadly. Then adult hands took me, dragging me away, through halls and down stairways and out into the fiery night. I was still screaming, my eyes flooded with tears, when they bundled me aboard the carrier, where my nanny sat with my sister Victoria, an infant asleep in her lap.

The true circumstances of our escape were more prosaic. When the attack began, Alex and I were at my family home in Marlborough, supervising the storage of art treasures in the vaults. We were evacuated by night, first to one of our estates near Okehampton, where Victoria joined us, and then by various misadventures to the Welsh borders, where our carrier ran out of fuel. We made an emergency landing near Monmouth and were rescued by a ragtag group of Welsh loyalists, who promptly abandoned us in the Sirhowy valley, retreating into mid-Wales with most of their countryfolk as the Aztec armies advanced rapidly northwards from their bridgeheads at London and Southampton.

We took refuge in a deserted mansion house, expecting imminent capture. There were only twelve of us, and the radio bulletins of the next several days were confused and alarming. London was said to have been laid waste by firestorms; enemy forces had already advanced to Nottingham and Bristol; a transporter carrying my cousin Margaret from St Petersburg had been shot down over the Baltic; my father and brother were reported dead after the palace had been stormed.

None of these stories proved entirely true, except that London had fallen and the Aztecs were making rapid gains. Margaret remained safely in Moscow with Tsar Mikhail, and my father and brother had been captured rather than killed. It was a measure of our beleaguered state of mind that we greeted such news with a relief bordering on joy.

As it turned out, we avoided capture, largely because organized resistance to the invasion collapsed within a matter of weeks. The Aztecs halted their advance after consolidating their positions north to the Tees and west to the Severn and Exe. Our armies surrendered and a truce was signed. Not long afterwards, Nauhyotl, a cousin of the Emperor Motecuhzoma, was installed in London as governor. The occupation of England was complete.

Three years passed.

On that final morning in Wales, I woke from my dreams to find myself alone in bed. Alex rose early most mornings to monitor radio transmissions on the equipment we had salvaged from the transporter.

The grandfather clock beside the door said nine thirty. Had I slept so long? I still felt weary, and there was a sour taste in my mouth.

The water in the bathroom came out in a lukewarm dribble. Dressed in a sweater and jeans – clothes scavenged from the deserted town of Tredegar further up the valley – I crossed the landing and noticed that the door to Victoria’s bedroom was open a crack.

My sister lay asleep in a swirl of sheets, blonde hair splayed on the pillow, the room ripe with her body heat. The bed was utterly unkempt, as if she had also been wrestling with disturbing dreams. She was three years younger than I, and had hated every moment of our exile.

Downstairs, porridge and coffee were simmering on the wood-fired stove, and the sink was full of breakfast dishes. We grew oats, barley and root vegetables in the surrounding fields, and had rounded up chickens, three cows and a flock of sheep from the hillsides after our arrival. We supplemented our diet with tinned goods from the shops in Tredegar which had escaped looting before the town was abandoned during the mass retreat into mid-Wales. There, in the empty heartlands of their nation, the Welsh believed themselves safe from further Aztec encroachment.

My stomach felt leaden and I could not face breakfast. Cradling a mug of coffee, I stood at the window, watching Thomas and Sarah at work in the greenhouse. Both had been staff in our household before the invasion, and Sarah had miscarried a baby the previous summer. It would have been the first child born here, and everyone had shared her loss.

I set to work on the dishes, putting a kettle on the stove to boil. Then Alex strode in, a broad smile on his bearded face. Freshly showered and smelling of Duc du Lac cologne, he kissed me on the cheek and led me away from the sink.

‘I’m washing up,’ I protested.

‘Leave it. Bevan’s having trouble with the generator, and the hot water’s down again.’

‘I’m boiling a kettle.’

‘Kate,’ he said with firm patience, ‘sit down.’ He gently pressed me into a chair. ‘I want to talk to you.’

He straddled another chair gaucho-fashion.

‘I overslept,’ I said.

‘It’s allowed once in a while. After all, you are the King’s daughter.’

‘You’re very cheerful this morning.’

He helped himself to a mouthful of my coffee. ‘I’ve good reason to be.’

He was dressed in a chunky fawn sweater and dark brown cavalry twill trousers; he always managed to look well groomed, whatever the circumstances. Tall and strongly built, with his auburn hair grown long and his beard dense, he was like a lion of a man to me.

‘How’s your Russian?’ he asked.

‘My Russian?’

‘Nyet, Vladivostok, and all that.’

I eyed him. ‘Alex, what’s all this about?’

‘Your cousin’s husband’s sending a ship for us.’

He drained the last of my coffee, awaiting my reaction.

‘Is this a joke, Alex?’

‘No joke, Kate. I got the news only half an hour ago. It’ll be here some time tonight or early morning.’

I sat back in my chair to ease the ache in my belly. Alex had always enjoyed springing surprises, but this was not the usual sort.

‘They’re coming to pick us up?’

He nodded.

‘I didn’t even know we were in contact with Moscow.’

‘It was pure luck,’ he replied. ‘Six days ago I locked on to one of their spy planes doing an overfly. I broadcast an SOS. This morning I got confirmation that a ship’s coming for us.’

It was obvious he wasn’t teasing, yet it seemed too fortuitous to be true.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘What if it’s a set-up? A trap?’

He shook his head. ‘I signed the message Charlotte Brontë. The one that came back this morning was signed Anne.’

This, I had to admit, was a clever stroke. As children, Margaret, Victoria and I had played at being the Brontë sisters, Margaret being Anne, myself Charlotte and Victoria Emily. Alex was the only person I had ever told, and if the message had been relayed to Moscow, Margaret would have known it was genuine. That there had been a reply in kind settled matters.

‘Why didn’t you say anything until now?’

‘I wanted to be certain it was a Russian ship. I didn’t want to raise your hopes unnecessarily.’

He reached across and took my hand. I felt a certain excitement but also other, mixed emotions.

‘Just think of it,’ Alex said. ‘Escape at last. Freedom.’

‘Are they going to fly us straight to Moscow?’

‘I presume so. Somewhere within their borders at least. It’s what we’ve been waiting for.’

‘Have you told the others?’

‘Not yet. I’m going to announce it at lunch. Then I think we’re entitled to a little celebration.’

His optimism was infectious, and I couldn’t begrudge him the good news, even though leaving England would mean abandoning my father and Richard to their imprisonment. We really had no other option. Sooner or later, the Aztecs would push into Wales, and we would be captured if we remained.

Alex seemed to sense my thoughts. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here, Kate. We’ll be better placed to continue the fight in Russia.’

‘I know. It’s just not that simple for me.’

‘Of course it isn’t. I do understand, you know. But there’ll be plenty of other exiles there. Don’t forget that half the Royal Navy made it to Murmansk after the invasion.’

I decided to be positive. ‘It’ll be good to see Margaret again.’

He squeezed my hand. ‘There’s something else. Something it’s time I showed you.’

‘What?’

‘Not here. Upstairs.’

Despite the gravity of his manner, there was also a gleam in his eye. I knew full well what a visit to our bedroom would entail.

Late morning sunlight shone full through the window as we lay together.

‘So,’ I said at length, ‘what is it you wanted to show me?’

‘A small thing,’ he replied, ‘but mine own.’

Nimbly he leapt out of bed and went to the bottom drawer of his dresser, removing an attaché case. He had worked for the Ministry of Defence before the invasion, and I had always known that the case contained something important, without ever asking him what.

He opened it on the bed. It held several document wallets, but Alex removed a flat square object which I recognized as a computer disk. He held it out to me as if it were a sacred offering.

‘Just what I’ve always wanted,’ I said, with eager sarcasm. ‘What is it exactly?’

Alex sat back on the bed. ‘It’s the culmination of more than ten years’ work, Kate. It’s a piece of software, an advanced analytical intelligence programme with a random response capacity.’

I was illiterate as far as computers were concerned. ‘What does that mean in plain English? Can it fry an egg?’

‘It’s a kind of parasite,’ he told me. ‘Something that can insert itself into existing systems and extract information from them. But secretly, without being detected unless you’re really looking for it.’

Under the bedclothes, I drew my knees up to my chin. ‘So it’s important, is it?’

He knew I was teasing, and he gave me a suitably patronizing smile.

‘If we could get access to the enemy’s security networks, we’d be able to ransack their files, plant false information, do pretty well what we please. It could be devastating, Kate.’

‘Gosh.’

He snatched up a pillow and swiped me across the head.

‘Don’t mock. It’s even more impressive than you realize, and I’m sure the good Tsar and his government are going to be very interested in it. We’re not just taking ourselves to Russia, Kate, we’re taking something that’s going to be of vital importance in the battle against the Aztecs.’

Bevan was out on the front garden lawn, crouching over the generator. He had removed two of the fan-shaped solar concentrators and was working on the third with an adjustable wrench.

‘Bore da,’ I said, crouching beside him.

‘Blasted thing,’ he said without looking round. ‘Hold that for me, will you?’

He passed me a greasy bolt and washer, continuing to tinker for a moment, grunting under his breath.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ I asked.

‘We’ve been using it non-stop this last twelvemonth or more. Something’s got to give.’

I helped him lay the concentrator down on the grass. It was twice my height but quite lightweight, its matt-black panels iridescent in the sunlight. It was veined with slender support struts like a butterfly’s wing.

At the centre of the generator sat the sun-crystal, striated and multifaceted, the colour of zinc. Manufactured from reed-like coralline growths which the Aztecs farmed in their coastal waters, the crystals absorbed sunlight at high efficiencies. Bevan had jury-rigged the generator from the transporter’s drive-units, and it supplied all our heating and lighting.

Bevan unscrewed a conducting disc and began sanding it with a scrap of emery cloth. He was a pot-bellied man of about forty, lantern-jawed and balding, dark hair hanging lank behind his ears.

‘Always potching with it, I am,’ he continued to grumble. ‘More trouble than it’s worth, if you ask me.’

I was tempted to tell him not to bother, but Alex was always warning me to mind what I said to him. Soon after our arrival in the valley, Bevan had appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and had since become our handyman and fixer. His motives remained elusive, and I knew we had to be careful. Many people in Wales had proved fickle in their attachment to the nation’s cause, refusing to fight after the Aztecs had guaranteed the territorial sovereignty of Wales during the invasion. Though that sovereignty was now seen by most Welsh to be a sham, their loyalty to the Crown was far from solid.

I lingered for a moment, watching him unscrew the covering on the control panel.

‘Anything else I can do?’ I asked.

‘Want to get your hands dirty, do you?’

‘I just thought—’

‘I’ll give you a shout if I need you.’

Somewhat rebuffed, I left him to his labours, unsure whether he was being bloody-minded or just gruffly matter-of-fact. He had never actually acknowledged who we were, though he certainly knew. It was quite possible he heartily disliked all of us but relished the continued opportunity to display his resentment.

The terraced lawns once fronting the house had been turned into vegetable patches for peas, runner beans and root crops. The house was a Gothic Revival mansion built over a hundred years before by an English mine-owner. We had chosen it because it was large and partly screened by a pine plantation. It looked out over the valley, with the derelict pit directly below; both pit and mansion were called Ty Trist, the House of Sorrow. The mine-owner had been hated by the locals and was buried in a secluded graveyard with the stark inscription GOD FORGIVE HIM on his tombstone.

It was a fine September morning, the bracken on the valley slopes turning the same colour as the rusting winding tower. The pit itself was surrounded by spoil-heaps on which only a sparse grass grew. The colliery had closed down fifty years before when the first solar units were imported from Greater Mexico.

Though our life in the valley had been rugged and sometimes perilous these past three years, I knew I would miss it. The Sirhowy river which meandered its way along the shallow valley bottom was little more than a broad rocky stream. It was a word of uncertain Welsh provenance which Bevan claimed meant ‘angry water’ – a name fit for an Aztec noble.

Behind me, Bevan swore in Welsh. I turned and saw him duck as the red light of the tracking mechanism flashed on and the support framework slewed towards him, just missing his head. He delved into the base of the machine, and the movement stopped.

I retraced my steps. Bevan took a grubby handkerchief from his trousers and swabbed his brow. He looked exasperated and irritable.

‘Leave it,’ I said. ‘We can manage without it for today.’

He peered at me, his eyes shadowed by his square brow. ‘I take it you’ll be telling your sister she’s got to bath in cold water, then?’

Victoria liked a hot bath every day after rising, but she would be more preoccupied with the news about the Russian ship.

‘I don’t think she’ll mind today.’

‘Still in bed, is she?’ Bevan hoisted his trousers and sucked on his teeth. ‘She gets plenty of beauty sleep, that one.’

I spent the afternoon with Victoria, packing our few belongings into two suitcases. From the bottom drawer of a dresser, I produced the old atlas my father had given me on my tenth birthday. It had been printed in 1930, during the reign of my grandfather, and its pages gave off the odour of history both literally and metaphorically. Stiff and musty, they mapped large areas of the world in crimson, recalling a time, only sixty years ago, when the British Empire was at its height. On modern maps, the crimson was displaced by swathes of Aztec gold.

Victoria put on our mother’s wedding dress, which she had saved as a keepsake. It was an elaborate affair of white silks and French lace, unfashionably frilly and ornate. It fitted her perfectly. Our mother had died when Richard was born, and neither of us could remember her well; but from photographs I knew that Victoria resembled her strongly. Now twenty-one, she was entering the prime of her beauty, fair-skinned with hazel eyes and striking dark eyebrows.

She flounced in front of the mirror, then said, ‘I wonder what would happen if I wore this to our first reception in Moscow.’

‘You’d certainly create a stir. But you’d have to have the mothballs washed out of it first.’

‘Do you think Margaret and Mikhail will greet us when we arrive?’

‘I’m sure they will, but not formally, or in public. Russia’s technically neutral, and it wouldn’t be politic.’

‘Won’t it be marvellous to be somewhere civilized again? I’m so tired of dressing in old clothes and eating potatoes every day.’

She, more than any of us, heartily disliked the rigours of our life in the valley. And she was right to be excited at the prospect of greater comforts and freedom. I wished I could share her enthusiasm wholeheartedly, but I had always imagined that we would eventually escape to another part of the country to join an army in hiding, which would begin the reconquest of our land. A romantic fantasy, of course. For me, leaving Britain would not really be escape, but flight, an acceptance of the finality of conquest.

