It was hot in the square, and I suggested we retire to a bar nearby for drinks. Chicomeztli roused the sleeping owner, who readily obliged us with beers and soft drinks when he saw who we were: my arrival in Tenochtitlan had been widely publicized on Mexican television.
From where we sat under the awning of the bar, I had a clear view of the front of the palace. Its arched doorway faced directly out on the square, no walls or railings surrounding it. The windows were all shuttered.
Chicomeztli was beginning to grow restless when I had a stroke of good fortune. A glidecar pulled up outside the palace – a sleek black Xicotencatl limousine with tinted windows. The main door of the palace opened, and two guards emerged, escorting a woman, tall and slim, in a fringed Mexican-style dress of summer blue. Her blonde hair was short, her skin tanned.
While one guard put a big leather shoulder bag into the back seat of the limousine, the other climbed into the driver’s seat. Victoria spoke to him in a light yet businesslike manner. I could have rushed to her then, despite all my suspicions. But at that moment a balcony window opened and a man stepped out, a Caucasian. He was a tall figure, dressed in a stylish Aztec tunic of oatmeal and black. He waved at Victoria as she got into the back of the car with a second guard. She barely acknowledged him.
The limousine glided away, out of sight. If I knew Victoria, she was going on a shopping expedition. I was trying to remain calm, despite my shock at seeing the other figure, despite my expectation of finding him here. He withdrew, closing the shutters behind him.
Chicomeztli noticed nothing; he was sitting with his back to the palace, a situation I had deliberately engineered. I sipped my drink for several minutes, all the while thinking with an Arctic calm. Then I decided what I was going to do.
‘I’m going to need your full co-operation,’ I said to Chicomeztli, keeping my voice low so that the escort could not hear me. ‘You have to trust me. I need to visit someone. Someone in the palace. Alone.’
He looked alarmed. Then he shook his head. ‘I can’t possibly allow that.’
‘You must,’ I insisted. ‘You must. Believe me, I’m acting on Extepan’s orders. He gave me instructions before he left for the north. There’s a European living there, a British citizen. I have to speak to him.’
Chicomeztli swivelled his head around to look at the palace. It was quiet outside, only a plump black-and-white dog lying in the shade of its balcony.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Why was nothing said to me?’
I kept my voice low. ‘Extepan couldn’t tell you anything. You’re the only one who knows about our betrothal apart from Motecuhzoma and Tetzahuitl.’ I had no intention of confessing that I had also told Bevan. ‘There’s no danger for me in there, I assure you. Do you think Extepan would let me take the risk if there was?’
He was in a quandary, wrestling with his loyalty to Extepan and his duty to me.
‘Who is this person you have to see?’
‘I can’t tell you that at the moment. You have to trust me. Extepan and I are betrothed. Our interests are the same now. All I need is half an hour, perhaps not even that. If I’m not out by then, you can come looking for me.’
He still looked alarmed. ‘This is foolishness.’
And, in a way, it was, given what I had decided.
‘It’s vital,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing else for it. If you go against my wishes now, you might destroy Extepan. It’s as important as that.’
I had never seen him look so torn.
‘Have I ever asked for your help before and let you down?’
‘Do I have your word of honour that you will be safe? That there is no other alternative to this?’
‘You do.’
‘You swear to me there is no danger?’
‘None.’
I was beyond shame or conscience now. But still he was vacillating. I decided to bolster my case with a confidence. Very quietly I said, ‘Motecuhzoma has nominated Extepan as his successor.’
He beamed. ‘This was my cherished hope.’
‘But there are other contenders, as I’m sure you’re well aware. It’s by no means certain he’ll be the next tlatoani, even if he survives the fighting in the north. That’s why we have to move with extreme caution in this matter. That’s why you have to trust me implicitly.’
I could tell that I had finally won him over. It amazed me that I could remain so calm, so devious, when my mind was in turmoil, when I had suffered a greater betrayal than I could ever have imagined. But I was determined that I would be the deceiver and manipulator from now on.
‘Very well,’ Chicomeztli said softly.
I did not delay. While Chicomeztli spoke to the escort, I visited the washroom and splashed cold water on my face before primping and prettifying myself as best I could. I was dressed in an embroidered satin jumpsuit by the fashionable Mexican designer Iztli, a functional but suitably decorous outfit. I regarded myself in the mirror with a mixture of venom and determination. I was about to embark on a course of action which was almost certain to bring my entire world crashing down around me. I felt no hesitation whatsoever.
‘Please take the greatest care,’ Chicomeztli said when I emerged.
‘I shall,’ I replied. ‘Have faith in me.’
Then I walked out into the heat of the day.
I crossed the square to the palace door. The knocker was fashioned in a representation of Xilonen, a goddess of fertility. She held a brass ring in her cupped hands. Disdaining the electric bell, I rapped it hard against the door.
It was not long before the door opened. I was confronted by a stout and venerable female housekeeper, her grey hair tied up in a bun. She squinted at me.
‘I must speak to your master,’ I said in Nahuatl.
I made myself look and sound as imperious as I could. The woman continued to squint, craning her head forward, her back bowed. She was a pure-blood Mexican. Did she recognize me? Could she even see me clearly?
‘He’s taking a nap,’ she said, somewhat tentatively.
‘Then wake him,’ I replied, pushing past her into the house. ‘It’s extremely important.’
I stood in a big white hallway dominated by the famous Rivera mural The Triumph of Mexico. A broad marble stairway with wrought-iron banisters curved upwards.
The old woman looked flustered and unsure of herself.
‘Is he expecting you?’ she asked.
‘We’re old friends,’ I said. ‘I want it to be a surprise.’
She was still peering at me. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’
I smiled, surprised but pleased she hadn’t recognized me. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had, but it meant I could retain the advantage of anonymity to the last possible moment.
‘Just fetch him. He’ll know who I am.’
She was obviously at a loss. For a moment she did not move. Then she slowly turned and began shuffling up the stairs.
I was so impatient I was tempted to rush past her and do the deed myself. But I had to be controlled. Now was not the time for hasty action.
At the top of the stairs, she turned along a balcony, finally disappearing from view. I retreated into an alcove, where anyone coming down the stairs would not immediately see me.
The palace was silent around me, its tiled floor adorned with the heraldic devices of old Spain. It was said that Cortes had betrayed his country for the love of his Aztec mistress, Malinalli, but that he had surrounded himself with memories of his homeland in the later years of his life.