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pipe. You brought them there.’
    He gave an amused grunt. ‘Joking, are you?’
    ‘Far from it.’
    ‘Maybe you didn’t notice, but I was standing there with a rifle barrel stuck in my back. They nabbed me when I was trying to find the others.’
    ‘Then how did they know where to find us?’
    ‘They searched everywhere, didn’t they? The pipe was the only place left.’
    He had a graze on his left temple, as if he had tried to resist capture. But I didn’t let that influence me.
    ‘Why didn’t they assume we were in the house with the others?’
    ‘How the Christ should I know?’
    ‘It’s true,’ Victoria said. ‘They were guarding him, Kate. He’s a prisoner just like us.’
    I heard voices outside, an angry voice saying in Nahuatl: ‘You had no business allowing them to see her without my permission!’
    The door swished open, and in bustled the commander himself, closely followed by Chicomeztli and several soldiers. He had changed out of his combat fatigues into a tawny uniform with gold chevrons and the insignia of his rank, three stylized eagle-heads.
    He strode to the side of my bunk. He was burly but short, with a flat forehead, dark eyes and a broad flared nose. Turning to the guards, he indicated Bevan and said: ‘Remove him!’
    Bevan was promptly led away. When this was done, the commander executed a curt bow before me and said in English: ‘I am Maxixca, Chief Commander to the governor of these islands.’
    Ignoring my wretchedness, I stared him out. He was a pure-blood Aztec, his cropped hair tar-black, his coppery skin smooth. He looked no older than I.
    Mustering my most imperiously sarcastic tone, I said, ‘Really? And do you make a habit of visiting the bedsides of all your prisoners?’
    He was taken aback at this but quickly recovered. ‘You are Princess Catherine, daughter of King Stephen of England. Your sister is the Princess Victoria—’
    I forced a contemptuous laugh. ‘If you think that, then you’re more foolish than you appear.’
    Again he stopped in some confusion.
    ‘It’s a charming notion,’ I said, ‘but I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken.’
    Impatiently he delved into the breast pocket of his uniform and produced a photograph. It showed our family in Windsor Great Park on my father’s sixtieth birthday. Taken only six months before the invasion, its likenesses of Victoria and myself were unmistakable.
    ‘You are Princess Catherine,’ he said again. ‘And this is Princess Victoria. You are now prisoners-of-war, but you will be treated in accordance with your status. When we arrive in London, the governor will greet you personally.’
    His manner was overbearing. I determined to prick his self-importance.
    ‘Is that so?’ I said. ‘I suggest you radio and inform him that I’m indisposed and have no desire to meet with common murderers.’
    This time he looked angry. He turned to Chicomeztli. Speaking in Nahuatl, Chicomeztli confirmed that I knew about the destruction of the house and the deaths of everyone.
    ‘It should not have happened,’ Maxixca said to me. ‘The soldier responsible will be disciplined. He failed to obey his orders. You must accept my apology.’
    ‘I accept nothing of the sort,’ I said. ‘You killed my husband and my friends.’
    For a moment there was silence. Then Chicomeztli said, ‘Your husband was not in the house.’
    I looked at him, then at Maxixca.
    ‘There were nine corpses in the cellar,’ Maxixca said. ‘Your husband is a tall man, I believe. His was not among them.’
    Immediately my spirits lifted, despite his cold-blooded manner. But I did my best to maintain an appearance of rigid composure.
    ‘It must be galling to be denied one of your victims,’ I said.
    Maxixca obviously disliked the fact I was not cowed.
    ‘When he is captured,’ he said, ‘he will be brought to you. Alive, if possible.’
    I felt a surge of hatred for him.
    ‘Tell me – how does it feel to be a murderer?’
    He was easily