That evening, everyone gathered in the candle-lit hall and we feasted on our produce: roast lamb with carrots, parsnips and green beans, washed down with several bottles of claret which Alex had unearthed from somewhere. Victoria got rather drunk, but gracefully allowed Alex to escort her to bed.

We gathered on the balcony. It was a clear, moonless night, mild and still, the stars brilliant above us. A match flared in the darkness in front of Alex’s face, and he put it to the end of a cigarette.

‘Where did you get those?’ someone asked.

Alex was holding a pack of Albions. We had run out of cigarettes a year before.

Alex simply winked and offered the pack around, taking suitable satisfaction from his largesse. He was the eldest son of Lord Bewley of Norwich, and had been created Duke of Durham by my father when we married; but he had always had the common touch. Of the small retinue which had escaped with us from Marlborough, all were former staff – detectives, butlers, maids-in-waiting – but exile had broken down the barriers between us. We had each been forced to take our part in the urgent and continuing business of survival.

I tracked a bright star-like point across the sky until it was lost over the horizon. The Aztecs were reputed to have a spy satellite orbiting the Earth which could photograph a rabbit in a field from a height of one hundred miles. Alex assured me the Russian ship would know their positions and be able to avoid detection. It was almost certain the Aztecs were aware our house was inhabited, but we assumed they would have no means of knowing by whom. I sometimes wondered if Alex was right that we had continued to remain free because of the Aztec policy of leaving unconquered territorial pockets intact in regions after invasion in order to maintain their armies’ sharpness. Much of Wales and Scotland had been spared, in defiance of normal military logic.

I became aware that Bevan was present, a silent, forgotten figure on the edge of our group. He was the only one who knew nothing of our impending evacuation. I asked Alex for his cigarettes and went over to him.

‘Would you like one?’ I asked.

He took the pack, withdrew a cigarette and sniffed it, inspecting the tiny gold crowns stamped around the filter.

‘Got a light, have you?’

I lit the cigarette for him.

‘Do you know what’s happening?’ I asked.

He squinted at me. ‘Planning on taking a trip, are you?’

‘A ship’s on its way. A ship from Russia.’

It seemed to me quite unfair that we had told him nothing. He might want to come with us, and even if he didn’t, we could hardly leave him without an explanation.

‘Coming tonight, is it?’

‘We think so. There’s room for you if you want to join us.’

He drew heavily on his cigarette, exhaling through his nostrils.

‘Is there, now?’

I felt uncomfortable. ‘I only heard about it myself this morning. Probably no one’s bothered to tell you because they assume you want to stay here.’

‘Being Welsh, as I am, no doubt.’

I couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic.

‘I mean it,’ I said. ‘We all appreciate the help you’ve given us here. If you come, I’ll make sure you’re looked after when we get to Russia.’

‘Very generous of you,’ he said drily. ‘Couldn’t go without talking it over with my mam, though, could I?’

I never knew when he was joking. He claimed that his mother lived alone in Trefil, a village to the north of Tredegar, and that he had stayed behind to look after her. We had never been able to confirm this. He came and went as he pleased.

‘Bring her with you if you want to,’ I said.

He looked beyond me at the others. I couldn’t see his eyes under the shadow of his brow.

‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, then turned and went back into the house.

Alex had volunteered to take first watch. I stood with him on the balcony.

‘I’ve told Bevan what’s happening,’ I said.

‘Oh? Do you think that was entirely wise?’

‘It can’t make any difference now, can it? Besides, think of how much we owe him. I’ve offered him a place on the ship if he wants it.’

He said nothing to this. I knew he and Bevan had never liked one another, but the Welshman had done as much as Alex to ensure our continued survival. I doubted he would want to leave his homeland for an uncertain future in Russia.

There was a draggy pain in the small of my back, and when Alex suggested we steal off to our bedroom for half an hour, for once I pleaded tiredness. He was ten years older than I, and we had met at Henley when I was eighteen. At first my father had resisted our involvement because Alex was a divorcé, with a reputation as a womanizer. I had found him irresistible from the start, and his appetite for me remained as strong as ever.

‘Besides,’ I said, seeing his disappointment, ‘we can’t leave the fort unguarded.’

Another pinpoint of light was crossing the sky, winking as it went. The night was utterly still and silent, and I felt that we were naked under the gaze of the heavens. At that moment a terrible sense of foreboding filled me, though I couldn’t explain why.

‘Have you got my cigarettes?’ Alex said.

It was only then I realized that Bevan had taken the whole pack.

It was Alex who shook me awake. Groggy, I sat up and saw the first blue hints of dawn through the window.

‘Is it here?’ I asked.

‘Not yet. But I’d be grateful if you took over the watch.’

‘Have you been up all night?’

He shrugged. ‘I thought I’d let everyone get plenty of rest. It could be a long day today.’

‘Into bed immediately,’ I ordered him.

I dressed and went down to the balcony. The dawn chorus had started, though the valley still lay in darkness. Everyone else apart from Victoria was asleep on sofas and armchairs in the drawing room beyond.

Perhaps the Russian craft had been delayed or even shot down. According to Alex, it would most likely follow a northerly route to avoid Aztec airspace in mainland Europe and England, coming down over the Irish Sea and approaching us from the west. I began to fear that it had never set out in the first place.

I went to the kitchen and put a pot of water on the paraffin stove. The smell of the stove made me feel nauseous, so I returned to the balcony.

And then I saw it.

Far south, down the twilit valley, framed by the rounded black hills, was a point of light.

My immediate instinct was to rouse the others and give them the good news that at last the Russians were coming. But as I stared, the point of light resolved into three – one larger, the other two smaller.

All were golden.

For long moments I did not move. I couldn’t take my eyes off their firefly glow, as gold as the sun.

‘Enemy aircraft!’ I shouted. ‘They’re coming!’

In the drawing room, everyone awoke. There was a brief befuddled panic before Alex appeared and confirmed that they were indeed Aztec craft. He began marshalling us.

I rushed off to rouse Victoria. She was still soundly asleep, naked under the sheets. I shook her awake. Ignoring her protests, I scrambled around the room, finding jeans, a blouse, a sweater.

Alex hastened into the room just as Victoria was struggling into her boots. He was carrying his attaché case.

‘Quickly!’ he told us.

We hurried downstairs and went out through a side door, crossing a potato bed before slipping through a yew hedge. A stone stairway led down and away from the house. We skirted the pine plantation, heading across the lower slopes in the general direction of the colliery.

‘Where are the others?’ I asked.

Alex’s reply was drowned in a searing noise which was followed by an eruption of flame on the lower terraces of the garden. We were bathed in golden light as our attackers completed their first pass.

The two smaller craft were fast-flying, manoeuvrable interceptors with slender fuselages and sickle wings. Their larger companion had a pointed nose and high swept-back wings which made it resemble an enormous golden bird of prey: it was a gunship transporter, its hold typically crammed with troops who would spew out to occupy positions softened up by the craft’s firepower. All three shone brilliant gold in the gathering dawn.

Alex crouched and opened his briefcase. He took out the computer disk and thrust it at me.

I stood frozen, staring at it.

‘Take it!’ he insisted. ‘I’m going back for the others.’

He closed the briefcase and flung it away from him, sending it spinning through the air.

‘Alex—’

‘The codeword’s axolotl.’ He repeated the word, then forced a grin. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back. Head for the bathhouse. I’ll find you there as soon as I can. Now get clear of here!’

Banking sharply, and utterly silently, the interceptors came in again. Plumes of liquid fire spurted from their noses, plummeting down to burst on the ground, setting clumps of gorse ablaze and throwing the skeletal framework of the tower into stark relief. Alex was already blotted from view by the smoke.

I slipped the disk into a pocket of my jacket. Keeping Victoria close to me, I led her down the mountain path towards the bathhouse, a squat building which stood on the lower flank of the valley. The air was thick with smoke and the petroleum smell of xiuhatl liquid incendiary.

We skirted the colliery, and I kept glancing back with each explosion. The gunship hovered at a distance while the interceptors swept in, spreading fire and mayhem. The house was still intact, and now the small craft paused in their attacks while the gunship descended until it hung no more than a hundred yards above the house.

White light from the belly of the ship bathed the entire area.

‘You will surrender immediately. No further attacks will be made. You will surrender immediately.’

The amplified message came from the gunship. It was repeated. I pulled Victoria down behind a low wall, searching the hillsides with my eyes for some sign of Alex and the others.

I heard the sound of rifle-fire, and I knew it came from the house, a defiant and futile attempt to resist the attackers with shotguns. A gust of wind cloaked us briefly in gorse smoke. There was a huge pneumatic thump, and the house erupted in a cataclysm of fire.

The blast of heat from the explosion seared our faces, and I pushed Victoria down. When I finally looked up again, fleeing sheep shone like phantoms in the fierce light of the inferno. The house was gone.

My eyes were blinded with heat and tears. Then my heart leapt into my throat as someone grabbed my wrist.

It was Bevan.

‘Be quick, now,’ he said. ‘This way.’

Half pulled, half following, we were led up an incline, scrambling over slag and discarded machine parts, slithering up treacherous shaley slopes, the ground sliding under our feet. Victoria was gasping and sobbing the word ‘Please… Please…’ over and over again, though whether she wanted to stop or was desperate to find safety, I could not say.

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.

Two

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.

Maxixca halted in front of the governor and saluted. He was not the middle-aged Nauhyotl but a much younger man, his aquamarine uniform decorated with a golden eagle grasping a stylized sun.

Maxixca formally introduced him as Extepan Iquehuac Tlancuaxoloch, third son of the tlatoani Motecuhzoma Xohueyacatzin, ruler of Greater Mexico and all its dominions. I scarcely glanced at him. I saw tears brim in Richard’s eyes as he gazed at us, his long-lost sisters. His lower lip began to quiver; any moment now he would begin to cry.

Maxixca continued with the interminable formalities of our introduction. I moved towards Richard, but the guards closed ranks. Then the governor, who was regarding me, waved a hand, and they parted to let me through.

Richard came forward into my arms. He hugged me with all his strength, then turned to Victoria and did the same, kissing both of us on the cheeks. Finally he began to blubber, and I realized I was already prepared when he blurted: ‘Father’s dead.’

Victoria, Richard and I were ferried the short distance to Westminster Abbey in a jetcopter. In the gloom of dusk it was difficult to make out the full extent of the destruction to the surrounding streets, though Chicomeztli stressed that both the Abbey and the Cathedral had been very fortunate to survive the bombing. The area around the site was now off-limits to the public, Aztec guards in waterproof capes patrolling the derelict streets.

Inside, the Abbey’s empty echoing spaces were lit with candles. More guards stood discreetly in the shadows. The coffin rested on an elaborate wreath-strewn plinth in the Henry VIII chapel. I hesitated, rested from my afternoon nap but far from recovered, then climbed the steps.

My father lay in a formal black suit, hands crossed over his chest with a silver crucifix lying on top of them. His hair, grey when I last saw him, was now white. His face, however, looked younger, its paleness and lines doubtless erased by those who had prepared him. The Aztecs had a long and expert tradition of making their honoured dead look immaculate.

Beside me, Victoria and Richard clasped hands, determinedly maintaining a shred of dignity in the face of their loss. Apparently Father had died of a heart attack four days before while taking a constitutional around the grounds of Hampton Court. Richard had been with him at the time.

For some reason I found myself wishing that his eyes were open, even if he couldn’t see me. I reached into the coffin and gently lifted the crucifix out.

‘We’re Anglicans,’ I said in explanation to Chicomeztli.

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Someone must have left it.’

‘Has the news of his death been made public?’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘But there are plans to?’

‘I understand that this is one of the things which Governor Extepan will wish to discuss with you.’

My father was shrouded in cream silks like a sea of frozen milk. The walls of his coffin were lined with velvet the colour of old blood. Even the hairs which had once grown so abundantly in his ears and nostrils had been skilfully removed.

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.

Three

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.’

To my relief, Richard appeared not to have heard this. He was tapping buttons and making counters leapfrog over one another on the screen.

‘Your sympathies are better reserved for the relatives of those you killed,’ I said bitterly.

I could see Maxixca bridle at this. Extepan nodded gravely.

‘It was most unfortunate. A tragic error. I trust that that was explained to you.’

‘An error that cost the lives of innocent people. If that’s really what it was.’

‘You have my word of honour.’

His English was excellent. He motioned to chairs on either side of the fire. They were Aztec icpallis, made of black mahogany, tall-backed and legless, though lavishly upholstered with a chevroned cloth. I did not move.

‘I regret, too, your father’s passing,’ he said.

‘Really?’

‘He was a good man. I had great respect for him.’

‘Even though you kept him captive in his own country?’

He looked wry. ‘Maxixca told me you would be uncompromising. I can see you have inherited all your father’s strength of character.’

‘Don’t patronize me.’

Now he was distinctly abashed. ‘Forgive me. I realize you have no reason to be amused. But there is room for common courtesy, yes?’

Again he indicated the chairs. Again I did not move. He had striking black eyebrows and greenish eyes ringed by dark brown which gave him a very direct stare.

‘You weren’t brought here to be humiliated,’ he said. ‘I assure you I intend nothing but honour for all your family.’

‘Honour? The same kind of honour that entails destroying a house of helpless civilians?’

‘It was a savage foolishness. I do not expect you to believe me, but I share your outrage.’

He matched my stare. Tap, tap, tap, went Richard at the keyboard.

‘Is there any news of my husband?’ I asked.

‘Ah, yes, the Duke. That I cannot say with any certainty. As you can no doubt imagine, we would prefer to have him safely in our hands, but our search parties have found nothing. I think it is likely he has escaped. That is good news for you, yes?’

‘Very good news.’

‘Perhaps you would like some tea?’

I almost laughed at this non sequitur. Instead, I shook my head.

‘We have many things to talk about,’ Extepan said. ‘But first the matter of your health—’

‘I’m fully recovered,’ I insisted.

‘That is good to hear. We can make arrangements for your family physician to be available, should you wish.’

‘That won’t be necessary. I feel perfectly well.’

‘Good. Then perhaps we can press on with our consultations.’

‘Consultations?’

‘Perhaps you would prefer to combine them with an overfly of the city? I have a shuttle available. I imagine you must be concerned to see how your people are faring and what damage we have caused.’

