Aztec Century Read Online Free PDF Page B

following.
    The commander was still bristling from our earlier encounter. Stiffly, he instructed his guards to escort us out.
    We were led down through the ship to a wide hatchway. The daylight at the bottom was wan and grey. Chicomeztli stepped forward and draped cloaks around the shoulders of myself and Victoria. The cloaks were hooded, black. With soldiers surrounding us and Maxixca at the head, we descended the gangway.
    Cloud filled the sky, and a thin rain was falling. I felt shivery and frail, but I steeled myself. At the opposite end of the landing pad, a small group of people awaited us. Most were guards, but among them, standing under a big black umbrella, was Richard.
    He was now a young man of eighteen, taller than three years before, his curly hair newly cut. Catching sight of us, his face filled up with that wonderfully open smile which had endeared him to so many people. He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and striped tie; he looked the perfect schoolboy. I wanted to burst out of our cordon and rush to him.
    Maxixca halted in front of the governor and saluted. He was not the middle-aged Nauhyotl but a much younger man, his aquamarine uniform decorated with a golden eagle grasping a stylized sun.
    Maxixca formally introduced him as Extepan Iquehuac Tlancuaxoloch, third son of the
tlatoani
Motecuhzoma Xohueyacatzin, ruler of Greater Mexico and all its dominions. I scarcely glanced at him. I saw tears brim in Richard’s eyes as he gazed at us, his long-lost sisters. His lower lip began to quiver; any moment now he would begin to cry.
    Maxixca continued with the interminable formalities of our introduction. I moved towards Richard, but the guards closed ranks. Then the governor, who was regarding me, waved a hand, and they parted to let me through.
    Richard came forward into my arms. He hugged me with all his strength, then turned to Victoria and did the same, kissing both of us on the cheeks. Finally he began to blubber, and I realized I was already prepared when he blurted: ‘Father’s dead.’
    Victoria, Richard and I were ferried the short distance to Westminster Abbey in a jetcopter. In the gloom of dusk it was difficult to make out the full extent of the destruction to the surrounding streets, though Chicomeztli stressed that both the Abbey and the Cathedral had been very fortunate to survive the bombing. The area around the site was now off-limits to the public, Aztec guards in waterproof capes patrolling the derelict streets.
    Inside, the Abbey’s empty echoing spaces were lit with candles. More guards stood discreetly in the shadows. The coffin rested on an elaborate wreath-strewn plinth in the Henry VIII chapel. I hesitated, rested from my afternoon nap but far from recovered, then climbed the steps.
    My father lay in a formal black suit, hands crossed over his chest with a silver crucifix lying on top of them. His hair, grey when I last saw him, was now white. His face, however, looked younger, its paleness and lines doubtless erased by those who had prepared him. The Aztecs had a long and expert tradition of making their honoured dead look immaculate.
    Beside me, Victoria and Richard clasped hands, determinedly maintaining a shred of dignity in the face of their loss. Apparently Father had died of a heart attack four days before while taking a constitutional around the grounds of Hampton Court. Richard had been with him at the time.
    For some reason I found myself wishing that his eyes were open, even if he couldn’t see me. I reached into the coffin and gently lifted the crucifix out.
    ‘We’re Anglicans,’ I said in explanation to Chicomeztli.
    ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Someone must have left it.’
    ‘Has the news of his death been made public?’
    ‘No. Not yet.’
    ‘But there are plans to?’
    ‘I understand that this is one of the things which Governor Extepan will wish to discuss with you.’
    My father was shrouded in cream silks like a sea of frozen milk. The walls of