Mexico could feel the tension as Guerrero returned to his side. It did little to lessen his enthusiasm for this moment. The source of the feeling seemed obvious to him. It would be unreasonable to expect Guerrero to be moved so suddenly. He would maintain careful distance from Iturbide, even now, and it would be for the better. This was a negotiation for the end of the independence, and Mexico would rather his friend maintain his unyielding ideals than be charmed by Iturbide. He spoke, his voice low so that they were not overheard, "I didn't expect you to embrace him."
He was smirking though. The gesture of loyalty would say much to Spain. He would know that he could no longer expect the loyalty of the creole class. Guerrero gave him a look of strange satisfaction. Then he said, "I decided that you were right. We're not going to make progress unless I'm willing to look the snake in the eyes. So, I am going to be friendly with him for your sake."
Mexico's smile didn't slip. He had hoped for more, but suspected as much. Instead, he said, "I do not expect you to completely trust him. It is enough that you are willing to work with him."
The other fixed his eyes on his country again and said, "I do not trust him, but I trust you. And you are certain that he is the key."
Mexico only nodded. They were only affirming what they already knew. In the silence, the mortal changed the subject, "I'm glad that you will be by my side." Mexico nodded. Though, in truth, he would likely be neutral. He had profoundly deep feelings for both men, and choosing one over the other seemed unnecessary at this time. He was determined to speak for the plan of action that he thought best for himself. But he dared not voice any of these thoughts now. Guerrero needed his confidence to face Iturbide.
The place chosen for the negotiations was a spacious room in a mansion in the town. There was enough space around the table for both men to bring a few of their personal guards. Mexico sighed to himself. He did not really expect shows of trust this early, but it would have been nice. Mexico chose to sit directly between his general and the man he had recruited to his cause.
He could feel Iturbide's eyes on him as soon as he walked into the room. The man was standing on the other side of the room, not yet seated. He did not look at Guerrero at first. Instead, he inclined his head to Mexico and said, "It is good to see you again." Mexico didn't even need to look at Guerrero to know that he was glaring at Iturbide. But, these negotiations were for his independence, so he needed them to speak to each other. So he responded, "It is my future. It is appropriate that I should be here."
He knew his answer was diplomatic, but he flashed the man a smile that he then saw mirrored on the other's face. Mexico intended to be warmer to Iturbide now than he had been initially. Now he had committed to Mexico's cause and his motive mattered little now. He knew his general would not like it, but he knew it was necessary.
As he expected, Guerrero cleared his throat with a sense of irritation. Mexico turned his gaze back to Guerrero. He gave him a look of encouragement to cool his ire. It was enough. Guerrero turned his attention back to Iturbide and said, "Enough small talk. Let's get to business."
He sat in the chair at one end of the table and Iturbide did the same. Mexico settled himself comfortably between them. The position afforded him the ability to look from one to the other. Iturbide spoke, taking out a document as he did so and placing it on the table, "Very well. You must know that the independence will not succeed unless you have the support of all parts of society. You have done very well thus far, and I commend you for that. But, I have put together a plan to completely deprive the royalist cause of support."
He pushed the document across the table towards Guerrero. The other looked down at it like it was something poisonous. Iturbide saw the look and seemed to decide to explain instead, "I suggest we make this country an independent monarchy." He glanced at Mexico in an attempt to gauge his reaction. The country was not offended by the idea of being a monarchy. Both of his parents had been empires with hereditary rulership, and he remembered that monarchs could be dealt with.
But, he did have a reason to object though it was more sentimental than practical. It had been Morelos's dearest ambition to create an elected republic. Throwing away that possibility seemed disingenuous to his memory. Guerrero seemed to have the same idea. He said sharply, "Only if it is constitutional and bound by an elected assembly. Otherwise there is no way to ensure the rights of those who have been ill-treated by the Spanish."
Mexico felt himself smile. The man was doing so well. When he looked at Guerrero, he could see how intimidating the man could be with the weight of his belief behind him. Guerrero continued, "Monarchs can be fickle and the rights of the people should not be subject to that."
