That same night Governor Amado arrived in the capital. He came in on the Santa Fe Trail from Las Vegas, riding his big dun mule at the head of a troop of lancers. His great weight was settled tiredly in the saddle, his cloak flapped about him like a banner, and his face was dust-grayed and haggard from the long ride.
He had left Captain Uvalde in command of the Texans, with orders to start the march to Mexico City the following day. He was still seething over the Lamar proclamation. What kind of war was this that a handful of men could make an armed march into a land and expect it to fall at their feet? It was not only a traitorous attempt to steal a country; it was an insult to the courage and the intelligence of the New Mexicans. It was unfortunate that there had been no glorious battles to communicate to the capital, but in his dispatches to Santa Anna he had made the capture of the Texans sound as dangerous and difficult as possible.
Under a dying moon the Santa Fe plaza was a dim lake of silvered earth. A black finger of shadow pointed westward from the sundial and the shadows were even blacker beneath the portal fronting the Palace. Like yellow eyes peering from those shadows the narrow windows of the Assembly chamber cast out dim channels of light. The only movement in the square came from the shuttling figures of the sentries as they passed back and forth beneath the portal.
Crossing toward them, Amado glanced toward San Francisco Street, and Teresa’s house. It brought back the jealousy, the stupid, nagging jealousy that had been with him for weeks now.
How could a man be so foolish? How could he be jealous of a woman he had never possessed? It only proved what a weakness he had for her. His lecherous buffoonery had become a ritual between them, a cloak he adopted in her presence, hiding the depths of his real desire. At the back of his mind had always lain the conviction, the hope, the need that Teresa would come to him. It was inevitable. They were simpatico. It was more than the beauty of her, curling a man’s fingers with the want of ripeness. It was her spirit, her fire, going right through a man.
And that yellow-headed trapper, that bribón, lying in her room, in her very bed, with her tending him as though she were his slave. A taste like bile came into Amado’s mouth and he spat disgustedly. If he thought for a moment, if he had the slightest suspicion—
But no. He shook his head. He knew her adamant refusal to take any man as a lover. That was the very core of her. Why else had she shot Morgan? It was a joke around the capital. Even Amado could afford to be amused by it. He certainly had no real cause for jealousy.
He pulled to a pompous halt before the sentries, receiving their salutes with a perfunctory nod. The other dragoons halted behind him, the dust of their passage settling against the night like a silver fog.
“The word you sent led us to believe you would be back early this evening, Governor,” one of the sentries told him. “Don Gomez and several others still wait up for you.”
Amado wheezed, lowering his oleaginous bulk off the mule. “What is the time?”
“Well after three o’clock.”
He nodded absently, handing his reins to one of the mounted lancers, ordering them to proceed around to the zaguán gate. Innocent slid off his burro and accompanied Amado through the main door and into the Assembly hall. At the table a group of men had been passing the time with a game of cards—Don Gomez, Biscara, Captain Perea, and a pair of lieutenants. They all rose as Amado entered. Perea and the lieutenants hastily slipped on coats over their rumpled, sweat-stained shirts.
“Para siempre bendito sea Dios y la siempre, pase adelante, gobernador,” Gomez said.
Amado grinned tiredly. “It is too late for such formality, my friend, even with the governor. Let us merely say buenos tardes.”
Gomez helped him off with his cloak and Biscara poured a drink, bringing it to him. He drained it at one gulp, squinted his eyes, smacked his lips.
“A pity you were delayed,” Gomez said. “A celebration had been planned in your honor.”
“It can be held tomorrow,” Amado said. “Last minute duty with the Texan invaders. It is over now, at any rate.”
Gomez glanced at Biscara, locked his hands behind him, frowned at the floor. “Not quite over, I’m afraid, Governor. There is still one of them in our midst.”
The weary affability left Amado’s face. His frown dug twin vertical furrows between his brows. Gomez looked at the windows, cleared his throat.
“As you know, Teresa is harboring this Kelly Morgan—”
“But he’s been among us for years,” Captain Perea said. He looked surprised.
Gomez looked at him, shrugged. “Which would enable him to spy on us with that much less possibility of suspicion.”
“Spy?” Amado said. It was a trigger word for him, a lighted fuse to anger, fear, mistrust.
Gomez got something from a pocket. “I have visited his room now and then. Tonight I found this.”
It was a brass button. On its face was engraved TEXAS. Amado felt a tremor of anger run through his body. The same buttons had been found on the other invaders.