There was an almost naïve eagerness about him, but his voice also had a mocking note – self-mocking rather than directed at me. He was quite a contrast to the stiff and suspicious Maxixca.

‘The first thing we must discuss,’ Extepan said, ‘is the matter of your father’s funeral.’

I sat with him and Maxixca behind the flight crew, gazing out through the slanting cockpit windows as the craft lifted from the landing pad and flew across the river.

Sarcastically I said, ‘Do you intend it to be a full state occasion?’

‘Of course,’ he replied quite seriously. ‘I assume that you and your family would wish this.’

I searched for a hint of deviousness, of game-playing, in his face, but there appeared to be none.

‘So you intend to make the news public?’

‘It is not something we could hide indefinitely from your people, is it? Nor would I want us to.’

A fan-tailed support craft had appeared to shadow us discreetly on our overfly. Maxixca kept track of it with his eyes.

‘How long have you been governor?’ I asked Extepan.

‘Since April,’ he replied. ‘I replaced my uncle. He was assassinated by one of your countrymen while shopping at Harrods.’

I saw Maxixca stiffen, as though aghast that Extepan should reveal this. Extepan himself was fatalistic. ‘We may have vanquished your armies, but we cannot predict the actions of individuals. It is in the nature of things. But my uncle did not help our cause by treating your people harshly. I hope to enlist their co-operation more.’

From what little information we had been able to glean during our exile, I knew that Nauhyotl had instituted severe repressions on his arrival in the country. But ‘co-operation’ was a word with many interpretations.

We were flying low over Oxford Street. It was as crowded as ever with shoppers. Fast-food lunchers milled about outside the red-and-gold façade of a MexTaco restaurant. The Centre Point cinema complex was advertising the latest Acapulco productions, Otomi Onslaught and Totonac Attack. Everything appeared normal.

‘The next pressing problem’, Extepan said, ‘is, of course, the succession.’

I turned away from the window. Richard sat with Chicomeztli under the supervision of the co-pilot, moving a sightfinder on one of the screens with all the enthusiasm of the uninitiated.

‘Are you proposing to crown Richard king?’

Extepan did not react to my sarcasm. ‘Is there any reason why we should not?’

Richard was making shooting sounds, downing imaginary enemies with great delight.

‘Your country has always had its own monarch. There is no need to depart from tradition, even under the present circumstances.’

‘You can’t possibly expect me to condone it,’ I said.

He frowned. ‘I don’t understand. He is heir to the throne.’

‘Of a country under occupation. He would be a puppet ruler. You are our enemies. We won’t collaborate with you.’

Maxixca made to say something, but Extepan raised a hand. He was as calm as Maxixca was agitated.

‘You know I’m intending to restore your parliament?’ he said.

‘Why? So they can rubber-stamp everything you do? Give you a spurious respectability with our people?’

‘It will have considerable freedom in all sorts of spheres. You must believe me when I say I do not wish your people to suffer unduly—’

‘Then evacuate your armies and leave us in peace.’

Maxixca was unable to restrain himself any longer.

‘We don’t have to negotiate with her!’ he said in Nahuatl. ‘She must accept whatever we decide.’

‘Leave this to me,’ Extepan replied, evenly but with authority.

The sun had broken through the cloud, and below us people were strolling in Hyde Park. Some wore brightly patterned Aztec capes, but most were English. The balcony of the café on the bank of the Serpentine was full.

‘Perhaps we should ask Richard himself,’ Extepan said to me.

‘He’s just a child,’ I replied. ‘He’s not capable of making decisions for himself.’

Richard had suffered oxygen starvation during Mother’s protracted labour; his mental and emotional development would always be limited.

‘That may be so,’ Extepan said, ‘but he deserves to be consulted.’ He motioned to Chicomeztli, who had apparently been listening to everything while appearing not to be. Reluctantly, Richard was persuaded to abandon the joystick.

Chicomeztli led him over to us.

‘That was fun,’ he said to me. ‘When am I going to be king, Kate?’

‘These people want to crown you,’ I said. ‘But you must remember that they invaded our country and imposed their rule. You would be king in name only.’

He looked at Chicomeztli, at Extepan and Maxixca. There was confusion on his face. I was sure he was thinking that if people were kind to him, then they were his friends.

‘Father said I would be king after him.’

‘You’re his successor,’ I agreed. ‘But I don’t think he imagined our country would be under armed occupation. If you let these people make you king, you’ll be accepting their authority over us. You’ll be confirming their right to make decisions for our people.’

‘It’s my duty to be king.’

‘You have to try to put your own feelings to one side and think about the consequences.’

It was clear he didn’t like the sound of this. Even pitched so plainly, the argument was probably too subtle for him. Then something took his eye through the cockpit window.

‘Look!’ he said, brightening. ‘Buckingham Palace!’

We were tracking westwards again, and the palace was directly below. At first glance it looked intact, but then I saw it was roofless, its walls blackened.

‘It was gutted during the fighting,’ Extepan remarked. Throughout my conversation with Richard, his eyes had been on me.

‘Do you plan to restore it so you can install Richard there?’

His forbearing look seemed to say he was prepared to tolerate all my immoderation.

‘I know this is very difficult for you,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it would be easier if the decision were taken out of all our hands. We could let your people decide for themselves.’

‘And how would you propose to do that? By popular vote?’

‘Exactly. I think you call it in your country a referendum.’

In the middle of the night I rose and unlocked the door which gave access to Bevan’s apartment. For several moments I hesitated. Then I turned the handle and crept in.

Bevan’s apartment was in darkness, redolent of maleness and stale tobacco. His bedroom door was ajar.

‘That you, is it?’

His voice startled me. I swallowed, said, ‘Yes.’

He sat up blearily. By night our rooms were bathed in the soft radiance of the generators, and I could see he was wearing striped pyjamas.

‘This is an honour,’ he said, making it sound anything but.

‘Bevan, I need to talk to you.’

He stretched luxuriously, stifling a yawn. ‘Righto.’

He never made any compromises to my position, and I have to admit that on this occasion it annoyed me.

‘In private,’ I said quietly. ‘Where we can be sure no one else is listening. Perhaps you’d like to get dressed and meet me in the garden.’

Without waiting for a reply, I returned to my own suite and donned boots and a lambskin coat. Much of my former wardrobe from our house in Marlborough had been transferred to the suite. The house itself was now apparently the headquarters of a local Aztec army division.

I slipped out on to the balcony, choosing a seat in a sheltered corner of the garden screened by buddleia and frost-resistant bamboo. The still night air was filled with musky fragrances despite its coolness.

At length Bevan appeared, a gaberdine buttoned up over his pyjamas. He perched himself on the arm of a bench opposite me and lit a Raleigh.

‘So what’s it all about, then?’

I decided to match his bluntness. I took the disk from my pocket.

‘This.’

Bevan eyed me over his cigarette. ‘Important, is it?’

‘Very. My husband gave it me for safe-keeping just before we were captured. Do you know what it is?’

‘Software.’

‘It’s more than that. My husband was working for the MoD before the invasion.’

‘Director of Informational Research.’

This was public knowledge, but I was surprised he knew.

‘Do you think we could load it into the system here, get it working?’

‘What sort of program is it, then?’

‘I’m not sure. That’s what I need to find out.’

I wasn’t prepared to tell him any more at this stage because I still didn’t know how far I could trust him. But I had to enlist his aid if I was to make use of the disk.

‘There’s a terminal in my living room. I thought we might be able to use it. If we’re careful.’

‘Might be possible,’ he conceded.

‘Would you give it a try? I’m hopeless with computers.’

I couldn’t tell whether he looked contemplative or calculating. I often had the feeling he considered me tiresome or even an outright nuisance.

‘Alex told me the disk’s very important. It might be a weapon we can use against the Aztecs.’

‘Bring their empire tumbling down, will it?’

Was he teasing me, as I had teased Alex? It was no longer a joking matter as far as I was concerned.

‘My husband was engaged in highly classified work.’

‘Well, he would have been, wouldn’t he? At the MoD.’

He squashed his cigarette under the heel of his slipper.

‘Of course, our rooms might be bugged,’ I said.

‘There’s ways round that.’

‘Such as?’

‘We work at night for a start.’

‘What if they’ve got cameras monitoring us?’

‘Cameras are hard to hide. I took a look around – your place as well as mine – while you were out yesterday. You’d left the door unlocked, see. There was nothing.’

I was amazed at his presumption, yet also grateful he had taken the trouble. He really was a law unto himself.

‘What about microphones?’

‘Trickier. You can put them anywhere – under floorboards or in your plumbing. And there’s directional equipment that can eavesdrop a hundred yards or more. But even that’s not much use if you play music loud enough.’

‘You seem to know a great deal about it.’

‘Never know when it might come in handy, do you?’

‘So they could be listening to us now?’

‘It’s possible. But, then, you’re never going to do anything worthwhile if you don’t take a few risks, are you?’

His tone was lazily challenging, as if he really couldn’t have cared less either way.

‘Well, then,’ I said, ‘why don’t we start tonight?’

My suite was equipped with an entire cabinet of laser-discs, and I put an Oppenheimer violin concerto on the player while Bevan sat down at the terminal and loaded the disk. His high forehead shone in the screen’s livid glow, and his stubby fingers moved with nimble assurance over the keyboard.

For a long time nothing meaningful happened. Columns of electric-blue numbers and letters dropped like waterfalls on the screen, cursors blinked and darted, rows of nonsense swelled in ranks, halted, vanished. Bevan quickly grew rapt in his task, studying the screen with the earnest fascination of someone faced with a thorny but ultimately tractable problem. If it was a performance for my benefit, an attempt to display his competence, then it was a convincing one.

After a while he became aware of my presence at his shoulder.

‘Chance of a cup of tea, is there?’

I went to the kitchen and brewed a pot of Earl Grey. When Bevan took a sip of it, he grimaced and set the cup down in its saucer.

I returned to the garden, walking to the balcony’s edge through grass that gleamed in the light of the generators. They topped the subsidiary pyramids like stylized suns, circular crystals surrounded by florets of concentrators, all now awash with light. The Aztecs, loving display, were profligate with their energy sources, illuminating not only their buildings but also their craft with excess energy from the sun crystals, adding spectacle and drama to their technological accomplishments. An Aztec ship in flight never looked more fearsome than when it shone.

Below me, the gardens were spread out, tier upon tier, planted with all kinds of shrubs and flowers, a plethora of shadowy foliage holding all the fruits of Aztec bioengineering. Across the river, the city slept, wrapped in its threads of sodium street-lamps, neon signs flickering messages for Cola Cacao and the latest Corona Sola saloon.

Returning inside, I found Bevan swivelled away from the screen. He was sipping dark brown tea from a mug in which the teabag still floated. It was obvious he had been waiting for me.

The screen highlighted his face. It was flashing a sequence of characters as foreign to me as Swahili. The Aztec rock group Itzpapalotl were thrashing out their savage version of ‘Darkness At Noon’ in the background. Bevan was tapping his foot to the music.

‘I think we’ve got something,’ Bevan said to me.

I drew up a chair beside him as he tapped out a sequence on the keyboard.

To my amazement, a picture of Alex appeared.

He was framed like a newsreader on the screen, only his head visible, a matt grey background behind him. The picture was simulated, but it was a convincing likeness. And the head moved.

‘My God,’ I said softly.

‘That’s nothing,’ Bevan said. He had switched on the microphone, and now he spoke into it: ‘Identify yourself.’

‘I’m an Advanced Learning and Evaluative Matrix,’ came the reply. ‘You can call me ALEX for short.’

The lips moved, the eyes blinked, and there was even a hint of the real Alex’s teasing smile. Of course, the movements were imperfect, a little staccato, while the voice had an electronic tinge and an uneven emphasis which made me think of his name as capitalized; but the verisimilitude was remarkable.

‘Describe your function,’ Bevan said.

‘I’m an interactive simulacrum,’ ALEX replied. ‘I’m designed to respond to written or oral input, to engage my own knowledge and intelligence with whatever outside agency has access to me, subject to certain provisos. What’s your name?’

‘Bevan.’

‘Are you a real or virtual entity?’

‘Real.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Bevan.’

Bevan turned to me. ‘Want me to introduce you?’

I was still a little shocked. I nodded numbly.

‘I’ve got someone here I want you to meet,’ Bevan said into the microphone. ‘It’s your wife.’

Very gingerly, I leaned forward to speak into the microphone. But before I could utter a word, ALEX said, ‘Kate? Are you there?’

I swallowed, amazed that he had called me ‘Kate’.

‘Yes,’ I managed to say. ‘How are you?’

It was a perfectly stupid question, and it seemed to me that he smiled in acknowledgement of this.

‘I’m functioning normally,’ he replied. ‘How are you?’

There was a knot in my stomach, and my heart was racing. I turned to Bevan. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Just speak as you find,’ he told me.

I put my mouth close to the microphone.

‘It’s strange for me,’ I said. ‘Talking to you like this.’

‘I understand that. The real Alex had as much of himself incorporated into me as he could. He’s well, I hope?’

Again I swallowed. ‘I hope so, too,’ I said.

‘Where are you located?’

I deliberated, then said, ‘In London. In enemy hands.’

There was a pause of a few seconds between each of his replies which created the impression that he was contemplating everything that was said to him.

‘I presume you mean the Aztecs?’

‘Yes.’

His head moved slightly, as though he were thinking.

‘Is Bevan a friend?’

I hesitated, then said, ‘Yes.’

I felt a great tension – a tension which arose from the conflict between my delight at having ‘Alex’ alive before me again, and the simultaneous awareness that it was not really him at all. But the substance was so accurate in many subtle respects, it was far more than mere illusion.

‘I wish you could see us,’ I said on impulse.

He smiled. ‘So do I. But it’s good to be responding to you.’

I had to make an effort to resist any sentiment.

‘How do you know it’s really me?’ I said.

‘I recognize your voice. Its pattern was encoded in my matrix during its development.’

I frowned at Bevan, wondering how this had been possible. He merely shrugged.

‘It might be a tape recording,’ I said. ‘Or another matrix just like you.’

‘No. The rhythm of your tones and the randomness of your responses are those of a real person. You are who you say you are.’

I was positively touched by his faith in me. If he had been there in person, I would have hugged him. For the first time, I smiled.

At this point, the swingeing guitars and relentless drums of Itzpapalotl began to diminish into silence.

