Aztec Revenge

by Gary Jennings

  I was in awe, even though I had already met one son of Cortés and had in fact stolen his horse.

  I faded back into the crowd, expecting El Mestizo to be announced next, when I heard a woman whisper to another than the Marquis del Valle was always the last to arrive. The reason was obvious—the adoration of him would not be disturbed by the arrival of others.

  Was El Mestizo not in the city? Or does his mixed blood keep him from being invited? I didn’t know the reason El Mestizo wasn’t at the ball, but it was a relief.

  Carlos was suddenly beside me.

  His presence instantly rankled me. I cringed a bit as I experienced the sensation of a snake siding up to me.

  “An unforgettable entrance, cousin. Theatrical but risky. I give you credit because you carried off the masquerade without offending the viceroy. But it would have gone bad had he not found your choice of costume amusing.”

  His tone carried contempt for me and the stunt. I suddenly felt a complete lack of tolerance for the man. He was the type that went through life getting what he wanted because the people he pushed folded. The first lesson of the streets is that you go for the jugular when someone pushes you.

  “Being able to carry off a pretense runs in our family, does it not, cousin?”

  Leaving Carlos puzzled over my statement, perhaps pondering the inner meaning, I wandered around, getting my thoughts in order, really seeing the people and ballroom for the first time. Up to now I had been in a haze.

  The ballroom was the largest and most incredible room I had ever been in. It was brightly lit with sparkling glass chandeliers and had beautiful cut flowers in vases placed in openings along the walls, while the wall themselves were lined with garlands of green branches and fragrant flowers.

  Elegant, well-cushioned chairs made of the finest muslin and workmanship were placed where women could rest and cool themselves with fans that complemented their fashionable clothing.

  Costumes were not as prevalent as I thought they would be. Most people simply added an eye mask to their clothes, although the ones that came in costumes were quite clever. I saw jaguars, a wolf, several Montezumas, a fairy, a Roman gladiator, and others.

  It didn’t take much for me to understand why most of the women wore a simple eye mask rather than a full costume: their evening gowns were dazzling—and the women didn’t want anything to distract from the sheer elegance of their exquisite attire.

  The gowns were of the finest silk, lace, and velvet material; their skirts were full and round, in soft shades of violet, green, and gray and adorned with gold and silver thread and sparkling gems. They wore necklaces of pear-shaped pearls.

  Smells of sweet jasmine, bougainvillea, and roses permeated in the great ballroom, as well as the powders and perfumes that both sexes wore to hide the smell of any unpleasant odors on themselves. I was the exception, of course, but at the look on my majordomo’s face I had at least not rolled in manure to make my costume even more authentic.

  I paused and watched a pompous administrator newly arrived from Spain demonstrate a mechanical clock that told time. I had seen sun clocks tell time by the way a shadow fell across the numbers, but this drum-shaped timepiece, several inches thick and tall, hung on a chain from around the man’s neck.

  The timepiece had an hour hand, and the man moved it to show how it would strike the number of the hour. The time was not accurate, but no one cared.

  As I turned to move away from the novel demonstration, I came face-to-face with dazzling green eyes.

  I froze.

  SIXTY-TWO

  WILL SHE SCREAM?

  I hoped the question wasn’t written on my face.

  “Good evening, señorita,” I croaked, instantly panicking that she would recognize my voice.

  She looked past me and fluttered her fan for a moment, very ladylike, before giving me a smile that made my knees weak.

  “I hope you’re not going to beg for money, Señor Lépero. I’m afraid I have none.”

  I gave her a little bow. “A smile from you would enrich me more than all the gold in the realm.”

  The fan fluttered a bit faster, and she turned to an older woman who came up beside us.

  “If you could make an introduction, Tía Beatriz, perhaps I could give this beggar what he requested?”

  “My niece, Señorita Mercedes de la Cruz, daughter of Don Bartoleme de la Cruz. Would you honor us with your name?”

  I gave another small bow. “Antonio de los Rios.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Señor Rios,” Mercedes said, giving me the promised smile—then she turned and left, maneuvering through the crowd with the elderly aunt in tow behind her.

  Aah, gachupin etiquette—her aunt for a chaperone, on first acquaintance a mere smile. But I had survived our first meeting with a smile rather than a scream and now we were introduced, leaving an opening. Not that I knew the courting ritual for the upper classes.

  Riego, the viceroy’s aide, motioned for me to join him.

  “You are about to be paid an honor. The viceroy is going to introduce you to the Marquis del Valle.”

  “Is this the right time to ask the viceroy to release my money?”

  He gave me a shocked look. “At a ball? Of course not. Send a request to me later in the week.”

  “How long do you think it will take to get my inheritance released?”

  He shrugged. “It will be done with much haste, señor, much haste, you can rely upon that.”

  His tone smacked of bureaucratic mire.

  He gave me an encouraging grin. “But don’t worry, your credit is good everywhere.”

  Sí. Until my creditors find out I’m an imposter and rip me to pieces.

  “Señor Rios,” the viceroy said, introducing me to Martín Cortés and his wife, Doña Bernaldina, and the bishop who was assuming command over the Inquisition in the colony, “defended himself with his sword after his coachmen had fallen. He fought off a gang of bandidos, killing two of them before the others fled.”

