The Fallon Legacy, page 25
“Señor Cabral,” James called. “Señor Cabral, I have an appointment to see you. I’m James Fallon. Don Tomás—”
“No time,” Cabral shouted, waving his arms. He forced his way through the crowd. “No time.”
“Senor Cabral,” James said, “Don Tomás Ibarra y Velasquez arranged—”
Cabral glanced at him, frowning, still moving toward the door. “Sí. I remember. You are Señor James Fallon. The press of business … you must come back tomorrow … or next week might be better. Yes, next week.” The bureaucrat slipped out of the anteroom, shutting the door in the faces of the clamoring men.
James stared at the door, cursed, and rushed into the hall after Cabral. Outside the door he crashed into a broad man, taller and heavier than he. He had an impression of a heavy chin, small eyes, and bushy sidewhiskers.
“Your pardon, señor. I—”
“Watch where you’re going,” the other man grumbled. “You almost knocked me down.”
“I was attempting to apologize,” James said stiffly.
After a moment, the other nodded and stuck out a large, square hand. “Accepted. I’m Haden Edwards.”
“James Fallon. If you’re here to see Señor Cabral, I’m afraid he just left.”
“Left!” Edwards seemed to puff even bigger. “Why, that bastard! That fat little … I’ll wring his neck!”
“If I might suggest keeping your voice down, Mr. Edwards. I haven’t been here long, but I do know almost everyone is quick to take offense, especially at norteamericanos.”
“Uh? Oh, of course. I suppose you’re right.” Edwards glared at the few clerks scurrying through the hall. “I’ve been being shunted from one greasy bastard of an official to another since April.”
James shook his head. Seven months. “I hope my business doesn’t take as long.”
“It will, Fallon. It will.” Edwards drew himself up angrily—he seemed to do everything angrily—and made a stiff bow. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to attend to.”
“Certainly,” James began, but the big man was already striding away. Whatever Edwards wanted, he thought, he’d have difficulty with a people to whom courtesy and proper form were everything. He hurried out into what passed for a November chill in Mexico City, and headed for the small palacio Don Tomás had rented.
“You are back early, mi corazón,” Drusilla greeted him as soon as he was inside.
“It was thinking of you that drew me back,” he said. He swung her in a circle, kissing her while she clung to him breathlessly.
For a minute she returned his kiss, then pulled her head back and beat at his shoulders. “Put me down, my husband. Remember where we are. What if one of the servants should come in?”
“I’d send them back out again,” he said, but set her on her feet.
She smoothed her dress with both hands. “You must forgive me, James. I am barely used to the maids knowing what it is we do each night.” She colored slightly. “I am sure if I were truly a lady I would not … not make so much noise.”
“You mean,” he laughed, “when you moan and scream and claw my back and wrap your legs around me?”
Scarlet suffused her face. “James! Someone might hear!”
“Let them hear. Oh, very well. I’ll be good.”
“You will never be good. You are a wicked, wicked man. I think that is part of why I love you.”
“Why don’t we go to our room and discuss my wickedness?” he grinned.
“I will thank you, my husband, to stop making me blush,” she said primly, but there was a twinkle in her big, round eyes.
“Dispense me, señor.” It was José’s voice. James turned; Henry and the small Mexican had come into the back of the hall. José continued. “We did not mean to interrupt.”
“One of the stable hands told us you was back,” Henry added. “How did things go?”
James sighed. “Cabral didn’t even talk to me except to say come back next week. How about a drink?”
“I will go check on the cook,” Drusilla said. “Do not worry, James. My father will set everything right.”
The men followed James into the study, where he poured brandy for them.
“She has a sight of confidence in her papa,” Henry said, taking a stance in front of the fireplace.
José sipped his brandy. “Don Tomás is a man of much importance, much influence.”
“I don’t know how much good it’s doing,” James said. “A few bureaucrats sweat when they hear his name, but they do no more than the ones who don’t sweat. He’s been fuming, I can tell you.”
“There is perhaps a reason, señor,” José said. “Not two hours ago we saw Señora Applegate.”
