‘Please,’ he said with a wave of his free hand, ‘seat yourselves.’
There were more conventional armchairs on either side of him. I allowed Extepan to seat me on Motecuhzoma’s right.
The tlatoani looked aged and frail, but his eyes were alert and the many lines on his face somehow spoke of all his achievements, as if each one had been etched there by all the momentous events which had shaped the history of his fifty-two-year reign, an Aztec century. Here was the man who, more than any other before him, had brought about a transformation of the entire world.
‘You are younger than I had imagined,’ he said briskly, leaning forward to address me, as if his hoarse voice would not otherwise carry. ‘My son always forgets to inform me of such telling details as a person’s age.’
This was said good-naturedly, and I was sure it was simply a conversational pleasantry; Motecuhzoma had the reputation of being scrupulously well informed about anyone he met.
‘I would have liked to have visited your country,’ he went on. ‘Your father once invited me to London when I was a much younger man, but diplomatic conditions did not permit it. This has always been a source of regret to me.’
Trying to keep any hint of sarcasm out of my voice, I said, ‘It would be perfectly possible for you to visit now.’
He waved the bent fingers of his hand. ‘I’m too old, and my legs no longer work as well as they once did. I have to sit here in this contraption –’ he slapped the arm of his chair with his palm ‘– for hours on end, resting them. Rest, rest. All my doctors ever tell me to do is rest.’
He wore a plain white tunic beneath a quilted cotton cardigan in the imperial turquoise. His ash-grey hair, cropped short all over his head, was unadorned, confirming the rumour that he, unlike many of his countrymen, disliked headdresses and seldom wore his crown.
‘I gather Extepan’s been showing you around my gardens. What do you think of them?’
I stared again at the luminous sunflowers.
‘They’re magnificent,’ I said.
‘A useful trick, eh? Sunflowers that really shine. I had them put in so that I could read outside here in the evenings.’
I noticed papers in a recess in one of the arms of the chair. As he moved, the chair adjusted itself, and gusts of air blew about my ankles. Conflicting stories had circulated about his state of health for many years. It was known that he suffered from arthritis of the hips and found walking any distance painful, but other rumours had him near death of heart failure, a liver disorder, leukaemia. To me, he looked reasonably fit for a man of his age, despite his lack of mobility. His movements were brisk and purposeful, and his eyes constantly caught the light of his garden. Extepan had inherited their almond shape, along with his high cheekbones and wedge-shaped jaw.
‘I’ve brought you a small gift,’ I said, reaching into the folds of my gown and removing a small rectangular package. It was long and thin, wrapped in dark blue crêpe paper.
He took it from me and removed the wrapping before opening the lid of a small box. Inside it was a brown-and-gold tortoiseshell Chamberlain fountain pen.
‘It was my father’s,’ I told him. ‘His favourite pen. He used it for signing official documents, including, I believe, the surrender of India to you in 1951. I thought you should have it.’
There was a frozen moment of silence, and I could almost feel Extepan going rigid with apprehension. He had not known about the gift, and was doubtless afraid that his father would regard it as an insult. And in truth, I intended it to be an ambiguous present, at once a concession and a challenge.
Motecuhzoma held the pen in his hand as if it were a dart which he was about to throw. As a young man, he had been renowned for his temper, ordering savage reprisals against those who brooked him or insulted his honour.
For long moments, the only sound was the faint hum of his chair. Then he leaned back in it, giving a smile.
‘Thank you,’ he said softly. ‘I accept it in the spirit in which it is offered.’
Cocomicihuatl reappeared, pushing a trolley which held drinks and confectioneries. Motecuhzoma took a glass of lime juice along with a bowl of honeyed nougat which he placed on his lap. There were wines and spirits on the trolley, but Extepan and I both opted for mineral water in deference to the tlatoani having renounced alcohol in his later years.
Cocomicihuatl withdrew. She had not uttered a word to any of us, and Motecuhzoma had paid her no attention whatsoever.
‘Doesn’t your wife wish to join us?’ I said pointedly.
‘She likes nothing better than to be left in peace,’ he responded. ‘I’m afraid she finds foreigners an irritation, no matter how high-born.’
I was firmly put in my place. We sat in silence for a short while as Motecuhzoma ate a piece of nougat. I caught Extepan’s eye, and he gave me a rather sheepish smile.
‘Tell me,’ Motecuhzoma said presently, ‘what do you think of Extepan here? How has he served your country?’
It was plain that Extepan was unprepared for this; he looked distinctly uncomfortable.
I said, ‘Given that I would have preferred him not to have been there at all, I think he acquitted himself quite well. We might have had a worse master.’
‘Indeed? Were you thinking of anyone in particular?’
I wasn’t going to fall into the trap of mentioning Maxixca.
‘I’m speaking generally,’ I said. ‘He carried out his duties honourably, in the circumstances. I believe he fulfilled what you asked of him, while always trying to take into account the wishes and concerns of those he governed.’
‘High praise indeed,’ Motecuhzoma said, ‘from so stern a critic of our rule.’
They were practically the same words that Tetzahuitl had used in Kew Gardens. How much of this audience was a ritual, a game, with everything pre-ordained?
Motecuhzoma put another piece of nougat into his mouth and licked his fingers. Plainly, he was enjoying himself.
‘You can’t expect me to be pleased that my country was occupied by your armies,’ I said sharply. ‘You’ll forgive me if I sound angry, but I didn’t expect to be discussing the merits of colonialism.’
‘No, no,’ Motecuhzoma said swiftly, ‘the fault is mine. I shouldn’t have raised the subject. Old age makes me forget my manners. You are our guest here, our honoured guest. I don’t want to open old wounds. I’m simply concerned to make the correct decisions regarding Extepan’s future. Having recently lost two sons, I have no desire to throw away the lives of those that are left to me.’
‘I understand,’ I said tersely.
‘I hope your stay in Tenochtitlan will be a lengthy one. Everything will be arranged for your convenience, you have my personal guarantee. Whatever you require, we’ll endeavour to provide it.’
I was not swayed by this newly accommodating tone, but it had given me an opening.
‘There is something,’ I said.
‘Ask.’
‘It wasn’t directly connected with my visit here.’
‘Nevertheless…’
‘It’s about my sister. Princess Victoria.’
He waited.
‘She’s been in exile for two years now, and I’ve heard nothing from her. If she can’t be released, then it would be good to know where she is, to hear from her.’
Motecuhzoma stroked the underside of his chin with a fore-finger, as if in contemplation. He turned to Extepan. ‘Where did we send her?’
Extepan was silent for a moment. ‘Beijing, I believe.’
‘Ah, yes. You can be assured she’s being well looked after. Of course, I can’t authorize her release from custody, given the seriousness of her actions…’