Aztec Century

One

Beds had been crammed into every available space in the wards at the infirmary, and the freshly disinfected floors could not disguise the smell of sickness. An Asian doctor and a native Tynesider who was the hospital’s administrator accompanied me on my tour, with Chicomeztli close at my heels.

The ward we had entered was filled with casualties and refugees from the war in Scotland, sick and wounded alike. I stopped at the bed of a young woman who lay in a feverish sleep with a small child also asleep beside her.

‘What’s the matter with them?’ I asked.

‘Pneumonia,’ the doctor told me.

‘Only the mother,’ the administrator said hastily. ‘Her child’s fine. We try to keep parents with their children wherever possible. I understand her prospects of recovery are very good, isn’t that true, doctor?’

‘Yes,’ the doctor said wearily, not looking at either of us.

‘What are you short of?’ I asked him.

His smile was politeness itself. ‘You name it. Our most pressing need is for antibiotics and dressings.’

‘It’s not surprising our supplies have run short,’ the administrator said. ‘We’ve had to take in hundreds of casualties from the front. The entire staff have been doing a remarkable job under the circumstances.’

‘They tell us it’s a question of supply and demand,’ the doctor said. ‘We tell them the demand is enormous, the supply, pathetic.’

I saw a hint of annoyance on the administrator’s face, as if he considered the doctor had spoken out of turn.

We moved down the corridor into another ward, this one filled with children. They were suffering from typhoid, cholera, tuberculosis, septicaemia – all consequences of the collapse in public services in the area following the fighting in Scotland. Maxixca had completed the conquest within a month, but the disruption caused by the fighting lingered on months later.

The ward was hot and filled with the sickly sweet smell of childhood sickness. Some of the youngsters were sitting up in bed and playing games with one another, while others lay in a sleep that looked close to death. The nursing staff were lined up in their crisp uniforms, despite my prior pleas that I didn’t want any special arrangements made for my visit. They smiled and curtsied brightly, though I could see the weariness in their eyes.

I stopped to speak with them. They answered my general queries about the day-to-day running of the hospital with equally general assurances that they were managing to cope despite all the difficulties; they had obviously been primed beforehand to say nothing controversial.. It was the kind of response I had met with all over the country over the past five months, as if everyone was in awe of offending my royal sensibilities. Only when I contrived to turn up unannounced at hospitals and institutions did I manage to get uncensored facts and opinions; and it was plain that the welfare services throughout the country were desperately under-resourced.

At the far end of the ward, the administrator was ushering a nurse holding a screaming toddler out through the doors. Though I knew it was impossible for hospitals to treat my visits as normal affairs, I found it extremely frustrating to be constantly shielded from the harsher facts of life in the wards.

The June sunlight highlighted the grubby windows and bedlinen.

‘Are you getting much sleep?’ I asked the doctor.

‘We take it when we can,’ he replied. ‘There are staff shortages, and some of us spend the nights here so we can be on hand if we’re needed. It’s the only way.’

The administrator returned, suggesting that we move on. He looked perfectly fresh and rested, positively prosperous in his dark suit and silk tie. I waited for Chicomeztli to slip a new cassette into the recorder I insisted we take with us on our visits so that I would miss nothing that was said.

Down another corridor towards the open doors of a gleaming operating theatre. The administrator was talking proudly about the hospital’s new body scanner when my attention was diverted by a quarantine sign outside another ward.

‘What’s in there?’ I asked.

‘Severe cases,’ he replied. ‘Infectious diseases.’

His edgy manner made it plain he didn’t want me to enter the ward – which only made me more determined to so do.

I pushed open the doors – and was met with a powerful odour of sweat and sickness. The massed beds were filled with men and women whose skins were raw with sores and lesions. The nursing staff wore green rubber gloves, and it was plain that they hadn’t had fresh uniforms in days.

‘What’s happening in here?’ I asked.

The doctor had come up beside me. ‘Duran’s Disease,’ he said softly. ‘You probably know it as the New Indies pox.’

I was shocked in more than one sense.

‘New Indies pox?’ I repeated, incredulous.

He nodded.

‘I thought it had been eradicated years ago.’

‘Suppressed,’ the doctor said. ‘Controlled. But never entirely wiped out.’

‘But isn’t it easily treatable with antibiotics?’

‘Of course. If you have adequate supplies.’

I was truly appalled. The pox, endemic to the New World in the pre-Christian era, had been brought to Europe by Spanish sailors and had decimated populations from Ireland to Siberia in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It had continued to flare up in Europe and Asia until the discovery of antibiotics, and was often fatal if left untreated. To Europeans, it was as big a scourge of history as the Black Death, and some historians argued that the bacillus had enabled the Aztecs to rise to world-power status since it had stalled European exploration of the New World for over a century. To see it now, in modern-day Newcastle, was horrifying.

The administrator was fluttering around me. ‘Your Highness, I think perhaps we should press on. The risk of infection…’

An elderly man in a nearby bed sat up suddenly. He looked delirious, but he stared directly at me.

‘Who’s she?’ he demanded of no one in particular. ‘I know her face.’

I went to the foot of his bed.

‘You’re one of the Royals.’

His cheeks were hollow, the skin on his neck slack between prominent tendons. The grey stubble on his chin was pocked with festering sores and weals. He grinned at me, gap-toothed.

‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.

‘Like fucking death.’

Everyone around me went rigid with mortification. Before I could say anything, the old man went on, ‘What are you doing here? Seeing how the other half lives, are you?’ He heaved himself up. ‘What I want to know is, since you’re gracing us with your presence, what’s going to be done about it?’

Two nurses moved swiftly to restrain him. The administrator tried to shepherd me away, but I held my ground.

‘It’s a disgrace,’ I told the old man. ‘I promise you, something shall be done about it – as quickly as I can manage.’

‘That’s what they all say.’

‘I promise you. You have my word of honour.’

His bright eyes regarded me. He made a contemptuous sound.

‘That right? Shake on it, will you?’

Despite the restraining hands of the nurses, he thrust out an arm.

His knuckles were cracked and oozing lymph, the back of his hand an open sore filled with pale pus. Because I knew there was nothing else I could do, I reached out both hands and grasped his.

He crushed my fingers in his palm, never taking his eyes off me. The texture of his skin was wet and yielding, yet there was great strength in his grasp, a strength of rage and desperation. I made no attempt to withdraw my hand until he released it.

‘Next time you come I’ll let you see my war wounds.’

He slumped back on the pillow.

The doctor led me away to the broken sound of his laughter.

I was sitting in the light from my desk-lamp, completing my report for the day, when Chicomeztli arrived.

‘We have found a local supplier,’ he announced. ‘They have stocks of—’ He thrust a piece of paper in front of me to spare himself a struggle with the brand-names. ‘About three months’ supply of each.’

‘Excellent. When can they deliver?’

‘Within forty-eight hours.’

‘Even better. But I want you to send someone around there and pick up some emergency stock. I want it delivered tonight.’

Chicomeztli nodded. ‘Anything else?’

‘I think that will do for now.’

He gave a cheery salute, and went out.

I put down my pen and stretched. Then I rose and went over to the window.

We were staying in Jesmond Dene Hall, which had a good view out over the city. Like most industrial cities in the Midlands and North, Newcastle had suffered badly from aerial bombardment during the invasion, and tracts of the city looked derelict. Yet the people I had met since my arrival were generally positive and practically minded: given the means, I was sure they would swiftly rebuild what had been destroyed. This was also true for the rest of the country. All that was needed were the raw materials.

The sun was finally setting on the long summer evening. Returning to my desk, I scanned my report on the hospital visit. It would be sent direct to Extepan, the latest of many. Would any action be taken? Perhaps Extepan was merely indulging me and had no intention of treating them seriously. Perhaps he thought I was just burying my grief for Alex in a nationwide crusade. Perhaps he was right – but this wasn’t the whole story. The crusade, if that’s what it was, was something I took seriously.

The desk console held a computer terminal, and in my jacket pocket was the disk. I had carried it with me ever since leaving London, but I hadn’t once tried to summon up ALEX, despite ample opportunities, and the ever-present sense of the real Alex’s loss. Chicomeztli gave me plenty of privacy, being much occupied with arranging my itinerary and responding to demands for emergency supplies of food and medicines wherever I discovered a need. My respect and even liking for him had grown enormously during our travels. In many ways he was the perfect companion: cheerful, efficient, attentive, yet demanding nothing of me.

I took out the disk and contemplated the screen in front of me. It would be a simple matter to slot it into the machine and bring ALEX to life. And yet I hesitated. I was afraid to hear the sound of his voice again for fear that it would make all the pain of his loss return.

The phone bleeped, startling me. Hastily I pocketed the disk and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘Your Highness?’

The tone was tentative but also teasing. It was Extepan.

I switched to visual. He was sitting in his office, dressed in full uniform.

‘How did you know I was here?’

‘Chicomeztli keeps me informed of your progress, as you would expect. You look well, Catherine.’

‘It’s all the fresh northern air I’ve been getting lately.’

We hadn’t spoken since I left London late in January. I had wanted to get away from everything connected with the capital for a while.

‘Have you been getting all my reports?’ I asked.

‘Most certainly. They’re extremely thorough.’

‘You mean relentless in all their detailing of everything that’s wrong.’

He smiled. ‘I expected no less.’

‘It’s bad here. Do you know they’ve got an outbreak of the New Indies pox? It’s disgraceful.’

Extepan held up a binder, which I saw held my reports.

‘Many of your recommendations are already being acted upon,’ he said. ‘Even as we speak, a bill is being debated in your parliament to provide emergency relief throughout the United Kingdom.’

I eyed him. He was as bright and companionable as ever.

‘No doubt Kenneth Parkhouse will be eager to hug all the credit.’

Extepan looked surprised. ‘Your tour of the country has been widely publicized.’

‘I didn’t mean that. I’m not doing this to improve my image.’

‘I know, I know,’ he said hastily. ‘As long as it achieves the ends you wanted, does it matter?’

I considered, then said, ‘I just don’t like that man, that’s all.’

He was still smiling. ‘You seem more your old self.’

‘Bloody-minded and argumentative, you mean?’

A laugh. ‘Yes, that’s part of it. We’ve all missed you here.’

So strong was my desire for a complete change that I had studiously avoided all gossip about London during my travels. I was tempted to ask after Richard and Victoria, but restrained myself. I wasn’t ready yet to plunge back into their world.

‘Is this purely a social call?’ I asked.

‘Not entirely,’ he replied, ‘though I’m pleased to find you in such good spirits. Has it been worth it, Catherine?’

‘Yes,’ I said emphatically.

‘I hope it’s helped you overcome your grief.’

Even an indirect mention of Alex brought back all the pain and anger I still felt. I fought the urge to reply that he was responsible for it.

‘That wasn’t the only reason I did it.’

‘Of course not. But I was wondering if you might now contemplate the idea of returning to London.’

Since January, I had travelled from Cornwall to Northumberland, visiting parts of the country I had scarcely known existed before. I knew I had done all I could for the time being, yet I was reluctant to give up the freedom and purposefulness I had felt. And reluctant to confront London and all the memories of Alex associated with it.

Extepan obviously sensed this.

‘We have a very important visitor arriving soon,’ he said.

‘Oh?’ I didn’t bite further, though I was curious.

‘My great-uncle,’ Extepan said. ‘Tetzahuitl.’

‘The cihuacoatl?’

‘None other.’

The cihuacoatl – a title which translated as Woman Snake, though it was a male office – was second in eminence only to the tlatoani himself. And Tetzahuitl’s renown was almost as great as Motecuhzoma’s.

‘When’s he coming?’ I asked.

‘Within a matter of days. I’ve only just received confirmation.’

Was I ready for London again? Could I afford to miss meeting a man almost as powerful and influential as the emperor himself?

‘I’d very much like you to be here when he arrives,’ Extepan said.

‘Why?’

‘Apart from anything else, he might consider your absence an insult.’

So now we had come to it. ‘And we can’t have that, can we?’

‘I’m asking you, Catherine.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘What do you want of me?’ he said in exasperation. ‘Do I have to plead? Beg? Send an armed escort to bring you back?’

‘You’d do that?’

He looked at me for a long time, both serious and wry.

‘If it was necessary, I might.’

Two

Bevan brought tea and fruitcake out to me on the balcony garden. He was dressed in slightly grubby black pinstripe trousers with a collarless white shirt and a waistcoat which strained over his belly. His thinning hair had been rather inexpertly trimmed, and he resembled a derelict hastily washed and dressed for a special occasion. Either that, or he was deliberately mocking me by contriving to present himself as a parody of a servant.

‘So,’ I said to him, ‘what’s been happening since I’ve been away?’

He shrugged. ‘This and that. Have a good trip, did you?’

‘I hope something useful will come of it.’

‘You were on telly a lot while you were away. Everyone was singing your praises.’

‘I didn’t ask for that, or want it. You haven’t answered my question.’

He poured tea into my cup, cocking the little finger of his left hand. I resisted a smile.

‘I’m quite out of touch,’ I said. ‘I thought a complete break would be best, so I’ve no idea what’s been happening here.’

‘Do you want local or international gossip?’ he said.

‘Whichever.’

He perched himself on a retaining wall, backdropped by golden broom.

‘Heard all the talk about Russia, have you?’

I shook my head.

‘Number one son’s been out in Eastern Europe again, taking pleasure cruises down the Danube, hunting in the Carpathians, and all that sort of palaver.’

‘Chimalcoyotl?’

He nodded. ‘Goodwill visits to the Balkan provinces, by all accounts. Gossip is, they may be building up to an attack on Russia.’

This did surprise me. ‘Do you think it’s a serious possibility?’

‘There’s one way we might be able to find out.’

It was a moment before I realized what he meant.

‘Take it with you, did you?’

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘Just as well you did. While your governor friend was away, Mad Mash did a security check on the whole complex. Turned everything in all the rooms upside down, then put it back again so’s you wouldn’t notice. I guessed he didn’t find anything in your place because you weren’t called back from your travels.’

‘Mad Mash’ was Bevan’s nickname for Maxixca. Bevan seldom referred to anyone by their proper name, let alone their title. I wondered if it was his way of denying any hold they could possibly have over him.

‘I didn’t know Extepan had been away,’ I said.

‘Spent a month in Mexico, back in March.’

‘Oh? What was that for?’

‘Search me. Everybody was glad to see him back. Lesser of two evils, as it were. His brother makes everybody nervous.’

‘Where are Richard and Victoria?’

‘Didn’t they tell you?’ Bevan took a slice of cake from the tray. ‘On holiday. Monaco. Hobnobbing with the jetset.’

‘That sounds suspiciously like disapproval.’

‘No skin off my nose, is it?’

I was surprised how comforting it was to have Bevan’s blunt companionship once more.

‘Is there anything else?’

‘About what?’ he said through a mouthful of cake.

‘About anything.’

‘I reckon a possible invasion of Russia’s enough to be going on with, don’t you?’

I picked up my teacup. ‘We’ll talk to ALEX tonight.’

The instant ALEX appeared on the screen, I drew back out of his line of sight, knowing it was foolish, but unable to stop an instinctive reaction. I wasn’t ready for him to ‘see’ me.

I let Bevan identify himself.

‘Good to talk to you again,’ ALEX responded.

His electronic image was the same as ever, urbane, even cheerful. The sight of it pained me more than I could say.

Bevan turned to me, indicating the microphone. I shook my head.

‘You talk to him,’ I said in a whisper.

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He turned back to the screen.

‘We need to know something,’ he informed ALEX.

‘I hope I can oblige you,’ came the reply.

‘There’s been rumours about an Aztec invasion of Russia. Any information on this?’

There was a long pause. ALEX looked distinctly contemplative, as if someone were whispering in his ear.

‘Army and airforce units have been mobilized throughout Central Europe and north-western China,’ came the reply. ‘The Aztec navy has been conducting operations in the Bering and Barents Seas. Every appearance is being given that an invasion is imminent. The intention is to force the Russian Union of Sovereign Republics to withdraw forces from its Turkish and Mesopotamian provinces, so easing Aztec fears of an attack on Palestine and Arabia. No attack on Russian territory will actually be made.’

Arabia and Palestine were under the Aztec sphere of influence, and there had been tension in the area for several years. Even with their mastery of solar power, the Aztecs still relied heavily on oil supplies for their industries and the production of plastics. Despite this, I had never believed that they really feared an attack from the defensively minded Russian Empire until now.

‘Ask him if he’s sure,’ I whispered to Bevan.

Bevan did so, and ALEX replied, ‘Certainly. The Aztecs have neither sufficient manpower nor equipment in Western Europe to mount a successful assault. According to my information, Motecuhzoma has also expressly forbidden it. They would prefer to have the Union neutralized and neutral rather than an active aggressor or defender of its territory. Such a campaign would be an enormous drain on the resources of the Empire so soon after its conquests in Western Europe.’