Henry nodded. “Rode right by us in her carriage, over to the Plaza de Santo Domingo.”
James felt the hairs on the back of his neck lift. Cordelia Applegate frightened him, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “She mentioned vacations in Mexico City. It could just be coincidence.” He didn’t believe it himself. “Does she have enough influence to counter Don Tomás?”
“She has influence, señor. How much, I am not certain. But she has money. Money can buy influence.”
“I thought part of the reason for kicking Iturbide out was getting rid of corruption,” Henry said.
Escobar shrugged. “Some things are ingrained, señor. It will take years to get rid of soborno, and of those who take bribes.”
“From all the talk I been hearing,” Henry said, “I figured that constitution the Congress got out this year was supposed to make this a republic, like the United States. You find a few fools holding office in the States, but I don’t reckon there’s many of them are crooked.”
“Whatever the Congress intended,” James said, “I doubt it was to make Mexico like the United States. This constitution is just a law, really. They can change it, or repeal it, anytime they want. There’s no trial by jury, no habeas corpus, nor right to peaceable assembly or petition for redress of grievances. And the president, once they decide who he’s going to be, can declare himself dictator whenever he wants.”
“Not exactly, James,” Don Tomás said as he came into the room. “He must have a good reason. Mexico is still unsettled.”
“Brandy, sir?” James said. “Good reason or not, it’s hardly what we in the United States consider a proper constitution, setting out people’s rights and the limits of government powers. This gives no rights to the people and unlimited power to the government.”
“Thank you.” Velasquez accepted the glass. “But you are no longer a citizen of the United States. As of this morning, you are a citizen of Mexico.”
“You did it!” James whooped. “But how?”
“I found Pedro Negrete, at last. You have an honor, James. Your papers of citizenship are signed by a member of the Regency.”
“Then we can return to Texas.”
“Not yet,” Don Tomás said. “If you are to raise horses properly, you must have land of your own. My acres of suitable forage are crowded already. For this we must go to the true power in Mexico at the moment, the army.” He frowned abruptly. “The trouble we have had seems to be caused by rumors of what happened between you and Señora Applegate. There are many versions, none favorable to you.”
James had told Don Tomás everything before the wedding. “Henry and José saw her today,” he said.
Don Tomás nodded. “That explains much. But I do not think her influence, or her bribes, will reach into the army. Tonight we are going to Coronel Antonio López de Santa Anna. He is giving a ball tonight. If you say that you hope to sell horses to the army, your grant is all but assured.”
“A colonel, sir? He has that much say?”
“He does indeed. If he were not only thirty years of age he might be one of the Regency. He was a leader of the revolution against the Spanish, and he also helped remove Iturbide when he became an oppressor.” It was plain from Velasquez’s voice that he admired the man greatly.
“I’d better tell Drusilla then. Women take longer to get ready for these things.”
Don Tomás put a hand on his arm. “I am afraid this affair will be no place for a wife. You understand?”
James looked at him a moment. “I’m not sure that’s the sort of thing for a newlywed husband.”
“James,” Don Tomás said irritably, “of course you will not avail yourself of the, ah, entertainments, but if you want this grant of land, you will attend.”
James nodded slowly.
32
Colonel Santa Anna’s carriage drive wound for miles, it seemed, through a landscaped garden full of towering trees. At last white marble colonnades and balconies gleamed in the moonlight, and a golden dome thrust into the night. Liveried servants rushed to open the carriage door, and James and Don Tomás climbed marble steps over a red carpet. Both wore short, embroidered jackets and silver ornaments.
The vaulted entry hall was painted with cherubs and clouds. On the broad main stairs an eight-piece band of strings and horns played; more music drifted through tall double doors standing open on either side of the hall.
“Don Tomás!” A man in a high-collared, gold-braided-and-epauleted blue uniform came forward with his hand outstretched. “Welcome, my old friend.” He was darkly handsome with a high forehead and deep-set brown eyes.
“Coronel Santa Anna,” Don Tomás replied warmly. “It is good to see you again. May I present my yerno, Senor James Christopher Fallon.”
