Chapter 35

35

August 1847

Mexico City

“His Excel ency wil see you now,” the attendant said. Ximena stood up, smoothed her skirt, and fol owed him down a large hal of the Palacio Nacional.

He paused before two huge wooden doors and knocked softly.

From inside, a voice said, “Enter.”

At hearing that voice, the anger she had been trying to suppress ared up. She took a deep breath to calm herself and walked into the o ce. Santa Anna sat before his desk and watched her approach. There were several men in the room, al of them dressed in their nest military uniforms, their numerous metals glinting in the light. Here they were, clean and wel fed, drinking brandy and pu ng on their Cuban cigars while her husband and his men were locked up in prison, hungry and thirsty, cold and miserable.

“Ximena, querida, come in, come in,” Santa Anna said. Grabbing his cane, he stood up and came over to embrace her. Ximena didn’t look at the other generals, some of whom she’d met at the dinner party, others on the battle eld or the hospital tents. Their imposing presence shook her con dence, and she couldn’t lose that now.

“General, I apologize for disrupting your busy schedule,” she said. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Of course, my dear. How could I not make time to see you. Now, you know my generals, don’t you? Gentlemen, may I present señora Ximena, wife of Major Juan Riley.”

“I am sorry about the fate that has befal en Major Riley and his men,”

General Ampudia said.

“Don’t worry, señora Riley,” General Bravo said. “It should be a consolation for you to know that our commander wil make sure we get the San Patricios back.”

“Thank you, sirs. Thank you for your words of encouragement.” She turned to Santa Anna and said, “May I speak with you in private, sir?”

“Of course, of course, my dear. Come, have a seat.”

The men excused themselves and closed the door behind them. Santa Anna served himself another glass of brandy and o ered her one as wel . She shook her head no. She was thirsty, and she wished she could ask for a glass of water, but she was tired of pretending. She had come here to talk about John’s fate, not to waste time with formalities.

The general was quiet. He made his way to his desk, set his cane aside, and then sat down. The smile and the pretense were al gone now, replaced by a frown.

“You’ve come to say ‘I told you so’?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I am in no mood for your reproaches and bitter recriminations. I wil take responsibility for the fate of my most loyal o cer, and I can assure you that I wil do my best to get him back. I promise you that.”

She nodded, not knowing what to say. She wouldn’t believe it until she saw it, until John was back home with her, when she could hold him in her arms again.

“If I had a hundred men like Juan Riley, we would have won this war by now,” he said, nishing the brandy in his glass.

“What happened? How did they get captured?”

He looked at her, and she could see that he was debating whether or not to answer her question. He sighed, pushed his empty glass away, and said, “If my damn o cers had obeyed orders, this wouldn’t have happened! You have General Valencia and his blind ambition to thank for the outcome of this battle.

The insubordinate imbecile!”

Perhaps it was the alcohol that was getting to him, loosening his tongue, but he reclined in his seat and told her more than she had expected. She sat quietly and listened as he described the battle, how, hungry for glory, General Valencia had disobeyed his orders and left his assigned position, deciding to confront the enemy alone. When Santa Anna ordered him to withdraw to the vil age of San Ángel and join forces with him, Valencia had decided to stand his ground, not expecting the Yanquis to pul o a surprise assault on his camp and wipe out his division.

“I watched it happen through my eld glasses,” Santa Anna said. “I was there with my troops, a mere two thousand meters away. I could hear the screams of his troops being cut to pieces. The blasts of the cannons. I saw everything. I could have gone to his rescue. And I should have. But instead, I ordered my men to withdraw. In seventeen minutes, the fool Valencia was defeated. I meant to teach that imbecile a lesson for disobeying my orders. Who does he think he is?

There is only one commander-in-chief of this army!”

Ximena remained silent, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had previously tried to piece together the details of the battle as she remembered them. She remembered seeing the Mexican troops on the run, being chased by the Yanquis. Then Riley and the San Patricios fought for hours until their ammunition ran out, and she saw the enemy breaching the convento. She remembered running down the corridor, hearing the awful ghting going on throughout the convento, and there was John, running toward her, until he stopped and turned around and ran back into the fray. She remembered begging the Yanquis to let her tend to the San Patricios and her compatriots out in the courtyard, but they refused to let her near them. She had watched from the window when they lined up John and his men and took them away. That was the last time she had seen him.

After she and the rest of the Mexican hospital attendants were released, they had made their way back to the city with their wounded. Judging by the number of wagons bringing the men back to the city, even before the o cial numbers were released, she knew they had sustained heavy losses. She heard that at least a third of the twenty thousand soldiers in the Mexican ranks were kil ed, injured, or captured, and those who remained were demoralized. In addition to the San

Patricios, over a thousand soldiers and about a hundred o cers had been taken prisoner, including Generals Rincón and Anaya, and most of the ammunition and artil ery pieces were lost to the Yanquis.

“You wanted to teach General Valencia a lesson for insubordination,” she said. “So you abandoned him and his men to their fate. But you didn’t think about the price to be paid once they were on the run, and how the criminal abandonment of your general and his troops would a ect the rest of your army.

Was it worth losing the battle?”

“It was Valencia’s error, not mine. If it weren’t for his imbecility, those per dious Yanquis would now be buried in the Val e de México!”

“What wil you do now, General?”

“I’m negotiating a truce with General Scott to buy me some time—”

“And, meanwhile, John and his men have been marched to two separate vil ages to be imprisoned while they await trial. And you know what the outcome of that trial wil be.”

“Once the armistice is duly rati ed, we wil exchange prisoners, and of course, I shal do everything in my power to get your husband back.” He stood up and came to stand behind where she sat, caressing her neck with his cold ngers. His touch made her cringe.

“Ximena, the war isn’t over yet. Have faith in me. I wil save Mexico from the Yanquis and prevent her dishonor. I wil save Juan Riley and the San Patricios. I shal bring peace to our country. I am the Liberator, am I not?”

“If you say so.” She stood to take her leave, not waiting for him to walk her to the door. “Thank you for seeing me, your Excel ency. I won’t take any more of your time.”

Once outside, she nal y let the tears come, and before long her body began shaking with rage. Poor Mexico. To be in the hands of vainglorious caudil os who al owed their wounded pride to control them. Corrupt men who cared only about their reputations, whose souls were darkened by their twisted desire for wealth and power and glory. They were like Santa Anna’s gamecock who was drowned by his own re ection—intent on taking themselves, and al of Mexico, to their doom. What kind of future could her country have when ruled by men like that? And what would become of John and the San Patricios?