Spain paced the room, considering his next move carefully. It was a difficult moment, but the right move would be the final blow. Capturing Morelos had been a masterstroke, and it was not even one that Spain had planned. The initiative of one commander had brought down the insurgency, and that was to be commended. But, the work would not be done until he had Mexico back. He had thought that the boy would be with his general, but that assumption had been incorrect. It was becoming almost comical how spectacularly Spain was failing to put an end to this. It should have been easy; it should have been over years ago. If not for France's tyranny, Spain reflected, it would have been. Napoleon's ambition had weakened him so much that he was now having trouble even putting down a rebellion.

Who could Mexico now turn to? Was there another priest waiting in the wings to take the lead? Surely there could be no one left. When Mexico realized that, he would come back begging. Spain would welcome him back, of course. But, he would punish the boy for his defiance. But, once that was done, he would have his loyal colony again.

There was a knock on the door and Spain immediately stopped pacing. He composed himself and said, "Enter." Iturbide walked through it with the arrogance that Spain was beginning to hate. This man's pretension knew no bounds and his letters wreaked of it. Every victory only seemed to inflate his sense of impetuousness. As soon as he entered, Spain spoke, "Take a seat, Commander."

He gestured to the chair that was waiting empty, although he was certain that he did not need to. Spain himself would not sit, he would not allow himself to be on the same level as this man, whose reports were so brazen that they left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Spain was not alone in his distaste. He had read the letters from other commanders that complained about Iturbide's rapid ascension in the ranks and accused him of abusing his position. Had he held some esteem for the man, he would have dismissed the complaints as nothing more than jealousy from those who did not understand true zeal. As it was, they gave him a reason to dislike Iturbide more. The man had charmed him at first, but now he could not shake the feeling that this man was not his solution.

He waited until Iturbide was seated before he said, "It appears that this rebellion is over." He expressed it as a firm affirmation, partly out of the hope that it was true, but also to see how the mortal reacted to it. Surely someone as arrogant as Iturbide would agree, but express disappointment at the fact that he could no longer accumulate glory in battle.

Spain waited for a reply, tapping his finger against the desk. Iturbide took an unnecessarily long time to oblige him with a response, "I have to disagree with you on that, sir. The insurgency still exists." Spain scoffed. What could Mexico really do now that he was leaderless and only possessed a small group of soldiers. It was typical for an ambitious man of war to exaggerate the danger in order to justify his own continued position.

Spain could easily dismiss this information, but he thought it better to explain how incorrect this was. He said, "But Morelos has been captured and is set to be executed." Spain felt himself smile; it had been sweet to see that wayward priest brought to the capital in chains. It suited him. If possible, Spain hated this one more than the first. Hidalgo had not issued such a lofty proclamation as Morelos had. How dare he call his apostasy The Sentiments of the Nation? How dare he claim he knew what Alejandro wanted?

Even disregarding the calls for independence, Spain could tell the document was a sham. The son of the Aztec empire would never agree to a republic. New Spain would never place his fate in the hands of peasants. Spain knew Alejandro well enough to know that the boy could not be reasoned with to accept something counter to his nature. And yet, the priest had the gaul to claim that he was the Servant of the Nation. Well, that empty title would do him no good on the scaffold.

Iturbide cut through Spain's smug reflection, "Yes, he is captured." He looked like he was about to say something else, but the Spaniard cut him off.
He spoke crisply, "Not by you. Even though you promised me you would destroy the insurgency."

He meant the remark to be cutting, and he saw the effect it had in the way Iturbide reacted to it. The man winced slightly, as though the reminder of his own failing physically pained him. He responded with what seemed to be a begrudged concession, "That is correct, but if not for my consistent victories, Morelos would not have been in the desperate position he was."

Spain disregarded the second part of the comment. He didn't care about the victories the man had won. Commanders of his caliber were rare, it was true, but not impossible to find. But, from what Spain could tell, there was no longer a need for him. Still, Spain needed to convince him of that fact, "When I execute Morelos, which I will do soon, who will the insurgents have left? They are little more than bandits holding on to their impossible ideals."

He expected Iturbide to cringe away from the truth again. But, this turn in the conversation seemed to be exactly what he wanted. Iturbide's voice had a renewed vigor when he responded, "On the contrary, sir, there is another. He was a lieutenant under Morelos and I know their army considered him the next in line." Again, Spain scoffed and pushed himself away from his desk and walked around the piece of furniture. He could tell these were the half truths of a desperate man. But still, he would indulge this for a little while longer until he got to his real purpose. He didn't owe Iturbide that, but he would do it anyway.

