A Ballad of Love and Glory(96)

“Of course, of course, my dear. Come, have a seat.”

The men excused themselves and closed the door behind them. Santa Anna served himself another glass of brandy and offered her one as well. She shook her head no. She was thirsty, and she wished she could ask for a glass of water, but she was tired of pretending. She had come here to talk about John’s fate, not to waste time with formalities.

The general was quiet. He made his way to his desk, set his cane aside, and then sat down. The smile and the pretense were all gone now, replaced by a frown.

“You’ve come to say ‘I told you so’?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I am in no mood for your reproaches and bitter recriminations. I will take responsibility for the fate of my most loyal officer, and I can assure you that I will do my best to get him back. I promise you that.”

She nodded, not knowing what to say. She wouldn’t believe it until she saw it, until John was back home with her, when she could hold him in her arms again.

“If I had a hundred men like Juan Riley, we would have won this war by now,” he said, finishing the brandy in his glass.

“What happened? How did they get captured?”

He looked at her, and she could see that he was debating whether or not to answer her question. He sighed, pushed his empty glass away, and said, “If my damn officers had obeyed orders, this wouldn’t have happened! You have General Valencia and his blind ambition to thank for the outcome of this battle. The insubordinate imbecile!”

Perhaps it was the alcohol that was getting to him, loosening his tongue, but he reclined in his seat and told her more than she had expected. She sat quietly and listened as he described the battle, how, hungry for glory, General Valencia had disobeyed his orders and left his assigned position, deciding to confront the enemy alone. When Santa Anna ordered him to withdraw to the village of San ángel and join forces with him, Valencia had decided to stand his ground, not expecting the Yanquis to pull off a surprise assault on his camp and wipe out his division.

“I watched it happen through my field glasses,” Santa Anna said. “I was there with my troops, a mere two thousand meters away. I could hear the screams of his troops being cut to pieces. The blasts of the cannons. I saw everything. I could have gone to his rescue. And I should have. But instead, I ordered my men to withdraw. In seventeen minutes, the fool Valencia was defeated. I meant to teach that imbecile a lesson for disobeying my orders. Who does he think he is? There is only one commander-in-chief of this army!”

Ximena remained silent, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had previously tried to piece together the details of the battle as she remembered them. She remembered seeing the Mexican troops on the run, being chased by the Yanquis. Then Riley and the San Patricios fought for hours until their ammunition ran out, and she saw the enemy breaching the convento. She remembered running down the corridor, hearing the awful fighting going on throughout the convento, and there was John, running toward her, until he stopped and turned around and ran back into the fray. She remembered begging the Yanquis to let her tend to the San Patricios and her compatriots out in the courtyard, but they refused to let her near them. She had watched from the window when they lined up John and his men and took them away. That was the last time she had seen him.

After she and the rest of the Mexican hospital attendants were released, they had made their way back to the city with their wounded. Judging by the number of wagons bringing the men back to the city, even before the official numbers were released, she knew they had sustained heavy losses. She heard that at least a third of the twenty thousand soldiers in the Mexican ranks were killed, injured, or captured, and those who remained were demoralized. In addition to the San Patricios, over a thousand soldiers and about a hundred officers had been taken prisoner, including Generals Rincón and Anaya, and most of the ammunition and artillery pieces were lost to the Yanquis.

“You wanted to teach General Valencia a lesson for insubordination,” she said. “So you abandoned him and his men to their fate. But you didn’t think about the price to be paid once they were on the run, and how the criminal abandonment of your general and his troops would affect the rest of your army. Was it worth losing the battle?”

“It was Valencia’s error, not mine. If it weren’t for his imbecility, those perfidious Yanquis would now be buried in the Valle de México!”

“What will you do now, General?”

“I’m negotiating a truce with General Scott to buy me some time—”

“And, meanwhile, John and his men have been marched to two separate villages to be imprisoned while they await trial. And you know what the outcome of that trial will be.”

“Once the armistice is duly ratified, we will exchange prisoners, and of course, I shall do everything in my power to get your husband back.” He stood up and came to stand behind where she sat, caressing her neck with his cold fingers. His touch made her cringe.

“Ximena, the war isn’t over yet. Have faith in me. I will save Mexico from the Yanquis and prevent her dishonor. I will save Juan Riley and the San Patricios. I shall bring peace to our country. I am the Liberator, am I not?”

“If you say so.” She stood to take her leave, not waiting for him to walk her to the door. “Thank you for seeing me, your Excellency. I won’t take any more of your time.”