‘Put something else on the player,’ I whispered to Bevan.

‘It’s late,’ he said softly. ‘We ought to knock it on the head for the night.’

I didn’t want this. ‘We’ve only just started.’

‘No sense in rushing things and risking everything, is there?’

‘But it was so hard to summon him up in the first place.’

‘Keep your voice down. I know the routine now. It’ll be a piece of cake.’

The clock on the mantelpiece said five forty. I knew his caution made sense, but I didn’t want Alex snatched away from me again.

‘I’ve been at this two hours or more,’ Bevan murmured. ‘I’ve had enough for tonight.’

He moved to switch off the terminal.

‘ALEX,’ I said quietly into the microphone, ‘we’ve got to go.’

‘It was a pleasure talking to you, Kate.’

Bevan flicked a switch. The image on the screen died in an instant.

Four

Our father’s coffin, drawn by four black horses, rested on the same black-and-gold carriage that had been used for the funeral of every monarch since the assassination of Queen Victoria in 1893, exactly a century before. It was flanked by household cavalry whose ceremonial swords seemed to me only to emphasize how powerless we had become as a nation.

I sat with Richard and Victoria in a following carriage drawn by two dapple-grey mares called Scylla and Charybdis, my father’s favourite horses at the royal stables in Knightsbridge. Extepan was behind us in another carriage, with Maxixca and other high-ranking Aztec officials. They wore the uniforms of their office – the gold-trimmed tunics that had been modelled on those of European militia but which retained Aztec features of spotted fur trimmings and stylized eagle or ocelotl insignia. Some sported shoulder capes in earth colours, adorned with holy crosses or symbols from more ancient and pagan days.

It was a bright October morning, and I felt warm under my black topcoat, sheltered by the black veil across my face. Crowds lined both sides of the Mall – silent, orderly crowds heavily patrolled by Aztec troopers.

Our procession circled the King Albert Memorial, which still stood outside the gates of the palace, then turned into Birdcage Walk. More crowds were massed here, spilling over into St James’s Park. A few people began to wave. Then more. I heard isolated shouts of greeting, heard my own name being called among Richard’s and Victoria’s. Richard began to wave back to the crowd.

‘Don’t,’ I said, putting a hand on his arm. ‘You mustn’t.’

He turned to me. ‘Why not, Kate? They’re pleased to see us.’

‘I know. But this is Father’s funeral, Richard. We must be sober and dignified.’

It sounded stuffy, but I didn’t want any of us to give the impression that we might be relishing the occasion, for whatever reason, in case people began to think that we were sanctioning the Aztec stage-managing of the event. It was only after considerable soul-searching that I had decided to take part in the procession, and then only because Victoria and Richard were both determined to pay their respects in public. I was also curious; I wanted the opportunity to see the people at close quarters.

If I had expected some dramatic change – all of them reduced to haggard destitution – I found none. Everyone looked reasonably well fed and adequately clothed, though the enthusiasm with which they greeted us told of their frustration: it was a formal chance to vent their suppressed national sentiment.

As the demonstrativeness of the crowd grew, with cheers and cries of ‘God save the King!’, so the procession seemed to slow, to take an inordinate time to pass down the Walk and into Parliament Square. By now a host of voices were raised in welcome, and suddenly tiny Union Flags were being waved. They looked brand new, manufactured for the occasion. Richard began to wave again, and I could see that Victoria was smiling behind her veil.

I was mortified. I feared an incident, some sudden surge in passions which might lead to bloodshed, a mini-riot which would be brutally suppressed by the jade-uniformed troopers. But nothing happened. The crowds thinned as we approached the Abbey, to be replaced by ranks of Aztec guards fronting the tree-lined spaces of what was now known as Parliament Park. Where had the flags come from? Was it possible that Extepan had authorized their production and distribution for the occasion? I glanced back at the governor as our carriage drew to a halt outside the Abbey, expecting that he would not notice. He gave me the faintest of nods.

The Abbey was full, and I scanned the ranks of dignitaries massed on both sides. Of the politicians I recognized many faces, though most of my father’s former Cabinet – including the Prime Minister, Foreign Secretary and Chancellor – were absent. Some had refused to collaborate with the Aztecs and were sent into exile; others had died during the invasion or in the repressions instituted by Nauhyotl after the occupation. Those who remained had accommodated themselves to the new order.

The Archbishop of Canterbury also fell into this category. I could remember as a child playing dominoes with him during my father’s frequent visits to Lambeth Palace, but he had done nothing to try to curb Nauhyotl’s excesses and was rumoured to have been an active collaborator with the Aztecs. Now, as he conducted the funeral oration in full ecclesiastical regalia, he was to me nothing more than a traitor. As primate of the Church of England, he technically outranked all politicians, including the Prime Minister. He spoke with suitable gravity and eloquence of my father, but all I could see was the jovial and rubicund figure of my childhood transformed into a stooge of the Aztecs.

Though there were guards discreetly stationed all around the Abbey, Extepan and his retinue had seated themselves at the rear, as if acknowledging this as an occasion in which they could play no appropriate part. I wondered what he and Maxixca made of the ceremony. Their own Catholicism, inherited from Spanish missionaries but interwoven with innumerable strands of their old pagan theology, was a more flamboyant affair in many respects. Though nominally Christian, it embraced polygamy, courtesans and the eating of dog. The most strident anti-Aztec opinion held that it was, in fact, just an ethical veneer, adopted for diplomatic reasons during their rise to world power status. It hid, it was said, the older religion, which was still secretly practised in all its brutal horrors.

Richard’s extensive suite of rooms was situated above Extepan’s quarters on an upper tier of the central pyramid. The large reception room had big windows looking out over the City.

I sat with Richard and Victoria as each member of the ‘Cabinet-in-Waiting’ came forward to present their credentials. Once again, Extepan and his staff seemed to be standing aside from the proceedings, though everything had been orchestrated by them. A general election was to be held before Christmas, in which only British nationals would be eligible to vote. The ‘government’ so elected would meet at the complex, one of the subsidiary pyramids having been set aside for that use. To me, this was an utter farce. Apart from the fact that the Aztec administration would continue to hold all real power, the ordinary people of the country were not even being offered a choice since all the prospective MPs had banded together as the National Party.

Richard exchanged words with each and every one of his petitioners, plainly enjoying his role as prospective sovereign. I had had no opportunity to speak privately with him at any length, and I knew I would face an uphill struggle to persuade him not to take the Crown: though he always looked to me for advice, he was stubborn once his mind was set, and it appeared already to be set on becoming king.

The prospective leader of the new government was a man named Kenneth Parkhouse, who had been Home Secretary in the pre-invasion government. He was tall and urbane, greying brilliantined hair slicked back from a widow’s peak, the big square frames of his spectacles sitting on his face as if they were there to improve his appearance rather than his eyesight. After speaking with Richard he bowed to me and lingered, waiting with the others until the first part of the proceedings was complete.

And then, unexpectedly, Extepan and the other Aztecs withdrew. This only served to increase my suspicion of Parkhouse and the half dozen other politicians who remained with him. Lined up before us in their crisp sober suits and perfectly knotted ties, they exuded a self-seeking obsequiousness. Few had had especially distinguished careers before the invasion, but now they were ready to step forward where better men had refused to compromise.

Parkhouse bowed before us, then straightened.

‘Your Royal Highnesses, we find ourselves in a most trying situation.’

He was addressing me rather than Richard.

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ I said acidly.

‘None of us would have wished to have to face up to this kind of circumstance. Nevertheless, I believe that we must all try to make the best of it we can. For the benefit of everyone.’

Richard made to speak, but I put a hand on his arm.

‘It would be most acceptable’, I said with great care, ‘if everyone could benefit.’

I was going to make it hard for him, and he knew it.

‘As you may be aware,’ he went on, ‘we faced grievous difficulties during the governorship of Nauhyotl, Extepan’s predecessor. But now Governor Extepan intends a much more moderate approach, I’m pleased to say. He’s already shown his goodwill by freeing political prisoners and halting all summary executions. I believe he has genuinely humane motivations and doesn’t wish to cause any unnecessary suffering.’

‘I’m very pleased to hear it.’

‘I think he is sincere in his desire to give us a measure of self-government. It’s vital we grasp this opportunity and make every effort to see that the needs of our people are adequately represented. Compromise is necessary, I understand that. We cannot expect the Mexica to give us unlimited freedoms. But there is a middle way between that and absolute domination. If we all pull together, we can find that way.’

It was a pretty little politician’s speech, delivered softly, in reasonable, persuasive tones. That he had used the word ‘Mexica’ rather than ‘Aztec’ was further confirmation to me that he completely accepted the new order.

I was searching for a suitably scathing response, when Richard interrupted: ‘Are you going to be the new prime minister?’

Parkhouse retreated a step, as if to deny that he would be so bold.

‘I am pledged to serve my country,’ he said, ‘in whatever capacity I can.’

Again it was obvious that he was speaking for my benefit rather than Richard’s. And perhaps for others more important to him, too.

‘One has to admire the nobility of your self-sacrifice,’ I said. ‘I’m sure that the governor and his colleagues, whom I’ve no doubt are listening, will approve.’

Parkhouse was at a loss for a moment. Then he said, ‘I won’t pretend I like the situation any more than you—’

‘Won’t you?’

‘Believe me, I searched my conscience long and hard before agreeing to participate in the electoral process. I feel we have a duty to those of our people who cannot protect themselves. If they have no representation, then we have no means of mitigating the severer aspects of the occupation.’

It was futile to argue with politicians, I realized, to try to persuade them that your scepticism concerning their views might be well founded. Politicians developed habits of self-justification and certitude which were immune to logic or emotion: their rhetoric was like a blanket which they wrapped around themselves to keep out the bracing air of dissent.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I don’t approve. Are you expecting us to sanction the idea of a puppet government? We won’t do that under any circumstances.’

I suppose I was trying to speak for Richard as well to prevent him from being drawn into the debate. But he said, ‘They’re only trying to help, Kate.’

‘We’ve been promised full powers in civil and judicial affairs,’ Parkhouse said. ‘We can at least protect the integrity of the courts and the police.’

I gave a harsh laugh. ‘Integrity? That’s an interesting word. You haven’t convinced me that you understand what it really means.’

Now another member of Parkhouse’s group spoke up – a Fabian peer with a distinguished record of service.

‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘we understand how much you regret the occupation of this country. So do we. But at this time we’re powerless in the face of it. Meanwhile, out there, many ordinary people are in a situation where they have no redress for genuine grievances. They may have lost relatives, suffered confiscation of their property, or they may be imprisoned. At present, they have no voice to speak for them. We have to accept that these people have little day-to-day concern for larger political affairs and considerations of true democracy. All they want is personal justice, the right to live their lives with as much freedom and peace as possible. So, some of us have decided that we would rather be considered fools or traitors in certain quarters if we can, none the less, serve the everyday needs of the majority.’

This was more direct and touching, spoken, I felt, from the heart. Richard was nodding approvingly, and even Victoria looked convinced.

‘I respect your point of view,’ I said, ‘but if you’re asking me to approve of it, I’m afraid I can’t.’

Late that night, while the city slept under fog, I unlocked the door which would admit Bevan to my suite.

While Bevan settled himself at the terminal, I put a Burgess symphony on the player and returned to his side with a pad and pen. I made a careful note of each stage in the operating procedure to activate ALEX.

Within minutes, ALEX appeared, framed in grey as before. When Bevan identified himself, he said, ‘Good to talk to you again, Bevan.’ There was a pause. ‘Is Kate with you as well?’

I was amazed and somewhat in awe of the sophistication of the program. It really was almost as if ALEX were flesh and blood.

‘I’m here,’ I said into the microphone.

A smile. ‘Kate. I’m so pleased we can communicate again.’

Scintillae flickered in his simulated beard, and his eyes had a coppery sheen. I suddenly found myself embarrassed and utterly at a loss for words. I thrust the microphone back at Bevan.

‘You talk to him for a while,’ I said. ‘I’ll just listen.’

He looked surprised and also mildly amused.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘What do you want me to ask it, then?’

Though it was foolish, I didn’t like the way he referred to ALEX as ‘it’.

‘You’re the expert,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave it to you.’

He turned back to the screen. ‘ALEX, this is Bevan again. I want to ask you some questions.’

‘Fire away, Bevan.’

‘OK. Last time you told us that your function was to interact with outside agencies, right?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘What I want to know is – what’s the nature of your program?’

There was a longer pause than usual. ‘It would be helpful if you could be more specific, Bevan.’

‘Want me to use technical language, do you?’

‘That’s not necessary. I’m designed to work with colloquial English, but because of its inexactitudes there will be times when your precise meaning may not be clear to me.’

‘I’m with you.’ A brief glance at me, and then: ‘What’s your purpose? What functions can you offer a user?’

‘Of myself, I have no purpose. It would depend on the interactions of the outside agency. You’ll get out what you put in.’

He grinned, exactly like the real Alex.

I said, ‘Ask him if he can access confidential information for us.’

Bevan eyed me appraisingly before repeating the request.

‘That would depend,’ came the response.

‘On what?’ Bevan asked.

‘It might be possible, provided the outside agency gave me suitable empowerment.’

Bevan paused. Then he asked, ‘What sort of empowerment?’

‘Naturally I can’t supply this information. By its very nature it has to come from you.’

‘You’re saying that full access to your capabilities is limited to those who have some kind of key or special operating routine.’

‘Again you’re correct.’

‘And is there any way for me to override this?’

‘None that I’m aware of. It’s a perfectly reasonable security precaution, wouldn’t you agree?’

Bevan turned to me. ‘Did you get the gist of that?’

‘I think so.’

‘We’re burglars, see. We’ve opened the front door and got into the house, but all the valuables are stored in a safe with a combination lock whose number we don’t know.’

‘I understand. Surely there must be some system for finding out?’

‘You heard what he said. No chance.’

‘You could try. Please.’

‘Do you know any more than you’re telling me?’

I shook my head.

He looked unconvinced, but turned back to the console.

For the next half hour or so, he battled with the keyboard and attempted to coax, trick and force information from ALEX. ALEX remained polite and even friendly, but it was to no avail.

‘Forget it,’ Bevan said at last, slumping back in the chair.

From the screen, ALEX looked benevolently on.

‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘At least you tried. Let’s forget it for tonight.’

