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 R epública Mexicana . It was unfortunate that the bulk of the cannons the Mexicans possessed were old brass relics from the War of Ind ependence 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 capi tal. Riley knew its defeat would be a huge blow to the country. “We will defend it,” Murphy said. “Have no doubt of it.” “This is a fine city,” Quinn said, looking over the parapets. “Wouldn’t you want to live here, Lieutenant?” “Aye, ’tis a magical place, to be sure,” Riley said. “Nature was not stingy bestowin’ charm and fertility upon it.” He loved the picturesque location of Monterrey, in the foothills of the Sierra Madre range, which wrapped around it on three sides, each mas sive mountain carved in distinctive shapes by the elements. The one to the east looked like a horse’s saddle, the mountain on the west like bishops wearing miters. Two high hills on the west side, Ind ependence and Federation, served as the gat eposts to the city, with Fort Soldado on the peak of one and the Bishop’s Palace on the other, which the engineers had also fortified. He could see the giant tricolored Mexican flag waving above the Bishop’s Palace. The glittering blue Río Santa Catarina embracing the city’s southern and eastern perimeters served as a natural moat offering protection from a siege. Past the white city wall, the cathedral’s spire soared above the terracotta roofs, and b y the cluster of trees, Riley could identify the central plaza where he loved to stroll in the evenings. “When we can finally send for our families, I hope they love this city as much as we do,” Quinn said. “Aye, I’ll warrant they will,” Riley said, patting him on the back. “I told my wife all about Monterrey in my letters. And about the haciendas over yonder. One day, should it please God, we will have one of our own.”
As the men gazed at the noble haciendas on the outskirts of the city, they fancied themselves living there, surrounded by rich corn and sugarcane fields and orchards bearing figs, pomegranates, and avocados. Riley knew that, just like him, his men longed t o own fine arable land. The English had taken it all back home. The fresh air of the early morn was sweet and crisp. He inhaled de eply, realizing that soon they would be smelling nothing but burnt gunpowder and the stench of death. The bells of the cathedral rang the hour, reminding him of the work to be done. “Now, me n, the day is wearin’ on. That ditch won’t dig itself. On ye go.” Down below, the troops were in the process of fortifying the black fortress, digging a ditch around it where a drawbridge had been installed and finishing an eleven - foot wall to protect it from artillery shot. Once the battle began, the gunners in the cita del would face the enemy on their own with no hope for reinforcements. Riley took out the writing materials he’d brought with him and set out on a new task. The day previous, General Ampudia had asked his assistance in composing another letter to the Irish and other foreigners in the enemy’s ranks. As soon as Taylor’s forces got close enough to the city, the Mexicans would flood his encampment with new leaflets. “Is that the letter to our countrymen?” John Little asked as he came back up to the ramparts. “Aye, ’tis,” Riley said. “Will they come, you think? The Irish.” “And the Germans, and the Scots, and maybe even the slaves who wish to have their freedom.” “I wish the whole lot of them would come and leave Taylor with half his army,” Little said. “I have no desire to point our guns at our own countrymen,” Riley said. “We’re givin’ them a choice. ’Tis up to them if they wish to remain in the ranks of the Protestant heretics, sufferin’ from little thanks and scanty pay.” Riley inspected the guns gleaming in the sunlight and loaded with canister shot. He surveyed the vast plains below for any signs of the enemy, but there was nothing out of the ordinary in the horizon, just a herdsman with his flock of white goats. Riley re ad his words once more. It is well known that the war carried on to the R epublic of Mexico by the government of the United States of America is unjust, illegal, and anti - Christian, for which reason no one ought to contribute to it... He held the white paper up in the air and imagined it being carried by the wind over the fresh green of the planted fields to the enemy’s camp. Soon more of his countrymen would come, and he’d be ready to receive them. His eyes returned to the road ahead, scanning the horizon.
Once they were done for the day, Riley and his men made their way back to the city, Riley on his horse, the men clattering behind him on mule - drawn carts. At the bridge over the arroyo Santa Lucía, which marked the entrance to the city center, they paused before the statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the patroness of Mexico. She was a comforting sight to behold. It was fascinating to him how similar and yet so different the Catholic faith was in these lands. They combined Catholicism with the spiritual belief s of the ancient native tribes, just like in Ireland, where old Celtic beliefs had been incorporated into Catholicism. Seeing this offered Riley a sense of home and familiarity. Once they crossed the bridge into the city, Riley was pleased to see the troops building breastworks and redoubts, digging trenches, fortifying civilian homes and public buildings. All the streets were being barricaded. The flat roofs of the stone houses were perfect for snipers to shoot anyone exposed on the cobblestoned streets, and sandbags had been piled on the housetops for protection. Even the cathedral was playing a role by serving as the army’s main magazine, though Riley disliked the thought of God’s holy house being filled with cases of gunpowder and musket balls. The whole city was being turned into a fortress, though none of it took away from its magnificence. As they passed by the apothecary, they spotted Ximena and Maloney emerging from the shop. When she arrived a few weeks earlier, the old man had asked to be removed from the artillery crew and detailed with the hospital corps to work with her serving the in firm. He and the widow had now become ins eparable. “ Dia dhuit! ” Maloney said, waving hello. “Hop in,” the men said as they pulled the wagons to a stop. “Ready for some grub?” Riley dismounted from his horse and took off his shako. “Buenas tardes, señora Ximena. May I carry that for you?” he said, pointing to the large basket she carried in her arms. “Oh, is very kind, but is not heavy,” she r eplied, lifting the lid. “The botánica not have big quantities of what I need.” “That’s unfortunate. And you, ould fella? You seem in fine spirits,” Riley said, happy to see Maloney back to his old self. “Faith, I’m as happy as the day is long, no doubt of it! The lovely air of this city and the company of this darlin’ creature have rejuvenated my spirits!” “Will ye join us for dinner?” Riley asked them both. Ximena looked at Maloney and said, “You go. I will take care of this.”
