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.’