North again, to Zanhuanxico, with its pneumatic carriages and its great Aztec bridge spanning the bay. It was while staying there that we received the news which prompted an immediate return to Tenochtitlan.
I was woken early one morning by Citlalxauhqui, who announced that Chicomeztli was on the telephone.
As soon as I sat down at the screen, I saw the anxious look on his face.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘There is news from the north,’ he told me.
‘Extepan?’ I said immediately. ‘Is he all right?’
‘He will not be able to return as soon as he intended. His negotiations were not successful, and there has been another development.’
‘What?’
‘The New English have occupied Potomac.’
I understood only too clearly what this meant. Mexico and New England had signed a treaty many years before guaranteeing the city’s independence. Breaking it was tantamount to a declaration of war.
‘It appears the Canadians are intending to support their action,’ Chicomeztli told me. ‘We are mobilizing our armies in the north. Extepan will command them.’
We arrived back in Tenochtitlan after midnight. The city already seemed asleep, as if nothing had disturbed its usual placid rhythms. But Motecuhzoma was ensconced with Tetzahuitl and the other members of the tlatocan in his council chamber.
I switched on the television in my apartment. There were fifteen channels, and it was a simple matter to find one which carried news of the crisis. Pictures were being shown of a heavy military build-up in Virginia and Ohio, the most north-easterly provinces of Greater Mexico. Tanks and missile launchers were massed near the border with New England, and squadrons of jetcopters and interceptors filled the skies. Crack units of Eagle and Ocelotl commandos had been mobilized, we were told, ready to repel any further New English aggression.
The entire report had the expected jingoistic flavour, with Tetzahuitl appearing on the screen to condemn the illegal occupation of the city and demand that the New English withdrew. This is rich, I thought, from a man who had helped orchestrate the invasions of half the sovereign territories of the world. Motecuhzoma himself did not appear, though his name was frequently invoked in support of Mexican efforts. There was no mention of Extepan.
I searched the channels, looking for different slants on the story. Gradually it emerged that New English troops had entered Potomac at the request of the city’s rulers, who were promptly condemned as traitors to their own people. It was difficult to winnow any truth from the propagandizing, but I began to wonder if the Aztecs had precipitated the crisis as a pretext for invasion. Was Extepan himself personally responsible for engineering the situation?
Over the next few days, events moved swiftly to an inexorable climax. The Aztecs issued an ultimatum for the New English to withdraw. They refused, with the full backing of the Canadians, claiming that they had been asked to defend the city from Aztec aggression – this was not actually said in the commentaries, but it was easy to read between the lines. Extepan, celebrated as Motecuhzoma’s eldest son and victor of Russia, was shown in battle gear, consulting with his chiefs-of-staff. He seemed infinitely remote, in another world entirely from mine. A second ultimatum was rejected, and all Mexican citizens were ordered to evacuate the city. A third and final ultimatum was ignored. At dawn the next day, the invasion of New England began.
I followed the progress of the war from my apartment, with Chicomeztli often at my side. Bevan had taken himself off marlin-fishing in the Caribbean during my absence, and his return was delayed by the outbreak of the war. I had a suspicion he was also sulking.
The war began promisingly for the Mexicans, with Extepan’s armies making rapid gains after striking eastwards from Ohio rather than attacking as expected from the south. But Canadian forces were massing across the border, and the Sioux Confederacy joined them. They struck more swiftly than expected, sweeping down towards the Ohio river and endangering Extepan’s supply lines. With the New English stiffening their resistance in the east, within days a danger developed that Extepan’s armies might be cut off between both forces and destroyed. None of this was reported on television, but Chicomeztli daily brought me the latest intelligence, sparing no details. Motecuhzoma and Tetzahuitl remained incommunicado, a measure of the seriousness of the situation.
Chicomeztli obviously sensed my concern for Extepan, and I felt a growing need to unburden myself to him. He had always been a friend to me, and in some ways I trusted him more than anyone else.
Only a week after the war had begun, Chicomeztli informed me that the Caucasian provinces of Ohio and Kentucky had revolted and declared for the New English. Extepan’s armies were in retreat, fighting their way southwards towards Potomac.
I didn’t attempt to hide my surprise.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘The Empire has more troops and equipment than all theirs put together. Why isn’t Extepan getting the support he needs?’
‘It is not so easy to move armies swiftly across a whole continent,’ he replied.
‘But he’s the tlatoani’s son. And he’s in danger.’ I hesitated. ‘And you have the beam weapon.’
He smiled at this. ‘Ah, yes. That is true.’
‘Then why hasn’t it been used? Surely that would end the war swiftly, just like in Russia.’
He agreed. ‘But there is honour at stake.’
‘Honour?’
‘Both we and our enemies are contesting a point of international principle. There would be no contest if they were forced to surrender immediately.’
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. In the background, the TV featured a bombastic report about the Mexican naval blockade of New York and Philadelphia. It seemed a farce, a pantomime.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said again. ‘You could have probably avoided the war altogether, just by threatening to use it.’
It was not that I wanted the beam to be used – far from it. I was simply trying to understand the mentality of a nation that had such a powerful weapon yet refused to employ it.
Chicomeztli’s smile was almost condescending. ‘There would be great shame for our enemies if they were forced to surrender before they had the opportunity to defend their positions.’
I glanced around the apartment. We were surrounded by the products of the most sophisticated civilization on earth, yet it seemed to me that the sentiments which Chicomeztli was expressing were entirely primitive. In Russia, they had waited until two armies were obliterated before using the beam. ‘Are you telling me this war is being waged to satisfy not just your own honour but that of the New English, too? Even if the emperor risks losing another of his sons in the process?’
His skewed eye darted in its socket. He shrugged. ‘It’s our way.’
By now, I was thoroughly bemused by the conduct of the war, which had brought home to me how superficially I had always understood the Aztec character. In pre-Christian times, the Aztecs often pursued the xochiyaoyotl, or flowery war, whose chief purpose was to secure prisoners for sacrifice rather than conquer enemies or acquire new lands. Over the past four hundred years, they had waged war for territorial gain, but it seemed as if the underlying ideal of war as an end in itself, war as a ritual vital to their race, remained. Of course, Extepan had said as much when I visited him in Russia, but I hadn’t quite believed him. Now, with his own life possibly in the balance, I saw too clearly that the Aztecs were indeed prepared to put death before dishonour.