Aztec Rage (69 page)

Ay, what does it matter to me? I believe in nothing. The city treated me like dirt. It was no concern of mine if it was destroyed.

But I couldn't shake a feeling of anxiety when I thought about the city.

Word of my return had traveled faster than my stallion's hooves. Marina was standing in front of the house the padre used as his quarters. Her arms were folded and her expression one of mock scorn.

“So the viceroy didn't hang you,” Marina said. “There are even officers in our own army who believe you should be swinging from a gibbet instead of in and out of the beds of women you seduce with lies.”

I slipped off of Tempest and gave the reins to a vaquero whose duty it was to care for officers' horses. After I instructed him on how to care for the great stallion, I turned to Marina. I gave her a sweeping salute with my wet hat. “I have missed you, too, señorita. I will permit you to feed the emptiness in my stomach before you satisfy other urges that my absence has instilled.”

“You can put a rein on your urges. The padre wants to see you immediately.
“ She squeezed my arm as I stepped onto the porch. She whispered, “He wants to see you before his generals return from their artillery inspection.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Only when my feet were cold at night.”

The padre greeted me warmly. We sat at a table and shared a jug of wine as I told him of what I had learned in the city. Marina fed me salted beef, cheese, and bread to calm my growling stomach and joined us at the table.

He listened patiently as I reported everything I had seen and heard, except for the rumor that an assassin had been hired to strike him down. With so many other problems on the table, the padre would wave away a threat to his life. I wanted to get the other matters out of the way before I had a serious discussion about safeguards that must be taken to protect him.

“War to the knife,” he said, after I had finished. “Isn't that what General Palafox told the French commander when he demanded the surrender of Zaragoza?”

“Yes, a fight without quarter, to the death.”

“And the fighting went on from house to house, man to man—”

“Woman to woman, not to mention the bravery of the maiden María,” Marina said.

I nodded. “Yes, and even children picked up rocks and cast them down on the invaders.”

“War to the knife,” he repeated. He stroked his chin and looked beyond me, out the window to where children were playing. “People defending their homes against invaders. The courage of my fellow Spaniards fills me with pride. Too bad the common people of Spain can't decide our fate. They would understand our need to escape the heel of the gachupines.”

“You say that the viceroy is concentrating his forces inside the city,” Marina asked, “and will force us to fight our way in? He won't come out and fight us as our army approaches?”

“I doubt he'll face us in the field,” I said. “He hopes one of the royal forces he's ordered to his defense will attack us from the rear as we besiege the city. By keeping his troops inside the city, he will also force us to take it street by street—”

“House by house—”

“Yes, padre. As you know, the city teems with criollos and gachupines who view us as their foe. They have heard of those incidents in which the indios lost control—”

“Those incidents were trivial,” Marina snapped. “How many times have the Spanish hanged a hundred Aztecs picked at random to frighten thousands?”

“I'm not justifying their beliefs, Señorita Sharp Tongue, I'm merely relating
them. The battle for the capital will differ from that of other cities we've taken. The viceroy already has an army of thousands under his command, and every Spaniard with the courage to fight will swell the ranks. We'll have to take the castle and cannon mounts at Chapultepec and fight our way to the heart of the city, perhaps to the viceroy's palace itself.”

“And what are our chances of success?” the padre asked.

“He's a defeatist,” Marina warned.

“Everyone who doesn't agree with you is a defeatist. But, yes, padre, we can win. We must, however, go in with resolve. The battle could take many days. Our men must not leave the fight to harvest their maize.”

“My people have taken the bloody blunt of every battle,” Marina said.

I grinned at her rising ire. “As they must do so in this one. But they should be told the battle might last days. What is
your
opinion, padre? Do you doubt we can take the city?”

He splayed his fingers on the table and stared down at them as he spoke. “Never in the history of the New World, not even during the days of great Aztec empires, has an army the size of this one marched to battle. We lost twenty thousand to desertion after the last battle and already more than that have joined us. In two or three days, I am certain we will have far beyond a hundred thousand indios in our ranks. As we push our way into the city, more will join us from the surrounding areas in never-ending waves. In the region around the capital, live a million and a half people, and most of them are indios. By the time we storm the viceroy's palace, I suspect we will have over two hundred thousand in our ranks.”

He paused and stared at us, his countenance calm but his eyes ablaze. He spoke in a hoarse whisper. “If so, nothing will stop them. Tens of thousands of indios will reconquer the city that once dominated their civilization, a tidal wave of rage and retribution avenging centuries of humiliation at watching their women being raped, at having their land stolen, their backs broken by the whip, and their souls shattered by bondage in the mines and haciendas. The viceroy has made a tragic error in garrisoning the city. He should march out and do battle. He forces us to fight our way into the city, demanding that we hurtle a hurricane of rage down every street of the capital. Once the battle begins and the indios see their comrades fall beside them . . .”

“It will be like the alhóndiga,” I finished for him, “only instead of a few hundred angry indios taking revenge on the defenders, it will be hundreds of thousands.”

The padre's features cracked with emotion. “Once their Aztec rage ignites,” he whispered, “nothing will stop their bloody revenge.”

“Santa María,” Marina crossed herself.

I left them to check on Tempest and make sure the vaquero I gave the reins to earlier had rubbed him dry and fed him properly. I also needed
fresh air. The discussion about the upcoming battle had increased my strange uneasiness about an attack on the capital.