Santa Anna regarded him with surprise for a bare instant before offering his hand. “Welcome, señor. If you come with Don Tomás, you come well recommended. You are visiting our country?”
“As of today, Coronel, I’m a citizen of Mexico.”
“Un ciudadano. Tell me, Senor Fallon, why is it that you come here? I mean all of you norteamericanos, those with Senor Stephen Austin, as well.”
“A new land to grow with,” James said promptly. “My grandfather left Ireland, Coronel, for the same reason, as did the fathers and grandfathers of many of us.”
“We must talk more later,” Santa Anna said. “For now, Don Tomás, Señor Fallon, join the party and enjoy.” With a short bow he moved away to greet new arrivals.
“Bueno,” Don Tomás said quietly. “Muy bueno.”
“If you say so, sir,” James said.
“Let yourself be guided by me,” the older man said. “Now let us do as the coronel suggested.”
They strolled into one of the ballrooms. The high ceiling was painted in much the same style as that of the entry hall, with three huge crystal chandeliers providing candlelight. Elaborate crystal sconces gave more light along the paneled walls. At the far end of the room an orchestra played on a raised platform; in the center, scores of men and women moved in the intricate patterns of a dance. There were as many colors of satin and velvet, silk and damask, as there were women. The men rivaled them in brilliance, their broadly flared trousers slashed with a rainbow of colors, their short black jackets set off by scarlet sashes and lavish silver ornaments. Knots of people stood around the edges of the dance floor, the buzz of conversation competing with the music.
“What is there about this that Drusilla couldn’t come?” James asked. “It looks like any ball to me.”
Don Tomás pointed to a cluster of slender young men and fat old ones near the orchestra. “Those are maricas. Sodomitas.” His face twisted distastefully. “They have not yet drunk enough to begin fondling one another publicly.”
“Good God! You’re not saying this Santa Anna likes boys!”
“No, no, no. He likes women. Young ones, preferably, and as many as he can obtain. But he also likes … wickedness. Regard that stout woman, the one in red satin, with a mustache. You see her? That is Casilda Manriquez. The two young girls following her are her lovers. The horse-faced man who just passed us is Don Enrique de Vallejo, who spends his idle hours seducing married women. That skinny woman in front of us is Doña Sylvana Torres de Navarra, an ancient house she besmirches with a taste for boys, none over sixteen years of age. The rest are little better. They are willing prey, if not hunters.”
James stared at Doña Sylvana as she danced by, with a man of adult years, he was relieved to note. He thought of himself as cosmopolitan and worldly—what man could grow up in New Orleans otherwise?—but at the moment he felt very callow.
“Sir, we aren’t expected to … well, join in?”
The older man chuckled. “The thought disturbs you?”
“I prefer one woman and myself, alone. If that’s provincial …”
Don Tomás looked at him with an expression James could not read. It looked like amusement, but of course could not be. He said, “I, too, am more old-fashioned, if not so entirely virtuous. If you are approached, simply put them off. They will seek easier game. Now, if you will mingle, I will seek to closet myself with Coronel Santa Anna. Be ready for a summons at any moment. And do not fear, James.”
James wondered if he spoke of the land, or the guests. He took a drink from a liveried servant and found a place against the wall.
The dancing went through several sets—and he through several drinks—and he began to think Don Tomás had been exaggerating. Even as the conviction settled on him, bringing an uncomfortable mixture of relief and disappointment, he realized the nature of the evening was changing. Several couples were no longer dancing, only clinging together and swaying to the music as they kissed. On a gilded bench near him, a man forced his hand into a woman’s bodice. She laughed shrilly.
Two women climbed onto the dais with the orchestra and, as the music quickened, danced the flamenco, tossing their skirts high. They were naked beneath.
A pretty brunette walked up to James, hair mussed, rouge smeared, and naked from the waist up. In one hand she held a wineglass, the other arm curved casually across her chest, more supporting her breasts than hiding them. She sipped her wine and regarded him through heavy-lidded eyes.
“Como se llama usted, señor?” she said in a sultry alto.