His image flickered for a moment, then stabilized. Bevan turned back to me.

‘What do you think?’ I said.

‘I reckon it’s as good as you’re going to get,’ he replied.

I was thinking. ‘Ask him if he can get a message through to Margaret. The Tsarina.’

Now he was curious. ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

‘Please, Bevan.’

He shrugged, and did as I asked. To my amazement, ALEX replied, ‘Is Kate with you now?’

‘Can you get a message through?’ Bevan insisted.

‘It should be within my capabilities.’

To me, Bevan said, ‘What do you want to tell her?’

‘Tell her what ALEX told us,’ I replied. ‘Make it a personal communication from me. Say that I’ve got access to secret Aztec files and have confirmed that the Aztecs don’t have the resources to mount an invasion. Sign the message “Charlotte”.’

Bevan looked quizzical.

‘She’ll understand.’

He conveyed the message to ALEX, who again surprised me by saying, ‘Ah, yes, the Brontë sisters.’ His image flickered again. ‘Is it possible for me to talk to Kate?’

At that point I was sorely tempted to take the microphone from Bevan. But he frowned. ‘Hold on.’

‘What is it?’

‘We’re getting a bit of interference. Image break-up.’

‘And?’

‘Somebody might be trying to monitor us.’

On the screen, ALEX looked perfectly normal.

‘Is that possible?’

‘If they knew what they were looking for, it is. If you want my advice, we’d best shut down for the night, just in case.’

Now I had him before me, I didn’t want to let ALEX go, despite my reluctance to speak to him. But there was no sense in taking risks.

‘All right,’ I agreed.

Bevan pulled the disk from its slot.

‘ALEX,’ I whispered. ‘It’s Kate.’

A broad smile. His image was clear, steady.

‘Kate. How are you?’

I swallowed down a confusion of emotions.

‘I’m well enough. It’s been a while since we last spoke.’

‘I know. A hundred and sixty-two days, to be precise. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.’

I remembered he had his own internal clock. His good-natured chiding of me was just like the real Alex.

‘Kate? Are you still there?’

‘Yes.’

‘I was really sorry to learn about what happened. To my human counterpart.’

I was helpless, at a loss for words.

‘It must have been terrible, losing him like that. You have my greatest sympathies.’

My eyes were blurred with tears. It was two hours since Bevan had shut him down. I had been unable to sleep since then, haunted by thoughts of him.

I couldn’t let myself surrender to the illusion. I had to think logically.

Was he really killed at Edinburgh Castle?’ I asked.

‘Apparently so.’

‘How did he get that far north from Wales?’

A longer-than-usual pause. ‘There’s nothing in the files on that. Knowing Alex, he probably hitched a lift.’

Humour – self-referential humour – too. It was like a challenge, almost as if he wanted to convince me he was real.

‘I need some information,’ I said briskly.

‘Of course. That’s what I’m here for.’

‘I need to know about the cihuacoatl.’

‘Do you want to know about the ancient goddess of that name or the title and its offices?’

‘I want to know about Tetzahuitl.’

ALEX began by telling me much that I already knew. The title had been held by members of Tetzahuitl’s family since pre-Christian times, and he was reputedly a direct descendant of the legendary Tlacaelel who had served the very first Motecuhzoma and other emperors during the nascent days of the Aztec Empire. Tetzahuitl himself had been appointed to his position before the current Motecuhzoma was made tlatoani, and he had been a fixture in Aztec politics for over half a century. Traditionally the cihuacoatl was responsible for the civilian and judicial affairs of the empire and wielded great power. Tetzahuitl was no exception to this, having been instrumental in the empire’s expansion by forging allegiances and arranging strategic marriages with important regional powers. According to Mexican folklore, always superstitious, he was secretly a sorcerer who had sold his soul in exchange for eternal life.

At this point I interrupted ALEX.

‘I want to know why he’s coming to England.’

There was a pause, and I thought I detected an almost subliminal flicker of ALEX’s image. Then he said, ‘He’s expected to arrive on a direct flight from Tenochtitlan within the next four days. There appears to be no available data on the precise timing of the flight or the purpose of his mission. I could offer you probabilities—’

‘I want facts,’ I said. ‘Surely there must be something on record?’

‘The cihuacoatl’s movements are often cloaked in secrecy for security reasons, and this often means that nothing is committed to the files. I’m sorry, Kate.’

I sighed. ‘Tell me, then, what would your best guess be?’

‘Great Britain is an important conquest from the standpoint of the empire,’ he replied. It isn’t unreasonable to assume that Motecuhzoma would want his right-hand man to provide a first-hand report on how the country is being administered under occupation.’

‘So soon after Chimalcoyotl’s visit?’

‘Chimalcoyotl was en route to Germany. It was a convenient courtesy for him to attend Richard’s coronation.’

‘Perhaps. But I think there’s more to it than that.’

‘You may well be right. It’s only one possibility, of course, but I’ll give you good odds I’m right.’

Another reminder of the real Alex. He had always had a penchant for gambling, and would bet – usually for nominal stakes – on anything from the turn of a card to the likelihood of getting a stuffed giraffe up the keep of Walthamstow Castle.

‘I can’t believe you’re dead,’ I blurted.

He looked at me with great sympathy. ‘It’s only natural you should miss me, Kate.’

I reached for the OFF switch.

Richard and Victoria flew in from Monaco the following morning, both tanned and relaxed from their holiday. Victoria had had her hair cropped so that she looked almost boyish, while Richard was wearing a baggy white T-shirt with the popular children’s television character Miztli Man-Beast emblazoned on its front. On his little finger was a small gold ring.

It was a sunny day, and we took drinks on the balcony below the landing pad, looking out over a hazy London. To the east, the Docklands was a forest of cranes. Extepan had embarked on an ambitious plan to rebuild areas of the East End which had been devastated in the invasion.

Richard and Victoria were both eager for me to tell them about my travels – which only made me suspicious that they didn’t want to talk about their holiday. So I gave them a brief account of my tour, then said, ‘And what did the two of you do while you were away?’

‘We just relaxed,’ Victoria said immediately. ‘We did lots of swimming and sunbathing and sailing. It was heaven. You need a proper holiday, too, Kate.’

She was wearing a tight-fitting cream dress cut low at the back. Her skin was deeply and evenly tanned from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine.

‘Looks like you got brown all over,’ I said.

She merely smiled.

‘Who went with you?’

‘The usual crowd. An escort, of course. Some household staff. No journalists or photographers, thank heavens! It was lovely, Kate, peaceful and private.’

‘Do you think it was wise?’

Now she looked wary. ‘Wise?’

‘To go off on holiday. Do you think it will create a good impression so soon after the invasion?’

‘Three years,’ Richard said, sucking on a sliver of orange from his glass. ‘It’s been three years since the invasion.’

‘We tend to forget that, Kate,’ Victoria said with the eagerness of someone who had just been thrown a lifeline. ‘What are we supposed to do – stay here, wearing sackcloth and ashes? Spend the rest of our lives in mourning? I can’t see what good that would do.’

‘We’re not in an ordinary situation,’ I replied. ‘Whether we like it or not, different standards are expected of us. It’s important we try to conduct ourselves in a blameless manner. We mustn’t let ourselves be compromised.’

‘It was nice,’ Richard said. ‘I like holidays.’

I knew I was sounding like a matronly killjoy, but I was sure they weren’t telling me everything.

‘Is that a new ring?’ I asked Richard.

He nodded. The ring comprised two rattlesnakes, each intertwined and swallowing the other’s tail.

‘It looks Aztec,’ I remarked.

‘It was a present,’ he said proudly, fingering it.

‘Oh? From an admirer?’

‘A friend.’ This with the mischievous grin of a child enjoying the privilege of a secret.

‘Is it someone I know?’ I asked.

He shook his head shyly, though I wasn’t sure it was a denial.

‘I don’t know why you’re being so secretive,’ Victoria said to him with more than a hint of annoyance. ‘The captain of our yacht was a Tepanec and he bet Richard that he couldn’t water-ski. The ring was the stake. Richard won the bet.’

Richard promptly jumped up from the table and pretended that he was riding the waves, arms stretched out in front of him, legs wobbling. Victoria laughed indulgently. Of course I knew was a lie.

I had not seen either Extepan or Maxixca since my return from the north, but that evening Chicomeztli came to my suite and told me that Extepan wished to see me at my convenience.

I went directly to his quarters. Mia admitted me with her usual silent poise. She wore an earth-red wraparound skirt with a feather-fan design. An elaborate necklace of polished seashell matched her earrings. I don’t think I had ever seen her look more beautiful.

She took me through into Extepan’s office. He was sitting at his desk, poring over some papers. He immediately rose.

‘Catherine. Forgive me for not being here to greet you on your return. I have had many arrangements to make for the cihuacoatl’s visit.’

He spoke in English, motioning me to the sofa near the balcony window. Outside, late evening sunlight, thick with midges, drenched banks of honeysuckle and cerulean bougainvillaea.

He sat opposite me in a Regency armchair, unbuttoning the jacket of his uniform. I declined his offer of drinks, and Mia silently withdrew.

‘I must first thank you for the very detailed nature of your reports,’ he said. ‘Your journey around the country has been a most fruitful one.’

The urgent needs are for adequate food and clean drinking water. Medicines are also in short supply almost everywhere.’

He nodded vigorously. ‘We are already moving on these matters. Before winter comes we shall ensure that repairs to water mains are complete and reserves of food provided in strategic areas.’

I was unconvinced by these vague assurances. ‘I hope you will. Promises are easily made.’

‘I was pleased to discover that there appear to have been relatively few abuses on the part of our armies.’

‘Either that, or people are too frightened to say anything.’

He smiled.

‘Does that amuse you?’ I asked.

‘No, no. It’s not that. It’s your… combative nature.’

‘This wasn’t just a diversion for me. I expect to see something done.’

‘It will be, I assure you. I was merely trying to say that it is good to have you back.’

‘Really?’ I said suspiciously.

‘It is useful to keep busy when one suffers a loss. I remember when my mother was assassinated. I loved her deeply, and it was as though my world had ended. One of my father’s staff brought the news to me. My father was campaigning in Indo-China at the time, and I did not see him for six months. So I threw myself into my studies. My tutors were astonished with my progress. I was a brilliant, heartbroken six-year-old.’

I was unprepared for these private revelations, and unsure what to say. Above us, Dona Maria Mendizabel looked out from her portrait, beyond all human claims. From all I knew of her, she had been an inattentive mother, being absent on diplomatic missions overseas during much of his brief childhood. I wondered how much he had romanticized her loss. And yet the situation must have been difficult for him when Motecuhzoma had subsequently taken Maxixca’s mother as his principal wife. Maxixca, already four years old, had been an illegitimate child until Doña Maria’s death, since all subsidiary wives had been relegated to the status of courtesans while she was empress. Perhaps Extepan had become even more of an outsider in the aftermath; perhaps he had suffered even more keenly the resentment of the rest of the family. I felt a certain sympathy for him, but at the same time I disliked the parallels he seemed to be drawing with my situation.

‘My husband was killed defending his country,’ I said. ‘For that alone, I’ll always remember him with honour and affection.’

‘And love?’

‘Of course. That goes without saying.’

He gave me a long, appraising stare, and I wondered what he was thinking. Often, when we talked, I felt that there was a hidden agenda on his part, as if our conversations were really about something else. He resembled his mother very strongly, and only then did it dawn on me that Extepan was in fact a Spanish name, a Nahuatl version of Esteban.

‘To other matters,’ he said abruptly. ‘We are expecting the cihuacoatl to arrive tomorrow.’

‘Ah. I suppose it’s futile for me to enquire as to the purpose of his visit?’

‘I’ve been given few details. But it is not uncommon for Tetzahuitl to make such journeys.’

‘To newly occupied territories.’

He looked serious. ‘Hardly newly occupied. But if you wish.’

‘I’ll be on my best behaviour.’

‘I shall be grateful for that. I have already spoken much of you in my communications with Tenochtitlan.’

‘I gather you went there in March.’

‘My father wished to see me.’ He did not elaborate. ‘I’ve spoken highly of you, Catherine. You may find this difficult to believe, but you are one of the few people I feel I can speak candidly to. And even trust.’

‘Don’t make that mistake. I’ve nothing against you personally. As far as I know, you’ve treated us all fairly. But you’re still my enemy. I still intend to fight you in every way I can.’

He was not ruffled by this. His brown-rimmed eyes regarded me calmly.

‘I expected you to say no less.’ He sounded almost rueful. ‘You speak your mind, and so I am able to understand your position. There is a basis for trust in that, yes?’

‘Since you’re so fond of me,’ I said, ‘I’d like to ask a favour.’

‘By all means.’

‘I want to set up a complaints centre. An office or bureau that will undertake to investigate citizens’ grievances about any matters arising from the occupation.’

Extepan mulled this over. ‘That is a wide brief.’

‘It must be completely free of Aztec control. I would report directly to you.’

‘You would take charge of this… office?’

‘I think it might give people confidence to express legitimate concerns, without fear of reprisal.’

‘Very well.’

‘You agree?’

‘It sounds like an excellent idea. For security reasons, you will have to be based somewhere close by, and I would have to insist that at least one member of my staff is present at all times to ensure that the office is not being used as a cover for less… desirable activities. But otherwise I can see no obstacles to such an arrangement.’

I barely hid my surprise. I had not imagined he would agree so easily, if at all.

‘There is one small condition.’

I might have known. I was already shaking my head, but he said, ‘I simply want you and your sister to be present when the cihuacoatl arrives.’

I was silent.

‘I promise you we can edit your presence from any news footage, if you so wish.’

‘I’d prefer you to say I was forced to attend.’

He did not rise to this. Will you agree?’

‘Only if you give the complaints centre full publicity and make it plain that this was my price for being there.’

He considered for a moment. ‘That should be possible. Of course, we shall phrase it more diplomatically than that. Now, was there anything else?’

I could think of nothing. I shook my head.

‘Then I must press on with the arrangements for the cihuacoatl’s visit.’

He led me to the door of his office. When he opened it, Mia was standing directly outside.

Three

The ship was a sleek ultra-highspeed carrier with slashed-back wings and a raised delta tail. A humid wind blew in across Heathrow as it came in from the west with a fierce whine, decelerating rapidly down the main runway, tiny support vehicles chasing it at a safe distance, bathed in the brilliant golden radiance of its wings.

I stood with Extepan and the others on a dais which had been constructed in front of the terminal building. A host of Aztec dignitaries had turned out for the occasion, among them Maxixca, newly returned from Scotland and a model of military smartness in his tan and gold uniform. Richard was resplendent as the Commander of the King’s Guard, while Victoria and I wore black skirts and bodices. It was a sultry day, and I was uncomfortably hot.

The great ship touched down safely and shut down its main engines. The perimeters of the runway were crammed with security vehicles and guards, and there was not another aircraft in the vicinity. Normal flights from the airport had been suspended for the entire afternoon.

The carrier taxied slowly towards us, its wings already dimmed to a matt black in which the conduction channels shone like copper arteries. The sunburst emblem was bold on the nose of the craft, and its flanks gleamed in the hazy sunlight. It came to a halt and its engines died.

There was a mood of tense anticipation on the dais, and everyone was fidgety with the heat. Kenneth Parkhouse and his manicured cabinet looked more nervous than most, but even Extepan was not his usual composed self. Which wasn’t entirely surprising, since Tetzahuitl had a formidable reputation. Unusually for Aztec noblemen, he had never married or fathered any children, instead devoting himself utterly to the furtherance of Aztec power.

A stairway was wheeled out to the carrier, and we descended the dais and lined up at its base. Richard and Extepan were at the head, myself and Victoria next in line, followed by Maxixca, who looked aggrieved that we had taken precedence over him. Of course, that was just my suspicion: he always looked sour to my eyes. The hostility I felt towards him was strengthened by my suspicions regarding Alex’s death. It was perfectly possible that Alex had been captured during the invasion of Scotland, then executed by Maxixca simply to revenge himself on me. It would have been easy for a man of his position to cover up the fact and pretend it had been an accident. Already I saw him as an implacable enemy who would do anything to injure us.

A doorway irised open in the carrier’s flank, and a small avalanche of emerald-uniformed guards poured down the gangway. All were armed. They formed a cordon from the base of the stairs to Extepan.

It was almost an hour before Tetzahuitl emerged, and by then I was nearing the end of my patience. Apparently the delay arose because the cihuacoatl disliked flying and entered a deep meditative state for the duration of any flight and was slow to rouse himself from it. I was more inclined to believe he was playing power games with us.