Mexico appreciated the sense of compromise. He had certainly not expected it, as he knew Guerrero was not a monarchist. Mexico said, deciding that he should be the deciding voice in this conversation, "I agree with Vicente. A representative government is necessary." Both of the mortals looked at him like they had not expected him to intervene this early. But, Mexico did not care. He was not about to sit silently and let the dream of a man that had fought for him die.
He saw the look on Iturbide's face and it was one of slight irritation. But, when he spoke, his tone was one of forced neutrality, "The importance is that we provide a monarch for those who cleave to Spain for that reason. But, we can also provide for a Congress." The proposition was agreeable enough and Guerrero nodded. Iturbide turned the conversation after his concession, "The church cannot be touched. Roman Catholicism must remain the faith of the country."
This was not surprising. There had never been an anti-religious intention in the independence movement. The first flag of the independence had been a religious one. Guerrero confirmed this when he said, "It was never my intention to change the faith of this country."
But, Mexico had his own objection to this. So, he interjected, "But, the Inquisition must not remain. That is Spain's tool and I will not remain subject to him." He heard the vitriol in his own voice. The anger he felt at Spain had not faded with the years.
Iturbide replied, "That shouldn't be a problem. It has been in disarray since the French invasion."
Mexico nodded and let the other two lapse back into negotiations. He glanced at Guerrero, urging the man to speak for what was dearest to him. The man caught his eyes and he felt a warmth spreading in his chest. They shared a look before Guerrero turned his attention back to Iturbide, who was tapping his finger against the table. Mexico's general said, "This is my demand: Equal legal rights for everyone regardless of blood. You will not transfer the privilege of peninsular Spaniards to your own class."
His words were cutting, but the concern was valid. Mexico saw Iturbide recoil. It was a subtle gesture, but Mexico took note of it. So, the man did seek privilege for himself and his class. He could have guessed as much from Iturbide's decisions thus far. It would only become a problem if this became a point of contention between the two.
Iturbide was less cavalier in his response to this. He said, choosing his words carefully, "You should be careful. There is a way to get rid of qualifications of race and not alienate the upper classes. They do not like the idea of being stripped of their rights and property."
The other scoffed, "Spoken like a true creole. You do not get to dictate to me like I am your subordinate."
This was an anger that Mexico knew. He had seen it very rarely outside of battle. He glanced at Iturbide to see how the man took the reproach. Surprisingly, he had a small on his face, "You mistake my intentions. I have nothing but respect for you and what you have done. I am reminding you of what is necessary for a bloodless independence. If we can appease every class except the Spanish, then both of us may never have to fight another battle."
His tone was cool and surprisingly charming. It was an interesting tactic to meet Guerrero's anger with a cool, level compliment. Mexico couldn't help but admire the rhetoric; it was clever and he could see the way that it unbalanced Guerrero. The man fell uncharacteristically silent and Iturbide took the silence as an opportunity and continued speaking, "I believe the racial system is antiquated and I fully support its abolition. I am cautioning you against radical action against the upper classes. Nothing would more decisively continue this war."
His point was a good one, but Mexico doubted the sincerity of it. There was something in the familiar artificiality of his voice that Mexico knew. But, he held his tongue. If Guerrero found the point convincing, then that was enough to move forward. That was the point, he reminded himself. From the very beginning, he had desired independence above all and now it was so close that he need only sit back and let it happen. But, his protective urge towards Guerrero urged him to be obstinate and to voice what he felt about Iturbide's intentions. He restrained himself. It would not do to say something that would end these negotiations.
He let Guerrero carry the conversation; the mortal spoke, "If I did not trust your intentions, I would not be here. You should also be aware that this war was not fought to enrich anyone." Though the response was guarded, but the man also reached across the table and finally put his hand on the document Iturbide had laid on the table. He spoke again, "I think it would be better for the time being that I read through this tonight, carefully consider your proposal, and presented you with my objections tomorrow."