“You can’t go gatherin’ plants on your own,” Maloney said. “ ’Tis not safe, jewel. Not with the Yankees making an appearance any day now.” “Let me accompany you, my lady,” Riley said. “If you don’t mind.” She nodded. “Gracias, teniente.” They retrieved her horse and her tools and rode out of the city, beyond the corn and sugarcane fields and into the shrublands. “Is not like Irlanda here?” she asked as they trotted along on their horses. The country stretched out before them, miles and miles of semiarid land covered in plants he had never known existed until he found himself in this part of the world, so far from the misty rolling vales and hazel glens of Ireland. There was but little timber, mostly stunted shrubs, yucca and palmetto, and all manner of cacti — from impenet rable hedges up to twenty feet tall to tiny ones that scarcely peeked above the soil. Almost everything that grew in the sun - drenched northern frontier of Mexico was armed with vicious thorns and spikes. Even their lizards had horns! “Aye. ’Tis nothin’ like the Green Isle, to be sure,” he said with a smile. “It couldn’t be more different.” “I imagine my country is not beautiful like Irlanda is to you,” she said as she halted her horse. “Too many things that prick or sting you.” He laughed and said, “Well, ’tis true, lass. We have no snakes in Ireland, if you can believe it.” “¿Cómo es posible?” “We have Saint Patrick to thank. He drove the venomous r eptiles into the sea with nothin’ but his faith.” He dismounted his horse and extended his arms to help her down. Although she was an excellent horsewoman and didn’t need his help, Riley was glad she didn’t reject him. Instead, she reached out for him. The few seconds when he held her aloft in the air, when their arms were intertwined and their faces came so close to touching, stirred something de ep within him. He wished he could hold her, feel her bod y against his. Ever since she arrived in Monterrey, he’d been enjoying her company more and more, but it led to such guilt afterward, to sle epless nights where he r eprimanded himself for the pleasure he’d felt. She grabbed her walking stick and handed one to him. “I bring one for you too. Fe ... faith... will not save us from a bite.” She looked at him from under her straw hat and grinned.
He followed behind her, noticing how her colorful skirt and petticoats swayed gently as she scouted for plants. When she found one she needed, she knelt down and began to dig with the knife she always carried. “This plant is good to stop blood,” she said as she tried to yank it out. “I hope we won’t need too much of it.” He pulled on the plant until it came out. She chopped off the roots and the leaves and put them in her basket. “Ampudia only cares of his victory,” she said. “Does not think of the soldiers to be killed. He will sacrifice many.” “Your country’s freedom is worth the sacrifice, is it not?” “Sí, for freedom. But not for vanidad or hunger for glory. Joaquín, he gave his life to protect our home. Ampudia, he — ” “Is not like your husband and never will be. But we have the numbers. And Monterrey has been well fortified. Let us give our commander the benefit of the doubt. We all have our failings to be sure.” “I pray you are right, John Riley.” To his embarrassment, his stomach growled, and he hoped she hadn’t heard it. She seemed not to have and started making her way to a thicket of spiny cacti with small red balls sticking out of them. “You have tunas?” she said. He shook his head. He’d seen this cactus — nopal as the Mexicans called it — everywhere since he marched down to the Río Grande with Taylor’s army. Growing up to fifteen feet high, it had been blooming with splendid yellow, red, or white flowers — and some of h is hungry comrades had tried to eat the pads and gotten spines stuck in their tongues. He had seen this cactus on the coat of arms on the Mexican flag and wondered if it was, symbolically, what the shamrock was for the Irish. Since he switched sides, he’d eaten a lot of it and learned that only the young succulent pads were good for eating, but he’d yet to taste the queer - looking fruit. Ximena put on her gloves and began to twist the tunas off the pads and put them in her basket. “You be careful with the es pinas,” she said. “Come, we will build a small fire and you try the tunas, ¿está bien?” “Don’t you fret about me, lass. I’m not that hungry.”