At length, a figure appeared in the hatchway, standing alone. For a man in his late seventies, Tetzahuitl was remarkably unbowed by age. Though short by European standards, he stood erect and alert. He wore a black cloak trimmed with a silver geometric motif. His iron-grey hair was tied up in elaborate knots adorned with clusters of purple feathers. He looked like an exotic visitor from another world.

For a moment he paused and scanned the horizon, his eyes seeming to drink in everything he saw. As he began to descend, Extepan stepped forward while a guard of honour tossed marigolds and white roses in his path.

Extepan dropped to one knee. Tetzahuitl touched him on the upper arms, raising him up. Extepan then began a formal greeting by saying how greatly they were honoured by the cihuacoatl’s decision to visit, what an auspicious day it was for everyone concerned, how he hoped that Tetzahuitl continued to enjoy the best of health and remained in full command of his inestimable powers. He was certain that the cihuacoatl’s arrival would uplift the hearts of everyone who served him, and he trusted that his stay would be as comfortable, fruitful and enlightening as it would undoubtedly be glorious.

By Aztec standards, it was a brief encomium, and Tetzahuitl replied equally briefly that he continued to be blessed with great reserves of physical and spiritual strength, that it was highly pleasing to be able to visit a son of the tlatoani and even more pleasing that his feet should tread on the sacred ground of England, whose people had contributed much to the march of civilization. He had come with an open heart and mind, eager to see and to learn, thankful that Huehuetecuhtli – another Aztec synonym for God – continued to grant him a respite from death so that he could make such travels in his dotage.

As with all such greetings, it was highly stylized, the words uttered without effort, almost by rote. From an early age, Aztec noblemen were thoroughly schooled in the art of speech-making.

‘Permit me, then,’ Extepan said more informally, ‘to introduce you to the Royal Family of the United Kingdom.’

Tetzahuitl spoke little English, and his introduction to Richard was limited to an exchange of titles and Extepan translating Tetzahuitl’s comment that he was honoured to be greeted by the king of a great nation. Richard bobbed his head and smiled but said nothing in return. He looked embarrassed and out of his depth.

Already Tetzahuitl had turned to me. His eyes were dark and depthless, and they did not waver. He wore a small gold nose plug in his septum and gold circlets in his ears. His prominent nose and arched eyebrows gave him a haughty look. I saw that the silver motif on the hem of his cloak was not abstract but consisted of stylized human skulls.

‘This’, I heard Extepan say, ‘is Her Royal Highness, the Princess Catherine.’

‘Ah, yes.’

Tetzahuitl’s head was tilted back, so that he seemed to be squinting down his nose at me. I had the disorientating feeling that he was towering over me, even though I was three or four inches taller.

‘You speak our language, I’m told,’ he remarked in Nahuatl.

‘Up to a point,’ I replied.

‘You’re a student of our culture.’

‘More so now than ever.’

I saw Extepan glaring at me, warning against saying anything too sharp or challenging.

But Tetzahuitl was unruffled.

‘I shall look forward to talking with you later,’ he informed me.

A brief introduction to Victoria followed, and then he turned to Maxixca, who instantly bowed.

‘We have been heartened by the news of your efforts on our behalf. Your father is proud. You have served us well.’

He was obviously referring to the swiftness with which Maxixca had accomplished the conquest of Scotland; the planting of false information via ALEX had done little to stem the tide, so overwhelming was the superiority of the Aztec forces. Maxixca, almost meek beforehand, immediately straightened, and I could see him making an effort not to show pride. I thought I caught a look between him and Extepan as Tetzahuitl moved on.

I had imagined we would fly back to London after greeting the cihuacoatl, but instead we were ceremoniously taken down to the Underground station, where a special train was waiting.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked Extepan.

‘Kew Gardens,’ he told me. ‘It is at the cihuacoatl’s express request.’

We took dinner in front of the Palm House, seated at a long table draped in white linen, the evening sunlight warm and mellow around us. With their passion for flowers and all things green, the Aztecs had taken care to ensure that Kew Gardens had survived the invasion unscathed, and it was said that a squadron of soldiers had held out there for three weeks because the Aztecs would not countenance an attack. Finally they had been starved out.

Aztec plant technologists had been sent to London after the invasion to join the existing team at Kew, and Tetzahuitl was given a lengthy tour of the research centre, inspecting new varieties of cereals, fruits and, of course, flowers. Aztec advances in plant engineering had turned the northern Mexican deserts into vast grain-growing regions, further strengthening the empire. The cihuacoatl was well known to take a personal interest in all new developments.

We dined on ahuacatl cocktail, followed by a mélange of spiced fish with peppers, aubergines and sweetcorn. Tetzahuitl took only vegetables and fruit; he did not eat meat of any sort, and also abstained from alcohol. I was seated opposite him at the table and had watched him closely since his arrival, continually wondering whether his constant look of disdain reflected real emotion or was simply a mask of office. After eating he smoked a thin-stemmed pipe filled with aromatic tobacco, responding briefly to the conversational forays of others but showing no inclination to engage in small talk. Yet his eyes were active: they constantly scanned the table, as if he could learn everything he wanted to know about a person simply by watching and listening. Presently, as if to amuse Richard, he took an ahuacatl stone and twirled it through the fingers of his hand before it vanished entirely. Then he plucked it from behind Richard’s ear.

Richard was predictably delighted, and begged for more. Tetzahuitl took the stone and rubbed it between both his palms. When he opened them again, the stone was gone and in its place, as if it had been transformed, was a piece of chalchihuitl, the variety of jade which the Aztecs still prized as much as gold. Tetzahuitl presented it to Richard while everyone applauded fulsomely. The cihuacoatl was supposedly descended from Nezahualcoyotl, another great sorcerer, though any stage magician could have duplicated his sleight of hand.

‘Did you like my trick?’

Tetzahuitl was addressing me.

‘It served its purpose,’ I replied. What interested me more was that his face had remained expressionless throughout; he was a man well used to hiding his thoughts and feelings.

‘I’ll take a walk now,’ he announced. ‘Perhaps you would care to accompany me.’

A request or an order? I wasn’t sure. He rose and offered his arm. Though I was suddenly afraid to be alone with him, I knew I couldn’t refuse.

His arm in mine, we began walking towards the Palm House. Several soldiers moved to accompany us, but Tetzahuitl waved them back.

His assurance and arrogance angered me. As soon as we were out of earshot of the others, I said, ‘Aren’t you taking a risk?’

‘A risk?’

‘Being alone with me like this? Don’t you know I’m your sworn enemy? Perhaps I have a hidden knife.’

He didn’t even look at me. ‘If I were to be assassinated by a princess of the realm while walking in these gardens, I would be quite amazed.’

‘Do you think I’d be afraid to do it?’

‘I think perhaps you might like to. But the desire is one thing, the means and the enterprise quite another.’

He paused on the steps to light his pipe, still not deigning to look at me. Blue smoke wreathed his feathered head. He seemed an impossible figure in such surroundings. I felt both furious and foolish.

‘Let me assure you,’ he said, ‘I don’t underestimate you in the slightest. But look there. And there.’

He pointed towards the pond, in which ducks floated, then at an ornamental hedge in front of the Palm House. There were snipers with high velocity rifles trained on us. On me.

We walked on. Birds were darting amongst the trees and shrubbery.

‘European sparrows,’ Tetzahuitl remarked. ‘Vigorous colonizers. Did you know that they’ve been displacing our native bluebirds from many areas in the north and west of our continent?’

I made no reply to this.

‘We’ve been forced to build nesting-boxes too small for them to enter so the indigenous species can be preserved.’

‘Are you trying to make some symbolic point?’

‘I’m simply making conversation. Your starlings are energetic immigrants, too.’

‘We’ve got colonies of passenger pigeons all over London.’

‘So I gather. Perhaps it’s futile for us to suppose we can limit species to their original domains.’

‘Are you going to tell me that this justifies your invasion of my country?’

‘Not at all. I was going to ask your advice.’

‘My advice?’

‘Does that seem so remarkable? You’re a woman of integrity and spirit. A patriot. Therefore I hope you’ll answer me with the interests of your country at heart.’

We circled the lake while a security jetcopter flew low overhead. As it diminished towards the west, Tetzahuitl said, ‘I’ve come here primarily as a matter of courtesy and diplomacy, and because the Revered Speaker requested it. He has two sons here and is naturally eager that they perform their duties well. He must constantly consider their future.’

‘So you’ve come to check up on them?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes. To assess their progress and achievements. To see if changes should be made.’

Suddenly I was concerned. Tetzahuitl had obviously been pleased with Maxixca’s success in Scotland, and I began to imagine the worst possible outcome in which he would replace Extepan as governor.

‘If you’re going to make any changes,’ I said, ‘I hope you’ll consult us.’

‘That’s precisely my point in speaking to you now. Of course I understand that you would like nothing better than for us all to leave, but, that aside, I would be interested in your appraisal. For example, are you satisfied with Extepan’s efforts on your country’s behalf?’

This sounded ominous.

‘There are many who would have done far worse,’ I replied.

‘That hardly sounds like a recommendation.’

‘What do you expect? Unqualified praise for the agents of an occupying power? Extepan has behaved decently but with purpose since he arrived here. We could have had a worse master. We did, in Nauhyotl. Under the circumstances, I think his achievements are considerable.’

Tetzahuitl sucked on his pipe. ‘High praise indeed from someone so adamantly opposed to us.’

‘I don’t like the situation, but I’d prefer us to be ruled by someone who will try to work with the people rather than humiliate and brutalize them. I think Extepan’s quite clever at achieving his own ends with sweet reason rather than force.’

Tetzahuitl made no comment on this. We began making our way back to the others, he descending into small talk about the seedless pomegranates and black roses he had been shown earlier. Around us, furtive shapes darted in the branches of trees.

‘Look,’ I said, pointing. ‘Grey squirrels.’

Victoria and I spent the following afternoon riding Archimedes and Adamant in Parliament Park under heavy escort. I returned to the complex sore-limbed and allowed myself the luxury of a long hot bath.

When I emerged, Bevan was out in the garden, stalking the rosebeds with a pair of secateurs. It was another balmy evening, and I joined him outside.

‘All right?’ he greeted me, squatting to snip a sucker from the base of a bush.

‘You’re getting green fingers,’ I remarked.

‘Keeps me busy, doesn’t it?’

He set to work on another bush with what seemed like excessive brutality.

‘Isn’t it the wrong time of the year for pruning?’

Bevan brandished a clump of suckers in his gloved hand. ‘Never too early for these. Parasites, they are. Suck the life from the plant.’

He crouched and began rummaging in the foliage.

‘I was wondering when you’d be back,’ he said presently.

‘Oh?’

‘I hear you’re off to Lords tomorrow.’

I was surprised he knew. Extepan had arranged for Tetzahuitl to attend a special limited-overs game between the England and the touring Azanian team.

‘Where did you hear that? I was only told this morning.’

‘Word gets around.’ His head remained buried in the bushes. ‘Who’s going altogether, then?’

Richard, Victoria and I had agreed to attend the match, largely because we all knew the captain of the team, whose father was an old friend of the family. I told Bevan as much.

‘If I was you,’ he said, ‘I’d give it a miss.’

He delved even deeper into the bushes.

‘Why?’ I said.

‘Might not be safe.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s rumours going round.’

I was talking to his backside. ‘Bevan, come out of there!’

With a certain amount of grunting and muttered curses, he waddled backwards out of the rosebeds. Leaves and cuttings clung to his grey nylon sweater.

‘What’s going on?’ I demanded.

‘I picked up a whisper that something might be planned for the occasion, if you get my drift.’

‘What sort of thing?’

‘Something nasty. Violent, like.’

‘Are you suggesting we might be in danger?’

‘You might be killed. The lot of you.’

He spoke in a perfectly matter-of-fact way, as if we were discussing something quite innocuous.

‘How?’ I asked.

‘Couldn’t say for certain. But I reckon it’s not going to be safe for anyone there.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Take my word for it.’

He removed half a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it.

‘Bevan, you have to tell me how you know.’

‘A little bird told me.’

‘How can I trust you if I don’t know where you’re getting your information from?’

He shrugged. ‘Up to you, isn’t it? But if it was me, I’d give you the benefit of the doubt, considering that my life might be at stake.’

I sighed. ‘Who are they hoping to get? Tetzahuitl, or the whole lot of us?’

‘You think they give a damn one way or the other?’

Richard was in the living room with his household staff, watching an old black-and-white programme on his wide-screen TV.

I shooed the servants out so that I could speak to him alone.

‘We need to talk,’ I said through the noise of the programme.

‘Can’t it wait?’ he replied. ‘I’m watching this.’

He was intent on the screen. Zozo the masked Mexica swordsman was furthering the Aztec cause in eighteenth-century California by dispatching inept English militiamen, courtesy of Mexsat TV.

‘Something’s cropped up,’ I said. ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to go to Lords tomorrow.’

‘What’s happened, Kate? I was looking forward to it.’

On the screen, barrels were rolling and crashing around a wine cellar as Zozo evaded the attentions of a trio of lumbering Caucasian swordsmen. Richard always liked to have the volume turned right up, which I found useful on this occasion since it meant that no one could possibly overhear us.

‘Will you promise me you’ll keep what I say to you a secret?’

He looked intrigued. ‘Of course, Kate.’

‘It might be dangerous to go to Lords. We might all be killed.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone else?’

‘I promise.’

‘I think someone’s going to plant a bomb there.’

He digested this for a moment, his eyes flickering back only briefly to the screen.

‘Are you playing a joke, Kate?’

‘It’s no joke, Richard.’

‘They want to blow us all up?’

‘Not us in particular, I don’t think. But the Aztecs. The cihuacoatl especially, I expect.’

‘That’s not very nice.’

I said nothing to this.

‘Who are they?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘We’ll have to tell Extepan.’

No,’ I said firmly, not entirely surprised by this. ‘You must remember the Aztecs are our enemies, Richard. You have to expect our people to try to find ways of striking back at them.’

‘Innocent people will be killed, won’t they?’

‘Most probably,’ I admitted.

‘That isn’t fair.’

‘It wasn’t fair that they invaded us in the first place, was it? Some of our people are never going to accept that.’

‘I think you should tell Extepan, Kate.’

‘No. I can’t.’

‘It would be cowardly of us to stay away and let them walk into a trap.’

‘They’re our enemies,’ I repeated. ‘They’re occupying our country. They attacked us and killed many of our people.’

‘At least it was a fair fight.’

‘Hardly fair, since the invasion was unprovoked. And don’t you think that innocent people didn’t die in the fighting? If we warn them, we’ll be collaborating, betraying the people who still believe in our freedom.’

Again Richard thought about this while Zozo sword-slashed his initial on a stuccoed fort wall before galloping away into a monochrome sunset.

‘I’m going to go to the match, anyway,’ he said. ‘They won’t do it if I’m there.’

‘You’re foolish if you think that,’ I said gently. ‘They almost certainly will.’

‘But I’m their King.’

‘That won’t make any difference. They’ll see you as a traitor.’

‘Then I’ll just have to die, won’t I?’

‘That’s even more foolish. What purpose would it serve?’

‘I don’t know, Kate. But that’s what I’m going to do.’

I gripped his arm. ‘Use your head. Do you want to be a martyr? Is that what you want?’

‘I can’t let them frighten me off.’

‘They’re on our side, Richard. Fighting for our people.’

‘There might be women and children there. How can people let children be killed?’

I almost said that he was a child himself. His eyes were wet at the thought, but at the same time he looked stubborn and determined.

‘We can’t do anything to stop it,’ I said urgently as the closing credits rolled with a crescendo of warped and tinny brass. ‘It’s going to happen whether we like it or not.’

‘It’s wrong, Kate. I think it’s wrong. If they’re going to do it, they’ll have to blow me up, too. That’s my final word.’

I went directly to Victoria’s suite. Chantico, her lady-in-waiting, told me that she had gone out for the evening.

‘Where?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Out with friends.’

From Bevan, I already knew that Victoria had taken to frequenting nightclubs and casinos with other members of what was termed the New Court – bright young things, mostly Aztec, who preferred the attractions of the West End to the duties and responsibilities of their positions.

I sat up into the small hours, waiting for her to return. Finally I fell asleep and woke with the dawn.

Again I went to her suite. A bleary Chantico admitted me. Her mistress was not yet back.

‘She is sometimes gone all night,’ Chantico told me. ‘She stays with friends.’

‘Where?’

She shook her head.

Chantico was a timid and courteous Navajo, and I knew she was both loyal and easy to bully.

‘I insist you tell me where she is!’ I said fiercely.

‘I don’t know,’ she assured me. ‘She never tells me where she’s going. She says it’s for security reasons.’