As he moved to switch off the terminal, I said casually, ‘You can leave it on. I think I’d just like to talk to ALEX alone for a while.’

He flicked the switch and the screen went blank.

‘You wrote it all down. It should be easy for you.’

Was he suspicious of me? He swallowed a yawn and stood up.

‘I really appreciate all your help,’ I said.

Without replying, he slouched off to his apartment.

I waited for ten minutes, then crept over to the door and quietly locked it. Switching on the terminal again, I painstakingly went through the routine I had scribbled down.

I was only half-way through when the screen started flashing OPERATOR ERROR. I started again, and achieved the same result. After the third abortive attempt, I knew there was no alternative but to go back to Bevan.

I unlocked the door, knocked, and opened it. Bevan was sitting in an armchair in a pool of yellow light from a table-lamp, his head wreathed in blue smoke.

‘Not so easy, is it?’

‘I don’t understand where I went wrong,’ I admitted.

‘You’re bound to miss things when you’re a novice. Think you could drive a car just by watching someone and writing it all down?’

‘I want you to bring ALEX back.’

‘Need to have a heart-to-heart, do you?’

I nodded.

He crushed out his cigarette. ‘All right, then.’

Filled with gratitude, I returned to the suite and punched the REPLAY button on the player. Even before the music began, Bevan had reactivated ALEX.

‘So, then,’ he said to me. ‘What now?’

If I asked him to leave now, would he go? Did I have any justification for doing so?

I took a deep breath, a sigh in reverse, and said, ‘The codeword’s axolotl.’

Bevan grinned. He was sitting in the swivel chair like some dissolute Buddha, his belly poking out between the straining buttons of his shirt. He spun round and spoke the word into the microphone.

On the screen, ALEX smiled.

‘Now I can accommodate you,’ he said. ‘Tell me what information you require.’

Over the next two hours, we delved deep into the Aztec informational network. Bevan had ALEX summon up a host of data from classified files – details of troop dispositions throughout the country, an inventory of armaments, a level-by-level plan of the complex, which included surprise confirmation that none of our rooms were monitored, either by sound or vision. The information came up on the screen in the form of bar charts, Venn diagrams, full-colour graphics and simple lists which scrolled slowly past our avid eyes. There was far too much to absorb in one sitting, but I noted down what I could.

I marvelled at the ingenuity of the programmers who had created the simulacrum. It was easy to understand why Alex had attached such importance to the disk. The information which his electronic counterpart could obtain seemed limitless.

Dawn was beginning to break before Bevan finally shut down the terminal. Though exhausted, I was also exhilarated.

‘What are we going to do with all this data?’ I wondered aloud.

‘Leave it with me,’ Bevan said. ‘Maybe I can pass it on to interested parties.’

I studied him in the half-light. ‘Have you got contacts?’

‘Easier for me to move around than you, isn’t it?’

‘Is there an opposition movement here?’

‘Not as far as I know.’

‘Tell me, Bevan.’

‘You said you’d trust me, didn’t you?’

‘I have done.’

But he refused to be drawn, despite all my efforts. I had no contacts myself, and I didn’t want to leave the notes in my suite in case they were found. So, reluctantly, I relinquished them.

Five

The complex was an even larger building than it appeared from outside, with subterranean levels housing swimming pools, steam baths and gymnasia. There were also numerous tlachtli courts where the ancient native ball game was played in a spirit of fierce competitiveness. Formerly the game had had a deep religious significance, with the fate of cities or entire nations resting on its outcome. Nowadays it was played on soft surfaces and competitors were allowed to wear protective elbow-and knee-pads. Despite this, injuries were still common, so keen was the desire to win. It ranked second only to soccer as the Aztecs’ favourite sport.

I had requested a tour of the complex only the previous day, and Extepan had promptly arranged it. Victoria accompanied me as Chicomeztli led us through the lower levels of the subsidiary pyramids where the married officers were housed with their wives and families. Libraries, cinemas and recreation rooms were provided for them on every level. No less well cared-for were the unmarried men, who like their married counterparts enjoyed the favours of the auianime, the courtesans whose honoured status had finally been sanctioned by the Catholic Church in the early years of Motecuhzoma’s reign. There was little to distinguish the auianime from legitimate wives except that the former were more mindful of their appearance, taking great care with their makeup and favouring the traditional huipil blouse and long native skirts rather than the European styles which had been fashionable for most of the century.

Every apartment in the complex had access to tier-gardens, each one planted not only with flowers and shrubs but also vegetables from every part of the world, biomodified to thrive in the British climate. There were ornamental pools and miniature waterfalls, terraces and arcades, grassy spaces with loitering peacocks and sheltered intimate arbours, all of them testament to the Aztec passion for gardens, which exceeded even that of the English. It was remarkable to think that the entire edifice, gardens and all, had been constructed in the space of three years.

The complex housed perhaps five thousand people, and it included many civil servants, recently drafted in by Extepan to help smooth the transition to the new civilian government. Most were British nationals, and Chicomeztli proudly told us that they were allowed exactly the same amenities as the governor’s men. Privately I wondered whether this included access to the auianime and the steam baths, where all sorts of intimacies were reputedly conducted.

We returned to the central pyramid, and Chicomeztli led Victoria and me into a dim room. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that it was an Aztec chapel, one of many in the complex.

It was a small room, with a stained-glass window showing the Virgin of the Hill of the Star receiving her revelation from God. We were deep in the heart of the pyramid, and the window was a fake, a back-lit coloured screen set into a solid wall. The chapel itself was austerely furnished in white stucco and earthen tiles. There were brackets for candles and vases holding fresh flowers. Even when full, its bare benches could have accommodated no more than fifty people.

Behind the simple raised altar at the far end hung a small picture, difficult to see in the dimness. As we moved forward, Victoria blurted out, ‘It’s Jesus and Mary.’

‘Of course,’ Chicomeztli responded. ‘Perhaps you were expecting twin shrines to Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc, yes? An altar drenched in human blood?’

Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc were two major gods of the Aztecs before their conversion to Christianity, honoured with mass sacrifices of prisoners in former times.

Victoria seemed nervous at the very mention of their names.

‘We call the Son of God Ipalnemoani,’ Chicomeztli told her. ‘It means “He By Whom We Live”.’

I also knew that the Aztecs referred to God as Tloque Nahaque, ‘Lord of the Immediate Vicinity’. Both these names had once been applied to pre-Christian deities, all of which increased suspicions that the Aztecs still clung to their ancient beliefs beneath the cloak of Roman Catholicism.

Like all Aztecs, Chicomeztli was aware of our fears, and he obviously enjoyed playing up to them.

‘Perhaps you would like to see another chapel? We have many more, some much larger than this. We keep them very clean.’

His fractured smile and off-centre gaze accentuated the impression of mockery.

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ I said.

We lunched in a dining room on one of the upper levels which was adorned with a large Warhola painting of Tenochtitlan. The pyramids and towers of the capital stood out in super-realism against the greens and blues of lake and sky while a spiky golden sun blazed down. The colours were stark and primary, and it did not surprise me that the artist had later pursued an equally successful career producing animated features for one of the major Acapulco studios.

Chicomeztli intended to take us on to see the new chamber for the House of Commons, but both Victoria and I were now wearying of the tour. Victoria pleaded a migraine and returned to her suite. I asked to see Extepan.

Chicomeztli glanced at me across the table. ‘Do you mean immediately?’

I nodded.

‘It’s possible he may not be available.’

I merely shrugged, as if to say: ‘Try.’

He went off to a phone booth while I gazed idly at the scattering of people at the other tables. All were Aztecs, attending to their lunches in silence, sparing me only the occasional glance. A television high on one wall was showing the latest episode of Oaxaca Heights, an imported soap opera which was by far the BBC’s most popular programme.

Chicomeztli returned.

‘I have been asked if it is urgent,’ he said.

‘Quite urgent.’

‘Then the governor will see you immediately. He apologizes in advance if you find him in informal circumstances. It is the time in each day when he takes a break from his duties.’

I nodded, perfectly aware that the Aztecs followed a practice similar to the Spanish siesta. I was actually hoping to catch him off-guard.

We rode a private lift to Extepan’s suite, and were met by a retainer who took us through the governor’s offices to a room beyond. Aztec chairs and couches dominated the room, but on the walls were framed posters for London Underground, Roberts’ Supermarkets and the National Lottery. A low table was cluttered with newspapers and magazines, while glass-fronted cabinets held all manner of bric-à-brac from cheap plaster models of Big Ben to a plastic policeman’s helmet.

An adjoining door opened, and Extepan emerged. He was dressed only in a dark blue towelling robe, and the swathe of his chest gleamed with oil. Behind him was a young woman in a striped huipil, her long black hair braided, her arms bare. She immediately struck me as beautiful, with large almond eyes and a perfectly formed mouth. From her dress, it appeared that she was one of the auianime.

‘Catherine,’ Extepan said, coming forward and taking my hand. ‘Forgive me receiving you in this way, but I gather it was something urgent.’

I felt awkward and embarrassed because I had nothing pressing to tell him; I was instead hoping to obtain some information from him.

He motioned to chairs and asked the girl – whom he called ‘Mia’ – to fetch us refreshments. She bowed, keeping her eyes averted from me, and withdrew silently.

Extepan sat cross-legged in an armchair, carefully draping his robe over his knees.

While Chicomeztli hovered discreetly in the background, Extepan remarked, ‘A daily massage is one of my few indulgences. I find it soothes the spirit as well as tones the muscles.’

‘If I had known,’ I said drily, ‘I wouldn’t have disturbed you.’

‘If it had been truly inconvenient, then I would have said so.’

Chicomeztli sat down out of earshot with a copy of the Daily Herald, whose banner headline read CROWN HIM!

‘Mia is my household companion,’ Extepan went on, ‘and a great comfort to me. I am a long way from home, and the duties of a governor permit few luxuries. Now – in what way can I help you?’

He had an openness and directness which seemed almost innocent. But I had to beware of making judgements on surface appearances, especially since it was an Aztec trait to mask the most intricate of manoeuvrings beneath a show of formal courtesies. While it was normal for the tlatoani to appoint his sons to eminent positions, Extepan would not have been given the governorship of Britain if he did not possess any diplomatic or administrative talents.

‘Where’s Richard?’ I asked. ‘I haven’t seen him in several days.’

‘I believe today he’s visiting the Natural History Museum,’ Extepan said. ‘They have a new display of articulated dinosaurs which I understand he was eager to see.’

This fitted: Richard still had his child-like delight in large creatures. But the answer wasn’t sufficient for me.

‘And previous days? I have the distinct impression he’s being kept away from me.’

Extepan belted his robe more tightly. ‘That’s not the case, I assure you. Weren’t you told he had gone to Windsor? Your private rooms at the castle are being refurnished, and Richard wanted to see how the work was progressing.’

‘I was told, but I found it hard to credit that he’d take any interest in such matters,’

Extepan smiled. ‘He spent most of his time playing croquet.’

‘With nothing else to occupy him?’

I knew from ALEX that he had, in fact, met with the French and Italian ambassadors, though I had no idea what they had discussed.

‘A number of diplomatic courtesies were conducted,’ Extepan said. ‘Other European countries are naturally interested in your brother’s intentions, and he only agreed to meet them in exchange for a “holiday” at Windsor.’

‘Why wasn’t I told?’

Extepan looked rueful. ‘To be frank, he asked that you shouldn’t be. He thought you would disapprove.’

‘I see. Which European countries exactly?’

‘Italy, Serbia and France.’

‘How convenient. All countries under your occupation. No doubt they were most enthusiastic that Richard should accept the crown.’

Extepan sat back. ‘I think, Catherine, that perhaps you are the only person who isn’t.’

I didn’t want to get into another fruitless argument on the subject, so I kept my peace. At this point, Mia returned, bearing a silver tray with two crystal tumblers containing a thick green drink. She moved with perfect grace, giving off fragrances of cinnamon and lavender. Again she withdrew without glancing once at me.

Extepan raised his tumbler and swallowed half of his drink.

‘Sweet lime juice, freshly squeezed. We grow them all year round in California now. Try it, Catherine – it’s delicious.’

‘You know I won’t co-operate with you.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s understandable. You may not believe me, but I admire you for it. I hope that eventually you’ll come to trust me, and then perhaps there will be occasions on which we can work together for the best of everyone.’

I rummaged briefly through the pile of periodicals on the table between us – copies of the Daily Correspondent, Woman’s Window, Style, a Captain Camelot comic book in which the titanium-armoured avenger was vanquishing an android Jack the Ripper.

‘Is this what you usually read?’ I asked.

His expression was wry. ‘I follow my father’s advice that to understand a people truly, one must be familiar with their popular culture. After all, beautiful objects and fine works of art are hardly representative of any nation, are they?’

I contemplated the plastic Tower of London apron, the snowstorm model of Stepney Cathedral in its perspex dome.

‘Do you believe one culture can fully understand another?’

‘I live in hope. Do you know I went to a greyhound race meeting at the White City only last week? It was a most interesting experience.’

I couldn’t help but be amused. ‘At least you seem to find more enjoyment in your duties than your brother.’

‘Half-brother,’ he corrected swiftly.

I raised an eyebrow. ‘It rather sounds as if you’d like to disown him.’

He shook his head. ‘No, no. That’s not it at all. It’s a question of how he perceives me. To him, and perhaps to my elder brothers as well, I’m not truly Mexicatl. Because my mother was Castilian.’

I indicated a big oil portrait which had pride of place above the hearth. ‘Was that her?’

Of course I knew already. Extepan nodded. ‘It’s a Keating. He came to Mexico just before my mother’s death.’

‘Doña Maria Mendizabel.’

Extepan registered surprise.

‘It’s a famous portrait. They sell prints of it in all the poster shops.’

I knew this from the few excursions I had been allowed since my capture, Sunday afternoon outings to Mayfair under armed escort, temporary roadblocks keeping the public at bay. Every attempt I made to meet ordinary citizens under informal conditions was thwarted by the Aztecs.

The painting had been modelled somewhat presumptuously after the Mona Lisa, but it worked. It showed an elegant russet-haired woman in black silk and white lace, an impressionistic view of Tenochtitlan shimmering distantly on the lake behind her. Beautiful and formidable, Doña Maria stared out of the picture with eyes that seemed both hazel and sea-green, haughty yet passionate. It was said that Motecuhzoma had offered to give up the Turquoise Throne to marry her but that she had retorted he need only give up her conquered country.

