Malolos

Out of the train, Dimalanta hastily arranged for a carriage for me. What arrived after only a few minutes of waiting was a proper vehicle, pulled by two large horses. It was spacious enough to comfortably accommodate me, Triviño, and Dimalanta.

The town of Malolos was to be declared the capital of the Philippine Republic. Having just come from Manila, I could not help but notice the stark difference between the two. Malolos was a large rural town, but a rural town nonetheless, and had no business being the capital of a nation.

That said, I was impressed by the other things I saw there. The humble-looking place was abuzz with structured activity, befitting an administrative headquarters. Alongside the roving soldiers, the wide dirt roads were traversed by wagons and carts carrying military supplies.

All movement seemed to flow toward the imposing Barasoain Church. The large adjoining convent had been repurposed as the Cuartel General of Aguinaldo's government. A steady stream of workers, couriers, suited officials, and soldiers escorting their officers passed through its doors.

For the first time since I had miraculously been transported to this different era, I was impressed by the appearance of a building. The church and the convent were magnificent pieces of architecture. If you were to remove their much humbler surroundings, they could look like something out of St. Petersburg or Paris.

But what impressed me even more was the sight in the brick-paved plaza before them. Soldiers in rayadillo jackets and striking red trousers drilled with disciplined precision, marching in well-ordered columns. Their wide-brimmed straw hats were trimmed with red lace, and adorned with a black ribbon and a blue-and-red cockade. Slung over their shoulders—carried upright, resting on the ground, or at the ready—were Spanish Mauser rifles.

Lieutenant Dimalanta helpfully informed me that this was the Kawit Battalion, a unit directly under the President, tasked with serving as his personal guard.

The carriage halted right in front of the main doors of the convent. Already, I could feel the hum of the busyness that awaited us behind the walls. And to my surprise, I was nervous.

I had come here expecting to meet someone who was merely a glorified warlord. Now, I was not so sure. There, in the heart of Malolos, things felt too organized… too official.

We were led inside by Lieutenant Dimalanta and introduced to one Colonel Simeon Ola, a round-faced, cheerful chap. He introduced himself as the aide-de-camp of the President. I was received warmly, almost excitedly, which I suspected was because of the distance I had travelled.

"So, not because of the inauguration? What a coincidence. I hope you will stay for the event now that you are here," the Colonel said to me with the practiced charm of someone used to having guests, as he led me through the busy corridors. The clack of typewriters, the shifting noises of sheets of paper, and the buzz of hurried conversations came out of every door.

We ended up in a pleasant and much quieter antechamber, and my ears sighed with relief. Since boarding the steamship in Marinduque, I had been surrounded by noise.

"Yes, I do plan to stay. I don't want to miss such an important event," I answered, still not getting used to how our voices echoed in the silence inside the room.

"For what purpose, then?" the Colonel asked as boots clacked against the floor behind us.

I glanced back and saw that Triviño and Dimalanta had followed, acting as if they were really part of my retinue.

"Military matters," I answered vaguely.

The three of us took our seats at the large round table by the window. The closed large double doors that led to the President's office stared at us from the far end of the room, flanked by two Kawit soldiers standing guard.

"Better discuss it with the President in private, then. His meeting with Heneral Luna should be finished soon," Colonel Ola smiled. "Coffee and biscuits?"

My stomach urged me to nod more eagerly than I had intended. The two young officers with me looked equally pleased with the offer.

As we waited, we helped ourselves to the small plate of sweet pastillas, right next to a vase of beautifully arranged flowers.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and two women entered. One carried a tray of biscuits, the other a set of coffee cups. By the way they dressed and moved with grace, I quickly assumed they were no mere maids.

"Señora Agoncillo, Señorita Tiongson!" greeted Triviño happily, rising from his seat along with Dimalanta.

"Ah, Vicente, utoy, where have you been all this time?" the older of the women asked as she set her plate on the table. She then kissed the lieutenant earnestly on the cheek, like grandmothers do to their grandsons.

Vicente visibly did not enjoy it.

"And you, Ronaldo, tsk, tsk, tsk," she scolded, turning to Lieutenant Dimalanta, her face scrounging, "You are really breaking your mother's heart."

"Uhm… oh, this is our guest," Ronaldo, desperate to take the attention off himself, introduced me to the women. "Gobernador of Marinduque, Martin Larzi… Larbi—"

"Martin Lardizábal," I supplied, as I rose from my seat and tipped my hat.

"I am Maria Agoncillo," said the older woman with a polite, wide smile.

I waited for the younger one to introduce herself. She was a lady in her late twenties, and oddly, for someone with a pretty face, she shyly hid behind Señora Agoncillo.

"And she is Paz Tiongson," said Señora Agoncillo. "Do forgive her, Gobernador, she is a bit reserved. She has been unwell for quite some time and only recently recovered."

"It is alright. It is a pleasure to meet the two of you," I said.

Then, disaster struck.

Just as I spoke the last word, my stomach let out a loud, unmistakable grumble.

Several moments of awkward silence settled over the room.

"You should eat now, Don Lardizábal," said Señora Agoncillo,"We personally baked those minasa cookies."