‘This is urgent! Vital! It goes beyond any personal loyalties you might have towards her!’

‘Please.’ She was close to tears now. ‘You have my word of honour. I don’t know!’

I relented, convinced that she was telling the truth. More softly I said, ‘Is there any way you can think of that I could contact her?’

A further shake of the head.

‘Somewhere I could leave a message?’

‘I’m sorry. I know nothing of her movements.’

I sought out Bevan, who was suitably disgruntled to be woken and marched out into the garden in his dressing gown.

‘Richard’s adamant on going to Lords today,’ I said.

‘You told him?’

‘I swore him to secrecy. Do you think I’d let my own brother – the King – die? I need to know when and where the bomb’s going to go off.’

He huddled into his dressing gown. ‘I never said anything about a bomb.’

‘You implied as much. I’ve no time for games, Bevan. I need to know. These are the lives of my family we’re talking about. The only people I have left.’

A shrug. ‘I don’t know any more than I’ve already told you.’

‘You must have some idea of when it’s going to happen.’

He shook his head.

‘Please, Bevan. Help me.’

‘My guess is the pavilion. It’s just a guess, mind you, but it’d make sense. You’d all be crammed in there. That way they’d be sure of getting everybody.’

‘I want to speak with whoever told you this.’

‘No chance. Even if I could arrange it, there wouldn’t be time. And they wouldn’t come within fifty feet of you.’

I could have hit him then. He was so stubborn, so infuriatingly wooden at times.

‘How much a part of this are you?’

‘Like I told you, I just hear things. Pass them on.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Believe what you want.’

‘You told me the Aztecs expected you to keep an eye on me. Is that what you’re doing, Bevan? Working for them? Leading me a merry dance?’

He laughed. ‘What do you take me for? Look, I’ve given you the tip-off. Now it’s up to you. Save yourself if you can’t save anyone else, for Christ’s sake.’

The silence was filled by a single bird singing a belated dawn chorus somewhere in the shrubbery. At that moment the entire situation seemed utterly improbable – I standing in a garden with a pyjamaed Welshman who was continually offering me ‘help’ in the most obstructive manner possible.

‘You told me once you weren’t exactly a royalist,’ I remarked.

‘You won’t find many from my background that are.’

‘Why bother telling me, in that case? What difference would it make to you if we were all killed or not?’

‘I look after my own.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Whatever you want.’

He pushed past me and went inside.

Four

I bathed and took breakfast alone in my suite, then went to see Richard again. But he had departed early for Lords, obviously intent on avoiding me. I could scarcely believe he intended to risk his life.

At ten thirty, Chicomeztli arrived to escort me up to the launch pad for the flight to the ground. He was his usual cheery self, but I brushed aside his pleasantries.

‘Do you know where my sister is?’

He followed me into the elevator. ‘I believe she went out last night with some friends. To a rock concert at Wembley Stadium.’

I was suspicious. ‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it.’

‘Nepantla. She is a fan, yes?’

Nepantla were a very popular Aztec band, and I knew they were touring England.

‘She didn’t come home last night.’

Chicomeztli shrugged. ‘There will be an escort to watch over her. Perhaps she stayed with friends.’

This sounded suspiciously casual. ‘Does she often do this sort of thing?’

Chicomeztli looked puzzled. ‘There is no bar on her freedom of movement providing her personal security is assured. Is something wrong?’

I watched the ascending numbers on the floor-level indicator.

‘Is she going to Lords today?’

‘I do not know. Is there some difficulty?’

I sighed, then shook my head. ‘No. It’s nothing.’

He was silent for a while, but I was aware of him watching me.

‘I hope you’ll forgive me,’ he said, ‘but I think perhaps you should take a leaf, as you say, out of your sister’s book.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Some pleasure and relaxation. You take too little, maybe?’

‘Isn’t that what I’m doing? Relaxing? Having a day out at Lords?’

The harshness of my tone obviously took him aback. The elevator lurched to a halt, and the doors ground ponderously open.

The flight to Lords took only twenty minutes. Extepan, Tetzahuitl and Richard were already there in their seats when I arrived. Extepan was dressed in his ultramarine uniform, Tetzahuitl draped in a carmine and charcoal robe, Richard entirely in white. All three were conspicuous targets, I thought immediately, for any assassin. Richard pointedly did not look in my direction. It was almost as if he had blotted our conversation from his mind – or more likely had simply decided to carry on regardless with that special rigidness of attitude which he adopted once his mind was made up.

The old pavilion had been destroyed during the invasion, but the new structure of glass and chrome aped its stately Palladian contours while being thoroughly modern inside. The new Long Room was equipped with contour couches, video screens and the control centre for the all-weather dome which enabled matches to be played during rain and even in winter. Apparently the Lords committee was aghast when Extepan had insisted that women be admitted to the room for the first time in its history

We were introduced to both teams. Jeremy Quaintrell, the English captain, was the youngest son of the Earl of Eltham a former friend of my father but now a partisan of the Aztecs. Jeremy had been a childhood friend of ours, but he now struck me as haughty and smug. The polyglot Azanian team seemed rather ill at ease, as if they were reluctant participants in the event. Though the country had welcomed its Aztec-supported liberation from British colonial rule and its infamous Aparthood system, independence was brief and its current protectorate status was seen by many of its citizens as just another form of colonialism.

The Long Room was filled with dignitaries and guests, many of them Aztec but many also English who had no connection with Aztec rule. Had the bomb already been planted here? Would it be detonated by someone now present? Or would some other means be used? Poison gas or a concussion grenade? A mortar attack from outside the ground? Mass poisoning of the Earl Grey or cucumber sandwiches? My mind raced over lurid possibilities.

We assembled on the balcony for the start of the match. Victoria’s seat was empty. The ground was full, many of the faces black Azanian émigrés or descendants of West Indians who had fled to Britain when the Aztecs occupied the Caribbean islands at the turn of the century. How many would die if there was a big explosion? I kept looking around, searching for some furtive movement or surreptitious gesture. I caught Richard staring at me, his face a mask of reproach. He said nothing, looked away.

The team captains emerged with the umpires. A coin was tossed. Quaintrell won and elected to bat. My father, a keen Middlesex supporter, had taken me to many matches as a child, and I had developed a real appreciation of the game. Today, however, it was the last thing on my mind.

‘Where’s Maxixca?’ I asked Extepan.

‘He has other duties elsewhere today,’ he told me.

This only made matters worse. If Extepan were killed, there was an even stronger possibility that Maxixca would be appointed governor in his place. This is madness, I thought. I must do something. But what? How could I betray those who were fighting for a cause I believed in? How could I let innocent people die?

The sun broke through the clouds as the match commenced. Extepan, cognoscente of all things English, began explaining the rules of the game to Tetzahuitl with that combination of pedantry and naïve misunderstanding typical of the newly knowledgeable. Richard also seemed remarkably carefree, reading aloud from the team notes. Was it possible he had actually forgotten the threat to his life and everyone else’s? It wouldn’t be the first time he had successfully blocked unacceptable facts from his mind.

The England innings began with the opening batsmen facing a barrage of Azanian fast bowling. Few runs were scored, but no wickets fell. Union flags and St George’s crosses were unfurled around the ground, along with the black, green and gold Azanian flag. Isolated cheers went up each time a good stroke was played or a boundary scored. The sun grew hot on my face as I wrestled with my conscience and fear. I sat rigid, beside myself with fear and indecision.

A wicket fell, and Quaintrell came in to bat. He was blond and handsome, the epitome of the English captain in his whites. On his first ball he survived a strong call for leg before wicket Extepan’s attempts to explain the intricacies of this particular law to Tetzahuitl diverted me momentarily from my anxiety. The cihuacoatl’s face remained a picture of inscrutability.

Quaintrell hooked an outswinger to the boundary, took two leg byes, then lofted the final ball of the over for six. The crowd’s cheers became more forceful. A single, then another boundary, and now a ragged chant of ‘England, England’ went up. The next delivery took away two stumps, and Quaintrell began a hangdog walk back to the pavilion.

Waiters attended us with cocktails and soft drinks, while around the ground shirts were peeled off under the sun and cans of beer cracked open. It was almost possible to believe that the match was being played under ordinary circumstances.

I sat numbly, conversing only when directly addressed, my mind racing. Even now I don’t know how I was able to remain motionless for so long. No one appeared to notice my agitation, which surprised me because I have never, despite my upbringing, been good at hiding my emotions. When parasols were produced for us against the sun, I gratefully hid myself under one while continuing to scan the surroundings. I saw nothing amiss. Perhaps the bomb – I was sure, now, that it would be a bomb – had been planted under the very balcony days before, with a timing device. Another wicket fell, but I scarcely noticed it. The sheer normality of everyone around me, Richard included, only persuaded me that something dreadful was certain to happen at any moment.

Then Victoria arrived, murmuring her apologies for her lateness, escorted by a young Aztec called Huahuantli. She slumped in a seat beside me, looking ragged and flustered. Her arrival seemed to galvanize me. All I could think about was that my entire family would be killed, that Maxixca would inherit everything. As soon as I had the opportunity, I leaned close to her and whispered, ‘Where have you been?’

She told me about the concert, then said, ‘There was a party afterwards. It went on till four in the morning. You look dreadful, Kate.’

‘Not half as bad as you. You should have had a lie-in. Why did you bother to come?’

She appeared not to hear me, instead hailing a waiter and taking a glass of lemon barley water which she promptly drained.

‘God, that feels better,’ she said. ‘I was as dry as a bleached bone. What time’s lunch?’

With a shock I realized it was approaching one o’clock. Soon we would go inside and sit down to a cold buffet during the interval. Now I became certain that the assassination attempt would take place as we ate.

Before I could say or do anything further, the last ball of the morning was bowled, and the teams promptly began filing off the pitch. Already Extepan and Tetzahuitl were rising. Aztec security guards closed in to escort us inside.

In the Long Room, tables were laden with sunbursts of melon, crudités, crystal bowls heaped with strawberries. No one bothered to sit down but instead piled food on to a plate and stood chatting while waiters wove expertly between knots of people, serving more drinks. I took up a position near one of the doors, feeling cowardly and foolish. If a bomb went off, I would have no chance of escaping.

Victoria took a tall glass of white wine and soda from a tray and came over to me. Huahuantli was with her. He was tall and fair-skinned for an Aztec, a natural stripe of blond in his dark hair giving him a striking appearance. He spoke excellent English, telling me that his mother was a Caucasian from the Virginia province of Greater Mexico. I amazed myself with my capacity for small-talk in such a situation.

Jeremy Quaintrell appeared, and there was a brief ceremony in which he presented Tetzahuitl with a bat once used by the legendary Archibald Leach. The cihuacoatl accepted the bat as if someone were laying a baby in his arms. He then shook both Quaintrell’s hands before the captain returned to his dressing room.

I took a gin and tonic and gulped it down. Richard was in the centre of a knot of people, among them Kenneth Parkhouse and his wife. The Prime Minister tried to catch my eye, but I studiously avoided him. I suddenly found myself confronted by Extepan and Tetzahuitl.

It was Extepan who spoke first. ‘I think it’s been a successful morning for the English team, yes? One hundred and twenty-one for the loss of only two wickets.’

He was speaking in Nahuatl. I looked helplessly at Tetzahuitl. His dark eyes stared back at me. He was holding the cricket bat in one hand, something I would have found comical in any other circumstance.

‘Tell me something,’ he said. ‘Does the game of cricket have any religious significance for your people?’

Somehow I managed to smile. ‘In a manner of speaking, I suppose it does.’

‘To the stranger it appears quite perverse and unfathomable.’

‘You’re not the first to say that.’

‘There are so many imponderables. How can you begin an over? Why, when a team is in, do their opponents take the field?’

My smile remained fixed.

‘Are there really such situations as silly mid-off and backward short-leg?’

He pronounced both with difficulty. Behind him I saw an English waiter suddenly bend down behind the table. Instantly I froze. Both Tetzahuitl and Extepan must have seen the look of horror on my face.

‘What’s the matter, Catherine?’ Extepan said.

‘I think—’ I began, ‘I think it might be wise if—’

The waiter reappeared, holding a fallen serviette. I had imagined him about to trigger a bomb or take cover from a hail of automatic fire. I stopped.

‘If?’ said Tetzahuitl.

I stared blankly at him.

‘You were saying?’ he persisted.

‘I think,’ Extepan interjected, ‘Princess Catherine was going to warn us that our lives might be in danger, isn’t that so?’

In truth, I wasn’t sure what I had been about to say; but I found myself nodding.

‘There’s no cause for alarm,’ Tetzahuitl said. ‘We were aware of the assassination plot. An explosive device intended for use in this very room was neutralized by our security people last night.’

So it had been a bomb, after all. Swallowing, I said, ‘Have you arrested anyone?’

Tetzahuitl’s lined face creased further in a basilisk smile. ‘Who would you expect us to arrest?’

‘I have no idea,’ I said quickly.

‘Really? But you knew about the plot.’

‘It was just a rumour I heard.’

‘You took a risk in coming here in that case.’

‘I had no choice.’

‘Your brother, the King, alerted us to the danger. He wasn’t prepared to countenance such a waste of lives.’

He appeared to be inviting some comment from me. Despite my disappointment with Richard, my main feeling was one of relief, because it increased the chances that the leak might not be traced to Bevan, and from him to others unknown.

‘Tell me something,’ Tetzahuitl said. ‘When we arrest the culprits – as we intend to do shortly – what would you recommend we do with them?’

I looked at Extepan, then back at him. There was no way of telling whether he was in earnest or simply baiting me. His unfathomable eyes told me nothing.

‘You can’t possibly expect me to answer that,’ I said hotly.

‘I’m not asking for your opinion on the rights and wrongs of their action. I want your advice. The two are quite different. What do you think we should do with them?’

He held the bat in his hand as if it were a cudgel, as if he might at any moment erupt in violence and begin bludgeoning me with it. Yet I was certain there was amusement in his face.

‘You’re a fool if you believe I’ll tell you,’ I said angrily. ‘Or you think I’m one.’

Extepan looked horrified at the insult, but Tetzahuitl raised the bat in a calming motion.

‘I’m not asking the question without self-interest,’ he said to me. ‘I’m hoping to gain some appreciation of the consequences of our actions. What would your people think? Should we be harsh or magnanimous?’

‘What are you saying? That I should tell you what to do to make sure your public image isn’t damaged?’

He was immune to my scorn. Not precisely. I’d simply like to ensure that the punishment won’t appear unduly severe to the fair-minded observer.’

I gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘I wasn’t aware you’d previously shown such concern for the sensibilities of conquered peoples.’

An off-hand gesture. ‘We’ve no desire for vengeance since no outrage was in the end committed against us. Extepan here is eager to pursue as enlightened a policy as possible with respect to the people of these islands.’

‘Then, presumably,’ I said with heavy irony, ‘we can rule out torture?’

Tetzahuitl made a disapproving noise. ‘Torture is the resort of those who fear their position is threatened. Besides, we’re not barbarians. Straightforward executions are an obvious option, but they run the risk of making martyrs of these people.’

Not if you kill them in secret,’ I said bitterly.

‘I think public knowledge of the plot is more widespread than even you imagine. It would be impossible to keep such actions secret. A better alternative might be exile. Of course, it would need to be somewhere far away.’

I became aware that Extepan looked uncomfortable, as if he was unsure where Tetzahuitl was leading. I wondered if he was being mocked by the cihuacoatl for his liberal tendencies. I almost felt a certain solidarity with him then.

‘So,’ Tetzahuitl said, ‘what considered advice would you give us?’

‘Do you think you can manipulate me so easily?’

‘I’m simply asking your opinion. We’re perfectly free to disregard it.’

‘To you, this is just a game. To me, it’s in deadly earnest. Whoever these people are – and whatever you think, I don’t know who they are – they don’t need me to compromise them. They’re your enemies, not mine.’

Tetzahuitl contemplated the dark wood of the bat. ‘What if we were talking about someone you knew?’

Was this a bluff? I had an ominous feeling it wasn’t.

‘Then I couldn’t possibly give unbiased advice. Of course I would want mercy for them. Who wouldn’t?’

The England innings collapsed after lunch, reaching a total of only 202. The afternoon grew hazy and humid while I sat impatiently through the rest of the match. I could not bring myself to talk to Richard but instead listened to Victoria, who chattered about the concert and the party while sipping wine-and-sodas and nibbling pecans from a tray. I saw no point in mentioning the assassination plot; she would find out about it soon enough.

Tetzahuitl and Extepan maintained every appearance of continuing interest in events on the field. I had imagined I might face interrogation or even arrest for refusing to divulge the source of my knowledge of the bomb plot, but no further pressure had been put on me. Did this mean they were already confident that they had rounded up all the perpetrators? Who would they arrest? I longed for immediate answers but was condemned to sit and wait.

