I told her anyway. I could tell it hit her hard.
“The lépero act you put on at the ball…?”
She pushed back the curtain to let air in and stared out for a moment. When she turned back to me, she was solemn and sincere.
“I am very proud of you. All the young men I know have had all the opportunities in the world and accomplish nothing except what is provided for them. You have been a beggar, a thief, and now you are a gachupin. And you have succeeded at each of them.”
That got us both laughing, and then she was in my arms, her warm, wet lips against mine. She smelled like a spring day and tasted like the nectar of the gods. When she pulled back, we were both breathless. We opened more curtains to let a breeze pour through.
“I actually came tonight to tell you something important,” she said. “I believe your seamstress is a woman named Nina Alvarez.”
“Yes!” I slapped my head. “He called her Nina.”
“Who?”
“Carlos, when, uh, they were together. I forgot, but I’m sure that was the name he used.”
“I learned from his niece that Nina was the seamstress for his wife when she was alive. I thought it might be her because many of the wealthiest women in the city go to her for their dresses. She wasn’t always a seamstress. Her family once had money, but it was lost in speculation on a silver mine.”
“Do you know her?”
“I’ve seen her when I’ve visited other women and she was there, but I haven’t used her services. My father insists my clothes be made by a seamstress who buys cloth from him.”
“Is she noted for any particular type of sewing? Does she do anything with horses?”
“I can’t imagine her doing anything with horses. She does very fine, fancy weaving, creating intricate patterns. No one else I know of can create the designs she’s capable of doing with her small fingers.”
“How about fur?”
“I’m sure she trims dresses and capes sometimes with fur, but not horsehair, if that’s what you’re wondering. Not unless one wanted her to make a broom or a brush.”
“She’s doing something for that horse. I have to find out what it is. I’m certain Carlos is hiding something that could bring him down if it was exposed. I need to get this woman to tell me what it is.”
“I’ll help you with the woman and Carlos. His sister has set up several lunches for me to attend at her home with Carlos. To warm us to each other, she told my father, even though I’m already boiling over from the idea of marrying him.”
“Excellent. Keep your ears open when you’re around him. I find him to be a pompous braggart, the type who would flap his tongue and step on it for a pretty señorita.”
I couldn’t bear the notion of Mercedes in the arms of another man. I kept my thoughts to myself, but I had already decided that, regardless of whether I was able to prove Carlos guilty of murder, I would kill him before I’d let Mercedes be trapped in a marriage with a man she despised.
“I must warn you, Ju—Antonio, I won’t help you do anything that would harm Nina Alvarez. There are no opportunities for women, so any other woman in her position would have worked hard for a marriage proposal, but she went to work and earned her own living. Because she works for a living, she’s looked down upon by women she grew up with and shared a carriage in the paseo with her before her family lost its money.”
“She’ll not come to any harm from me. It’s more likely harm that would come from Carlos.”
“He’s not some sort of mad dog—”
“He’s a merciless killer. What will he do to her when he no longer needs her? From what I overheard, it’s obvious she knows a secret that he never wants to be repeated.”
“No harm will come to her as long as he needs her.”
“Sí, señorita. And tell me, what need will he have for her after he marries the rich Cruz daughter and gets a fat dowry?”
SEVENTY-NINE
AFTER ALL BUT selected guests had left the marquis’s palace, the marquis; the Avila brothers, Alonso and Gil; and a group of ten others settled into comfortable chairs, drank aged brandy, and voiced their anger and grievances about the king’s policies in the colony.
Carlos was among the select group that remained behind, and it was a surprise to him that he had been invited both to the ball and then into the private smoking room, the inner sanctum, of the marquis.
As he listened to talk that amounted to sedition against the king, he realized the marquis was gathering influential Spaniards in the colony around him. That was why he had gotten the invitation to the ball when he had expected to once more be treated as an outcast by the high and mighty Cortés family. He was still a man of standing in the colony, due to his famous stud if nothing else, and would be another sword in a fight. But the talk in the room had petrified even a man with dealings as nefarious as his own had been.
Sedition against the king.
As a man of few scruples, the sins and transgressions of others rarely bothered him, but a rebellion against royal authority—a coup in which the viceroy and major peninsulares were seized and many of them murdered—shocked him to the roots of his soul. Not because he had any love for king or country, but because the chances of succeeding were slim and the consequences of failure were shockingly severe.
Rebels weren’t hanged—they were tortured to get confessions and then either turned over to the Inquisition to be tortured some more and finally burned at the stake or beheaded. Their property was seized and their families impoverished.
Carlos was skillful in judging others, and, as he looked around the room, he saw no one he would have risked his life for to join in a rebellion against the king.
The Marquis del Valle was not a conqueror or even a warrior. In Carlos’s eyes, his brother-in-law completely lacked the abilities that the marquis’s father had had in great abundance.
When Cortés’s army had its back to the sea while facing tens of thousands of Aztecs and the soldiers decided to abandon the conquest and flee, Cortés had had his own ships burned to stay the men and force them to fight another day.
