‘Assuming Tetzahuitl outlives you,’ I remarked.
‘Ah, yes,’ he said, almost lightly. ‘Assuming that.’
‘Does Extepan have many serious rivals?’
‘There are always rivals when a succession isn’t guaranteed by strict rules of descent. Maxixca, of course.’ He mentioned several other names, cousins of Extepan, prominent members of the tlatocan, even one of his sons by an auianime who had married a Hispaniolan princess.
‘If he outlives you,’ I said, ‘then perhaps Tetzahuitl will set a precedent by becoming tlatoani.’
Motecuhzoma smiled at this. No cihuacoatl in the past had ever ascended to the Turquoise Throne, both positions of power operating as separate but parallel dynasties which had worked together with remarkable cohesion for hundreds of years. But with Tetzahuitl being the last of his line, he might be tempted to seize the opportunity to become sovereign.
‘I think not,’ Motecuhzoma said. ‘We’re both old men now. My reign has been a long one, and when it ends young blood will be needed at the helm – young blood tempered, of course, with wisdom. Tetzahuitl understands this. He’s always worked for the interests of Mexico as a whole.’
I wasn’t sure I shared his faith in the cihuacoatl, but I didn’t contradict him.
‘Would you say Extepan has his share of wisdom?’
‘More so than some of his rivals,’ I replied, again pointedly refraining from mentioning Maxixca by name. ‘My father always used to tell us that co-operation and restraint were the handmaidens of firmness. I think it’s a principle Extepan understands.’
Again the tlatoani smiled. ‘It’s a good maxim, and one your father followed in his own lifetime. I’ve tried to do the same, though turning the other cheek or offering the hand of friendship didn’t come easy to me as a young man. Of course, age mellows us all.’
I had the sense that he was leading up to something, and I waited.
‘You will need to protect his interests as well as your own,’ he said. ‘Be prudent. Be careful. When I married Doña Maria, there was great opposition from many of my people. They disliked the idea of a European becoming my consort – they felt that it set a precedent which would lead to the dilution of our race with the blood of foreigners. As if that was a bad thing! As if races are so pure!’ He shook his head. ‘There are many ‘who still hold to that view. You must beware of them. They won’t take kindly to your presence here, even as Extepan’s wife.’
‘Are you saying that my life might be in danger?’
He mopped his mouth with a crumpled handkerchief. ‘Hardly. You are a princess. Expect difficulties, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t imagine that every courtesy means liking or even acceptance.’
I was thinking of Maxixca, Tetzahuitl, and even Mia and Cocomicihuatl, none of whom had any reason to be favourably disposed towards me. It was a warning I barely needed.
‘Enough,’ said Motecuhzoma. ‘I mustn’t sour the atmosphere of this occasion by hedging it with uncertainties. There is much for us all to celebrate. Let us rejoin your future husband.’
That evening, I accompanied Extepan to Azcapotzalco for his flight north. He was due to meet with Matogee and other leaders at the Sioux capital the following day.
‘How long do you think you’ll be away?’ I asked him.
‘A week. No more than two, I hope. The negotiations will be delicate. There are fences to be mended. The New English and the Canadians would like to see them torn down.’
‘It’s strange,’ I said, ‘I feel like a traitor, wanting you to succeed. Canada and New England used to be our colonies, and their peoples still have many ties with my country.’
Paradoxically, it was the Aztecs who had assisted both in their wars of independence from Britain, doubtless hoping eventually to subsume the two states in their own empire. The confederation between the two was a loose one, but the Aztecs had been unable to undermine it. Economically prosperous and independent in their foreign policies, they were now the only real impediment to worldwide Aztec domination.
‘They aren’t my enemies,’ Extepan said to me. ‘We want peace above all else. But it would be foolish to allow unstable conditions on our longest frontier. That was Rome’s mistake.’
I was startled by this. But he was smiling.
‘My father’s words,’ he told me. ‘He often quotes the examples of past empires.’
‘Does he see himself as another Augustus?’
Extepan kept smiling. ‘Well, he certainly doesn’t expect – or want – to be deified after his death. But there are lessons in history for all of us. The past illuminates the present, he always says.’
I was silent. Extepan obviously sensed my unease.
‘He’s just a man, Catherine. A man of remarkable achievements, it’s true, but flesh and blood like you and me. In his heart, he’s quite humble. Didn’t you feel that when you talked to him?’
‘Yes,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s all right.’
It was my way of telling him I didn’t want to dwell on the subject. He grasped this immediately. He drew me to him and kissed me full on the lips.
It was our first real kiss, devoid of hesitancy or decorum. He smelt of sandalwood and his freshly laundered uniform; his cheeks were smooth against mine. I responded fully, putting my arms around his waist. He felt solid and real and human against me.
Extepan’s escort stood nearby, discreetly waiting for him. For a moment, we had both forgotten their presence. Would our secret now be out? It didn’t seem to matter at that moment.
Extepan’s ship, a fast-flying carrier, stood ready on the landing strip. Reluctantly he disengaged himself from me.
‘Take care,’ I said.
‘I shall.’ A final squeeze of my hand. ‘You must do the same.’
Extepan had obviously left instructions that I be kept occupied during his absence, because the next day I was flown to Acapulco in the company of Mia, Cuauhtemoc and Extepan’s eldest sister, Citlalxauhqui. We stayed for two days, visiting the set of a new epic movie, Aztec Century, which was being made to celebrate Motecuhzoma’s reign. We were shown rushes and went on location near Coyuca to see preparations for the restaging of the battle of Jerusalem in 1967.
I was ill at ease during the visit, not simply because the studio executives carefully refrained from mentioning that the tlatoani’s armies had crushingly defeated British and pan-Arab forces in the battle; the picture offended me in a more general sense, being a blatant farrago of historical truth which simplified and glamorized, making pageantry out of blood and death. I was also uncomfortable with Mia. Her oceanic calmness made matters worse, especially since Extepan had asked that I pay some attention to Cuauhtemoc, whose care I would assume when we married. Each time I asked to hold him, Mia surrendered him without protest, but I thought I detected suspicion and curiosity in her silence. Had she somehow divined that I was betrothed to her master?
Cuauhtemoc himself was a delight by comparison. Strong-limbed yet placid, he proved an excellent traveller and happily nestled in my arms without a murmur. Of course, I kept thinking of my own lost child, and of others I might have with Extepan. How would children of my own affect my feelings towards this, his first-born? Already the complications of my decision were multiplying.
We flew on from Acapulco to California, chasing the setting sun westwards on the last leg of the flight across the Mojave Desert. The desert was green with ripening corn, a veritable ocean of grass.
In California, descendants of English and Spanish settlers had become full Mexican citizens after the province was annexed by the Aztecs in the nineteenth century. For three days we visited vineyards and citrus plantations and coastal waters which shimmered at night with shallow plantations of tonatiuhacatl, the ‘sun reeds’ which were the very basis of Aztec technological superiority. Half plant, half optical fibre, the reeds could be spun into fabrics, embedded in high-performance alloys, fashioned like paper into sheets which stored and could re-emit the energy of the sun with up to eighty per cent efficiency.