He presented the words with a certain amount of control, but Mexico could hear the tension beneath it. But, it seemed to be convincing Iturbide. But Mexico deemed it more likely that Iturbide thought the fight would not be worth the effort. Time was not at issue in these negotiations. With Iturbide here, Spain had no force to pursue them with. It was likely that he would know within a few days where Mexico was, and it was the first time in the last ten years that he would be certain. And, for the first time, Mexico did not care if Spain knew or not. Iturbide and Guerrero could argue about the specifics for as long as they needed to; it would not matter.
He knew what Guerrero was doing as well. He wanted to have the time to regroup and order his arguments against Iturbide, as well as taking an inventory of what Iturbide was offering. Guerrero stood up, tucking the document under his arm. He looked directly at Mexico and there was no need for him to speak. Mexico rose to his feet as well, and he was distinctly aware that Iturbide was staring at him. He wished for a fleeting moment that he could stay and discuss politics with Iturbide alone. He would be interested to hear what Iturbide's vision was for the independence, but it would be a betrayal to make his friend leave alone and he was not willing to do it. So, he ignored the pining gaze and followed the other out of the room.
As soon as he was out of Iturbide's earshot, Guerrero let out a long sigh, "That's worse than battle." He ran a hand through his hair, which made it more disordered than usual. Mexico countered, "I thought you were impressive. You're not letting him run you over." The man flashed him a smile, but his face fell again.
When he spoke, it was clear that he still doubted himself, "It felt like I did."
He was walking quickly, but Mexico was keeping pace with him and attempting to read his emotions. The man was agitated, but it seemed that it was unwarranted. Aside from the last exchange, the man had navigated politics admirably thus far. Guerrero continues, "I know what I believe. But-"
Mexico took a swift step in front of the mortal and cut him off, "That is enough. More than enough."
Guerrero was forced to stop on his heel and look down at his country. While he had the man's undivided attention, Mexico said, "I have seen more politicians than you can imagine in my lifetime. None of them have your passion." The man opened his mouth to object and Mexico continued, "You know what you fought for. No one prepared you to be a general either, but you took that in stride. Do what you have always done and speak for what you believe. Believe in me like you always have."
Mexico could feel heat rising in his chest as he spoke. He was earnest about every word. He had meant this to just be encouragement, but the feelings had bubbled up and spilled out. When he finished speaking, it dawned on him how much he had said without meaning to do so. For a moment, he thought that the mortal might pull away from him.
But, like so many times before, Guerrero looked at him unflinchingly and replied, "You are right. We have faced the unknown before. Iturbide is a new kind of beast for me, but not one I can't deal with."
Mexico stepped aside to allow his general to continue walking. He was sure that the man's goal was their camp, where he could be surrounded by the army that gave him the strength to negotiate. As he did so, Mexico replied, "He isn't new to me." He need not elaborate. He had made his history in politics perfectly clear, and he thought the man understood.
Resuming his brisk pace, Guerrero said, "Yes, and I am glad you can read him. Tell me: did he lie to me about anything today? I thought he was sincere, but he is cunning."
The question was a difficult one, and Mexico chose the answer that was least likely to drive a division between his leaders, "He did not lie about anything. But, he was not entirely sincere. The monarchy is his strongest demand, but the question of rights is the most difficult one. He does want to protect his own privileges as a creole." He stopped just short of saying that he thought Iturbide would be happy to leave the hierarchies of blood as they were. He was not certain and he knew the statement would drive his friend away.
There was a moment of silence where he pondered whether he had said too much. But, Guerrero replied, "Well, I suspected as much. I never took him for a monarchist, but he is right on that point." Mexico fell into step with the other and nodded silently as the other continued speaking, "I will have to read his entire proposal, but I suspect I have heard the most important points already. He undoubtedly thinks my resolve will soften over night, and I will make sure it does not."
Mexico quipped, "If he thinks that, then he does not know you very well."