He threw the man an easy chance to explain his position, "Who are you talking about and what kind of threat do they pose?" He braced himself for the answer, ready to react as little as possible. Iturbide said, "His name is Vicente Guerrero and I would not underestimate him."

Spain was at least a little amused by this. At least this one didn't have the honorific of the priesthood in front of his name. The name itself was unfamiliar; it did not belong to any of the creole nobility that he was aware of. He asked, "And what do you know of him? What kind of blood is in his veins?"

Spain guessed that this one would be of the petty nobility, as Allende had been. Those who were close to power without being able to have it were most likely to reach out for it. Spain tired of putting down creole insurrection. Iturbide stirred slightly before giving his answer, as though the answer was making him uncomfortable, "He is a mulatto; a gunsmith by trade. He has worked his way up the ranks."
Spain let out a incredulous laugh, "You expect me to fear a common soldier with no training and no education? I thought you understood war. Men like that do not win wars, they fight rank and file."

Spain turned his attention to the papers on his desk, looking for the single letter he had selected out of the masses he had received for this occasion. But, he was interrupted by a short response from the other, "I would not underestimate him. He is young, skilled, and deeply in love with his country."

Spain's hands froze. He had not cared about anything Iturbide had said until the last phrase. It echoed through his head. Deeply in love with his country. That could not possibly mean what Spain imagined it to mean. But, the unbidden idea was already planted in his mind. Was that why Mexico would not come back to him or respond to his letters? Had he found a lover in the ranks of his army?

Iturbide said the man was young, perhaps he was young enough to be near Alejandro's physical age. That thought hurt even more. Spain had always feared that his colony turned away from him because he was so much older than the boy. He shook his head slightly. It could not be; the words were only a metaphor for patriotism. He needed clarification, so he said, "What do you mean? Do you think that patriotism makes him more qualified?"

The smile that the mortal gave him caused Spain's stomach to flip uncomfortably. This was not what he had anticipated at all. Iturbide's response was sly, and the look in his eyes made Spain profoundly uncomfortable, "I would not venture to guess at their relationship, but when I got close to capturing Alejandro, it was Guerrero who pulled him to safety. If my information is good, then he has earned his promotions by guarding Alejandro personally. He will gladly throw himself between me and my country."

The information struck Spain like a blow. The angry jealous beast that lived in his chest stirred. Its coils tightened around his heart, making every beat feel constricted with hate. He would tear this man apart personally once he got his hands on him. He still had equipment from the Inquisition that would be very useful for precisely that. No one was allowed to get that close to his prized colony. If the mortal had ever even touched Mexico he would suffer for it a thousandfold. Spain felt both of his hands curl into fists.

He did not want to believe that Mexico would let a man with slave's blood in his veins even lay a finger on him. Above all else, Mexico was an arrogant aristocratic prince, no less invested in the order of society than Spain was. But, then a fact surfaced in his mind: Mexico had rejected Puerto Rico with little more than a second thought. She had blamed it on Philippines, but maybe that was not the case.

And yet, Spain could not reach Guerrero at the moment. He could, however, continue with his original purpose. Something else in the statement had enraged him. It was this he addressed, "What do you think gives you the right to call him by his human name?" His tone was sharp and any of his colonies would know that it was a warning to back down. Alejandro had once told him that his voice was like cold steel when he was angry.

But, the mortal in front of him flippantly ignored the warning of his voice, and said, "He is my country and I've developed a certain familiarity with him on the battlefield." Spain wasn't certain if the man was intentionally baiting him or simply that arrogant. But, the response made his blood boil.
Before he could stop himself, he snapped back, "He isn't yours! He doesn't belong to you or that mulatto! He is mine!"

Spain had never lost control in front of his military, but he wasn't totally in control of himself. His emotions were in control of him now and his heart was pumping vitriol. The jealousy in his chest was oppressive, only urging him onward. His mind returned to its original purpose. He had not summoned Iturbide to listen to the man's excuses or to yell at him. This was all the result of a conversation he had not been meaning to have. He had summoned the mortal with a very specific purpose and he was going to fulfill it.

Spain took a deep breath to steady himself and fixed his gaze directly on the other. The man looked slightly shocked at the outburst, but he didn't dare say anything. Only now did he seem to realize that there is a line that should not be crossed. Now he did not speak with that impudence. Spain leveled his voice and said, "Regardless, the fact remains that I tasked you with bringing my colony back. You have failed spectacularly. If you are not going to be useful, then I have no reason to retain you."