‘She looks a remarkable woman,’ I said.

‘I think she was,’ Extepan replied. ‘She died when I was six years old. I gather you lost your mother at a similar age, yes?’

He was as well informed as I had expected.

‘I presume you’ve seen The Eagle and the Swallow?’ I said.

This was the English language title of the popular film based on Doña Maria’s romance with Motecuhzoma.

‘The actress was not my mother,’ Extepan said. ‘The film was not her life. Now everyone remembers that, and not the true person. There was much it didn’t tell. It was not the whirlwind romance the film portrays. My mother held out against my father’s courtship until there would be maximum benefit for Spain.’

‘Do you think she loved him?’

He eyed me. ‘You are very direct, for the daughter of a king.’

‘It’s my nature. It used to drive my father to distraction.’

He sipped his drink. ‘Yes, I am certain she did, in her way. And certainly my father never loved anyone as he loved her.’

‘Have you ever visited Spain?’

‘Many times. It’s a country where I always feel at home. But I’m Mexicatl, not Spanish.’

‘But an outsider too?’

‘No,’ he said firmly.

‘You said you were perceived differently. Because your mother was Castilian.’

‘I was speaking only as far as my immediate family is concerned. Perhaps only Maxixca. Of course, I should not be telling you this, since you have declared yourself my enemy. And I should not speak ill of Maxixca when he is not here to defend himself.’

‘Has he gone away?’

‘He is in the north, inspecting our troops. Military matters are what engage his interests most. He has little time for the niceties of diplomacy.’

This confirmed what I already knew from ALEX. Maxixca had apparently been sent north to reorganize the garrisons along Hadrian’s Wall. Scotland remained free of Aztec occupation as part of the truce, but there had been raids across the border on Berwick and Carlisle by English refugee forces and Scottish sympathizers.

‘Are you anticipating problems in the north?’ I asked.

He set his glass aside. ‘All border regions must be adequately defended. It is a simple matter of prudence. But you must forgive me. I have spoken a great deal of my affairs. What did you wish to see me about?’

‘I think,’ I said, ‘you’ve already addressed my concerns.’

Six

‘I’m cold,’ Victoria murmured, huddling deeper into the fur collar of her overcoat.

I stood with her beside the hovercar, a Cockerell Silver Sceptre, watching as Extepan and his retinue lit candles and burnt incense sticks around the tombstones. All day there had been feasts and celebrations at the complex to mark the Day of the Dead, and now we had come to that part of Highgate cemetery reserved for the graves of Aztec soldiers killed during the invasion.

Whole families had turned out for the occasion, and Aztec children were draping the tombstones with flowers, ribbons and skull-headed dolls made of pink marzipan. Adults and children alike were dressed in their finery, the men sporting colourful cloaks, the women embroidered shawls. They carried feathered banners, rattles and bouquets. There was much chatter and laughter, and a general air of festivity which seemed incongruous beneath the darkening grey November sky.

A chill easterly breeze was blowing, and my feet were beginning to tingle with the cold.

‘Let’s walk,’ I said to Victoria, taking her arm and heading off towards the older part of the cemetery, retreating from a garish alien enclave to the sober world of our own dead.

Aztec security guards shadowed us at a distance as we walked past the cluttered ranks of overgrown headstones.

‘I think it’s positively ghoulish,’ Victoria remarked, ‘the way they bring their children to the cemetery. To see them running around the graves, laughing and chattering, as if it were a party.’

‘It’s certainly different,’ I said.

Victoria shuddered. ‘I wish we were back at the complex. Why did you agree to come, Kate?’

I had no easy answer for her. ‘Extepan invited us, didn’t he? This is an important day for them, and I thought I’d be courteous, just for once. Remember also that Father always used to say it’s important to understand your adversary.’

Victoria didn’t pursue this. And I knew I was being hypocritical, having only accepted Extepan’s invitation when he had guaranteed that our attendance would not be made public. It was true that I hoped to understand the Aztecs better, the better to fight them; but a purely ceremonial occasion such as this was hardly likely to provide me with useful ammunition against them. Our motives for doing things are often as much personal as strategic, and it was not the last time I would compromise myself through sheer wilfulness. I had, in fact, been feeling restricted and even bored at the complex. Apart from my secret work with Bevan on ALEX, there was little for me to do. In addition, the results of the general election were due today, and I wanted to escape all talk and television coverage of it.

We stopped by the big marble tombstone of the entrepreneur Karl Marx, which provided some shelter from the wind.

‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you,’ I said. ‘About Richard. We need to advise him on his future.’

I was aware that I should have discussed this with Victoria long before, but she had seemed so nervous and vulnerable since our capture that I hadn’t wanted to put any pressure on her.

‘I hardly ever see him,’ she responded. ‘I think he spends most of his days in his games room, playing Serpents and Scorpions.’

Serpents and Scorpions was a popular video game, Richard’s latest enthusiasm.

‘I think we should be doing everything we can to persuade him not to take the crown,’ I said.

Victoria tugged her gloves tighter, not looking at me.

‘What do you think?’ I said.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Of what?’

‘Of what we should do, Kate. Perhaps it’s better if we do nothing.’

‘What do you mean?’

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. ‘It’s not really our decision, is it? It’s up to the people.’

‘The people?’ I said contemptuously. ‘Do you really think they have a say in the affairs of state under present conditions?’

‘According to the polls, most of them want Richard to become king.’

‘Which polls? Do you mean the ones on the BBC or in the newspapers? Don’t you know they’re all under Aztec control, or at least censorship? What do we know about what the people really want?’

Victoria looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Kate. You understand politics better than I do. All I know is that Richard is popular with the people. We all are. You saw how they waved and shouted at us during Father’s funeral.’

The November sky was darkening rapidly now, the breeze carrying drops of rain.

‘So you think he should accept the crown?’ I said.

‘It would cheer the people up. It’s what they want. I can’t see what harm it would do.’

‘It would turn Richard into a puppet of the Aztecs.’

‘Isn’t he one already? Aren’t we all? It’s not as if we have any real power or freedom. And the new civilian government’s going to be approving it as well, aren’t they?’

Victoria was diffident in the face of my vehemence, but I wasn’t being entirely candid with her. According to ALEX, over eighty per cent of the people were indeed in favour of Richard being crowned, and there appeared to be no ulterior motive on the Aztecs’ part, aside from the obvious one that it would show their administration as receptive to the nation’s wishes. Perhaps that was what I found most galling of all.

It began to rain more heavily, so we made our way back to the car. The celebrations were finally over, and Extepan was waiting for us.

‘There is news,’ he said. ‘You have a new civilian government.’

‘That’s hardly a surprise,’ I responded. ‘Am I to take it that Kenneth Parkhouse will be the new Prime Minister?’

Extepan nodded.

‘Somehow, I have a feeling he’s what we deserve.’

We climbed into the hovercar. The Silver Sceptre was a roomy vehicle, and Extepan joined us in the back seat, his waterproof cape dripping rainwater on the carpeted floor.

The car lifted and coasted away on its air skirt.

Conversationally I remarked to Extepan, ‘Victoria thinks you’re morbid in your preoccupation with death.’

Victoria looked mortified, but Extepan was not offended.

‘To the contrary,’ he said, ‘we make Death our friend, we celebrate him and so conquer our fears.’

‘I can’t bear the thought of dying,’ Victoria confessed. ‘Lying cold in my grave, being eaten by worms. It’s horrible. Even the thought of growing old frightens me.’

Extepan took her hand in his. ‘You have many years yet in which to overcome those fears. I think we must first enjoy life if we are later to embrace death with fortitude, yes?’

‘That sounds suspiciously profound,’ I said, not a little waspishly. ‘More words of wisdom from your father?’

He was stung by this, as if I had betrayed a confidence.

‘It was you who initiated the conversation,’ he said sternly. ‘I was simply responding. I understand that today’s events have disappointed you, Catherine, but I don’t see why they should give rise to such personal discourtesy.’

A part of me wanted to apologize, yet I was determined not to.

‘I would rather you had appointed no government at all than one with Kenneth Parkhouse at its head.’

‘We did not appoint them, Catherine. The British people did. The elections were free and fair. They expressed their will.’

‘Considering that you only gave them one choice, that hardly constitutes freedom of choice, does it?’

The car had stopped at a red traffic light.

‘Where are we?’ Extepan asked the driver in Nahuatl.

‘Kentish Town Road,’ came the reply.

‘Since you are so concerned about your people,’ Extepan said to me, ‘perhaps you would like to take the time to see how they are actually living.’

So saying, he unlocked the door on his side and opened it. Before I had a moment to think, he took my wrist and pulled me out.

The security men in the car were aghast. Our car was flanked by armed support vehicles, but Extepan led me past them to the pavement.

‘What are you doing?’ I said.

‘The rain is not too heavy. I think perhaps you and I shall take a little air.’

Guards were piling out of the cars, withdrawing pistols, communicating urgently with one another.

‘Stay in sight but at a distance,’ Extepan called to them in Nahuatl. ‘Well, Catherine, shall we go and see just what conditions your people are living under?’

Taking my arm, he led me off.

Ahead of us was the lopped pebbledash and mirror glass pyramid of the rebuilt Camden Town Underground station. Some of the glass panels were already cracked or sprayed with graffiti such as MEX GO HOME or the blithe and universal WANKERS.

It was an area I had never set foot in before. A thin rain was falling, and the slick pavement shone quicksilver under the temporary streetlights. Everything looked drab and dilapidated under a now-dark sky.

One of the guards passed Extepan a forage cap which he pulled down over his eyes. I drew my hood over my head, tugging the drawstring tight. The effect was to make both of us look relatively anonymous.

I knew he was challenging me, so I made no further protest, even though I considered him rash. The security men kept pace behind us, alert and watchful. They were obviously frantic with concern at this unexpected development, but no one had the authority to challenge Extepan.

Makeshift stalls had been set up along a length of one street which had been reduced to rubble during the invasion. Even though it was late, people were still clustering around them, buying second-hand clothes, cheap Acapulco videos, toy robots doubtless imported en masse from Tlatelolco, their synthesized voices issuing harsh commands and threats in Nahuatl. I remember thinking that our children would grow up knowing the Mexican for ‘Destroy’, ‘Annihilate’, ‘Make a move and I’ll blast you!’ before they had any understanding of how these playtime icons of conquest had come to feature so prominently in their lives.

At the station itself, a stained LED screen was flashing the election results, unheeded by a small cluster of derelicts who were slouched in the entranceway, drinking cans of Churchills and Tonatiuh Export, surrounded by supermarket carrier bags which presumably held all their earthly goods.

‘See how the people thrive,’ I said, determined not to let Extepan retain the initiative.

‘It’s their choice,’ he replied. ‘Sufficient rooms were made available for every vagrant in London by converting army barracks and hotels into hostels. These people have exercised their freedom not to accept a permanent home.’

I doubted this, but chose not to argue the point.

We crossed the street unhurriedly at the defunct traffic lights. One very noticeable change since the invasion was that there was now far less traffic on the roads. Petrol for ordinary vehicles was scarce, and solar-powered transport was beyond the reach of ordinary people.

An Aztec personnel carrier was parked in a sidestreet, its lounging occupants seemingly oblivious of the mounds of rubbish and debris surrounding them.

‘Is this diversion meant to impress me?’ I said. ‘It looks to me as if services have broken down completely around here.’

‘That’s the responsibility of the local authority. We have ensured their budgets are adequate, but it is up to them to decide what use they make of their resources.’

A man suddenly lurched out of a sidestreet in front of us.

‘Give us something for a cup of tea,’ he said to me.

He was young, unshaven, a cheap and grimy copy of a chevroned Mexican cloak slung carelessly around him. He reeked of nicotine and alcohol.

‘I’ll take quetzals if you’ve got them. A ten-bob note. Whatever.’

Though he stood close, he was not really looking at either of us. His gaze seemed focused inwards, yet at the same time there was an air of menace about him as he swayed slowly back and forth.

Extepan pressed a ten-quetzal note into his hand. For an instant, his face registered the merest glimmer of surprise at this unexpected bounty. Then it closed down again, and he lurched off, stumbling through the converging security guards as if they didn’t exist.

Extepan said, ‘Most local authorities are paralysed by incompetence and corruption. I hope that one of the first tasks of your new government will be to promote honesty and efficiency.’

‘Of course, the invasion had nothing to do with the breakdown of services.’

He made no response to this, but led me on. We approached a pub called the King’s Arms on the corner of a street. Lights were shining through boarded-up windows which must have lost their glass during the invasion.

‘One of my predecessor’s most unpopular moves was to close all places of entertainment,’ Extepan remarked. ‘One of my first decrees was to extend the licensing hours.’

He still had my arm in his, and now he took my hand.

‘Shall we go in?’

Before I could reply, he led me forward and pushed open the saloon doors.

The bar inside was crowded, the air thick with heat and cigarette smoke. People were sitting at Formica-topped tables which must have come from ordinary kitchens to replace the pub furniture presumably looted during the invasion. A wallscreen showing the evening news was being studiously ignored.

Extepan led me to a space at the bar. Nearby a woman was feeding coins into an arcade machine entitled Ehecatl Express. The game entailed keeping a hang-glider aloft down a canyon filled with jagged rocks, prickly cacti and sinister Caucasian mercenaries who popped out of hiding and tried to blast the noble pilot.

A middle-aged barman appeared. He regarded me with blank suspicion.

‘What’ll it be?’

I suddenly realized that Extepan was gone from my elbow. I looked around. He was nowhere in sight. The drone of conversation in the bar had not noticeably diminished, and no one was obviously looking at me; but I knew that everyone was keenly aware of my presence.

A sense of being trapped began to rise in me. I felt helpless, abandoned. I turned back to the barman. The sounds of electronic gunfire from the arcade machine punctuated the learned analysis of the pundits who were discussing the election results.

‘Do you think I could have a glass of water?’ I heard myself saying.

He looked at me with open contempt, then turned away and went into a back room.

I felt as if every eye in the room was now on me. I did not dare turn around.

‘It’s Montezuma’s Revenge,’ I heard someone call.

The barman returned and put down a glass of water heavily in front of me.

‘Been to a funeral, have we?’ someone else called.

