Spain stood in the main audience hall in Mexico City looking out over the commanders of his army, who he had just been addressing. With a majority of the rebellious army holed up in a siege, now was the ideal time to brief on a strategy. The war effort so far had been more unorganized than it should have been. This central organization was completely necessary. Spain was tiring of this constant effort for a war that should have been ended much earlier.
His ultimatum to Mexico had gone completely ignored, so that meant it was time for Spain to disregard his feelings and unleash his entire capability on Mexico. Once he had the boy back he could inflict the proper punishment and then return to more tender affections later. He had to remind himself that even the most loving parent had to resort to corpral punishment if all else failed. He had tried every avenue he possibly could to be gentle. If he was going to be ignored, then he was going to do what was necessary to regain what rightfully belonged to him. If he did not follow through on his ultimatum, it would also make him appear weak.
He finished his speech on strategy, "We should regain control within three months. I am confident." He wanted the words to be true, but the truth was he couldn't be sure. The victory had not yet been won. Mexico was cunning; Spain knew that. So far, what he thought would end the rebellion had had very little effect. Killing off the leadership was usually an effective way of crippling a rebellious movement. But in this case, like the Hydra, another head had sprung from the neck of the first. Worse, this one showed a far better understanding of discipline and strategy were used. The victories that Morelos had won so far showed far more tactical prowess than any won by Hidalgo. Now was the time for Spain to strike and end this before it got worse.
His speech done, the room in front of Spain began to clear. However, a single figure remained behind. His regalia indicated that he was a captain. But, the manner in which he held himself indicated deeper nobility and a sense of propriety. The color of his skin was strangely ambiguous; it was possible that he was a full-blooded creole, but there was a darker undertone that could suggest native blood. His eyes were striking. They were hard, but not cold.
Once the room was mostly empty, the mortal started to walk towards Spain. Intrigued, the Spaniard turned to the general at his side and asked, "Who is that man?" The mortal responded matter-of-factly, "That's Agustin de Iturbide. He was promoted for breaking the siege of Valladolid." The mention of the siege reminded Spain of reading that report, it had been one of the few that gave him hope. Loyalist victories were too few and far between, so that one was understandably memorable. He had been struck by the boldness, the sheer brilliance of the charge. Taking such a risk could have very easily compromised the city if not correctly led. But, it had saved the city, which said a lot about the man who had been the driving force behind it. Being close to the man who took that initiative sounded intriguing to Spain; such an asset could not be ignored.
He turned his attention to Iturbide, who was standing patiently. Spain took the requisite steps to ensure that they were within polite conversation distance. Then he said, feigning ignorance to the man's identity, "You can get clarification from your commanding officer, captain." This was simply a test to see how bold the man really was. If he could be easily cowed into turning away, then he was not the man that Spain suspected him of being. He was not disappointed when Iturbide responded, his eyes on Spain's face not averted, "My question is of a more sensitive nature and pertains to you personally."
This struck Spain; he had no idea what the man could be talking about, but he couldn't ignore it. Even if this was just a ploy to get his attention, it deserved recognition. He responded, "Very well, follow me." He turned and walked into a room just behind the main audience chamber. It was an office of a sort but that was not important, what mattered was that this room was secluded enough for no one to overhear the conversation. If it was indeed personal, that detail would be important.
As soon as he heard the door close, Spain turned to Iturbide, "Now, what is your question?"
The other was quick to start what was apparently a well thought out conversation, "I have been thinking that if you are Spain, then there must be a Mexico. Am I wrong?"
Spain, slightly confused, answered the question all the same, "Your reasoning is correct." He often forgot that this was not entirely clear to mortals who had just learned of the existence of countries.
The mortal simply nodded and continued, as though this had been a foregone conclusion in his mind, "I do believe I would also be right to say that he is with the rebels." This didn't surprise Spain. Anyone who had seen his unsteady emotional state could have made the same realization. It was also logical considering the way the war had been leaning.
So, he simply said again, "That's correct."
Iturbide again continued like he had anticipated these answers from Spain, "Tell me if this description is inaccurate: a mestizo boy, about 18 years old, lean build, stunning gold eyes." This was enough to make Spain start slightly, legitimately surprised this time. Those details were completely correct, but there was no reason this man should know them.
After recovering from the initial shock, he was able to say, "How do you know that?" The smile on Iturbide's face confirmed that this was exactly the reaction he had intended to get. Which meant that he had known about Mexico and somehow guessed at the bond between Mexico and Spain.
He answered the question with a frankness that was almost beyond the bounds of what military discipline considered proper, "I have seen him on the battlefield twice." That did not answer the bulk of the questions that Spain had, but before he Battle of Monte de Las Cruces, but I couldn't forget the sight of him fearlessly leading the charge. Then when I saw him again at Valladolid, this time up close, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was very important. Hearing about you just made clear who he was."
Spain couldn't help but be impressed; he had not thought a mortal, least of all a common solider, of making these observations and being able to make the connections. He said, carefully considering his response, "Your recognition is commendable, but I'm afraid it doesn't change anything." Spain sat down and gestured for the other to do the same. The man smiled slightly before doing so and responded, "But I think it does. If my instincts are correct, and they usually are, then my destiny is connected to his."