  The tale had grown a bit.

  “God defended me,” I said.

  “Bless you and the sword you wielded like the angel Miguel defending the gates of heaven,” the bishop said.

  “Valor and a sharp sword are what my father and his conquistadors used to create this empire,” Don Martín said.

  “With help from the hand of God,” the bishop said.

  “Of course.” The marquis gave him a slight nod.

  “You will attend the ball celebrating our return to the colony,” Doña Bernaldina told me. “I’m certain there will be a number of young señoritas who would enjoy hearing about your daring adventure.”

  Her husband turned to say something to the viceroy, and the viceroy’s aide gave me a jerk of his head that told me I was dismissed.

  Not ignored, but dismissed, as if I were a child that they were done being amused by. Me, the hero of the hour.

  As I walked away it struck me that Doña Bernaldina had not given me an invitation to a ball, but a command. “You will attend,” she had said.

  That was confirmed by the viceroy’s aide, who sidled up to me for a moment.

  “You’re lucky to get the invitation. The viceroy will be impressed if you are able to get a friendly message to him from Don Martín concerning the release of your inheritance.”

  As he moved away, a strong hand grabbed me, and I was swung around to face a matron.

  “You must meet my daughter.”

  SIXTY-THREE

  CARLOS SIPPED COLD wine and watched Mercedes as she talked with other young women on the patio outside the ballroom.

  Mercedes had a reputation for a quick temper and a sharp tongue, and he wondered if she carried that temperament to the bedroom.

  It wasn’t just an idle thought because Carlos was certain he would soon find out the answer. He had been in negotiation with her father for weeks over a dowry that she would bring to their wedding bed. Once the amount was settled upon, a wedding date would be set
.

  Marrying the daughter of a merchant, even one of the richest merchants in the colony, as Mercedes’s father had an interest in a silver mine, was grating to Carlos.

  Carlos didn’t have a title of nobility, but he was the second son of an hidalgo, a person of low nobility with no significant estate. That made him of the noble class because of birth. Hernán Cortés himself had been an hidalgo before the conquest and his elevation to the rank of marquis.

  Carlos was expected to marry from the same class and had done so admirably when he married a daughter of the conqueror. But that had been at a time when he had significant wealth. His wife had passed and his gold had vanished, leaving him deep in debt and with no prospect of marrying a woman of moneyed nobility.

  To Mercedes’s father, his daughter’s marriage to Carlos would be a coup, an elevation of social status for herself and her descendants.

  Carlos had heard from gossip generated by the young woman’s aunt that Mercedes had objected to the marriage because he was twenty years older than she, but that didn’t matter. She would have no say in the selection of a husband. The only issue that mattered to Carlos was whether he could squeeze more dowry out of her father than he could get from another merchant with a marriageable daughter.

  He approached Mercedes after he saw her staring at his cousin Antonio. Watching Antonio being hailed as a hero by his brother-in-law, Don Martín, and the viceroy while Antonio was claiming the inheritance Carlos so desperately needed put him in a barely suppressed rage. The fact that he was no longer a welcome guest at the Cortés parties and Antonio now was did nothing to soothe his foul mood.

  “I see you were staring at my cousin,” he said to Mercedes. “I hope you are not planning to throw aside my affections for a younger man. He, of course, is from the side of the family without a claim to nobility.”

  “No, Señor Rueda, I can assure you that I was not looking at him as a marriage prospect. Actually, I am considering taking vows to be wed to our Savior.”

  He chuckled and leaned closer. “From what I have heard of your temper, sweet Mercedes, you would spend most of your time as a nun taking beatings from the mother superior.”

  She edged away from him, unconsciously showing that she wasn’t comfortable being close to him.

  “I realized who Don Antonio looks like,” she said. “Your brother-in-law, the marquis.”

  “What?” Carlos turned around and gave both men a look. “You’re right, he does look a little like Don Martín, but I can assure you he isn’t related to them.”

  SIXTY-FOUR

  I UNTANGLED MYSELF from the third mother who wanted the city’s newest rich bachelor to meet her daughters and wandered away, heading for the patio, where I saw Mercedes was seated.

  I passed her aunt-chaperone sleeping seated on a bench and found Mercedes examining the leaves of a lilac bush.

  She turned as I approached.

  “The viceroy’s gardener needs to tend to this,” she said. “Worms are eating holes in the leaves.”

  “Worms have to eat, too,” I said.

  She stared at me for a long moment, as if she was puzzled—as if she was looking for someone else behind the soot on my face. Finally, she said, “That was profound.”

  It was? I was referring to street trash and didn’t understand what deep meaning she had attributed to my words.

  The music began playing. She looked at the whirling dancers and then back to me.

  “Are you going to ask me to dance, señor?”

  I cleared my throat. “A wound to my leg…” and to my pride, I could have added, since I didn’t know how to dance.

  “Oh, you poor thing. It must have been a nightmare for you, fighting those bandidos.”

  “Sí, a nightmare.”