As it turned out, the game could not have had a more exciting climax. The Azanians lost their first four wickets cheaply, then staged a middle-order recovery until they stood at 190 for 5. Defeat loomed for England with their fast bowlers tiring and the Azanian batsmen in command. But then the skies clouded over and Jeremy Quaintrell came in to bowl his particular brand of off-spin. Two wickets fell in his first over, then another in his second, with only six more runs added. The new batsman hit a four with his first delivery, then was yorked by the second. Azania stood at 200, with only one wicket left.

Quaintrell moved in to bowl again. The crowd were chanting more fulsomely now, and beer cans were being clacked metronomically together. The batsman blocked the first delivery. Then the second. The third ball was a full toss which the batsman hit with the meat of his bat. The ball soared away. Six runs seemed certain, and victory for Azania. But a fielder at the boundary came racing out of nowhere to pluck the ball from the air. Azania were all out, giving England victory by two runs.

The crowd swarmed on to the pitch as Quaintrell was raised aloft by his teammates and carried away, the man of the match.

We assembled for the presentation. The match trophy, specially made for the occasion, was a tiny bail of Azanian gold, mounted on an onyx block. It looked incredibly vulgar.

Quaintrell accepted the trophy from Tetzahuitl, then turned and raised it to the crowd. They roared and cheered as he shook it above his head, the conquering hero. All around the ground, flags were being waved to celebrate the victory.

Five

Victoria and I declined to join the others at the after-match dinner, and we were flown back to the complex. Victoria, worn out from her revels, immediately went off to bed. I found Chicomeztli waiting outside the door of my suite.

‘Do you wish me to order a meal for you?’ he asked.

Normally it was Bevan who arranged my meals. There was something in Chicomeztli’s face which made me suspicious. I went inside and unlocked the door to Bevan’s apartment.

It was empty, his balcony window locked, the air fresh-smelling. The apartment had been cleaned and the bedsheets changed. I knew that Bevan normally allowed the cleaning staff in only once a week. He was slovenly in his habits, but there was no sign of his occupancy.

I slid open the door of his wardrobe. That, too, was empty.

Chicomeztli was still waiting patiently at my threshold.

‘Where is he?’ I demanded.

‘Do you mean Bevan?’

‘Of course I mean Bevan! Who else would I mean?’

Chicomeztli shrank back from my anger.

‘His mother is unwell. He has been given compassionate leave to visit her in Wales.’

I glared at him. ‘That’s a lie.’

He shook his head. ‘It is true.’

‘He said nothing to me about having to visit anyone.’

‘The news of her illness only came this morning, after you had left for the cricket tournament. He was given permission to leave immediately, under guard.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘It is true,’ he repeated.

‘His room’s been cleaned out. There’s not a scrap of clothing left.’

‘That is normal practice. It will be laundered while he is away.’

I grabbed him by the arms. ‘Tell me the truth!’

His lazy eye danced wildly as he tried to focus on my face at close range.

‘I saw him leave,’ he insisted. ‘He is to be flown directly to Wales. Emergency arrangements were made.’

I knew him well enough by now to believe that he was telling me the truth – but only as he knew it.

‘Who authorized it?’

‘Maxixca was left in charge here.’

‘Then I want to see him immediately.’

Chicomeztli did not demur. Together we rode the lift to Extepan’s suite.

It was Mia who answered the door. She took our unexpected arrival in her stride, leading us through into Extepan’s office.

Maxixca was seated at Extepan’s desk. He smiled when he saw me.

‘Ah,’ he said, rising. ‘Princess Catherine. What can I do for you?’

He spoke in Nahuatl, his smile supercilious.

‘Where’s Bevan?’ I said in English.

‘Obviously I shouldn’t have expected the usual courtesies,’ he said, again in Nahuatl. ‘Weren’t you informed? His mother is sick, and we sent him off under escort to visit her.’

‘You’re lying.’

Anger suffused his face for an instant, but he controlled it.

‘It’s the truth, I assure you. As unlikely as it may seem to you, I’ve always been prepared to show consideration where personal difficulties or family crises are concerned. See for yourself. Here are the authorization papers.’

He handed me a small sheaf of papers which I scanned briefly. According to the documents, Bevan’s mother had been taken from her home in Trefil to a hospital in Abergavenny after suffering a stroke. She was said to be in a critical condition. I was certain the documents were fakes.

‘What have you done with him?’ I demanded.

Maxixca was tolerance personified. In English he said, ‘He has been taken to visit his mother. It was an emergency, and necessary to act swiftly. You were not available to be informed. I personally arranged the flight. Given that he is your manservant, I would have expected gratitude.’

I couldn’t imagine him doing anything for any of us out of the goodness of his heart. He had obviously been expecting me to arrive.

‘I want to know,’ I said. ‘Has he been killed?’

‘Killed?’ Maxixca affected to look shocked. ‘Why should we want to kill him?’

I had to be careful what I said. In the unlikely event that he was telling the truth, I ran the risk of endangering Bevan by protesting too much. With everything uncertain, I had so little room for manoeuvre.

‘I want to speak to Extepan,’ I said.

Maxixca sat down again, studiously squaring the papers on the desk.

‘Did you hear what I said? I want to speak to Extepan.’

‘I regret that will not be possible.’

‘When is he due back?’

Now he looked smug. ‘You may have a longer wait than you imagine.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘He will not be returning immediately.’

I didn’t like the sound of this. ‘Where is he?’

‘He is not available. I am in charge here.’

He was plainly relishing my discomfiture, and now I began to wonder. Had Extepan already been ousted? Had there been a palace coup, initiated by Tetzahuitl, with Maxixca promoted to Extepan’s position? He still wore his field commander’s uniform, but that was not conclusive in itself. Though Extepan was a son of the emperor and Maxixca’s elder, that would not necessarily protect him: the Aztecs were swift to remove from high office anyone they considered incompetent or simply unsuitable. Was I now speaking to the new Aztec governor of my country?

I refused to give him the satisfaction of asking him directly. I turned and stalked out.

As soon as Chicomeztli and I were alone in the elevator, I said, ‘Where’s Extepan gone?’

He was wary of me. ‘I believe he is returning this evening to Tenochtitlan with the cihuacoatl.’

‘Why?’

‘That I cannot say.’

‘Cannot or won’t?’

He shook his head helplessly. ‘I was only informed one hour ago. No details were given.’

‘When is he due back?’

‘I was not told.’

We walked together down the corridor to my suite. At the door I said, ‘Maxixca’s taken over Extepan’s office.’

He nodded. ‘That is normal practice. He is Extepan’s deputy.’

‘What if he’s replaced him? On a permanent basis?’

Chicomeztli looked genuinely alarmed at the idea.

‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I would have been told.’

‘Not necessarily,’ I countered. ‘Not if it’s only just happened.’

I left him at the doorway with this unnerving possibility. But there was a further unwelcome surprise awaiting me that highly unsettling day. Late that night, I rose from bed intending to activate ALEX in the hope that he might be able to tell me what had happened to Bevan and Extepan. But when I searched for the disk in the pillowslip where I had hidden it, I found it gone.

Disaster seems to breed disaster, and the biggest of all was still to come. The following morning I went upstairs to Victoria’s suite. We had lately taken to exercising Archimedes and Adamant most mornings in Parliament Park, and I was eager to find some time alone with her so we could talk. But Chantico told me she had left for the stables an hour before.

Victoria had never been an early riser, especially after a late night out, but I thought nothing of it. Yet when I arrived at our stables, both Archimedes and Adamant were still in their stalls, unsaddled. None of the grooms had seen anything of Victoria that morning.

A profound disquiet overtook me. Immediately I returned to the complex and sought out Maxixca again.

He was inspecting a detachment of guards on the parade ground which fronted the river.

‘Where’s my sister?’ I demanded.

He turned and, without a word, motioned for me to follow him inside. Three guards accompanied us.

We passed through the terrace garden and entered an operations room. Screens flickered untended, showing multiple views of the ground-level entrances to the complex. Maxixca drew himself up to his full height.

‘I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news for you,’ he informed me in English. ‘Princess Victoria has been arrested.’

‘What?’

I could see the pleasure under his show of concern.

‘She was implicated in the plot to cause an explosion at the Lords cricket compound.’

‘That’s absurd!’

‘I assure you it is true.’

‘I don’t believe it. It’s preposterous!’

He made a gesture as if to say that my disbelief flew in the face of the facts.

‘Where’s the evidence?’ I demanded to know.

He went to a console and tapped out a code. I had the feeling that he wanted to demonstrate how firmly he was in command of every aspect of his new authority. Within seconds the machine was spewing out black-and-white facsimiles of photographs and printed documents.

The documents purported to give the dates and times of Victoria’s meetings with persons who were known to be anti-Mexica agents. The photographs showed her sitting in dim rooms or standing in shadowy corridors with other people. Sometimes she was drinking, sometimes laughing, sometimes whispering in someone’s ear. Or so it appeared.

‘What are these?’ I said.

‘Evidence,’ Maxixca replied. ‘Evidence of her guilt.’

‘They could have been taken at a party.’

‘Some were.’ He was continuing to speak English, no doubt to emphasize that he was doing everything he could to accommodate me. ‘The people in the photographs are known partisans of terrorist organizations. The names in the reports refer to known subversives. Many are already in our custody.’

I was scornful. ‘Most of the people in these photographs look like Aztecs to me. Are you trying to say your own people would plot against you?’

Again I saw the flash of anger in his face. ‘The Aztecs, as you call them, in those photographs are people of non-Mexica races, minorities affiliated with your own subversives who would like nothing better than to grasp power for themselves. White skins are not the only proof of treasonous intentions.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ I said again, ignoring the racial slur. ‘Victoria’s not the type to become involved in any kind of plot. She has no interest in politics at all.’

Silence. A small sigh to indicate the breadth of his patience.

‘She’s my sister. I know her well. I would have suspected something.’

‘Am I expected to take your word for that? You, a declared enemy of our people?’

‘She was terrified when we were first captured. She couldn’t possibly be involved.’

Very deliberately, he took the facsimiles from me and proceeded to leaf through them.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I pleaded. ‘She’s never harmed anyone.’

His disdain was obvious. ‘Perhaps you do not know her as well as you think.’

He removed a photograph. ‘Do you recognize the man she is with?’

I had not studied any of the material carefully, but after some scrutiny I saw that the photograph showed Victoria sitting on a carpeted stairway with Jeremy Quaintrell.

‘He was arrested immediately after the cricket event,’ Maxixca said. ‘He planned to kill all of you with explosives hidden in a hollow cricket bat. Fortunately, we learnt of the plot and had the device made harmless beforehand. Your sister was quite prepared for you all to die.’

‘But she came to Lords!’ I was trying to marshal my thoughts, to piece everything together logically. ‘She wouldn’t have come if she’d known there was going to be an explosion.’

‘She found out we had neutralized the device. She came to try to warn Quaintrell. We made sure she had no opportunity to do so.’

The photograph was poorly lit, grainy, obviously blown up from a smaller print. It might have been taken anywhere, any time, though it must have been recent since Victoria’s hair was short.

‘Photographs are easy to fake,’ I said. ‘Victoria would never involve herself in anything so dangerous. She doesn’t have the stomach for it.’

A patronizing smile. ‘Perhaps you cannot tolerate the idea she was ready to see you and your brother killed.’

‘When is Extepan due back? I demand to speak to him.’

‘I have full authority here.’

‘Did he authorize this?’

‘It was authorized by the cihuacoatl.’

I felt myself sag inside. If Tetzahuitl had masterminded everything, then there was nothing I could do.

‘What’s going to happen to her?’ I asked. ‘Have you already had her killed?’

He was incredulous. ‘The plot was unsuccessful. We do not make a habit of executing members of a royal family, even for such grievous escapades as this. The cihuacoatl took the view that exile would be sufficient punishment for her – given the uncertain strength of her mental constitution. Subversives are often inadequate individuals.’

‘Where is she being taken to?’

‘Do you really expect me to tell you that?’ He turned away, putting all the facsimiles into a desk drawer. ‘The cihuacoatl has taken into account her status. It will be somewhere reasonably civilized.’

‘This is disgraceful! A farce! These are trumped-up charges!’

‘Her flight leaves within the hour. The cihuacoatl asked me to permit you to see her one last time. There is a shuttle on the landing pad. If you hurry, you might just catch her.’

Victoria was being flown out of Stansted in a long-distance civilian transporter, destination unspecified. When I arrived at the airport, the craft was already preparing for take-off, and it was only with great reluctance that I was ferried out to it by an Aztec commander who had obviously been given firm instructions that he shouldn’t allow himself to be bullied by me.

I sat beside him in an open ground-car, which sighed to a halt about twenty yards from the transporter. The gangway had already been withdrawn, and the wings were beginning to glow as excess power from the engines was fed through the conduction channels.

The commander spoke into a radio, and presently a head appeared at one of the windows. It was Victoria.

I waved frantically. She, too, raised a hand. It was hard to see her expression at such a distance, but I was sure she looked anguished, terrified.

‘Let me aboard for a few minutes,’ I said to the commander. ‘I must speak to her.’

‘It’s not possible. The ship is about to take off.’

‘It’s not a scheduled flight. A few minutes would make no difference.’

He shook his head.

‘She’s my sister! A princess of the blood royal! I demand you take me aboard.’

‘It’s too late,’ he said emphatically. ‘If you’d come earlier, it might have been possible. But not now.’

The engine-whine grew louder, and the golden glow suffused the entire wings, dazzling us. We had no option but to withdraw to a safe distance. The transporter headed off down the runway, rapidly picking up speed before it lifted off. I cursed Maxixca, whom I was sure had arranged matters so that I would have no opportunity to speak to Victoria.

She was lost to me, already lost. The transporter rose higher, its wing-glow reflected on the low-lying cloud. I watched it a diminishing point of brightness, until it was swallowed up in the grey.

Six

I soon discovered that I did not even have Richard to turn to for solace: he had been dispatched on a goodwill tour of the Caribbean, leaving London on the same flight as Tetzahuitl immediately after the post-match dinner at Lords. I would have feared for his safety had the news bulletins not been full of him reviewing troops and inspecting historic buildings in Havana and Santo Domingo. It seemed improbable that the Aztecs intended to get rid of him when they were giving his tour such publicity. He had been conveniently removed from all the messy aftermath of the Lords débâcle, and I wondered if he knew what had happened to Victoria.

For days afterwards I brooded, feeling impotent and thwarted at every turn. Without Victoria or Bevan, I was friendless, and Extepan’s absence only made matters worse. Because I wanted to give Maxixca no further opportunity to humiliate or frustrate me, I spent much of my time alone in my suite, allowing only Chicomeztli to visit.

He, at least, remained cheerful and was confident that both Bevan and Extepan would return. I believed his optimism was genuine but naïve; he was forced to admit he had no explanation for Extepan’s abrupt departure and no information on when he would be back. Without ALEX, I had no means of getting any answers to the many questions which preoccupied me. What had happened to the disk? Had Maxixca found it? If so, why had he made no mention of it? Things were happening all around me over which I had no control and precious little information.

A week passed. Eight, nine days. Some mornings I took solitary horse rides, alternating on Archimedes and Adamant, venting my frustration in the physicality of the rides. I was obsessed with the injustice which had been done to Victoria, powerless to do anything about it. Some evenings I would sit out in the garden and wonder what had been done to Bevan. He was unlikely to have escaped as lightly as Victoria: princesses could not easily be disposed of without creating a stir, but ordinary men like him could simply vanish, and hardly anyone would notice their passing. A deserted place, a swift bullet, burial in an unmarked grave, and scarcely a ripple would disturb the tide of history. How many thousands, millions, had died in this way?

One moment of brightness lightened my gloom. Returning one morning from a ride, I was taken aside by the leader of my escort, an Aztec lieutenant called Zacatlatoa. Without looking at me, he thrust into my hand a vellum envelope. It bore the double-headed eagle of Imperial Russia.

I could hardly wait to get back to the complex. In a shaded nook on the balcony garden, I tore open the letter and removed the single sheet.

It was from Margaret. In the cheery, chatty style so typical of her, she gossiped about the Moscow court, which now included many English refugees from the invasion, asked after my welfare and that of Richard and Victoria – the letter had been written before Victoria’s exile – and finally thanked me for ‘your splendid news, received with great joy and relief by everyone here’.

It was written in her sprawling hand, and signed Anne B. There was no question of its authenticity, and it was gratifying to know that my communication had reached her and eased Russian fears.