They reached the building that they had taken as a headquarters for the negotiation, still at a distance from Iturbide's own quarters in one of the city palaces. Guerrero, who was walking slightly in front, pushed it open and held it for Mexico. Once inside, it was easy to find the way back to Guerrero's chambers. The man placed the document from Iturbide on a table and walked away from it and then settled himself in a chair with a long breath. Apparently, he had no intention of reading the plan until later.
Mexico turned to a carafe of wine and poured two glasses. He took one of the glasses for himself and handed the other to Guerrero when he turned back around again. There was a question in the man's eyes, but Mexico answered it, "Despite the disputes over method, we do have reason to celebrate. Iturbide is at the table negotiating for our cause because you were too strong and stubborn to fail." He intended the words as a toast to the moment, which Mexico had hoped for for ten years.
Guerrero cut in, "You brought him here as much as I did. I would not have gotten this far without your wit." He lifted his glass and said with a charming smile, "So here is to your future."
The praise was welcome, but Mexico heard a worrying undertone. He corrected it, "You mean our future. I remember you once telling me that you would only leave me when you died."
The man smiled again, but the look faltered. He took a small drink of wine before replying, "And I still mean it. It is strange to me to think of myself as a civilian."
Mexico understood what the man had not said, and he felt it as well. Though the last decade he had spent at war was a comparatively small portion of his life, Mexico felt like it had consumed and changed him. To a mortal man, it must seem that his entire life had been battle. The concept that peace may be just over the horizon left the man on unfamiliar ground. Mexico knew the uncertainty. It was only his confidence that kept him from viewing the concept of independence with trepidation. He was perfectly aware that he had never been on his own, but the concept was more exciting than frightening. Mexico had been born for this and he took great pride in the thought that he might soon be what his parents had envisioned for him. But, he spoke to soothe the mortal's anxiety, "Regardless of what comes next, there will always be a place for you with me. If there is to be a king, then you will still be my general."
Guerrero did not respond at once. He took another drink of wine before he said, "I would like that, I think."
Mexico was about to respond when there was a sound of a hard knock on the door. A flash of irritation passed over Guerrero's face, like he had been interrupted in the midst of something important. But, a sense of duty quickly replaced it and called out, "Who is there?" It was obvious that he had expected no visitor until later in the night.
The answer came, "A messenger from Augustin de Iturbide."
The mortal raised one eyebrow in a look of skepticism. He said, low enough so that the man on the other side of door, "That was far quicker than I imagined. He is insatiable." Then, in a louder voice said, "Enter."
He rose to his feet to project an air of power. The door opened and the man stepped in. He walked with clear purpose past Guerrero, who turned to look after him. The interloper came to a stop in front of Mexico and, bowing his head, offered him a piece of paper that bore the now familiar handwriting of Iturbide. Slightly perplexed, he took the letter. It would be easier to take it and know what it said than to snub it. The silence was broken by a growl, "If you have no message for me, then leave my chambers."
Iturbide's messenger flinched before scurrying away. Mexico did not yet open the letter; instead he weighed it in his hand. The thought crossed his mind that the messenger may have been the same one that had brought him the first letter from Iturbide. But the other's voice cut through his thoughts, "You might as well open it."
Mexico nodded and unfolded the paper. It would be dishonest to say the letter did not intrigue him. But, to dismiss any suspicion, he read the letter aloud, "Alejandro, I would like to extend the invitation to you to join me for dinner tonight. Your presence would be an honor. I would like to have the opportunity to speak with you again." Mexico stopped reading. Guerrero let out a sigh, but did not speak. His disapproval was etched in the lines of his face.
Mexico said, replying to what the man had not said, "If you do not want me to accept, I won't."
Guerrero's jaw was set as he said, "No. He needs to know that we trust him. And it would give you a chance to hear what he does not dare say in front of me." He swallowed more words and a look passed over his face like they were something terribly bitter. Mexico suspected what they were and why Guerrero dare not speak them.
He said, turning the parchment of the letter in his hands, "I will be guarded." The other nodded stiffly and looked away.