The present marquis, Carlos thought contemptuously, would have rowed out to the nearest ship, boarded and sailed away, leaving his men to fend for themselves.
The rest of the men in the room were cut from the same cloth as the marquis. All were about the marquis’s age or younger, none had commanded in battle or even fought in a war, nor had any of them made a single mark on the world that hadn’t been handed to them by family.
But he listened quietly, keeping hidden the contempt he felt as he listened to the grievances of men he considered only above paseo dandies because they were a decade or so older in age.
A major grievance of the group was that all important governmental and military positions were held by peninsulares from Spain, most of whom had purchased from the Crown their official offices and had come to the colony only for a few years to rob the colonists blind with exorbitant taxes and official fees, then returning home with their fortune made.
Alonso de Avila said, “At our instigation, the city council of Mexico sent the king a letter two years ago asking his majesty not to send another viceroy to rule us. The letter pointed out that, no matter how presentable the viceroy appeared in Madrid, the administrator would come to the colony with an army of friends, relatives, and dependents who would assume offices that rightly belonged to the conquerors and their descendants.”
Carlos had not been an administrator and didn’t have an encomienda, but he knew that the resentment over the peninsulares’ dominance antagonized all criollos, including him. Encomienda owners like the Avilas and Cortéses were especially incensed because the king had been whittling away at their grants, and they were certain that someday the king would nullify them.
“We remind you, your lordship,” Alonso said to the marquis, “that your father—and ours—conquered the indio world without help from the king. The king provided no money, no ships, no soldiers, no weapons
, not even hay for horses.”
He went on to describe that while Hernan Cortés and his backers raised the money for the ships themselves, the common soldiers volunteered and provided their own arms in return for a share of whatever treasure was found.
“It is time we got what our fathers fought for,” Gil said. “And the only way we will get it is to seize the colony.”
An uneasy ripple went through the crowd of men, but Carlos realized that this was not the first time the subject had been broached at a gathering between those present. Realizing he had been left out of previous meetings and had only been invited because others had no doubt refused angered him.
“Here is the plan,” Alonso said. “We will take control of the colony from the administrators in Madrid. Dividing into groups of swordsmen backed up with horsemen we can trust, we’ll first seize the viceroy and his top aides, killing the ones who resist, especially the military commander. He’s residing in the city to be close to the social life while his army is spread around the colony, some fighting Chichimecas in the north, others fighting to the south in Zapotec and Maya territories. He also has troops protecting the Vera Cruz and Acapulco roads to the east and west.
“What he doesn’t have,” Alonso said, triumphantly, “are troops protecting the capital, because it is not endangered from indios or foreign enemies.”
The viceroy would be seized at the same time as the military commander, followed by the visitador to keep the king’s inspector from taking command.
“Once the viceroy, the visitador, and the military commander have been taken, the rest of the government officials will be confused and helpless,” he assured them.
“After we have taken control by killing or capturing the officials,” Gil said, “a red cloak would be waved in the Zócalo.”
Ayala de Espinosa said he would be in the cathedral waiting for the signal. “When I see it, I will strike the bells.”
The ringing bells would be a signal for conspirators in other parts of the city to kill important peninsulares—wealthy merchants and mine owners who would oppose the takeover—and take their gold.
“Their money will finance the raising of a large army to fight when the king sends troops,” Avila said.
Finally a mention of reality, Carlos thought, smothering the urge to make a sound of contempt. And send troops, the king would for a certainty. The Crown was not about to give up its richest colonial possession.
Alonso de Avila offered a toast to their success, and glasses of brandy were raised.
All from the Avilas and nothing from Martín the Younger, Carlos thought, barely keeping his contempt from showing. Big words, the language of braggarts, but where would they find men to fill the shoes of conquerors? he wondered. Not in this group.
“Once we’ve seized control of the colony, we’ll strip the peninsulares of their wealth and ship them back to Spain,” Gil de Avila said. “Packed in salt, if they resist.”
That got chuckles and cheers.
Carlos noticed that the marquis seemed hesitant. The man loved the attention, the prospect of glory, but the specter of failure was an uninvited guest in the room.
Once the killings were done, the heads of the dead peninsulares would be displayed in the plaza to frighten the rest of the city into submission.
When the smoke—and blood—cleared, the marquis would be declared king.
King. The word made grown men quiver from both the sheer power and majesty of it. Martín the Younger sat up straighter in his chair when the magic word was spoken. A king was an absolute source of power, answerable only to God. A look from a king can lift one to great heights or completely destroy one.
“As soon as power is in our hands,” Gil de Avila said, “we will seize all of the gold and land of the peninsulares.”
“And burn the viceroy’s records and archives,” his brother put in, “so that there will never be a written record of the presence of the peninsulares in our new nation.”
“What is the most urgent thing we must do?” an encomienda owner from the Puebla region asked.
A good question, Carlos thought, and one that the silent marquis should answer.
