"You seem a little familiar, in a way I feel but cannot express. Also you called me by my name earlier."
Fortunately she had turned to pull back on the reins as she spoke, or she would have seen the shock on my face. I pulled my features back into control and smiled at her when she turned back to me.
"Your name was shouted by someone near the inn when you were being pulled out of the coach."
"Someone must have recognized me."
"Do you live in Veracruz?"
"No, in Mexico. I've been visiting friends."
"Your husband is back in Veracruz..."
"I am not married." She was silent for a moment. "From your look I can see that you wonder why I am not married when I am past the age that most women marry. My uncle expects me to marry, but I have been undecided whether I will marry a man or God."
"You mean you are considering becoming a nun?"
"Yes, I am in discussions with the prioress of the Sisters of Mercy."
"No!"
"Señor?"
"I mean, well, you shouldn't become a nun. There is so much to life—"
"The spirituality of the convent I would never find in marriage."
I almost blurted out that she could write plays and poetry outside of a cloister, but then held my tongue. I could not reveal that I knew too much about her. Disclosing my true identity would win me nothing. Nor was the absence of a husband any reason to buoy my spirits. She was still the daughter of a great house of Spain and could only marry an equal. There would be few social equals in all New Spain. Luis was of that rank. My intuition told me that she would rather enter a convent than marry him.
Again, she probed my soul with her eyes.
"Señor, I do not know why you risked your life for me, but for reasons only you and God know, I am not ravished or dead. You will find my uncle, the viceroy, very grateful."
Don Diego Velez had been appointed viceroy a year ago when I was in Seville. Ramon de Alva was closely associated not only with Luis but with Don Diego. Considering the way governmental services and positions were bought and sold, Don Diego was probably involved in the tunnel debacle. If so, bringing down Alva and Luis would destroy Eléna.
"Is the pain worse, señor? Your features darken."
"No, señorita, but for a moment I remembered a friend and was sad."
She smiled knowingly. "I see. You left behind on the peninsula a piece of your heart. I hope, señor, that like so many of the men who come to the colonies, you did not leave her heartbroken."
"I can assure you, señorita, mine is the heart that was torn."
"Perhaps now we are friends, we could be less formal and use out names. Mine, as you know, is Eléna..."
¡Ay de mí! I could have given all the gold in Christendom to have said to her that my name was Cristo the Bastardo; that I had loved her the first moment I saw her nearly a dozen years ago on a Veracruz street. But it was "Don Carlos," a young hidalgo, whom she took to the sugarcane hacienda.
I passed out again on the road, and it was several days before I was able to travel. During most of that time, Eléna, with help from the majordomo's wife, treated my wound.
After my first excitement at seeing her, I had become silent and morose. She took this to be a natural reaction to my wounds. But my wounds ran deeper. I had returned to New Spain seeking retribution. Until I saw Eléna, I had not considered how my revenge might affect her or how seeing her could divert me from my path.
During those days that she nursed me, Eléna and I became close. To the scandal of the majordomo's wife, she insisted upon laying cool, wet compresses on my head and bare chest when the fever raged. When I was weak, but conscious, she sat by my bed and read poetry to me. No well-born, unmarried woman would have done either.
I could see that the majordomo's wife had noted the growing closeness between us. If word got to the viceroy that I was romantically pursing her, the viceroy would not be pleased. Instead of hailing me as a hero, he would examine my background with a jeweler's eye, and unfortunately, my past would not stand scrutiny. Ay, and Luis. His jealousy would jeopardize my new life, too.
I finally realized that my love for Eléna could only end in tragedy for us both. I resolved to terminate my friendship with Eléna in a way that would brook no further contact. My lying lépero tongue served me well.
"Eléna," I said, when she brought me dinner, not permitting a servant to bring it, "something lies heavily on my conscience."
"What is it, Carlos? Are you going to tell me that you hate the way I read poetry to you every night?"
"An angel could not read more eloquently than you." I did not mention that I had recognized some of the poems as her own. "No, this concerns another matter. Having come close to death recently—the ocean-crossing, pirate raid, the fevers—it all seems like terrible premonitions. I have decisions I can no longer put off."
"Is there something I can help you with?"
"Yes. I need your advice. Should I bring over my wife and child now, or at a later time."
I deliberately looked away as I spoke the lie. I did not want her to see my face nor did I wish to see hers.
I managed to blunder out the rest of the lies. I had left behind my family to seek a fortune in the New World, but I was already lonely for them. I soon faked dozing off to sleep so I would not reveal my distress with my voice.
The next day she returned in the carriage to Veracruz. Word had come that the pirates had left after looting the city and the alcalde's soldados were now in control. We also learned why the pirates had found the city such easy prey: The money allotted to the alcalde for defense of the city had been misappropriated. When the attack came, most of his soldados lacked sufficient black powder and musket balls to resist. The failure of the fort commander to recognize the ships earlier, and the easy manner in which the pirates had marooned the fort's troops by stealing their longboats, had also exacerbated the disaster.
"The alcalde and fort commander are both under arrest," the hacienda majordomo informed me before he left for Veracruz with Eléna.
I had deliberately pretended to need more healing time to avoid accompanying her. Eléna felt I should be transported to the capital by mule litter when she returned there in the company of a troop of soldados. I needed to get to the City of Mexico alone.
"The alcalde and fort commander will be lucky if they ever reach the capital for a trial," the majordomo said. "The shame of it. People are angry. Money for the city's protection went into their pockets. We have the finest army in the world. Spain dominates the world. How could this happen?"
It happened, I thought wearily, because the alcalde and fort commander bought their offices from the king. They paid for the right to embezzle city funds, including tax money for musket balls. The king used their bribes to fight wars in Europe. It was all arranged, all agreed on. Nobody was naive.
But I said nothing.
Eléna now planned for me to ride triumphantly into the capital city, where she would organize the hero's welcome worthy of Achilles and Odysseus, all of which would draw more attention to my counterfeit background as well as generating rivalries I could not afford.
As soon as the majordomo returned from delivering her to Veracruz, I convinced him to sell me a horse. "It will help me regain my strength, so I can make the journey to Mexico City as a caballero instead of an old woman in a litter."
With a horse under me, I set out for the City of Mexico, planning to arrive there a week ahead of Eléna.
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN
Years had passed since I had last crossed a causeway into the City on the Five Lakes. Little had changed. The city still inspired awe at a distance, as magical as Tenochtitlan when the conquistadors first viewed it. The Recontonería still plundered the indio farmers at the causeway's entrance. Blood and money still ruled.