“It does not prove he is a spy,” Perea said.
“What more do you want?” Biscara asked slyly. “I wager we would find other proof if we searched his room.”
It seemed to be a culmination of Amado’s jealousy over Teresa, his outrage with the Texans. With his temper at the boiling point, he nodded savagely.
“You’re right. We’ll conduct a search. If we find nothing more, this button alone would condemn him.” He spoke sharply to one of the lieutenants. “Summon a squad. Follow me to the sala on the double.”
He saw the stricken look on Perea’s face as he wheeled, followed by the others, and stalked out of the Assembly. They marched across the plaza and into San Francisco Street. By the time they had reached Burro Alley, Lieutenant Valdez and eight sleepy, grumbling dragoons had arrived. Amado went to the door on Burro Alley, pounding loudly. It took some time before a muttering, puffy-eyed Pepita unbarred and opened it. Amado let Innocent enter first, shoving the surprised Indian woman aside. They filled the hall in the next moment. Innocent snatched the candle in its tin sconce from Pepita and scurried ahead to the door of Kelly’s room.
Before he reached it, the door was opened and Teresa stepped out, blinking her eyes. “Pepita, she called testily. “What is all this—?”
She broke off as she saw them. The surprise of seeing her had stopped them all, ten feet from the door. She had nothing but a blanket pulled around her. Amado saw that she was barefooted, her legs bare—and knew that she must be naked beneath that single cover. It was like a blow to the pit of his stomach; his face turned pasty with shock, then with rage. If he had been alone he thought he would have beaten her. Yet he could not let the others see what this did to him. It was an immense effort to keep his voice sardonic.
“Not only does our Teresa harbor traitors and spies. She amuses them in bed.”
A flush ran up Teresa’s satiny neck, staining her cheeks scarlet. Candlelight flickered eerily against the jade-green rage in her eyes, and the shame. She pulled the blanket tighter about her, speaking in a brittle voice.
“What right have you in here at this hour?”
“Punta en boca,” Amado said. His eyes were cruel now; he waved his arm viciously toward the room. “Search it.”
The lieutenant and his men swarmed around Amado. Teresa backed into the door, blocking it. There was something intensely savage about her. She was drawn up to her full height, her eyes flashing, her coral lips compressed. Her face was taut and bleak with defiance, its pale oval half buried against the burning frame of her cascading red hair. The lieutenant halted a foot from her, his face reflecting the fear and the awe with which the people had come to regard this woman.
“Lieutenant,” Amado said. “Would you like to be a private tomorrow?”
“Governor,” Perea said. “I protest this invasion—”
“Lieutenant!”
Valdez reacted to Amado’s shout, waving his arm at the dragoons. A pair of them caught Teresa by the arms. She fought, but they pulled her roughly out of the door.
“Your pardon, señorita,” Valdez said. Saber drawn, he stepped into the room. A pair of dragoons followed him. Amado stalked past Teresa with a savage glance, Gomez and Biscara and the other troops crowding in behind.
Kelly Morgan had swung his feet off the bed and was dragging himself up by one of the niches in the wall. “What the hell is all this?” he asked. A pair of dragoons blocked him off, carbines across their chests. He swayed heavily against the wall and would have fallen without its support. The lieutenant and the other dragoons were already beginning the search. They ripped the covers off the bed, tore off the mattress, broke open the leather-bound chest in the corner, spilling out laces and taffeta gowns and jewelry. The lieutenant found Kelly’s effects in the cupboard. He dumped the shoulder belt with its trapper’s tools onto the floor. Then he ripped open the possible sack. He pulled out an extra pair of beaded moccasins, a bone needle wrapped in rawhide thread.
“Damn you,” Kelly said feebly. “What’re you lookin’ for?”
The lieutenant pulled out a rolled document, opening it. He scanned a few lines, then turned wide eyes to Amado.
“It is the proclamation of President Lamar,” he said.
Amado felt the veins in his neck swell and begin to pound. He half turned to see Teresa in the doorway, staring at the proclamation with a shocked expression. Amado spoke in a trembling voice.
“I have always admired your histrionics, Teresa. But nothing can explain the possession of this. You were harboring a spy, and I think you knew it.”
He hesitated a moment; not wanting to say it. Then he cursed himself for a sentimental fool. She had betrayed him, as much as their country. He gave the order to Lieutenant Valdez in a husky wheeze: “Take them to La Garita.”