The tone was curious and sarcastic rather than overtly hostile, but I was beginning to be frightened. I was also mortified that someone might recognize me. I lowered my head, trying to huddle into my hood.

‘Mexican takeaway,’ another voice shouted.

Laughter.

‘Had a helping of his tostada, have you?’

Now the laughter was openly snide. Despite this, I became aware that the machine had fallen silent.

‘Leave her alone,’ I heard the woman call. ‘We’ve all got to make our way in this world as best we can. That’s right, love, innit?’

I wanted to flee. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and face the woman, to turn and face any of them. Then I saw, in the mirror behind the bar, Extepan emerging from the Gents. I rushed across to him.

‘Please,’ I said, almost clutching at him. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I think your countrymen are in good spirits,’ he said in English.

‘You ought to know better,’ another woman’s voice called from the back of the room.

I was dimly aware that four of our guards, all armed with automatics, had also entered the pub. I must have been too panicked to notice them. In a blur of shame, I bolted for the door.

Emerging into the rain, I was quickly surrounded by guards. I felt safe again, rescued and protected. From inside the bar there came the sound of further laughter.

Extepan emerged and led me away without another word.

‘There must be some way we can warn them,’ I said to Bevan.

He thought about it, regarding the waiting face of ALEX on the screen.

‘Wouldn’t make much difference, would it? They’re on a hiding to nothing.’

It was the early hours of the morning, and ALEX had just revealed to us that Maxixca was soon to lead the Aztec armies into Scotland, with a view to subduing the entire country. The whole of Wales was now under occupation, and the Aztecs obviously intended to establish full control over all of mainland Britain.

‘Are you suggesting we do nothing?’ I said to Bevan. ‘What about your contacts? Isn’t there someone you can pass the information on to?’

Automatically he took a pack of Raleighs from his pocket, but I glared at him and he put it away.

‘Having information’s one thing. Being able to do something about it is another.’

‘We have a duty to pass it on.’

‘I’m not saying we don’t. Just don’t expect it to make any difference, that’s all. What are we going to tell them? That half the Aztec armies here are about to cross their border? All they’ll be able to do is make for the hills and hope for the best.’

I sighed, giving him my severest look. I didn’t want to waste time arguing with him. ALEX’s image on the screen remained expectant. I felt as if we were ignoring him.

‘Leave it to me,’ Bevan said. ‘I’ll make sure the warning’s passed on.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Is what it?’

‘I’ve been patient with you, Bevan. I’ve let you take all the information we’ve obtained from ALEX to do with as you please.

It’s time you told me who you’re working for.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m not working for anybody.’

‘Then who’s getting the intelligence from ALEX?’

He shrugged. ‘Whoever I think it might be useful to.’

‘That’s no answer. I have a right to know. Without me, you wouldn’t have had any of it in the first place.’

Silence.

‘You do realize you have a sovereign obligation to tell me?’

He laughed at this, as I had expected him to.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s easier for me to move around, to whisper in the right people’s ears. That’s how word gets passed along, see? I don’t ask questions, I just do a bit of gossiping where I think it’ll work best.’

I waited.

‘What do you think we’re dealing with here? A secret army hiding underground, just waiting for the word so they can break out and free the country? Fat chance.’

‘I’m well aware of the military situation,’ I said testily. ‘That’s not the point. I’ve put my trust in you, and I want to be satisfied the information is reaching the right people. I want to know who we’re helping.’

‘Take it from me, it’s a good cause.’

‘That won’t do, Bevan.’

On the screen, ALEX was still waiting, heartbreakingly like my real husband. I noticed that Bevan had switched off the microphone.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘the main business for you should be survival. You’ve got to keep your hands clean, let others do the dirty work. You should be used to that.’

I couldn’t believe his effrontery. I rounded on him.

‘How dare you! I’ve always been prepared to do as much as anyone else. My interests are the same as the great mass of ordinary people.’

He gave a laboured nod. ‘Ordinary people, right you are. The poor sodding masses.’

‘What the devil is that supposed to mean?’

He lit a cigarette. ‘Maybe you’re not so much of a democrat as you think.’

I was on my feet. ‘I won’t have you speaking to me like that! Get out!’

He rose, looking completely unruffled by my fury. Hoisting his trousers, he walked out.

I stood there in the silence for a long time, still furious, thinking that I had every right to pursue him and demand he apologize. I had never encountered such bare-faced cheek.

My anger subsided only slowly. What a perfectly awful day it had been! First the humiliation of the pub, now this. I felt as if those I cared about despised me. And perhaps with some reason. Didn’t my reaction to Bevan merely prove my snobbery and immaturity? Both Alex and my father had been in awe of my temper; when wounded, I reacted with a righteous outrage. It was not an attractive side of my character.

ALEX was a picture of composure on the screen. I switched on the microphone.

‘ALEX?’

‘Yes, Kate?’

‘I miss you so much.’

‘I’m sure you do. If I were real, I’d give you a big bear’s hug.’

It was a pet expression of the real Alex, and I was delighted to hear it. Only the slight pause before all of his responses prevented me from surrendering to the illusion that he was the real person.

‘Do you have any information on his whereabouts?’ I asked.

‘There’s been no change since we last spoke. No data. I’m sorry, Kate.’

I asked the question each time we spoke, and the answer was always the same.

‘How many of his memories did he give you?’

‘As many as he could to produce an effective simulacrum. He took great pleasure in personalizing me, Kate.’

‘Do you remember when you proposed to me?’

A longer pause. ‘It was during your second year in Cambridge. April Fool’s Day. I turned up that morning with a first edition of Motecuhzoma Xocoyotzin’s Dialogues, which you needed for your Comparative History exam.’

‘You also brought a bottle of tequila to toast the occasion.’

‘As I recall, we drank it with cherryade.’

I laughed.

‘You wouldn’t take my proposal seriously at first. You thought it was just an April fool.’

‘I drove home the next day to tell my father. I had a terrible hangover.’

‘I joined you later, never expecting the old man would agree to it. I don’t believe I’ve ever been quite so nervous.’

‘That night you and your BSA ended up in a village pond.’

ALEX laughed. ‘High spirits. That car was brand new, you know. It took me ages to recover from the shock. The repair bill was astronomical.’

‘Reminiscing, are we?’

I spun around. Bevan was standing there.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Had an idea, didn’t I?’

My response was stony silence. Bevan ignored it.

‘How about we use your friend there to muddy the waters? We’ll get him to plant a bit of false information. We could add a few Scottish armies, move their dispositions around, make sure it’s fed into the system so we can create a little havoc.’

I remained silent but moved aside so that he could sit down at the console.

Previously he had argued against tampering with the files in case our interference became obvious to the Aztecs. Stiffly, I reminded him of this.

‘Time’s ripe now,’ he told me. ‘Let’s do a little – what do they call it? – creative counterfeiting. No point in having a weapon unless you use it, is there?’

Seven

Richard was crowned at Westminster Abbey on Christmas Day. Neither Victoria nor I attended the ceremony, though we watched it on the television in my suite with Bevan and Chicomeztli. I knew that Victoria would have dearly loved to be present, given a free choice, but I hoped that by our absence we would make plain that we did not sanction the occasion.

The entire proceedings were conducted with due reverence to the ancient traditions of our country, Richard, in ermine, sitting enthroned while the Archbishop of Canterbury placed the crown on his head. He was unable to prevent a smile of pure pleasure escaping him at that moment. As if further to legitimize the ceremony, Motecuhzoma had sent his eldest son and likely successor, Chimalcoyotl, to London. He sat with Extepan and his retinue, a tall man in his early forties, dressed in the rust and gold uniform of the tlacateccatl, one of the two highest ranks in the Aztec army.

I found the television commentary on the event extremely grating. It was provided by a former quiz-show host who had been promoted to become the ‘voice’ of the BBC after the invasion. He lacked the gravitas to do the occasion full justice, and I had, in any case, come to despise all those who had risen to prominence by accommodating themselves to Aztec rule.

Chicomeztli and Bevan said little during the ceremony, Chicomeztli plainly sensing my mood and not wanting to do anything to provoke me, Bevan adopting his usual air of detached amusement, as if to him the whole affair was just theatre.

Constitutionally, Victoria and I were obliged to declare our fealty to Richard, and I had compromised on that score by writing a letter which the Archbishop now read out to the congregation. While emphasizing my loyalty to the Crown and to Richard personally, I also made a point of stressing my hostility to the occupation of our country. I was surprised when this part of the letter was read out: I had not imagined that Extepan would allow it.

As the ceremony drew to a close, I felt more strongly than ever the absence of Alex and my father, both pillars of my old life. What would my father have made of it all? I was certain he would have been ashamed.

The ceremonial banquet was held that evening in the Louisiana Chamber at Windsor Castle. There we assembled, English and Aztec nobility alike, surrounded by burgundy and gold furnishings and the portraits of monarchs, statesmen and generals once glorious but long dead. I had agreed to attend the banquet in order to avoid insulting our eminent visitor from Tenochtitlan.

Richard occupied my father’s old seat at the centre of the table. Extepan was seated between us, with Maxixca and Chimalcoyotl directly opposite. The tlatoani’s eldest son was a powerfully built man with dark penetrating eyes and a commanding physical presence. Though the Turquoise Throne could be inherited by the brothers or younger sons of the former emperor, Chimalcoyotl was widely expected to become tlatoani when his father’s long reign finally came to an end. Like all the sons of Motecuhzoma, he had been fully blooded in war and had a distinguished military career, having successfully led Aztec armies in Malaya, North Africa and Palestine.

Extepan had arranged what he doubtless considered traditional English Christmas fare of pheasant and brandied puddings. The meal was accompanied by Peruvian wines and bourbons from the north-eastern provinces of Greater Mexico. The Aztecs, normally abstemious, drank freely.

Richard was allowed only mineral water on my advice; he had no tolerance for alcohol and did not need it to enjoy himself. Already he was talking happily to Xochinenen, Chimalcoyotl’s sixteen-year-old daughter, who had presumably been seated next to him to keep him company should the adult conversation around the table prove too taxing. Poor Richard: his life had never been his own.

‘I am surprised there is no snow,’ Extepan presently remarked to me. ‘I always imagined that Christmas in England would be white, as in the days of Charles Dickens. Are you familiar with his works?’

I nodded. ‘Of course. I think he was recalling his own childhood, when winters were colder. Once upon a time, the Thames froze in winter and Londoners went skating on it.’

‘Your soft weather comes from us,’ Chimalcoyotl said. ‘What is it you name it – the Gulf Stream, yes?’

I nodded again, noticing that the septum of his nose had once been pierced, evidence of a very traditional Mexican upbringing. He spoke English haltingly but understood it well enough.

‘There’s nothing here but rain and cloud,’ Maxixca murmured to him in Nahuatl. ‘The English like the cold and damp. They shrivel in the sun.’

If this was meant as a joke, it fell flat, because neither Chimalcoyotl nor Extepan smiled.

‘The heat saps their spirits,’ Maxixca went on, grinning a little slackly. ‘We have evidence of it over and over again, in Egypt and India and Palestine. We overwhelmed their armies.’

I wondered if he was drunk. The wine bottle in front of him was almost empty.

‘The same might be said of us in our response to the cold,’ Extepan retorted diplomatically.

‘I hardly think so,’ Maxixca said. ‘Look at how well our troops performed in Alaska and Scandinavia. We took Berlin in the middle of February. The white races have no stomach for battle, though I will admit that they’re industrious when firmly controlled.’ He lifted the bottle and poured the last of the wine into his glass. ‘Where would our Californian vineyards be without them?’

It seemed to me that Maxixca was trying to impress Chimalcoyotl, whose blocky face remained unreadable to me.

‘You’ll soon have the opportunity to test your mettle under colder conditions,’ Extepan remarked.

‘Scotland will pose no problem,’ Maxixca said. ‘I anticipate the campaign—’

‘I think you’ve said quite enough,’ Extepan said firmly. ‘The dinner table isn’t a fitting place to discuss the future conduct of our armies or to insult our hosts – especially when Princess Catherine can understand your every word.’

Both Chimalcoyotl and Maxixca registered surprise.

‘Is this true?’ Chimalcoyotl said to me. ‘You understand Nahuatl?’

‘Perfectly true,’ I replied in the same tongue.

For an instant Maxixca looked shocked, but his face quickly took on an expression of sullen anger.

‘I hope you will forgive my half-brother,’ Chimalcoyotl said in Nahuatl. The wine has made him boastful and ill-mannered. Even if you had not understood him, his slurs on the character of your people would remain. Please accept my apologies on his behalf.’

Chimalcoyotl had begun talking as if Maxixca were no longer present, and Maxixca reacted swiftly to his change of tone, rising to his feet. He had been shamed, and now his only recourse was to withdraw. He practically fled from the hall.

On either side of the long table, numerous conversations continued unabated. Defying protocol, both Richard and Victoria had moved to other seats, and no one else seemed to have noticed our little drama. I wondered how long Extepan had known that I could understand and speak Nahuatl. It was a matter of public record that I had studied the language while at Cambridge, but he had never referred to it until now. Had he deliberately contrived Maxixca’s embarrassment by letting him compromise himself in front of Chimalcoyotl?

‘I’m very sorry,’ Extepan said to me with apparent sincerity. ‘I don’t believe he really meant it—’

‘Is it true?’ I interrupted. ‘You’re sending Maxixca into Scotland?’

There was the briefest exchange of glances between Extepan and Chimalcoyotl before Extepan said, ‘There has been a growing number of raids across the border on garrisons and towns in northern England. Civilians – English civilians – are suffering far more than our troops. Towns have been burnt, women and children killed. It’s become necessary to put an end to the threat.’

This confirmed what I knew from ALEX, and I only hoped that Bevan’s ‘creative counterfeiting’ would give Maxixca a suitably nasty surprise.

‘Maxixca has strict orders to move swiftly but do everything to minimize casualties,’ Extepan said.

‘I’m sure that will be a great comfort to all those who are going to be killed,’ I replied.

I noticed a smile on Chimalcoyotl’s face.

‘Does something amuse you?’ I asked in Nahuatl.

He shook his head slowly, but then said, ‘Perhaps it does. You understandably object to our activities in your country, yet here we sit, surrounded by all the evidence of your own glorious military past.’