When Mexico stepped through the door he felt like he had taken a step into the past. He had not seen such extravagance since he had left Madrid, and for a moment a strange sense of nostalgia struck him. It had not occurred to him how long it had been since he had been treated to luxury. It felt odd, almost like he missed Spain. But, his attention to the thought was only momentary. In the moment it would be dangerous to let his mind wander when he had promised that he would be guarded. But, he had to admit that he was impressed by the display.
As Mexico entered the room, Iturbide rose to his feet. The look on his face was one of triumph, though it seemed premature. He spoke, "I'm glad you came. I thought that you might refuse my offer." His smile was charming, and Mexico wished that the effect the man had on him was not so strong.
Mexico replied, "I thought it sounded intriguing."
He sat in the chair that had clearly been intended for him. There was already a place set for him, which made him doubt that Iturbide had really doubted this meeting would occur. But he allowed it as a kind of flattery. He continued to speak once he was seated, "We have so rarely spoken."
The man sat again and spoke as he poured a glass of wine and placed it in front of Mexico, "I had hoped we could speak again, now that there is no enmity between us. I have made it clear that I am on your side. I could not return to the capital even if I wanted to."
Mexico leaned towards him, placing his elbow on the table, "If I distrusted you, I would have killed you when you gave me the chance."
Mexico had little patience for protestations of loyalty now. He was convinced already and further discussing it seemed to be superfluous. Instead, he shifted the topic, "But, I did not come here to discuss your loyalty. I would rather hear about your vision for the future." This would be the best way to get the measure for the man. While he waited for Iturbide to respond, he took a sip of the wine.
It was expensive wine, but there was another note beneath the taste, one that he remembered. Speaking more to himself than to Iturbide, he noted, "Castilian wine. It has been a while."
The mortal smiled, "I thought you might like something familiar."
Mexico looked at the depths of the red liquid and tried to remember the last time he had tasted Spanish wine. It must have been when he was still in Madrid. He had not expecting to feel so strongly about a single glass of wine. To calm the feeling, he took a deep drink and turned his attention back to his companion, who said, "I suspect you are used to finer things than you have been treated to on the campaign trail." He wasn't wrong, and Mexico was aware of it. He had been used to the luxury of an empire.
And yet, the thought seemed to belong to another time. When he had been with Guerrero moving from town to town, he had not missed the extravagance of court. But, now that he was surrounded by it again, he realized that it was comfortable. He replied to Iturbide after a momentary pause, "You are correct. I did not realize how much I missed it."
This was not the conversation he had meant to have, and he was slowly realizing that Iturbide had subtly managed to knock him on his heels. The mortal spoke again, "This isn't much. When we get back to the capital, I will really threat you." Then he took a deep drink of wine. Mexico smiled as the intoxicating feeling of victory washed over him. It was not a question of if he would return to his capital, which had been his mother's seat of power, but a question of when.
And it was to this point that Mexico was able to return, "That should be soon, if you can agree with Vicente." Iturbide leaned forward in his seat, his eyes meeting Mexico's. There was movement in the periphery of Mexico's vision as someone else served the food.
But, he couldn't bother to notice it as Iturbide spoke again, "You heard my proposal in full today. I have ensured that we have the smoothest transition to independence. I am proposing nothing for my own sake."
Mexico countered, though he saw the sense in what Iturbide had said, "But you must also understand that Vicente is a republican."
The other said, "I do not see why a constitutional monarchy would not serve both of our purposes. I am certain that your ambition is independence."
Again, Mexico could not necessarily disagree. But, he would not let Iturbide know that he was not in complete agreement with Guerrero. It would be perilous to undermine the appearance that they were a unified front. As he searched for an answer, Iturbide spoke again, "But, I do not intend to spend the night discussing politics. There is time enough for that. I want to know you."
Mexico knew he should fight the urge to be flattered, but he couldn't help it. He felt himself smirk as Iturbide leaned further towards him and said, "I have a powerful desire to know you." Mexico knew he should keep his defenses up, but the urge to do so was fading.
He said, "Well, you have me here."