I was intrigued by Zacatlatoa, whom I had not encountered before. Was he a member of the underground? If so, he might know whether or not Victoria had really had any part in the bomb plot. However, he was not assigned to my escort again, and with Maxixca in charge, security remained tight, giving me no opportunity to make further enquiries about him without arousing suspicion.

Alone in my suite by day, I resisted Chicomeztli’s attempts to begin organizing my Citizens’ Aid Centre. An office had been set aside for our use, and a team of staff was waiting, but I was too busy sulking and had no capacity for such selfless pursuits. Instead I sat and watched television for much of the day, with a mounting sense of incredulity.

Since the occupation, the Aztecs had reduced the four television channels to a dreary menu of game shows, variety spectaculars and endless serials and soap operas from the Mexican networks. Many of the imports featured white English-speaking casts, but all were Aztec in their sympathies and sensibilities. I made endless jokes about them to the long-suffering Chicomeztli but reserved my most scathing comments for those home-bred celebrities who appeared on banal chat shows in the interests of self-promotion. My fellow citizens, happily thriving under foreign rule. Chicomeztli must have found me sullen and tiresome during this period, but he was too courteous ever to show it.

On the evening of the tenth day, I was sitting alone on the balcony when Bevan put a cup of tea down on the table in front of me.

I looked at him as if he were a ghost. He wore a hand-knitted navy sweater with shapeless bottle-green trousers.

‘You’re back,’ I breathed, fighting an instinct to jump up and hug him.

‘Miss me, did you?’

He looked just the same as ever: overweight, unkempt, half a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Didn’t they tell you? Land of my fathers.’

‘I thought you’d been taken away. Murdered.’

He spooned sugar into a mug of mahogany tea. ‘Looks like I missed all the excitement.’

I felt a mixture of relief and resentment. ‘You’ve heard about everything that’s happened? The bomb plot and Victoria’s arrest?’

‘All over the news, wasn’t it?’

Was she really involved? Do you know anything?’

He shook his head. ‘Not the type, is she?’

‘They showed me photographs, transcripts of meetings she’s supposed to have had with people involved in the plot.’

‘I saw it in the papers.’

‘It just isn’t possible. If she was involved, I’m sure she would have told me. I would have suspected something.’

Bevan sipped his tea.

‘Do you know anything?’ I said again. Was she really involved with some underground group?’

‘Don’t see it myself.’

‘Then why arrest her?’

‘Obvious they wanted her out of the way, isn’t it?’

‘But why?’

‘You’ve got me there. Hard to imagine.’

Did I detect a sly tone in his voice? Did he, in fact, know of Victoria’s involvement in the plot? I had a strong feeling he wasn’t telling me everything. He had come back as if he had never been away, and all the time I had imagined him arrested tortured, dead.

‘How’s your mother?’ I asked.

‘She passed away two days ago.’

I hadn’t expected this.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘She was eighty-three.’

I searched for something to say. ‘At least you were there. At the end.’

‘Didn’t know a thing about it, did she? She never regained consciousness.’

I was torn between genuine sympathy and the suspicion that none of it was true. It seemed all too convenient that he had been called away on the very day when the assassination attempt was due to take place.

‘I really thought they’d done away with you,’ I said. ‘You didn’t even leave a note.’

‘Wasn’t time, was there? I had to go in a rush.’

‘Maxixca certainly pulled out all the stops for you.’

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘To be honest, I thought it was a set-up to get rid of me at first. But they’re big on the veneration of aged parents and all that. Gave me a room right next to her in Neville Hall, they did, all the mod cons. Let me stay there till she died.’

Neville Hall was the hospital in Abergavenny. I felt that I was being callous in continuing to doubt his honesty; but I no longer had the capacity to take anything at face value.

‘They took Victoria away before I had a chance to speak to her,’ I told him. ‘Maxixca engineered everything. He’s been left in charge here.’

‘Acting governor. Nice for someone as power-crazed as he is.’

‘I don’t know what’s happened to Extepan.’

He put his mug down and reached into his trouser pocket.

‘Maybe we can find out.’

He had the disk in his hand.

‘Took it with me,’ he said. ‘I had a feeling Mad Mash might do one of his security sweeps while we were all out and about. I thought I’d keep it out of harm’s way.’

My suspicions redoubled. ‘How did you know where to find it?’

‘Your pillowcase? Come on. First place you’d look, isn’t it?’

ALEX’s face came to life on the screen. I hesitated, then whispered into the microphone: ‘It’s Catherine.’

He smiled. ‘Kate. Good to talk to you again.’

I was determined not to get involved in small-talk.

‘I’ve got something to ask you,’ I said briskly.

‘Ask away.’

‘Are you aware that Victoria’s been arrested?’

His expression became more sober. ‘I am. You must be terribly upset.’

‘Do you know why she was arrested?’

There was a slight hesitation. ‘The formal charge, according to my information, was subversive activities against the Mexican state and its elected representatives.’

‘I need to know – was she really involved in the plot to kill everyone at Lords?’

A longer pause. ‘Documentary and photographic evidence suggested she was.’

‘Do you believe the evidence?’

‘There appears to be no reason to discount it.’

I considered, then said, ‘From what you know of her, do you think it likely that she would become involved in such a plot?’

Another pause. ‘On the surface, her personality profile does not suggest radical tendencies. But real people are notoriously difficult to fathom and predict.’

Amen to that, I thought grimly.

‘Is it possible the evidence was faked?’

‘Anything’s possible.’

‘But you believe it?’

A grave smile. ‘I have no reason to discount it on the basis of the information available to me.’

I began to wish I had Bevan beside me; he was better able to probe ALEX in a logical fashion. But I had been determined to speak to ALEX alone that night, without anyone else knowing.

‘I can’t accept it,’ I said.

A slow nod. ‘I understand that, Kate. If I were in your position, I expect I should feel the same way.’

There was a look of great sympathy on his face. I reminded myself that he could not see me, that ‘he’ was just a pattern of electrons on a phosphorescent screen.

‘Where have they taken her?’

Now there was a much longer pause while ALEX remained motionless. He suddenly looked to be what he really was: an artefact, an image, no more.

‘Beijing,’ he announced finally. ‘She’s joined the court of Prince Ixtlilpopoca under house arrest there.’

It was not a surprising choice. The Aztecs had succeeded in subsuming China into their empire thirty years before by a combination of strategic marriages into the Manchu dynasty and the military defeat of an unpopular republican government. Ixtlilpopoca was Motecuhzoma’s second son, and the Forbidden City had been used as a place of exile for unwanted royal personages before.

‘Do you know how long she is to be kept in exile?’

More deliberation. ‘No time limit has been specified, as far as I’m aware.’

His image was so clear I could almost count the hairs in his beard. Yet his movements seemed slightly more laboured, his responses marginally slower, than in the past.

I barely registered this though, being more preoccupied with thoughts of Victoria in her exile. She would not like the winters in that part of China, but at least her existence would be comfortable if restricted. It might have been worse.

‘I need to know something else,’ I said. ‘What’s happened to Extepan?’

A further contemplative silence. ‘My last record of his whereabouts dates from eight days ago. He accompanied his uncle, Tetzahuitl, to Tenochtitlan.’

‘You’ve no record of him since then?’

‘No.’

This was completely unexpected. With a tremor in my voice, I said, ‘Is he dead?’

‘Highly unlikely. It’s more probable his movements are classified. Unrecorded. For security reasons.’

I mulled this over. On the screen, ALEX’s image flickered briefly. Remembering Bevan’s earlier warning, I said hastily, ‘There’s one other thing.’

‘I’m here to help you if I can, Kate.’

‘It’s Bevan. Can I trust him?’

He seemed to frown. ‘Can you be more specific, Kate?’

‘I want to know if he’s working for the Aztecs.’

A long consideration.

‘There’s no indication that he’s one of their agents.’

‘Is it possible?’

‘I have no evidence to suggest it.’

‘Is he involved with any other group?’

Another pause. ‘None that I’m aware of.’

I sighed. Having ALEX as an oracle was more frustrating than anything when he could only reveal an absence of evidence.

‘Does he really have a mother who’s recently died?’

‘I can confirm that. He returned to London seven hours ago following her funeral. Would you like to see her medical records?’

‘That won’t be necessary. ALEX, I have to go.’

‘It’s been a pleasure talking to you again, Kate.’

‘And to you,’ I said automatically.

But before I could move to switch off the terminal, a voice behind me said, ‘How very touching.’

I spun around.

Maxixca stood there with an armed escort.

‘We suspected someone had gained access to our network. It is most gratifying to discover we were not wrong.’

There was nothing I could say.

‘Isn’t that your ex-husband? I must say he looks more alert than when I last encountered—’

I lunged for him. Two guards grabbed me and pulled me away.

Maxixca was bleeding from a long scratchmark on his cheek.

‘Really,’ he said, ‘this is most undignified behaviour for a princess of the realm. I thought you English always bore misfortunes with a brave face and a stiff upper lip.’

Again I strained forward, but the guards held me in check.

On the screen, ALEX was still staring out at me, the perfect image of the real person, memento and memento mori.

Maxixca pulled the disk from the slot. The image died.

‘He’s still there,’ I goaded him. ‘You’ve simply switched him off.’

With a smile of triumph, Maxixca dropped the disk to the carpeted floor and crushed it under his boot heel.

Seven

I was riding Adamant alone in Parliament Park a week later when I became aware that another rider was shadowing me behind a line of trees. It was none of the security guards, who habitually followed me on horseback, but someone else – on Archimedes.

I pulled Adamant up and waited. The sun was bright overhead, but the other rider was in the shadow of a stand of sycamores.

‘You seem to be getting the better of him these days,’ he remarked as he trotted forward.

It was Extepan.

He brought Archimedes right up to me so that both colts were close enough to nuzzle one another.

‘Hello, Catherine.’

He was dressed in blue jeans and a brown leather windcheater – the first time I had seen him in civilian clothes. He looked somehow brand new to my eyes.

‘You’re back.’

‘I returned early this morning. They told me you were here.’

It was hard to know what to say. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Home. And away.’ He steadied Archimedes, patting his neck. ‘I must admit it’s good to be here again. Who could wish for a more perfect English summer’s day?’

Despite a confusion of feelings, I smiled; I couldn’t help myself.

‘Are you back in your former capacity?’ I asked.

‘You mean as governor? Of course. I’ll have to get into uniform soon enough.’

Part of me was vastly relieved to hear this. After destroying the disk, Maxixca had had me confined to my suite for three days, but there were no reprisals. A large escort now kept track of all my movements, but otherwise I had been left in peace.

‘Shall we walk the horses?’ he said.

We rode together in silence along the bridleway near the river. Crack willows had been planted on the Embankment, their silvery leaves fluttering like paper in the morning breeze. Beyond the park, some derelicts had lit a fire among the rubble in New Palace Yard to roast a few of the pigeons that roosted in the tumbledown Parliament building.

Presently Extepan said, ‘Do you want to talk about Victoria?’

I eyed him. ‘Was it your doing?’

‘It was necessary for me to sign the deportation papers,’ he admitted.

‘She’s innocent. I know it.’

‘I’m very sorry it happened. For what it’s worth, you have my word that she will be looked after. No harm will come to her.’

‘I don’t suppose there’s any point in my appealing to you to reinvestigate the charges against her?’

He was looking across at me, sympathetic but unyielding. ‘The evidence appears as conclusive as it can be. There is nothing I can do.’

‘Can you tell me where they’ve taken her?’

‘I’m sorry, Catherine.’

I didn’t want to argue with him over the issue, especially since I was certain all my protests would be futile.

‘What’s going to happen to me? Aren’t I going to be arrested and interrogated? Don’t you want to know who my accomplices were, what I was doing and what I found out?’

Though my tone was challenging, the questions were sincere. It was hard to believe that my nocturnal activities with ALEX would go unpunished.

‘I think there has been enough blood-letting of late,’ he responded. ‘I would prefer to consider the matter closed.’

I was suspicious. ‘But you don’t know what I might know.’

‘I will admit that I regret Maxixca destroyed the disk. It was a hasty and short-sighted action. But nothing can be done about it now.’

It seemed to me he was accepting matters far too easily.

‘So I’m free to do as I please?’

‘I won’t make you a prisoner, Catherine. All I can do is ensure you are well guarded, for your own safety as much as anyone else’s. Perhaps you’ll understand me when I have had the opportunity to speak to you at greater length. Come to dinner this evening at my suite.’

I eyed him. ‘I thought I was in the doghouse.’

He looked puzzled at this but ignored it. ‘It’s very important I speak with you in private. Please come.’

He spurred Archimedes. ‘By the way, Richard is home, too. I shall expect you at eight o’clock.’

Then he galloped away.

Richard was taking a bath when I arrived at his suite. Huixtochtli, the most officious of his staff, was insistent that he shouldn’t be disturbed. I strode past him and walked in on my brother.

He sat up to his shoulders in foam, manoeuvring a small plastic killer whale through his knees. The toy was battery-powered, its tail weaving from side to side.

He greeted me with a broad smile and told me that he had missed me. Yet I knew that in the old days he would have sought me out immediately on his return. The ties between us were no longer as strong.

I passed him his bathrobe, and he clambered out of the water. For some reason, I was startled by the glimpse of dark hair at his groin; to me he had always been a child, yet physically he was now a man.

Huixtochtli brought him a lemonade, and we sat out on the balcony in the afternoon sunlight. Up to now, our conversation had consisted entirely of pleasantries.

‘Did you hear what happened to Victoria?’ I asked.

He looked uncomfortable, as if he had hoped we wouldn’t have to broach the subject.

‘It was terrible,’ he replied. ‘They told me when I was in Quauhtemalan. I cried. Isn’t it awful, Kate?’

‘You don’t believe she had any part in the conspiracy, do you?’

‘There was evidence. Photographs.’

‘Do you think they were genuine?’

‘Why shouldn’t they be?’

‘That sort of evidence is easily fabricated.’

‘The others they arrested said she was involved, Kate.’

This was true. I had seen extracts from their ‘confessions’ during the show trials on news bulletins. Four men from the New Court, among them Huahuantli, had declared on oath that Victoria had been an active participant in the plot. There was no such admission from Jeremy Quaintrell, who remained scornfully insistent of his innocence to the last. All the conspirators had subsequently been deported to the huge maximum-security prison complex in Las Vegas.

‘Can you really imagine Victoria being involved in something like that, Richard?’

He played with the straw in his drink. ‘I was shocked when they told me. I think she was misguided, Kate, but I’ve tried to understand her reasons.’

This sounded as if it was parroted from someone else – no doubt his Aztec ‘advisers’, seeking to soften the blow and persuade him of the truth of their lies. It never occurred to me to consider that perhaps I had always underestimated Richard’s intelligence and that he was capable of his own reasoning. I was blind to many things about him and also Victoria, a great failing on my part.

‘Do you think she’d risk killing you and me?’ I said. ‘And herself? It’s madness.’

‘She wasn’t going to be there when the bomb exploded, Kate. She only turned up because she learned they’d found out about the plot.’

‘Yes, so they claimed. And it was you who told them about it.’

For an instant he looked sheepish, but then he said, ‘I’m sorry. I believe it was my duty. I won’t let you make me feel guilty, Kate.’

‘People have been sent to prison and Victoria is in exile because of what you did.’

‘I’m not the one who was going to kill innocent people.’

He looked defiant; I knew I couldn’t browbeat him as of old. And, of course, I couldn’t admit to myself that my own reactions were confused. Had I really wanted the bomb to go off? If not, then why blame Richard for warning the Aztecs about it? This was the kind of moral quandary I couldn’t bring myself to confront.

‘Victoria wasn’t involved,’ I insisted. ‘They told you lies.’

‘She confessed herself, Kate.’

‘Don’t you believe it.’

‘There’s a tape.’

‘What?’

‘A tape of her. They showed me it.’

I demanded to see it. Richard summoned Huixtochtli, who went away and shortly returned to inform us that the tape was ready for viewing.

We went inside. Huixtochtli pressed the PLAY button on the recorder and withdrew.

The screen came to life, showing Victoria’s head and shoulders with a blank white background behind her. Staring straight at the camera, her face strained, she said, ‘I confess my part in the conspiracy to kill the cihuacoatl Tetzahuitl, Governor Extepan and others at the Lords cricket ground by means of an explosive device. I have no regrets, except for the grief I know I shall have caused to the remaining members of my family. To you, Richard and Catherine, my sincerest apologies. I love you both.’ She looked off camera, her face rigid with tension. ‘Do I have to say any more?’

The picture went blank.

A table had been laid on the balcony with white linen, English silverware and a vase of honeysuckle. Extepan and I ate a meal of clear vegetable soup followed by Dover sole with asparagus and new potatoes. There was summer pudding for dessert. I felt that Extepan was trying to make some statement with the simplicity and Englishness of the menu, though I was not sure what.