The poor padre carried in his heart his love not only for the indios but for all people. And he couldn't escape his fate: his soul would be scarred by those who fell fighting for the revolution and by all those who fell fighting the insurgents.

I was approaching our makeshift stable when I saw a coach with a heraldic shield on its door.

The door to the coach opened and a man, laughing, stepped down. Behind him, joining him in their private joke, laughing gaily, was my darling Isabella. Had the earth opened beneath my feet and swallowed me, I would not have been more surprised. She saw me, too, and after a moment of stunned surprise, she smiled.

“Señor Zavala, so nice to see you again.”

From her tone, we might have last seen each other at a social ball rather than at an ambush of murder and deceit. But right down to my toes I felt the bell-like chiming of her voice, stirred by her lush red lips, her white satin skin . . .

I kept my composure by removing my hat and holding it close to my chest and bowing like a peon before his master. “Señora Marquesa.”

“This is Don Renato del Miro, my husband's nephew.”

“Buenos días,” I said.

He didn't reply but just took my measure. My hand instinctively went to my sword; he had insulted me. I was too far beneath him for a civil greeting. I knew him well, though this was the first time I had set eyes upon him. It was his type that I was so familiar with. He was tall and well proportioned, a rich, idle Spaniard but one who was physically fit. His clothes were of the finest cloth, his boots as soft as a fawn's ass. I knew from the way he carried himself that he would ride well, handle a sword and pistol expertly, and no doubt was doused with expensive perfume that gave him a sweet smell.

I knew him because he was so much like me . . . when I was a gachupine. He was a caballero, no doubt about it, but not an alameda dandy. He was not hard from life in the saddle as I was, but he moved as one who was quick on his feet and just as quick with a knife, especially when your back was turned. I had instantly sensed something slippery about him . . . I knew an hombre malo when I saw one. I had had much practice at it.

Isabella said, “You must pardon us, but we have a meeting with the padre.”

I gave the nephew a dark look as he swept by me. It was unworthy of me to think of such a thing about Isabella, but I had to wonder whether something other than a family bond had brought them together. Her sparkling eyes and the lightness in her step belied concern for her hostage
husband. Was it jealousy on my part? Did my heart still ache for this woman who had lured me into an ambush?

Ay, you wonder why I didn't throw myself on the ground and grovel at the sight of her? You think me that weak? That spineless? Eh, I'm a tough hombre and tough hombres don't grovel.

Besides, the ground was muddy.

When I finished rubbing down Tempest, I lay in the horse shed on fresh hay near the corral and smoked a cigarro. I was sucking on a wine jug when Marina found me there.

“The gachupine puta you desire is talking to the padre.”

“I lust only for you, and don't call her names. She's a lady.”

“And what am I? An india slave you sate your lust on but don't consider a woman of refinement?”

“You're an Azteca princess, the embodiment of Doña Marina herself. I love you from afar only because I'm a lowly lépero.”

“You're a liar . . . about everything except being a lépero. Aren't you interested in knowing why she's meeting with the padre?”

I blew smoke rings. “Isn't it obvious? Bandidos who swear fealty to our cause hold her husband ransom. She wants the padre to intercede.”

“They were discussing the matter when I found myself in need of fresh air. But I'm glad I saw her. I always wondered what kind of woman you would desire. She's perfect for a man who only thinks with his garrancha: pretty on the outside but shallow and witless within.”

I blew more smoke rings; she wasn't through with me.

“But that nephew, Renato,” she said, “what a man! Handsome, dashing, a real swordsman—”

She kicked my leg.

“What was that for?”

“Your look of jealous rage when I mentioned the nephew. You haven't gotten over that gachupine slut.” She put her hands on her hips and glared down at me. “Well, listen to this, Señor Lépero. Your woman was falling all over the man when she was speaking to the padre. As a woman, I can tell she's spreading her legs for him.”

She ran from the shed. As I watched her retreating back, I suddenly realized that I had drawn my dagger.

NINETY-SEVEN

T
HE GENERALÍSSIMO REQUIRES YOUR PRESENCE
.”

I was playing cards with indios when the order came. I tossed in my hand and followed the padre's aide.

Two hours had passed since Isabella and her husband's nephew had gone in to see the padre. I had watched them come out of his quarters nearly an hour ago and climb into her coach. The coach stayed where it was, curtains drawn . . . and I was certain that I had observed it sway and bounce a little from the movements of the two inside. The movement was enough to send my imagination and temper soaring.

I was halfway to the padre's inn when Marina intercepted me. “Strap on your sword and have a pistol under your coat,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“The padre sent a surrender demand to the viceroy. The criollo officers don't know it yet, but the messenger has returned with word the viceroy has refused the demand.”

“That's no surprise.”

“The officers have objected to the delay caused by waiting for a reply. They're angry that we haven't already marched on the capital. They want Allende to assume command.”

“The Aztecs won't follow Allende. Despite anything heard from the other officers, Allende himself is an honorable man. If he made a move against the padre, he would do it to his face and explain his reasons.”

“Allende isn't the only criollo officer in this army. Stop thinking like a gachupine dandy and arm yourself.”

Is this my curse in life, to love strong women? I sometimes wonder what it would be like to have a woman who polished my boots instead of using hers on my backside.

We assembled in the main room of the inn. Besides Marina, the padre, and myself, Allende, Aldama, and six other high-ranking officers were present. I noticed a small dog had attached itself to the padre. His aide carried it outside so it wouldn't disturb the meeting.