“James Fallon,” he replied, and tried to avoid admiring what she had on view. He reminded himself sternly of Drusilla, but it didn’t work.
“Ah, you are English? A yanqui?” Her English was heavily accented.
“Yes. That is, no. I’m a Mexican citizen now.”
“How interesting. Your eyes are such a beautiful blue.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Thank you, señorita. My wife thinks so, too.” Perhaps she would take the hint. Her nipples were a wonderful pink.
“Señora,” she corrected. “Señora Isobel de las Piedras.” She ran her eyes over him like a caress. “With each promotion my husband has grown fatter. Now that he is a comandante, he is quite fat. I prefer men with hard bodies, men with the vigor of youth.” Her small pink tongue licked delicately at her lips.
He realized his face was reddening. Even tavern girls weren’t this forward. The idle thought came that Don Tomás probably wouldn’t send for him for some time, and there were no doubt plenty of unoccupied bedrooms. He managed to put that thought aside. But a little harmless flirtation … “I prefer soft bodies, Señora de las Piedras.”
“Isobel.” She dropped her protective arm and moved closer, until her erect nipples were brushing his coat. “How nice it is that each of us has what the other prefers.” She frowned, and it took him a moment to realize why. A liveried servant was tugging at his sleeve.
“Señor? Señor Fallon? Coronel Santa Anna wishes to see you, señor. If you will follow me?”
“Yes, of course. If you will excuse me, Señora—Isobel?”
“For a short time only.” She smiled, showing her tongue again. He swallowed hard.
Hastily he followed the servant. At the door he looked back. She was already making her way to where a dozen people stood watching two women on the floor, naked but for stockings and jewelry, tearing at each other’s hair.
Santa Anna’s study was huge and heavily ornamented. A fireplace large enough for a ten-foot log stood at either end of the room. Portraits covered the walls, while this time the ceiling held men in ancient Greek armor mounted on winged horses. Don Tomás and the colonel sat in the middle of the room on chairs gilded in the French style, sipping brandy.
“Pour yourself a glass and join us, Señor Fallon,” Santa Anna said as James entered. “Or perhaps you prefer opium?”
James blinked, but Don Tomás’s face didn’t change.
“Thank you, Coronel, but I’ll take brandy.” He poured a glass. As he sat, Santa Anna spoke again.
“I trust we did not take you from some charming lady.”
“The ladies were certainly charming, Coronel, but I am a newly married man.”
“A faithful husband!” Santa Anna laughed, then cut off with a seated bow to Don Tomás. “Dispense me. Of course he is faithful, and to be commended for it.”
Don Tomás nodded. “Lo concedo, Coronel.”
“Tell me, Senor Fallon,” the colonel went on. “Have you yet been to the Plaza de San Pablo to watch the corrida de toros?”
“I have.” One visit had been enough. Despite thick padding two horses had been badly gored. The riders had been in no danger that he could see. If they wanted to make a fight of it, let the men fight on foot.
“And what did you think of it?”
“It was … interesting, Coronel.”
Santa Anna smiled broadly. “It is the soul of Mexico incarnate. Many yanquis do not understand this. It is good that you do. This is a hard land, but we embrace the hardness and the violence of it. That is what makes us great.”
“I’m sure.” There didn’t seem to be much else to say.
“I met yanquis in battle once, eleven years ago, when that pig who called himself a priest, Hidalgo, was in rebellion. They were the scum of the earth, freebooters who had followed the pirate Lafitte, ruffians from the Neutral Ground. I was a cadet under General Arredondo. We met them at San Antonio de Bexar. There were more than eight hundred of the yanquis, nearly two thousand others, Indios and peóns. We were a bare two thousand. We formed in a ‘U’ and pulled them in. Our fire was murderous. First los Indios ran, and then the peóns. Finally the yanquis tried, but we cut them down. I do not think one hundred escaped. They did not know the fire and iron that is in the Mexican soul, the fire and iron shown by la corrida de toros. They paid the price of their ignorance, the price of rebellion. And the town that had sheltered them. Three hundred twenty-seven traitors General Arredondo had put to the sword.”