  “I was once attacked by highwaymen.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. I fought and gave the leader a”—she stopped and stared at me intently. “Why, señor, I gave the leader a cut on his cheek about the same place you have been scarred.”

  “Amazing coincidence. I commend you for fighting back. But tell me, was this leader of robbers—”

  “A beast is what he was, a bloodthirsty animal with a gang of—of worms, señor, slimy creatures who eat beautiful things that belong to others.”

  I made the sign of the cross. “Thank God you were not ravaged. The creature will never see the gates of heaven, that is for sure.”

  “He will never see the rope put around his neck on the gallows if I find him first because I will gouge out his eyes.”

  Ayyo!

  Mercedes suddenly grew silent and stared at me with such wide-eyed intensity I caught my breath, expecting to be exposed.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

  “I—I don’t know, you remind me of someone. A moment ago I thought it was the Marquis del Valle—you do have a resemblance—but when I looked into your eyes, I suddenly—” She gasped and clutched her throat. “Forgive me, good brave man that you are, God forgive me for the evil thought I have just had.”

  I heard a pronounced clearing of a throat behind me and turned.

  Tía Beatriz, the watchdog, had come to the maiden’s rescue. And mine.

  “I’m sorry, señor—” Mercedes started.

  “Antonio.” I smiled.

  She stared at me again, with those startling green eyes. “Señor Rios. I must leave. I have a terrible headache.”

  She swept by me.

  I stood silently and watched her leave with her aunt.

  Ayyo. She had seen the bandido behind the lépero.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  I LEFT THE ball. I didn’t know if I was supposed to take my leave of the viceroy, kiss his feet or a part of his anatomy that was a bit higher, or whatever the protocol was among gachupins for currying the favor of those in authority.

  I was angry. Angry at Antonio de los Rios for dying and putting me in a position where I had finally gotten a view of happiness and knew it was forbidden fruit. Angry at myself for not listening to the lépero in me and throwing whatever I could find of the uncle’s prized possessions in a sack and heading out with Rojo for a place where I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder—or worry when I looked into a woman’s eyes that she would recognize the thieving bandido in me.

  Angry at God for giving me despised blood.

  How could blood be tainted? I wondered.

  I have bled and I’ve seen gachupins, indios, africanos bleed. The blood all looked the same. I was tempted to cut some Spaniards and ask them how the color of their blood differed from mine.

  When I reached the house, I bathed and dressed in the street clothes of a caballero and left on Rojo.

  I knew the house of the Cruz family. I had ridden by it on several nights to see if I could spot Mercedes in a window.

  She was right about me—I was an animal who had led a gang of worms. Fine. That meant I no longer needed to concern myself with the rigid dance of social manners that characterized a relationship between a Spanish man and woman.

  I was a beast and could act as one.

  * * *

  Dogs. The bane of the city. The packs came out late at night after the léperos tucked themselves away in the gutters.

  Like Oaxaca, the city had two types of dogs—the barking ones that every homeowner had to warn of intruders and the hungry, growling, snapping ones that belonged to packs that roamed the streets at night looking for food.

  If anything was going to give my presence away, it would be the dogs.

  I was certain I knew the location of Mercedes’s room because last night I had seen her closing the glass doors on a balcony. Such doors were usually left open to catch the breeze, as they were this night.

  When the lights were out in the entire house, I made my move.

  I woke up the street’s night watchman, who was sleeping on the ground, and gave him a coin and a chunk of meat I’d taken from my house.

  “The meat is for the dog,�
� I said, after I told him I had a romantic rendezvous in the Cruz house. “It’ll poison you if you eat it.” That wasn’t true, but I added the comment to make sure it got to the dog and not the watchman’s own stomach.

  As soon as I knew he had distracted the dog, I edged Rojo close to the wall, stood on the saddle, and dropped over, into the bushes. Making my way through the bushes, I got to the vine-covered trellis that grew up the wall to the roof. It was a path to the balcony doors I’d seen Mercedes shut—one for a human fly, but I was a lot heavier than when I played this game as a street boy. And there was no guarantee that the trellis was stronger than bare vines.

  I had come too far to turn back. It was risky. No, it was insane. No man of reason would attempt such a thing. At the very least, Mercedes would welcome me with a scream that would awaken the entire household, if not the city’s chief constable and his army of policemen.

  That it could get me hanged had not kept me from doing things even more foolhardy, so I did what I had always done in these situations—I closed my mind to the danger and went forward. Foolishly.

  Getting a handful of the wood frame and vines, I started up, making so much noise I was certain I’d soon see lamps in every room go on and her father with a musket.

  Coming over the top of the balcony wall, I tried to sound less like a herd of stampeding cattle than I had been.

  Crouching down below the rail because I was sure I could be seen from the street in the moonlight, I kept still for a moment, listening to the night for sounds that meant I awoke someone in the house. All I heard was snoring. Mercedes had a harsh, ratcheting, up-and-down snore. Oh well, maybe I snored, too, eh?

  Taking soft steps, I crept quietly into the room, light from the full moon coming through the double doors and showing the path to the bed. The head of the bed was against the wall directly in front of me, with the foot pointed toward the balcony doors.

  My heart beat faster as I saw her form under the covers.