A Ballad of Love and Glory(46)
Cheno finally appeared toward the end of the service. Taking a seat next to her, he said, “I was very sad to hear of your grandmother’s passing. I’m sorry, Ximena.”
After the priest finished mass, they left the church together. It was sundown, and the Yanqui soldiers were wandering the town looking for dinner. Cheno helped her onto his cart, and the two of them rode outside the city, where they hid among a cluster of gnarled mesquites. The sweltering heat radiated off the ground, and the humid air vibrated with the songs of the cicadas. The canícula, the dog days of summer, would soon be upon them.
“I’m sneaking out of here tonight to deliver intelligence and catch up to our troops,” Cheno said, confirming her suspicions that he was in town to spy on Taylor. “They’re on their way to Monterrey. Come with me, Ximena. Taylor is leaving Matamoros soon to confront our forces. We need you at our next battle. The rancho will still be here waiting for you.”
She thought of her home. Now that the enemy—especially the Rangers—were leaving the area, she could return there, rebuild it, and do her best to coax the land to yield a new life for her. But for what? She was all alone, and she had lost her spiritual guide. She felt so empty, like the husk the cicada leaves behind. Emptiness was the worst kind of sickness, her grandmother had often said. But how could she replenish her spirit when there was no laughter, no joy, no love left in her life?
A screeching in the sky made them look up. Two eagles were quarreling in midair, chasing each other across the fiery sky. As their threatening screams cut through the humid evening, Ximena saw something swirling down. She got off the cart and ran after it.
“Careful!” Cheno said as she forced her way through the thorny shrubs.
The spines on the twigs of a lime prickly ash clawed at her, but she managed to reach the fallen object on the branch where it had landed.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A feather,” she said, “from a golden eagle.”
In the afterglow of the setting sun, she could barely see the blood that covered the feather. Ximena thought of her grandmother. Nana had told her to look for the sign. She held the bloody golden eagle’s feather and wondered if it was a portent of wounds yet to be inflicted upon the sacred soul of Mexico.
Was the eagle that once devoured the serpent now being itself devoured?
Part Two The Eagle and the Shamrock
17
September 1846
Monterrey, Nuevo León
Upon the parapets of the citadel, twenty feet above ground, Riley was inspecting the placement of a cannon while scanning the road below. Any day now, the Yankee troops would march into view, and he and his gunners would be ready for them.
After the loss of Matamoros, the troops carried the burden of disappointment with them on the two-hundred-mile retreat across the desolate terrain, the weather alternating between blazing heat and cold, heavy rains. Many men had perished on the dusty roads from starvation, exhaustion, or suicide before the Mexican Army of the North—or what remained of it—finally stumbled half-dead into the city of Linares. Just the thought of it made Riley’s blood boil. They lost good men on the retreat. After spending three weeks in Linares recovering from the ordeal, the troops, under General Mejía, trudged another hundred miles northwest to Monterrey, in the state of Nuevo León, while General Ampudia went to Mexico City to gather reinforcements.
General Arista had been court-martialed and dismissed from the army, and President Paredes had been overthrown. When Ampudia returned to Monterrey with three thousand more troops and sixteen artillery pieces, he also brought an order from the new government reinstating him as commander-in-chief of the Army of the North and authorizing him to make a stand in Monterrey against the approaching Yankee army. To Riley, the best part of Ampudia’s trip to the capital was the chest of gold pieces he brought back with him to finally pay the troops. Through the priests of the city, Riley was able to send Nelly his largest remittance yet, which would see them through the approaching winter.
His battery had been stationed at the citadel under the direction of General Tomás Requena, Ampudia’s second-in-command. The citadel was, in fact, an unfinished church about half a mile north of the city in the middle of an open plain. Its weathered walls of blackened stones gave the fortification an eerie look. It was supported by twelve massive pillars and could hold a garrison of four hundred.
“When the Yankee amadáns finally show themselves, any of them tryin’ to get into the city from this direction will have to get past our fire,” John Little said proudly as he patted the cannon he was polishing.
Riley and his unit had put eight cannons up on the embrasures, though there was room for twenty-eight more. Riley’s favorite was an 1842 brass 18-pounder made in Liverpool, etched with the words República Mexicana. It was unfortunate that the bulk of the cannons the Mexicans possessed were old brass relics from the War of Independence from Spain.
“Aye, Monterrey should be defended at all costs,” Riley said. “It would be a dishonor to surrender the city without a fight.” Not only was Monterrey the center of culture and commerce, it was also the major city connecting the northern frontier to the capital. Riley knew its defeat would be a huge blow to the country.
“We will defend it,” Murphy said. “Have no doubt of it.”