“My brother will lead a force to take possession of Vera Cruz and the fortress at San Juan de Ulúa,” Alonso said. “The fleet is anchored in the bay. Before the ships are loaded for the return to Cadiz, we will seize it. The loss of the fleet and its treasure will cripple the Crown for years and provide us with the money to arm a large enough army to fight off any attempt from Madrid to retake the colony.”
“They must seize the packet boat, too,” another man piped in, referring to the smaller, quicker vessel used to carry correspondence and news between the colony and Spain. “That would delay Spain from getting news of the revolt.”
Avila looked around for a moment and then turned to the marquis. “I see that your brother is not present. Has he decided not to join us?”
Carlos noted the polite tone and lack of the use of the nickname El Mestizo when addressing the marquis about his brother.
“My brother is a man who loves his horses and desires to stay out of politics and even social events. He is also one of caution. He believes the colony is difficult to rule because it is so large and spread out and he fears that the indios will rise against us if Spanish troops are no longer a threat.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Alonso said. “We wanted him to lead a force to the north to take control of the silver mines in Zacatecas and Guanajuato. There are many mestizos in the region, and they would rally to him.”
Carlos closed his eyes for a moment to keep his composure as he reflected on Alonso de Avila’s remark. Did they think that just anyone could lead an army in battle? El Mestizo had neither the fighting experience nor the temperament to lead men in battle. The same was true of everyone else in the room, including Gil de Avila, who, they appeared to believe in their grand scheme, could simply ride to Vera Cruz with a host of volunteers and take charge.
Seizing the governor’s palace in Vera Cruz would not be that difficult if it was done without warning, Carlos thought, but taking the fort, which had thick walls and cannons manned by professional soldiers on an island offshore, and the fleet, anchored in the bay because ships drew too much water to reach a dock at the city, would take planning and an army trained not with dueling pistolas and paseo ponies but cannons, muskets, boats, and knowledge of sea battles.
“My brother is loyal to me,” the marquis said. “If I ever gave him the call, he would be there beside me.”
If.
Use of the tiny word carried enormous meaning to Carlos. The marquis was hedging, he thought, listening but not making an actual commitment.
Alonso de Avila picked up on it, too. “Noble sir, your father was your age when he set forth to conquer a new world. I know how it must offend you that you are barred from achieving the greatness on the field of power and holding the reins of power you so deserve.”
“The king keeps you from power and glory,” Gil said, “because he knows that if he doesn’t, the entire colony will raise you on their shoulders and proclaim you their ruler. The king, as we all know, also covets your vast estates.”
A point that got the marquis’s attention, Carlos thought. The marquis earned a kingly amount from his vast encomienda holdings, a fortune that could be wiped out by a blink from the monarch.
“You are the first man of the Americas,” Alonso said, “but until you lead an army or a government, your place in history will not be etched.”
“You have your father’s blood,” another said, “we know that, and we will not hesitate to follow your lead in battle.”
“My oldest son is in Seville for schooling,” the marquis said.
That brought a pause in the room.
“As soon as we seize the fleet, we will send an emissary to Seville to bring your son back from Spain.”
Alonso de Avila looked around the room at the men who had been assembled and then spoke to the marquis. “
Once the colony is in our hands and you wear the crown, I am certain that you would give generous grants of lands and indios to those who supported you.
“And titles of nobility,” the marquis said. “Including one for you … Duke Avila.”
Alonso de Avila giggled like a little girl.
Fools, Carlos thought. Children playing the game of giants. It occurred to him that there were thirteen people in the room.
Not an auspicious number for a revolt.
EIGHTY
MERCEDES TOLD ME during our carriage rendezvous after the ball that her father was planning to make arrangements with Carlos for the dowry as soon as he returned from conducting business in Vera Cruz.
My first instinct was to kill the bastardo rather than spend any time in what El Mestizo believed to be a useless effort, but getting him alone would be a problem. Besides, each time I casually suggested Carlos should get justice at my hands, Mercedes threatened to make the next scar she left on me run from head to foot.
That put me back to finding out the secret Carlos and the seamstress shared about his prize stallion. Nina was a popular name, and I had to make sure that the woman Mercedes believed was Carlos’s lover was the woman I had seen in Oaxaca.
Mercedes came up with a ruse that would permit me to get a look at the woman.
I sat at an outside table at a tavern across the street from the woman’s shop and drank good Spanish beer and smoked a twist of tobacco while I watched Mercedes get out of her carriage and go into the shop.
Half an hour later Mercedes came out of the shop with a woman to examine a piece of fabric in full daylight.
It was the woman; I was reasonably sure. I would be positive if she would take off her clothes and let me touch her body, no?
Now that I knew who and where she was, I had to come up with a plan to get her to reveal Carlos’s secret. She was a woman in love. It would take more than Mercedes and me telling her that Carlos was a bad person to get her to turn on him.
Someone even more intuitive about human nature and underhanded than I am was needed. And I had the perfect person in mind.