Mia served us with her perfect poise, pouring a crisp Californian Riesling to accompany the meal before leaving us alone.

‘She’s very beautiful,’ I remarked to Extepan as she departed.

‘Indeed,’ he replied, managing to make the word sound both emphatic and non-committal.

‘Have you known her long?’

‘We grew up together. Her mother was a wet-nurse to my elder brothers.’

Dwarf palms and flowering creepers surrounded us on three sides. The garden here was more luxuriant than my own, more exotic and tropical.

‘You didn’t tell me Victoria had taped a confession,’ I remarked.

‘I had no involvement in that,’ he replied.

What did this mean? ‘Why hasn’t it been shown on television like all the others?’

Extepan looked a little squeamish. ‘I did not feel it necessary for her indignity to be made public.’

‘Especially when it was so obviously a scripted confession. A lie.’

He topped up our wine glasses. ‘I know there is no persuading you of your sister’s guilt, and I do not propose to try. Can we set the matter aside, just for this evening?’

All my instincts told me he had played no part in contriving Victoria’s arrest and found the whole affair rather distasteful. Quite possibly, he shared my beliefs but couldn’t admit as much.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘A truce. Just for this evening.’

He had been watching me closely since my arrival, but now he looked away, as if trying to compose his thoughts.

‘Catherine,’ he said, ‘I realize that the upheavals of the past few weeks have been very difficult for you. In some senses, I’ve chosen the worst possible time for this conversation, but I cannot delay it any longer.’

I eyed him over my glass. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about my immediate future. And possibly yours’

I waited. Extepan stood up. ‘Shall we walk?’

‘I’d prefer to stay here.’

‘As you wish.’ He sat down again, looking ill at ease.

‘What is it?’ I asked him.

‘Catherine,’ he said earnestly. ‘I am now at an age when my father considers I should marry. This was one of the reasons why he summoned me to Tenochtitlan.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘You seemed to leave very abruptly.’

‘Delay is not advisable when the tlatoani summons you, even if you are one of his sons.’

I sat back and waited for him to continue.

‘My father is right, of course. Family matters are just as important as wider political issues, and I have always wanted children.’

Still I was silent, wondering where he was leading.

‘However,’ he continued, ‘it’s always been important to me that I should find a wife whom I respect and admire. And perhaps love, if that is possible. My father’s marriage to my mother was one of love.’

‘Even if it united Greater Mexico with the kingdom of Spain?’

Extepan did not take this amiss. ‘He risked his position by divorcing an Alcohua princess to take a European as his wife, and no matter that she was also from the nobility. There was no precedent, and he met with great resistance.’

‘No doubt your people eventually found it easier to swallow because it gave them a foothold in Europe.’

‘That is true,’ he admitted, choosing to ignore my waspishness, ‘but there was real love between them. That is quite rare for people in our situation.’

‘I married for love,’ I told him.

‘Yes. I understand you did. I envy you that. I would very much like to do the same.’

‘Is there someone you had in mind?’

‘My father would like me to marry a princess of the Sioux nation called Precious Cloud. I was introduced to her while I was away. Such a marriage would be likely to strengthen our ties with the Sioux people and stabilize our north-eastern borders with Canada and New England.’

This struck me as a shrewd move, and typical of Motecuhzoma’s policy. The Sioux and their allied nations in the Dakotas had managed to maintain their independence by playing off the Aztecs and the Confederacy of Canada and New England. The latter, especially the New English east of the Appalachians, had proved tenacious and resilient in the face of Aztec encroachments over the past century; but their commonwealth might crumble should the peoples of the Dakotas switch their allegiance to Motecuhzoma through marriage.

‘If necessary,’ Extepan was saying, ‘I would be prepared to defer to his wishes, but he has given me permission to approach someone I feel is a more suitable candidate.’

‘Oh?’ I said, taking a sip of wine.

‘Catherine, I would consider it the greatest of honours if you would accept my proposal of marriage.’

I almost choked on my wine. Dabbing my lips with a napkin, I stared at him in amazement.

‘You aren’t serious.’

‘I am perfectly serious. Do you think I would joke about such a matter?’

Despite my shock, I realized that a part of me had almost anticipated the proposal.

‘This is absurd,’ I said. ‘You want to marry me?’

‘This is not a hasty decision, Catherine – I have been considering it for some time. That was one of the reasons why the cihuacoatl visited London – so that he could meet you and report back to my father. He agreed with me that you are a woman of great integrity and courage. My father would be happy to sanction the union if you agreed to it.’

I was still incredulous.

‘You hardly know me,’ I said. ‘We’ve scarcely seen one another in the last six months.’

‘I know. But when I watched you from afar, on television while you were travelling the breadth of this land – that only made me more conscious of your many attributes. Of your grace and strength. And beauty.’

I felt more angry than flattered. ‘I’m your enemy. Surely you know that by now. I oppose the Aztec Empire.’

‘I’m under no illusions, Catherine. I understand why you should want to fight for the liberty of your people. So does my father, and the cihuacoatl. I would not respect you if you did not have the courage of your convictions. That courage is one of the things that would make me honoured to be your husband.’

He gave every indication of being in earnest.

‘Do you think I’m a fool?’ I said.

‘Catherine—’

‘You never stop, do you? You never stop trying to use me!’

He reached across the table to touch my hand. I snatched it away.

‘Catherine,’ he said, ‘my proposal is a sincere and open one. I have come to admire you greatly. Perhaps more than that. I do not expect you to share those feelings wholeheartedly, but I beg you to believe this – I would rather marry you than anyone else.’

I wanted to get up from the table and march out.

‘This is absurd,’ I said.

‘Believe me,’ he replied, ‘I would prefer it if I was drawn to someone more… tractable. But that is the way it is.’

I shook my head.

‘Marriage to me would solve many of your problems here, wouldn’t it?’

‘Do you think I imagine you would change your nature? I would expect you to protect the interests of your people as before.’

‘And do you imagine my people would trust me if I were married to you?’

A sigh. ‘Catherine, it would make very little difference to them. You are not the conscience of the whole nation. No one expects you to be.’

‘That’s no good reason for marrying you.’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘It is not. But I want you as my wife for what you are, not who you are.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘That does not surprise me under the circumstances. Don’t you think I would have tried to choose a better time than this if I was able? With your sister only recently exiled, you have less reason to trust any of us than ever. But my father insists that I must marry soon, and urgent situations require urgent actions.’

Mia reappeared, approaching the table.

‘Do you need anything else?’ she asked in Nahuatl.

‘No, no,’ Extepan said brusquely, waving her away. She gave me a glance before she departed, and I was certain she knew the whole thrust of our conversation. I was certain she hated me at that moment.

‘I beg you to consider it,’ Extepan said when we were alone again. ‘There’s no need to give me an immediate answer.’

‘No amount of consideration will make me accept,’ I replied. ‘How can you possibly expect me to compromise myself by marrying you? I’ve no intention of legitimizing your rule here. What would happen then? Would Richard have an unfortunate accident so that you could claim the throne?’

He shook his head fervently. ‘No harm is going to come to Richard. And there’s no reason for me to marry you for political reasons because no harm is going to come to him. Shall I tell you why?’

I waited.

‘You remember Chimalcoyotl’s daughter, Xochinenen?’

‘Of course.’

‘Your brother intends to marry her shortly.’

Again, there was something unexpected yet inevitable about his words.

‘You’re lying,’ I said.

‘He was greatly taken with her after their first meeting. At his request, she visited him while he was holidaying in Monaco There they exchanged rings as a token of mutual affection. He visited her again while he was in Mexico. He wants her to become his queen, Catherine, and she’s agreed.’

I thought of the snake ring, and Xochinenen’s tiny hands. Richard could only wear the ring on his little finger.

‘Naturally my father is delighted,’ Extepan was saying. ‘especially as the initiative came from Richard himself. So you see, we Aztecs, as you call us, will already be marrying into the British Royal Family, and at the very highest level. Politically, it would be far more expedient for me to marry someone other than you. My father would certainly prefer it, even though he appreciates your qualities. But I would rather have you as my bride.’

I was full of thoughts of Richard, aghast at what he intended Pushing back my chair, I rose.

‘Please,’ Extepan said, also rising and taking my arm. ‘Consider it carefully.’

‘I must go,’ I said, hurrying away.

Richard was in conference with Kenneth Parkhouse and his cabinet in one of the private rooms off the new House of Commons chamber. I burst in on them.

‘Richard,’ I said, ‘I have to talk to you immediately.’

‘I’m very busy now, Kate,’ he replied with child-like gravity. ‘It will have to wait.’

‘Now, Richard.’

I put every ounce of command into my voice. To my surprise, it was Parkhouse and his ministers who reacted, hastily gathering together their papers while murmuring that they would be happy to continue their business later. Soon they were gone, leaving Richard looking stranded at the head of the conference table.

‘What were you discussing?’ I asked acidly. ‘The arrangements for your marriage?’

He was incapable of hiding his surprise.

‘She’s a lovely girl, Kate. I think we’ll be very happy together.’

‘Richard,’ I said with forced patience, ‘can’t you see they’re using you? You’re being manoeuvred into this marriage.’

‘It was my idea, Kate.’

‘You think it was your idea. They want you to think that.’

I could imagine Xochinenen doing everything in her power to make herself attractive to Richard; he was so innocent it had probably been no hard task.

I sat down next to him. ‘Listen,’ I said softly, ‘I’m sure she’s a charming girl and that you’re very fond of her. But she’s an Aztec, the granddaughter of Motecuhzoma. How do you think the British people will feel about you marrying one of our enemies?’

‘The Prime Minister and his cabinet believe that the country would enjoy a royal wedding.’

‘The Prime Minister and his cabinet are collaborators, stooges of the Aztecs. They’ll just tell you what you want to hear.’

‘I love her, Kate. She’s so pretty and fun to be with. She says we can have six children.’

‘She’s using you, Richard.’

‘No, she’s not! She says I’m kind and gentle. You don’t know her – she’s the only person I can laugh with. Everyone else is so serious all the time. I always have so many important decisions to make.’

I took his hand across the table. ‘Once she’s married to you, you’ll be completely in the power of the Aztecs. They’ll have the authority to do whatever they want. And you’ll carry the blame if anything goes wrong.’

I let him ponder on this, already knowing it was futile.

‘I don’t care,’ he said at length. ‘I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I love her and I’m going to marry her, whatever they say.’ He pulled his hand from under mine and gave me a fierce look. ‘If you try to stop me, Kate, I’ll have you sent away!’

Eight

Three weeks later, Extepan flew back across the Atlantic to visit his Sioux princess. On the same day, Richard’s engagement to Princess Xochinenen was made public. She had arrived from Mexico a few days earlier, and the couple were shown on the nine o’clock news attending a première of the Grey Webster musical Tequila Sunrise at the Ambassadors Theatre off Shaftesbury Row. The large crowd outside was uniformly rapturous. Richard and his bride-to-be paused to wave outside the theatre in a snowstorm of flashlights. Xochinenen was dressed in a sequinned Jagger costume gown, Richard in an evening suit. They looked the perfect couple.

Over the weeks that followed, I put my energies into establishing my Citizens Aid Centre, publicizing the new office on television and stressing its independence and confidentiality. Soon, with a small secretarial staff, I was spending long afternoons dealing with grievances by telephone, letter, and in person. The problems ranged from the uncompensated expropriation of land to the boorish behaviour of Aztec soldiers in public houses. But although the work proved demanding and in its way fulfilling, I was disappointed by the relative mildness of the complaints; I had a suspicion that Maxixca, who had been left in charge during Extepan’s absence, was somehow managing to keep more serious breaches of human rights from us.

Meanwhile, Kenneth Parkhouse’s first parliament was about to begin sitting. It was given full television coverage and portrayed as the re-establishment of over a thousand years of English self-government after only a brief hiatus. Everything had been done to re-create as far as possible the grandeur and ambience of the pre-invasion parliaments, Richard even appearing to read out the government’s proposals at the opening of parliament, as tradition dictated. These proposals included a rise in pensions and state benefit, a reduction in income tax and across the board pay rises of ten per cent. It was a blatant exercise in populism, and I wondered how many people realized that the extra expenditure on these measures would be derived from the complete extinction of the defence budget. From now on, the only army, navy and air force in the country would be Aztec.

Elsewhere, Extepan was also in the news, meeting with Matogee, the leader of the Sioux Confederacy, and his daughter in the neutral city of Potomac, where his territory met with that of Greater Mexico and New England. Gushing word-portraits were painted of Precious Cloud, a willowy girl of eighteen whose mother was a French-speaking aristocrat from Montreal. Potomac, its painted triangular skyscrapers and polyglot people reflecting two centuries of bustling mercantile existence between three often-warring powers, looked almost fairytale under a limpid early autumn sky. The people, in their feathered hats, rhinestone cloaks and big Texcoco cars, seemed exotic from afar, making London sedate and drab by comparison. Extepan was shown bowing to the princess and kissing her hand. They exchanged stilted conversation in English for the benefit of the cameras. Extepan seemed very far away.

Next day, it was announced that Richard would marry Xochinenen in mid-October, the day after his nineteenth birthday. Preparations began in earnest, hastened by Richard’s declaration that he was going to marry his princess not in St Paul’s or Westminster Abbey but in the Crystal Palace on Sydenham Hill, a favourite childhood haunt consecrated for royal marriages during the eccentric later years of my great-grandfather’s reign. The palace had fallen into disrepair since it and its surrounding park were closed to the public in the aftermath of the invasion, but now an emergency programme of renovation was set in motion. Newspapers, magazines and the television channels were full of talk of the wedding, unstinting in their praise for Xochinenen, publishing poll after poll which showed that the great British public loved her too.

Across the Atlantic, another wedding took place – that of Extepan and Precious Cloud. After a formal courtship of only a month, they were married in Matogee’s capital, Eagle Butte. The ceremony, shown live on television in the early hours of the morning, combined Mexican, Sioux and Christian rituals, the couple knotting the hems of their marriage robes and exchanging gifts before a shaman and a Catholic priest. Tetzahuitl stood among the dignitaries, attending for Motecuhzoma, who seldom left Tenochtitlan these days. Among the guests were Cheyenne and Mohawk princes, the Brazilian emperor, entourages from China, Japan and Peru. But it was the New English who made the most impact by dispatching both President Vidal and Vice-president Wolfe to the ceremony, funereally attired in black suits and stovepipe hats as a sartorial expression of their disapproval for the whole affair.

I watched the ceremony with mixed emotions, relieved to have escaped Extepan’s designs on me but also regretting that I was now less likely to have his ear than in the past. Though I remained as opposed as ever to what he represented, I had grown to enjoy his company more than I was prepared to admit.

Not a day passed when I didn’t think of Victoria, but there was no further news of her. Bevan no longer seemed to have the ear of any revolutionaries, and he gave me the impression that the resistance movement to Aztec rule was dormant, perhaps even extinct. He seemed to be biding his time, pottering about the balcony garden and apparently content to do little else.

Perhaps he shared my feeling of being reduced to a mere observer in events. When Xochinenen first arrived in London, I arranged an audience with her in the hope of gauging the sincerity of her feelings towards Richard. Now seventeen, she received me courteously enough but remained infuriatingly lighthearted, very much the older child rather than the young woman. She had been taking English lessons, and her command of the language was considerably improved, something I accepted as positive evidence of a degree of commitment to her prospective role as Queen of England. To all appearances, she was delighted at the prospect of marrying Richard and was thoroughly fond of him. I could not decide whether she genuinely lacked maturity or was already very accomplished at hiding her real feelings.

Extepan was still technically Governor of Britain, and a week before Richard’s wedding we were told that he and Precious Cloud would be returning to London to attend the ceremony, after which he would resume his duties. The news cheered me, because I had imagined that we were condemned to suffer Maxixca’s over-zealous administration from now on. It also meant that I would, at least, have some continued access to him.

On the day before the wedding, I had the final fitting of my dress, an Eastwood creation which combined English silks with Tlacopan lace. Privately I thought it too elaborate, but on this occasion I was determined to play the part required of me in the ceremony.

Bevan appeared from the garden just as the leather-clad designer himself was putting the finishing touches to the dress.

‘Very nice,’ he observed. ‘Pretty as a picture, as my mam would say.’

‘Are you taking the mickey?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it. An English rose without the thorns.’

‘Don’t you believe it.’

‘Talking of roses, any chance of giving me a few minutes in the garden? Nasty case of black spot we’ve got.’

He obviously wanted to talk to me in private. Since Maxixca’s security sweeps at the complex, we both operated on the assumption that our rooms might be monitored and never said anything confidential indoors.