This made a clear impact. A flash of anger passed over Iturbide's face. He regained his composure, but there was a clipped cold sound in his voice when he replied, "I have won more victories than the rest of your commanders. If you are going to remove me, it will be your loss. Without me, the insurgency will grow." Spain could taste his own hate like stomach acid on his tongue. How dare a mortal man speak to him like that? He had a rebuttal anyway, but he had intended to use it to make his point more clearly, not to defend his own decision. He had not been expecting to be arguing with a soldier who should obey him completely.

He unfolded the letter he had picked up from the desk with what was probably an unnecessarily dramatic flair. He had already read the letter more than once, so it was easy to find the part he was looking for. His voice taking on the air of officialness, Spain said, "I think you are giving the resistance more reason than I am. This is not the only report about how you have been targeting civilians and executing prisoners."

The mortal scoffed as his eyes fixed on the letter. His immediate response threw Spain. Iturbide let out a short laugh, "You are going to believe vicious rumors instead of my proven record? Do you expect me to let bandits and heretics live?" However, this bravado didn't seem completely sincere. Spain could tell that the mortal did fear for his position. There was a slight joy in seeing the man squirm, even if he was trying to hide it.
Spain smirked, "You are a loose canon and you are endangering my cause. I am not here to cause more chaos; I am here to restore order."

Spain paused only for a moment to watch the full realization of the situation dawn on the mortal's face. He enjoyed seeing how Iturbide's arrogance finally fell away and revealed a vulnerability. Perhaps now he would realize that he was inconsequential in the larger picture and that he had no claim on Mexico. After allowing a moment for impact, Spain continued, "You are a risk I cannot afford to take. You are hereby relieved of all duties and stripped of all rank."

This final proclamation broke through the man's discipline. Iturbide stood up, and said, "You can't do this to me! It is an insult!" He looked as though he wanted to take a step forward and do something aggressive, but he restrained himself. Even his anger could not break through his discipline to the point where he would consider striking a superior officer. Spain welcomed the idea though, a single step out of line would give him reason for a full court marshal, which would make this all the more official.

The Spaniard felt curiously calmer than he had the entire conversation. He simply said, "You may keep whatever you have plundered, consider it recompense for your service. But, I will make sure you never get close to my boy again." He meant the final threat to be enough to drive the mortal out of the room.

But Iturbide fixed his eyes on the country. There was fire in the depths of those eyes. It had not been extinguished at all by the demotion. He leaned closer and Spain swallowed his own words. This was suddenly making him very uneasy. Iturbide spoke again, "You just lost this war. You need me and you will realize that."

Then, with a touch of theatre, he turned and walked out of the room. From the way he was walking, one might presume that he had won something. Spain felt insulted and he couldn't quite place why. He had been used to men shrinking away from his scoldings. But this one would not.

Iturbide got to the door and put his hand on the handle of the door before pausing. He stopped and turned back and looked at Spain again. He said, "He's not a boy."
Spain immediately snapped back, "What?"
Iturbide looked at him with a very slight smile. Then, he explained, "Alejandro is not a boy. He is a man. You would know that if you had seen him in battle. If you really want to bring him back, you will start respecting that."

With that statement made, the man pulled the door open and strolled out. Spain was left standing completely speechless. The words hung in the air, begging to be addressed. But, Spain wasn't certain what to do with them. He was winning the war; he had captured Morelos. Why did he suddenly have a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach?

Iturbide perplexed him, especially the insight of the last statement. He was just a mortal, and an irritatingly impudent one at that, and he couldn't possibly know anything about a country he had only seen from far away. Spain couldn't completely ignore the statement either. How much had Mexico changed in the years that had passed?

He shook his head. He knew Mexico better than anyone, and he knew that his colony was still young and very reckless. He still fought like a boy, which was why he was losing. Spain turned back to his desk and turned his thoughts away from Iturbide. The man would be nothing but a footnote in a history book in a chapter about a failed bid for independence. All his bluster now would come to nothing.

Spain just needed to plan his next step. He would give Mexico a couple days of peace to reflect on how cornered he was. If Mexico did not return to him by then, he would resume the offensive. Iturbide's information about the probable general was helpful. If Mexico decided to continue his resistance, it would be short. No commoner could effectively lead an army to victory. Everything was falling into place.