He leaned back and took another drink of wine before finally deciding to stop ignoring the food. In truth, the actual dinner held the least interest. As Mexico took a bite, Iturbide spoke to him, "Perhaps I owe you something first. I want this to be clear to you: I did not choose your cause for my own gain. I chose you because I feel that you are the better choice. I saw Spain stay in the capital and command from afar. I saw you fighting for yourself." He paused before fixing his eyes directly on Mexico again and saying, "No one deserves a kingdom he will not fight for, especially not when you're capable and willing to fight."
Mexico wanted to believe him, but he had watched Iturbide's actions enough to suspect otherwise. But, when he replied he said, "Age and comfort have made him complacent. It is the luxury of an empire to know they are secure."
The mortal raised his glass and said, "If you ask me, empire belongs to those who are willing to take it." There was a sly smile on his lips and a shift in his tone as Iturbide said, "You have the temper for it. It's in your blood. Your mother's imprint is strong in you."
Mexico drew in a sharp breath at the words. He said, vocalizing the question that immediately occurred to him, "How do you know that?"
The answer came immediately with a knowing look, "I noticed the medallion that you wear around your neck. It's Aztec, is it not?" Mexico could feel the necklace, even warm and close to his heart.
He replied, "Yes."
The other turned the conversation with the skill of a politician, "I should not presume. I have sought to understand you at a distance." Mexico was aware of the rhetoric. Though he knew himself to be completely correct, the feigned modesty kept him from seeming arrogant. He could see through it and understood what Iturbide had said beneath it. The man had spent the time between their meetings finding out about him. That concept alone was enough to warm him toward the man.
He decided to indulge the work though, and he replied, "Well, you are correct thus far. I'm flattered." It was not difficult to catch the self-pleased way the corner of Iturbide's mouth turned up.
Mexico decided to take the initiative, "And from the wine I assume you think I miss Spain."
The other took a moment before he said, "The place, not the person. I've spoken with Antonio and I would not expect you to miss him."
Mexico saw an opportunity to catch the man off guard and took it. He said, "Then you are wrong. It has not been easy fighting for years, but I still feel more alive than I ever had. I would never go back, but I do appreciate the wine." He took another drink of wine and waited for the conversation to continue.
Mexico lost track of the time as the night wore on. He found himself strangely comfortable with Iturbide as the formality of politics fell away. As they spoke, Mexico took careful steps towards transparency. Despite what Guerrero thought, Mexico couldn't be moved to see the man as his enemy. The feeling that Iturbide was important egged him onward.
Eventually, he said, when the topic of empire arose again, "My mother wanted me to be an empire. I doubt I will fulfill that ambition, but freedom will be a very good start."
Wine had made Iturbide far more comfortable as well. He had a casual glow about him that was something akin to regal. He took a drink from his almost empty wine glass, before saying, his tone more than contemplative, "Why should that be out of your reach? Anything you want could be possible for you once you are free."
The words resonated with an old dormant ambition, and Mexico spoke before he could stop himself, "Do you really believe so?"
The other smiled again and Mexico felt effortlessly drawn to it. Iturbide spoke, his manner one of confidence, "I do. You made Spain's empire powerful. I can scarcely imagine what you could do with that power in your own hands." The thought was intoxicating, and Mexico felt his own ambition roar like a hungry beast in his chest. Spain had said so many times that he had been the key to the empire. Why had he never thought of it before? Perhaps it was possible to do more than just throw off Spain. Perhaps Mexico could become an empire in his own right. Then, he would have restored the entirety of what had been stolen from him. The thought, as soon as it occurred, could not be pushed out of his mind.
But as he drained the last of his wine, Mexico realized how late it was. With a sincere sigh, he said, "I should return to my chambers."
He stood up, and Iturbide did the same. The mortal said, "I am selfish; I would rather keep you here all night. But, we do both have important work to do tomorrow."
He stepped forward and extended his hand to Mexico. The country took the hand with no reservations. Iturbide spoke once more, his eyes fixed on Mexico, "We are vital to each other. I beg you to come back tomorrow night. There is so much more to say."
Mexico saw no reason to refuse. He said, "I will."