I got rid of the dressmaker, changed into informal clothes, and went outside. The garden had flourished all summer under Bevan’s attentions, and the mild autumn meant that buddleia and Michaelmas daisies were still attracting a variety of butterflies, among them New World monarchs, whose larvae Extepan had shipped to London from Mexico each spring – an indulgence typical of the Aztecs.

Bevan was perched on the balustrade at the edge of the balcony.

‘What’s up?’ I said to him.

He was looking down towards the river, where a pleasure boat was carrying Mexican tourists up the Thames.

‘You might not be interested in this,’ he said, ‘but I thought I’d mention it anyway, just in case.’

‘What?’

‘You’ll be at the palace, tomorrow, for the wedding.’

‘I’m well aware of that, Bevan.’

‘There’s a rumour going round.’

He was slouched against the rail, turning a blob of tzictli in his mouth.

‘I’m listening,’ I said.

‘It may be nothing, but there’s talk about the park. Word is, they’ve built something there, in the grounds near one of the lakes. Some sort of secret installation.’

I waited for more, but nothing further was forthcoming.

‘What sort of secret installation?’

He shrugged. ‘That’s what nobody knows, do they? Might be worth taking a look, if you get the chance.’

Today he was dressed in a crimson-and-navy lumberjack shirt and an ancient pair of black barathea trousers. It was a balmy day, but he made few concessions to the weather – or to good grooming. He looked as if he had walked in off the street, a rather seedy character.

With little hope of an answer, I said, ‘Bevan, who are you working for?’

He squinted at me in the hazy light. ‘Work for you, don’t I?’

‘You know what I mean. All this time together, and you’re still a mystery to me.’

‘What you see is what I am.’

I sighed. ‘Can I trust you?’

He cracked a pink bubble of gum. ‘Never let you down yet, have I?’

‘It’s important for me to believe you’re on my side.’

The gum squelched between his teeth. ‘I’ve told you before – I’ve got a lot of time for you.’

‘How gracious you are! Am I supposed to feel flattered?’

‘Take it as you please. But if you’ve got to have a reason, then you can say I still owe you. You kept me out of it when Mad Mash found the disk. So I’m keeping you in the know about anything that crops us.’

As always, there was no sense at all that he was being deferential to my status. He treated everyone the same. I had grown to admire him for that, even when I found him blunt to the point of rudeness.

‘This installation, as you call it. Do you think it’s important?’

‘I reckon the fact they want to keep it under wraps speaks for itself.’

‘Then why run the risk of letting Richard marry in the palace, so close to it?’

‘Popular sentiment,’ he said emphatically. ‘It’s what he wants, and everyone’s behind him at the moment. They’d risk drawing more attention to the place by refusing, wouldn’t they? It’ll be crawling with guards, no doubt, and you’ll be lucky if you get a look in. But you stand a better chance than anyone else. It’s worth a shot, if you’re up for it.’

‘And if I find anything interesting, what am I supposed to do? Report back to you?’

He pulled a string of gum out from between his teeth.

‘Wouldn’t do any harm, would it?’

Richard and Xochinenen were married in the central transept of the Crystal Palace at noon on a bright autumn morning; the wedding march was played on the great organ, a relic of Victorian days. I was seated at the front of the congregation with Extepan and his new bride. Earlier I had briefly been introduced to Precious Cloud, whom Extepan had christened Chalchi. She seemed rather overawed by the occasion, but friendly enough. Extepan kept her close to his side and paid solicitous attention to everything she said.

The ceremony was conducted by the Archbishop of Canterbury. In the weeks leading up to the wedding there had been considerable debate over whether the Aztecs would allow the primate of the Church of England to conduct the marriage of a Roman Catholic princess; but the controversy never came to a head since Xochinenen indicated that she and all her family were perfectly happy with an Anglican ceremony. Pope Leo, himself a Mexican, also gave his blessing.

The transept was thronged with guests, a sea of faces framed and compartmentalized by the freshly painted wrought-iron pillars and balustrades of Joseph Paxton’s great creation. The palace had miraculously survived several fires since it was first built. It was now fully air-conditioned, and solar generators had been mounted atop its two water towers, providing constant power for heating, lighting and humidity. I had to admit it was a perfectly splendid place for a wedding.

Despite this, I sat through the service in a state of distraction, outwardly attentive but secretly wishing I were elsewhere. I think my years in hiding had given me less tolerance of state occasions than I once possessed, and it was hard to feel confident about Richard’s future happiness while I remained convinced that his bride was simply an instrument in the political ambitions of Motecuhzoma’s dynasty.

The ceremony was carried live on all six domestic channels, and the galleries were crammed with cameras, sound recording equipment and all the other paraphernalia of modern television. Foreign film crews from all the major nations were also covering the event, and I wondered if the tlatoani himself was watching from some private room in Chapultepec Castle at the very heart of the empire.

As I had expected, there was a heavy security presence, discreet within the palace itself but obvious outside, with armoured personnel carriers patrolling the environs and jetcopters hovering over the formal gardens which led down from the palace. I had no idea how I was going to attempt to locate Bevan’s mysterious installation; but I was determined to try if the opportunity presented itself.

Despite all my cynicism, I must admit that Richard and Xochinenen looked a happy and well-matched couple, Richard the perfect model soldier in his Royal Guards’ uniform, Xochinenen prettily petite in a traditional white English wedding dress. When the rings were exchanged and they finally kissed, the entire transept blazed with flashing lights, and I remember wondering if it was possibly the most photographed instant in history.

Because of the clement weather, a last-minute decision had been made to hold the reception outside on the terraces, and hordes of waiters served cold dishes and drinks while the guests mingled and made small talk among the lawns and flowerbeds. I was introduced to admirals, diplomats, members of the nobility from France and Germany, relatives of Xochinenen and Precious Cloud, financiers, businessmen, cinema celebrities – it went on and on. Very few of the most eminent British citizens and aristocrats were familiar to me from my father’s days; those that had resisted the invasion had been purged by Nauhyotl after the conquest, and the new breed thrived precisely because they accepted Aztec rule.

And so the afternoon progressed in a wearying tide of pleasantries and platitudes while I gazed at the golden sunlight burnishing the curved glass panes of the palace, my mind entirely elsewhere. I remember that I was in conversation with the Chief Quipucamayoc of Peru when an Aztec guard came to my elbow and said, ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’

I turned. It was Zacatlatoa.

‘Please forgive me, Your Highness. Could you spare me a few moments? There’s something that requires your attention.’

Under ordinary circumstances I would have needed no prompting to escape any further discussion of the potato harvest, but Zacatlatoa’s arrival made it imperative. I immediately excused myself and followed him down the stone stairways towards one of the ornamental lakes. Beyond, numerous floaters were parked.

He turned to face me. ‘I believe you requested a tour of the park. I understand you felt unwell and needed some air, an escape from the crowds. You asked me to take you on a brief flight around the park so that you could recover yourself.’

I blinked at him.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

He was a tall, sharp-nosed Aztec, hair greying at his temples. He spoke English excellently.

‘I remember, when I was a child,’ I heard myself saying, ‘our nannies used to bring us here to see the stone dinosaurs and creatures around the lake. I wonder – are they still there?’

‘Now would be a good time to see,’ he replied, indicating one of the floaters.

There was a certain urgency in his voice. I knew Maxixca was overseeing the security arrangements in the park, and I hastily glanced around. But there was no sign of him. Guests still thronged the terraces, munching canapés and earnestly exchanging small-talk. There were thousands in sight, but it was as if Zacatlatoa and I were alone.

I nodded and climbed into the floater beside him, heedless of my fine dress. But then he paused, checking his wristwatch.

‘What are we waiting for?’ I asked.

‘You will see.’

The words were hardly out when the tranquil day was shattered by a thunderous explosion. The whole of the central transept erupted, the force of the blast swiftly carrying a hot wind into our faces. Zacatlatoa was already taking off, turning the floater away as the crowds began to scream and retreat in panic from the rain of jagged glass and tangled metal. The transept was an inferno of flame and smoke.

‘Wait!’ I cried. ‘Richard, the others—’

‘Do you think this is a game?’ He was looking dead ahead, steering the craft low over fountains and yew hedges, dropping down the brow of the hill. ‘The King and his bride will have already left. The others must fend for themselves. There is no time for scruples now! We need your help.’

Desperately I strained back and saw the revellers streaming away as the fire raged higher and the skeletal structure began to cave in. Then we dropped down the brow of the hill and everything was lost from sight except for the billowing clouds of oily smoke.

‘There,’ Zacatlatoa said abruptly.

We were flying towards the Maze, in which I had got lost as a child. Beyond the ring of Lombardy poplars which enclosed it, half hidden by oak and sycamore near the Sydenham entrance to the park, I glimpsed an odd-looking conical tower rising from a cylindrical bunker-like building.

Zacatlatoa brought the floater down behind a dense stand of rhododendron. The towered building stood in front of a small lake, surrounded by electrified fencing. A pair of soldiers were on guard outside the gate, and just inside it was an armoured riot-wagon, two more soldiers scrambling across its slanting nose and into the cockpit. The gates swung open, and the riot-wagon sped off up the hill.

‘Are we going in there?’ I asked.

‘Just wait,’ he said fiercely.

He had a strong chin and high cheekbones, was too tall and rangy to be a Central Mexican.

‘What’s your interest in this?’ I asked him.

‘I’m Comanche,’ he said simply.

It was answer enough. At the turn of the century, his people, a fiercely independent race who lived in Western Texas, had risen up against the rule of Motecuhzoma’s grandfather, Xaltemoc. The emperor had responded by exterminating most of them, to the everlasting enmity of those who remained.

The moment the riot-wagon went out of sight, Zacatlatoa drove the floater down towards the gate. The guards were in position, their automatics at the ready. I began to feel frightened, ridiculously out of place in my expensive dress.

‘Just follow my lead,’ Zacatlatoa said to me as we pulled up outside the gate.

We clambered out.

‘There’s been an explosion at the palace,’ Zacatlatoa told the guards in Nahuatl. ‘I was ordered to take the Princess Catherine to a place of safety. You must evacuate the building immediately There may be further devices.’

He spoke so urgently that the guards, already rattled, took him at his word. One of them raced inside, and soon half a dozen Aztecs, all in civilian clothes, emerged. They climbed into a transporter and drove away, obviously in great fear of their lives.

Now only the two guards at the gate remained. Zacatlatoa began to demand that they escort me to safety. This was too much for one of them, who insisted that they could not leave the installation unguarded. Zacatlatoa pulled his pistol from his holster and shot both men through the head.

I froze with horror. The pistol had sounded like a toy, but both guards slumped to the ground. They lay face down, their heads a mass of blood. Gore and brains had splattered Zacatlatoa’s emerald uniform.

‘Quickly,’ he said. ‘We have little time.’

He seized my wrist and hurried me up the path towards the entrance. Sickened and dazed, I had no power to resist him. One minute I had been exchanging inconsequentialities at my brother’s wedding, the next I was witnessing two peremptory killings.

The building had a semi-circular entrance like a gaping mouth. It was decorated with concrete mouldings of wind and star and serpent reliefs, pagan images from prefabricated materials. Many were traditional symbols of Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec god of learning, others of his dark alter ego, Tezcatlipoca.

Zacatlatoa wrenched open the heavy doors. I scrambled after him up the steps, knowing he had needed me to gain access to the building but feeling that my trust had been rewarded with butchery.

Inside, it was cool and dim, recessed lights providing only a pale illumination as we hurried down a short corridor. The air felt still yet also alive. Soon I could hear a humming – the sound of power being generated.

The corridor opened out into a circular chamber, lit by a shaft of crystalline light from a window at the top of the tower. The walls were crammed with electronic equipment, power lines snaking from them to a dais at the centre of the chamber, upon which stood something unlike anything I had ever seen before.

Cautiously I climbed the steps of the dais, aware that the electric hum was growing louder with each step I took. In front of me stood a big upright concave mirror made of black glass or obsidian, surrounded by a bronzed frame embellished with more ancient motifs. Electric cables and fibre optics were embedded in its base. The atmosphere was resonantly still, and I had the strange feeling of being in a church devoted to the worship of some high technology which I could not hope to understand.

I moved closer to the mirror – or what I took to be a mirror. I could see no reflection in it but rather an absence of anything, as if it were a space, a void, rather than a surface. The nearer I drew and the harder I stared, the more it seemed that its centre, the very heart of its darkness, receded from me. I had the vertiginous feeling that if I went too close, crossed some threshold, it would suck me in, swallow me up, and I would be lost for ever. More frightened than I could say, I backed away from the mirror and stumbled down the steps.

‘What is this place?’ I asked.

Zacatlatoa had taken a miniature camera from his tunic and was busily taking photographs.

‘Motecuhzoma’s most prized and secret project,’ he replied, still clicking away with the camera, pointing it at everything in sight. ‘We want you to pass on these photographs to the Russians. I’ll explain everything later.’

It was then we heard the sound of a jetcopter.

‘Quickly!’ I cried, panic rising in me.

Already I was moving towards the corridor, eager to be out of the place. Zacatlatoa followed hesitantly, still furiously taking photographs.

‘Come on!’ I shouted.

Still he continued photographing. I fled down the corridor.

The jetcopter was directly overhead as I ran towards the gates, so low that its exhaust tore at my hair and dress. Because I was immediately underneath it, its crew did not apparently see me as I darted across the road and up the bank, scrambling for the safety of the bushes.

Crouched low, I peered through the shrubbery. Zacatlatoa was hurrying down the driveway, but the copter had turned, spotted him. He paused outside the gate and raised his hands, as if in a wave. The copter unleashed a gout of xihautl, the fireball consuming him where he stood.

I reeled back from the heat of the blast. Then, in a mad panic, I scurried away through the undergrowth, branches and brambles lacerating my dress, dirt and leaf debris smearing my hands and knees.

I kept to the shrubbery, making sure that there was plenty of foliage to hide me from the still circling jetcopter. I felt sick with horror and fright. Gradually the sound of the copter grew more distant. Then I was out of the undergrowth and teetering across a grassy space towards one of the lower rose gardens. Suddenly I was caught up in the disorderly retreat of the wedding guests from the still-blazing palace on the top of the hill.

Bevan brought a dish of beef consommé to my table in the garden. I had been ordered to rest in bed for a few days but had suffered only scratches.

I had already given Bevan a detailed account of the conical building, which I called the Quetzalcoatl structure for want of a better description. He claimed to know nothing of Zacatlatoa and to be as mystified as I about the building’s purpose.

Bevan looked unusually sombre as he set the tray down on the table.

‘Is something wrong?’ I asked.

‘Governor’s here to see you,’ he replied.

Extepan was already standing on the path. He approached and drew up a chair opposite me while Bevan retreated inside.

‘Forgive my unannounced visit,’ he said, taking my hand and kissing it. ‘I hope you are feeling better.’

‘Much better,’ I told him.

He appeared to have readily accepted my explanation that I had been caught up in the flight from the burning palace and thrown into the bushes. No one had apparently seen me leave the reception with Zacatlatoa, and there had been no mention of the killing of the guards and the break-in at the Quetzalcoatl structure. I could hardly believe I had been so lucky, given the grim circumstances. Three men were dead, yet I had escaped practically unscathed.

‘How is Maxixca?’ I asked.

I could not keep a certain relish out of my voice. Remarkably, no one had died in the fire at the palace, but Maxixca had been knocked down a stairway by a high-pressure hose while supervising the fire-fighting operations.

‘Recovering,’ Extepan told me. ‘I think the worst injury was to his dignity.’

I smiled at this. ‘We were all very lucky. Is the palace completely destroyed?’

‘It’s too soon to say whether reconstruction will be feasible.’

‘Have you arrested the culprits?’

He eyed me curiously, then said, ‘We have certain leads which we are following.’

‘Would you mind if I ate my soup while we talk? I so hate it when it goes cold.’

Extepan motioned for me to carry on.

He was silent for a while. I gave him another smile, as if to say I sympathized with all his problems. It is usually when we feel most smug that nemesis strikes.

‘There is something else,’ Extepan said.

‘Oh?’

‘I came to see you not only to find out how you were, but also because I have some rather grave news.’

I put my spoon down.

‘You have a family connection, so I thought it better that you heard the news directly from me.’

‘What news?’

‘You’re aware that for some time we have been in dispute with the Russian government over the precise extent of its borders.’

I went cold.

‘Königsberg, Moldavia, Georgia – all these have proved problematical. In recent months our allies have suffered numerous frontier violations by Soviet troops, and last night border posts in Brest-Litovsk and the Caucasus were fired upon—’

‘Spare me the propaganda, Extepan. What are you trying to say?’

‘An ultimatum was given. It has been ignored. Consequently one hour ago our armies under Chimalcoyotl launched an attack on Russia.’