I wondered if he was being sarcastic, then decided not. Of course the Louisiana Chamber, with its portraits of Wellington, Napoleon and Andrew Jackson, was a monument to the great victory of the colonial Anglo-French armies over the forces of the tlatoani Cozcatezcatl at New Orleans in 1815 which had halted Aztec expansion into the Mississippi Valley for over half a century. No one but Chimalcoyotl appeared to have appreciated the significance of the room until now.

Chimalcoyotl indicated a painting which showed the three generals surveying from a ridge the carnage of their great victory.

‘As I recall,’ he said, ‘the weather was unseasonably hot during the battle.’

I had to admire his aplomb, the graceful way he was repudiating Maxixca’s insults.

‘It was Princess Catherine who proposed the use of the room for the banquet,’ Extepan observed.

He spoke a little uncertainly, as if he feared Chimalcoyotl might be privately offended by the reminder of a famous Aztec defeat.

‘We’re always prepared to honour the past greatness of other nations,’ Chimalcoyotl said lightly.

‘Are you proposing to subdue the whole of Scotland?’ I asked.

‘How did you come about your knowledge of Nahuatl?’

Still his tone was light. He was refusing to answer my question by not acknowledging it in the first place.

‘At university,’ I replied. ‘My father suggested it. He used to say that if you know how your enemy speaks, you’ll have a much better idea of how he thinks.’

‘True indeed. English is compulsory in all our schools. Do you know our poet Olintlacochtli?’

‘Of course.’

‘He writes: “The mirror reflects the face, the sword, the heart, the voice, the soul.” I often think it’s just as important to listen to how a thing is said as to the words themselves.’

I was unsure what he was trying to convey to me, but I knew myself well matched.

The meal over, we retired to the drawing room, where port and brandy were served along with silver platters of tzonpelic tamalli, traditional Mexican sweetmeats. At the far end of the room stood the Christmas tree, cut as always from Windsor Great Park and formerly chosen by my father each December. Richard had selected it this year, and would doubtless continue to do so as long as he remained king. The tree was adorned with lights, baubles and presents wrapped in gaily coloured crêpe paper. Among the parcels were a new evening gown for Victoria and my father’s old Bible for Richard, the only presents I was giving to mark the occasion.

I sipped my coffee, watching Richard chat animatedly with Xochinenen, who spoke English only haltingly but seemed amused by his attentions. Victoria sat in a group which included a young nephew of Motecuhzoma’s called Tlacahuepan, who had accompanied Chimalcoyotl from Tenochtitlan and whom I knew from ALEX was joining Extepan’s staff. He was the same age as Victoria, a handsome young man who gesticulated as he spoke to her with the help of an interpreter.

As midnight drew on, the staff brought cloaks for the Aztecs and Extepan approached to ask if I would join them in the grounds of the castle. I was already prepared for a long night, knowing that it was the Mexican custom to spend the hours from midnight to dawn on Christmas morning in the open, under the night sky, before exchanging presents when the sun rose.

Outside a big log fire blazed, highlighting the old Round Tower, built by Henry II over eight hundred years ago in a time when the Normans, the last conquerors of the land, were becoming English. The royal standard had been raised above the tower to indicate that the monarch was in residence. Though I welcomed Extepan’s removal of all the booths and displays which had formerly made the castle a circus for tourists, I thought how improbable the Aztecs, in their feathered ceremonial cloaks, looked in such a setting.

The night was still and chill, stars flickering dimly through a haze of thin cloud. Some of the staff were roasting chestnuts on braziers, and a candy-striped bell-tent had been set up to shelter those who found the cold too arduous. Sparklers were lit and waved in the darkness; Mexican songs were sung, the words of the old philosopher-king Nezahualcoyotl of Texcoco set to Spanish court music, dignified but gloomy songs filled with the evanescence of human life. The songs oppressed me not in themselves but because they symbolized the arrival of the Aztec nation in the heart of England.

Extepan appeared, gingerly holding a palmful of hot chestnuts.

‘These are delicious,’ he remarked to me. ‘You should try one, Catherine.’

He extended his hand. I shook my head. ‘No thank you. I’ve eaten my fill.’

He slipped the chestnuts into the pocket of his tunic. ‘I’m sorry about Scotland. We really have no choice.’

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘How long have you known that I could speak Nahuatl?’

‘Your father confirmed it when I asked him.’

‘So you’ve known from the start.’

‘It’s only natural that I would have been fully briefed on all your family before I took up my position here.’

‘But Maxixca wasn’t?’

‘He probably had every opportunity. But he’s a soldier and has little time for such matters.’

‘You didn’t think to mention it to him?’

‘Why should I have done?’

I eyed him. He gave every appearance of perfect innocence.

‘I think you enjoyed the way he compromised himself at dinner,’ I said.

He looked wounded by the suggestion. ‘That’s unfair, Catherine. I wouldn’t wish such shame on anyone.’

‘But there’s no love lost between you, is there?’

We were speaking in English, and he looked puzzled by the colloquialism, so I said, ‘You don’t really like one another, do you?’

Now he shook his head, as if to say I misunderstood the situation completely. ‘We are brothers, bound by family ties and mutual respect. Each of us has a different role to play. Likes or dislikes do not enter into it.’

‘That’s no answer.’

He made an exasperated sound. ‘His behaviour at the banquet – and the general sentiments he expressed – was inexcusable, and I could never condone it. Is that what you wanted me to say? That he acted with dishonour? It’s true. I do not deny it. He’s a hothead who too often speaks before he thinks. But I am certain of his loyalty.’

‘Are you? I had the impression that he disagrees with many of your decisions.’

He smiled then. ‘That will not stop him from doing his duty.’

‘How do you know I haven’t already passed on information about the invasion to interested parties?’

He took a chestnut from his tunic and began to peel it. ‘It would make no difference either way. Maxixca left for the borders immediately after the banquet. The attack will begin within forty-eight hours, and you can be sure that he will be intent on restoring his honour by making it a swift and successful campaign.’

He popped the chestnut in his mouth, turned and walked away.

I wandered around the outskirts of the crowd, aware that two Aztec guards were discreetly shadowing me. Richard sat on a blanket near the fire with Xochinenen and an interpreter. She was reading Richard’s palm. I was tempted to intervene, to stress to Richard that his future could not be read in the folds of his skin. But I stopped myself: I couldn’t shield him from the influence of others, and he would have to learn to use his own judgement.

As the night wore on, the clouds thickened and a drizzle began to fall. Servants emerged from the castle with bowls of hot punch and octli, the fermented juice of the maguey. It was shipped in frozen from Mexico for special occasions; despite their skills, the Aztecs had never succeeded in growing the plant elsewhere.

Slipping away from my guards and everyone else around the fire, I entered the State Apartments. It was several years since I was last at Windsor, and I had a whim to see the Dolls’ House, which had fascinated me as a child.

But there was no opportunity. Victoria was standing at the bottom of the stairs with someone. She seemed to be struggling with him.

It was Tlacahuepan. He held her close. Victoria broke free and rushed to me. She was flushed and dishevelled.

‘What’s going on?’ I demanded.

Tlacahuepan stood expressionless, staring at me.

‘Tell him to go,’ Victoria said, an edge of panic in her voice.

‘What’s going on?’ I said again.

Victoria shook her head, but I had already guessed.

‘Leave us,’ I said to Tlacahuepan in Nahuatl. It was an order, not a request.

For a moment he didn’t move. Then he pulled his tunic straight and marched briskly out.

Tears were running down Victoria’s cheeks.

‘He asked to see the paintings,’ she sobbed. ‘The Rubens and the Stuyvesants. So I brought him here. He was charming at first, perfectly correct. But then, as we came down the stairs… he took hold of me, tried to kiss me… There was no one to help…’

I embraced her, holding her tight.

‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘It’s finished now.’

‘I couldn’t make him understand.’

‘Was he drunk?’

She nodded through her tears. ‘I think he was saying that he was a prince, so he was entitled to make love to me.’

My anger boiled up. I held Victoria until her tears subsided. Then I straightened her clothing and led her outside.

I was intending to take her directly to bed, but Extepan intercepted us.

‘Catherine, I’m glad I’ve found you. Will you and Victoria give me a few minutes?’

‘Not now,’ I said curtly.

He indicated the sky.

‘It’s dawn. I have something for you.’

An aide stood close by. Extepan motioned to him, and he hurried off to the George IV gateway.

Victoria began shivering against me. I wanted to give vent to my fury, but now was not the time. Extepan was looking across the grounds of the castle; he hadn’t noticed Victoria’s distress. The fire in front of the tower was almost dead, sooty smoke rising from its ashes. Those celebrants that remained were heading off towards the chapel for a brief morning service.

The aide appeared, leading two colts, one chestnut, one grey.

Extepan took their reins.

‘These are for you,’ he said. ‘Merry Christmas.’

Eight

Victoria led the gallop down the Long Walk from the castle. I spurred the grey, tugging its reins to ensure that it did not charge off in another direction entirely. It was the more wilful of the two, and it was just my luck after giving Victoria first choice of the pair. She was a far superior rider, and had spent a great deal of time at our stables in Okehampton before the invasion. The horses we had once kept there had reputedly been served up as meat for the hungry town in the chaotic aftermath.

Victoria was already disappearing towards Windsor Great Park, her mount throwing up snow from its hoofs, giving me an unerring trail to follow. I held the reins tight to maintain the line, though the grey kept pulling to the left. Behind me, Richard, Xochinenen and several Aztec guards followed at a much more leisurely pace on their own mounts.

It was a cold January morning, and the overnight snow was still pristine. Every morning for the past week Victoria and I had raced the horses to the George III statue in the park, and I hadn’t won once. Again I knew it was hopeless, so I gave the grey its head. Immediately it veered off on its own uninhibited path in pursuit of its stable-mate.

Victoria had long dismounted by the time I reached the statue. I was exhausted yet exhilarated by my efforts to control the colt.

‘Where have you been?’ she said cheerily.

I climbed down from the saddle. The insides of my thighs were already sore, and my feet felt crushed in my riding boots. I had never been a particularly horsy person, in contrast to Victoria.

‘He thinks he can run off whenever he pleases,’ I said. ‘He has a mule’s brain.’

‘Isn’t it time you gave him a name, Kate?’

Victoria had already christened her chestnut Archimedes after a favourite childhood pony which we had kept at Marlborough.

‘I can think of plenty of names,’ I said. ‘Stubborn, Pig-headed, Obstreperous, Perverse, Adamant—’

‘Adamant!’ she interrupted. ‘That’s perfect, Kate. Adamant and Archimedes.’

The others cantered up. Xochinenen was riding side-saddle on her horse, a big fur cloak draped around her tiny frame. Her plaited hair had been tied up under a fur bonnet. She had remained behind at Windsor while her father was in Eastern Europe, inspecting Aztec forces on the Rhine and meeting with the Polish government in Warsaw in order to sign a non-aggression treaty.

Richard clearly enjoyed Xochinenen’s company. She had a similar child-like air to him, and he was supposedly teaching her English, though I suspected she spoke it well enough already and was simply indulging him. They spent much of their time together flying kites from the castle walls, playing hide-and-seek in the State Apartments and even sliding down banisters to the mute displeasure of almost everyone.

I was glad that Richard had agreed to extend our holiday at Windsor. The castle was a place of many happy memories for the whole family, and both he and Victoria had benefited from escaping the hothouse atmosphere of London. Extepan had returned promptly to his duties on New Year’s Day, but not before I had met him privately and told him about the incident with Victoria and Tlacahuepan. He said nothing at the time, but the following day I learned that Tlacahuepan had been transferred to Canberra to join the governor’s staff in the Australian Protectorate.

The sun began to show through the cloud. Presently Chicomeztli cantered up on a trap which held a solarized hamper and collapsible furniture.

We unfolded the chairs and a small table. Inside the hamper were hot sausages, croissants, scrambled egg and piping coffee. The black-panelled chairs were already warm when we sat down in them, converting the grey winter light into heat with an efficiency which only the Aztecs had mastered. So we picnicked on that cold winter morning while transporters and interceptors whined by overhead, flying into and out of Heathrow.

Presently Richard suggested we go skating on the pond, but our responses were drowned by a swallow-tailed shuttle flying in low. We all watched as it decelerated, then dropped down behind the walls of the castle itself.

The horses had been startled by the craft, and it took a while to settle them. I saw a black ground-car approaching from the castle, a Molotov Aeroflot with the governor’s stylized golden eagle insignia on its slanted bonnet. Wings of snow spewed from its flanks so that it looked like a speedboat cruising through a white sea. It sped directly towards us, braked, and finally settled in the snow.

A door flipped up, and Extepan stepped out. He approached me.

Something in his face filled me with a sense of dread.

‘Catherine,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but I think you should accompany me back to the castle immediately.’

I asked him nothing, but meekly accompanied him to the car. I sat in silence while the driver took us back to the castle. I wouldn’t even look at him.

The main gate was open, lined with guards who waved us through. The driver steered the car into one of the parking spaces in front of St George’s chapel.

Extepan swung open the door.

‘Come with me,’ he said.

I followed him up the chapel steps. At the entrance he paused and put a hand on my arm.

‘Catherine, forgive me. This is not going to be pleasant.’

I pushed past him into the chapel.

Standing in the aisle was a hospital trolley, flanked by Aztec guards. A body draped in a white sheet lay on it. Dimly I was aware of the chapel’s splendour all around me – the stalls, the banners, the helmets of the Knights of the Garter, the blue-and-white diamond-patterned floor. But I did not take my eyes off the shape under the sheet.

Extepan came to my side. I heard myself saying, ‘Who is it?’ though I already knew.

‘We’re not certain, but I think you should prepare yourself…’

I moved to pull back the sheet, but Extepan took hold of my wrist.

‘Let go of me!’

‘The face is unrecognizable, Catherine. He was killed by falling stonework during the assault on Edinburgh Castle.’

I wrenched myself free and pulled back the sheet.

And recoiled.

The body was naked except for a pair of white briefs. Above the chest it was just a mass of bloody pulp and matted hair. Chestnut hair. I forced myself to look again. There was the appendix scar, there the pale mole on his left thigh, there the familiar V of golden hairs bisecting his abdomen.

Extepan moved swiftly to cover up the body again. I was dimly aware of him telling me that it was a terrible accident, that they had not known Alex was part of the garrison, that Maxixca had given the order to destroy the castle only as a last resort. Something broke in me then, and I fled from the chapel in grief and rage.