Spain couldn't help but scoff and lean slightly back in his chair. He was well aware of the fact that important humans tended to notice countries but in his own experience that was very rare. Presuming at least one of the men he had beheaded had had that kind of connection with Mexico, it seemed statistically unlikely that this man would too. Even more so because this mortal, although an officer, was not particularly important or influential. He shook his head and said, "I know this all must seem very impressive to you, but we live thousands of years and encounter more mortals than we can count and every one of them thinks their special."
Spain knew this was not entirely true. Every country had its Saints, its national heroes. But that didn't invalidate his point as a whole. But, Iturbide seemed to be determined not to be brushed off. His reply was again prompt and to the point, "But what if I can make a difference in these couple years, while the fate of a country, my country, hangs in the balance?" Spain simply shook his head again, this time failing to come up with a good statement to dissuade the mortal. His own mind was completely conflicted on this strange twist of fate.
With Spain remaining silent, Iturbide spoke again, this time apparently changing his tactics, "My son was born a couple years ago, and before that I couldn't have comprehended how strong a father's love can be. Of late, I have found myself wondering what I would feel if when he grew into a man, he decided to turn against me. That is what you are feeling, right?"
Spain's heart skipped a beat. He replied dismissively, "I'm not his father."
But Iturbide was not fooled by the statement, "But you did raise him, didn't you?"
Finally, Spain was forced to let slip some real honesty, "I did. I thought I knew him better than anybody, but I was the last one to see this coming." He turned his face away from the mortal, ashamed at the feelings that were threatening to show themselves. He shouldn't break down, especially not in front of a member of his army. But, it couldn't be helped. The feelings were only becoming stronger, more painful.
Iturbide commented with precise insight, "At his age, young men are susceptible to bad influences. He's surrounded by brigands and rebels, and that has confused him as to where his loyalty should lie. But-" He paused for dramatic effect and Spain decided to let him make his point. He continued, "If he were returned to you, those influences could be undone." Spain looked directly at the man and saw a confidence in his face that was almost infectious. It was almost enough to make Spain believe that he could easily steal Mexico back.
But one thing stopped him just short of optimism, "That may be true, but they will never let anyone get near him." Spain meant the rebel leaders, but he refused to acknowledge them by saying their names. He didn't let Iturbide have the chance to respond to that. He instead said, "When I was interrogating-" The name came up bitter in his throat, and he spoke it only in the interest of clarity, "Hidalgo, he made it very clear that he would rather die than tell me anything about Alejandro." He remembered it clearly. The priest had been steadfastly defiant, not yielding to either logic or pathos. The other mortal, Allende, had been no more pliable. Even after their capture, Spain had been left with nothing. Even attempting to get information out of Texas had been completely useless; the boy had taken blows and still kept his silence. Spain had understood that Mexico was charismatic, but it had never fully occurred to him what kind of loyalty that charisma could win him.
Iturbide nodded but then leaned forward and said, "This is how close I got to him at Valladolid, as close as we are sitting now. There was no one between him and I." Again, Spain scoffed, "You're underestimating him. He's cut down better men than you." The picture of the two soldiers that Mexico had killed with his own hands was still far too vivid in his mind.
But still, the man looked irritatingly confident. He was apparently unflappable beyond the bounds of logic and reason. The response was almost exactly what Spain had been expecting, "I may be, but that does not change that my fate is tied to his. If he kills me, then that explains everything." He paused again, apparently he had been well educated in the art of rhetoric and persuasion, before continuing, "But, if not then I will be able to bring this rebellion to an end, which I believe is my purpose."
Despite himself, Spain was starting to be convinced. What would be the harm in setting this man on Mexico's trail? If he failed, there would be no real cost to Spain, except perhaps the loss of a commander, but those were replaceable. More importantly, if he succeeded in getting close to Mexico, then all this insanity could end. It was practically a perfect gamble.
Careful not to show his change of heart, Spain said, "What do you want from me? Even if I agreed with you, what would you have me do?" The change of expression on Iturbide's face showed that he understood this concession.
Quickly, he said, "All I ask is to be given commands close to the most intense fighting."
Spain nodded in agreement, this would be easily granted. Still, there was something about this man that made him uneasy. He couldn't grant this request categorically, something in the back of his mind told him that doing so would be a bad idea. So, he introduced his own conditions, "Very well, you may have that. However, you will report directly to me regularly. And if you abuse your position, I have the right to strip you of title and position."
As he spoke, Spain stood, thus signaling the end of this conversation. He then added, "Do you understand?" With an abrupt return to the military discipline they had both abandoned, Iturbide stood and said, "Yes, sir." This was the end of the conversation; the mortal had achieved his goal. There was nothing left for Spain to say except, "You are dismissed." As he watched the man walk away, Spain couldn't help but feel that this decision had changed the war completely.
A/N: I know at least one person has been waiting and hoping for this for a while and I hope I didn't disappoint. Iturbide is hard to get a handle on, so I had considerable trouble writing this.
Anyway, please review!