She gave him a look and sent him to gather twigs and branches while she made a circle with stones. When the fire was ready, she passed each prickly pear over it to singe the spines on the fruit. She yelped when they pricked her through a hole in her bucksk in glove. “Nothin’ comes easy in this place, does it?” She shrugged. “Vale la pena,” she said. “The effort... is good, I promise.” She looked at him then, and their eyes locked for a few seconds. Her gaze made him burn inside. Riley looked away and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. He felt light - headed, and he hated the feeling of losing control of his senses, his feelings, his body. His brain was in a mist whenever he was around her. Intoxicated by her scent, the sound of her voice, the sunrise in her amber eyes, an d there was naught he could do about it. “Tunas are good for aches of the head, from too much drink,” she said. “Tell your men to eat before the pulquerías.” “Aye, they’ve taken a fancy to pulque and mezcal.” Riley had tried pulque, a milky spirituous liquor the Mexicans relished, and hadn’t cared much for its odor or taste. Maloney, on the other hand, drank it as if it were the best thing that ever went down h is throat. “You see there?” She pointed to one of the plants in the distance, though Riley wasn’t sure which. “The one with spiky leaves?” “The one with spiky leaves, let me see, which one could that be?” They laughed, and she pointed again to the green - gray plant with long, narrow leaves, thorny edges, and wicked spines on the tips, saying it was called a maguey. Although he’d seen local ran chers use hedges of maguey to fence in their property, and had seen it cultivated in large tracts of neat rows, he hadn’t known its use. “That’s where pulque and mezcal and tequila are from, and aguamiel.” She took out her knife and returned her attention to the prickly pear. “Ahora, teniente, atención, por favor.” She sliced off both ends and then cut along the skin in a vertical line up t he length of the fruit. “You remove the tough skin.” As she peeled it back, he gasped at seeing the flesh of the prickly pear — so red and shiny and moist. She offered it to him, and he put the fruit in his mouth, enjoying the combination of sweet and tart, similar to the raspberries growing wild in the brambles near his childhood home. “Some people no like the seeds. Spit them out, if you wish,” she said as she ate her fruit. “I don’t mind them,” he said. “I don’t mind the thorns either. Right you are, lass, they are worth the effort.”
She laughed and shook her head and then tossed him another one. He peeled it the way she had taught him and ate it, relishing the flavor of the fruit. The sun was beginning to descend, and the delicate shadows of the shrubs and cacti were lengthening around them. Cerro de la Silla, rising majestically above them, was becoming tinged in red. He was loath to return to the city. He wanted to stay here in this open land eating prickly pears with the lass by the campfire, watching the sun’s inev itable surrender to the moon on the other side of the sky. They made their way back in the dim twilight at a delightful gallop across the plain. The civilians were beginning to congregate in the public plaza for the night’s festivities. The following day was the twenty - fifth anniversary of Mexican Ind ependence, bu t the celebrations would begin that very evening with a speech by General Ampudia, followed by a mass. Together they rode past the cathedral fronting the plaza where vendors were selling food — tacos, roasted corn, and baked yams. Flower arches in red, white , and green adorned the entrance to the cathedral. Colorful paper hanging on strings floated above the plaza where a band was playing, and the wind carried the music over to them. Riley accompanied her to the door of the Hospital de Nuestra Señora del Rosario, a couple of blocks east of the cathedral. “Thank you for the help, teniente,” she said as he helped her untie the baskets of supplies. “Anytime, lass. Anytime. I’ll see ya in a bit.” He watched her go into the hospital and went in search of his men. S eptember 1846 Monterrey, Nuevo León Later that night, Riley and his men were sitting around the fountain in the public square with Ximena, eating tacos de cabrito and machito as they watched the city folk stream in. “ ’Tis a joyous occasion, the ind ependence of your country,” John Little said to Ximena. “Pray tell us, lass, tell us about your country’s ind ependence,” Maloney said. “Well, thirty - six years ago, a priest — his name is Miguel Hidalgo — he gave the cry for re volución. For the people to fight Spain. His cry for ind ependence is called ‘El Grito de Dolores.’ ” She finished her taco and continued, “There was eleven years of figh ting. So much blood. So much death. But in the year 1821, this is when I was born, we took our country back from the Spanish. New Spain was now los Estados Unidos Mexicanos, or Mexico.” “ ’Twas a lucky year to be born, in an ind ependent country,” Riley said.
“One day, we shall have our own ‘El Grito,’ ” Mills said, looking at his comrades. “One day, we’ll be the R epublic of Ireland!” Little said. “Aye, one day, my brave fellas, it shall be so,” Maloney said. They raised their clay mugs of pulque and drank a toast to the future of their beloved land. Riley noticed the worried look on Ximena’s face. “You don’t look too happy about your country’s ind ependence.” “Perdón. I wish freedom for your homeland, I do. But I now remember, four of our five leaders, they died... ejecutados.”