Captain Alatriste Storytime

That is how I entered into the service of my father's dearest friend. To this day I highly doubt that my mother would have so readily allowed me to serve him, had she known his true character.
The story I will relate to you happened in the year of our grace 1620... something. A tale of two masked men, and two englishmen, an adventure that gave the court something to talk about for quite some time, and that not only almost cost the captain's life, but that also made him enemy of two men who would accost him the rest of his days.
By these, I refer to Luis de Alquézar, Royal secretary of our lord the King...
And a sinister assassin, a quiet and dangerous Italian swordsman named Gualterio Malatesta, a man so accustomed to killing from behind that when he struck his foes face-to-face he would fall into bouts of deppresions.
It was also the year I fell forever deeply in love of Angélica de Alquézar, wicked and evil as only the devil himself could be.
But I should talk of these things in order.

My name is Iñigo. And when Captain Alatriste was released after a three week stint in debtors' prison, he greeted me by name and said no more.
Fortunately for my master he could always count on his relations to aid him during his sentence, especially Caridad the Lebrijana, owner of the Turk's Tavern, who would always send him some of her meals.
"Here, take it to him before it gets cold."
"Yes ma'am!"
And a few reales that his friends Francisco de Quevedo, Juan Vicuña and others would send him.
I knew later that the first thing the Capt. did when locked up was go straight for the most dangerous of the inmates, a man named Bartolo Cagafuego.
"Peace friend... people call me Captain Alatriste, and I would very much like to sleep undisturbed, understand?"
"Er... yes... yes captain!"
He needn't do more, but, a generous distribution of the Lebrijana's meals and some wine bottles bought from the warden assured the Captain some solid loyalties, including Bartolo Cagafuego's.
"Here's to your health Cap'm!"
"And to yours! and for wine! who chases away our ghosts, even if for a while..."
That was one of Diego Alatriste's virtues: the man could make friends even in hell.

The captain was released in one of those cold, blue and bright mornings of Madrid.
"Iñigo..."
"Captain!"
He would look to his sides, just to make sure he would not run into any creditors.
"Here, boil it... it's full of bedbugs!"
His cape rank as he did, and his clothes were full of critters, but that was all solved when we went to Mendo the Tuscan's bath house. The old barber cared for Diego, and would waive his fee when he couldn't pay.
"You brought my clothes?"
"Yes sir, and a change of underwear."

While he put on his clothes, I saw his old wounds. All of them were blade cuts, save for the one he had on his back. The shape was unmistakiably from a gunshot.
The most recent one was on his side. It hadn't fully healed yet.
"I trust you've greased my belt Iñigo?"
"Yes sir, the sword comes in and out of the scabbard with a hiss that makes the skin crawl."
He then buckled his belt and sheathed his sword, whose blade and hilt showed marks, nicks and scrapes of wear and use.
"By God, I'm parched!"
And without a word he went on to the Turk's Tabern. I followed his steps distractedly; I was still a young and curious pup that beheld a new wide world with wonder...

It was then that I heard the mules pulling the coach. I remember barely paying any attention to it.
But when I lifted my gaze I saw the bluest, purest and loveliest eyes I've ever seen.
My whole body shook not even knowing why. But now, I think that I would've shuddered in fear instead, had I known it was Satan himself who looked at me back then.

"Naught left but to fight!"
Don Francisco de Quevedo was a poet and a Knight of Santiago, as quick of wit and word as with a sword, famous at court for his verses and his short temper. He was also an arrogant punter, and walked with a limp.
"But sir...!"
"Don Francisco, it was an unintended mistake!"
Nonetheless, he was a good table-side companion. And even better friend to his friends, the Captain was amongst these few.
"What is it now Caridad?"
"These gentlemen have congratulated Don Francisco for a poem that was written by Luis de Góngora, his self-declared rival!"
That morning the gathering was met with the usual customers: barrister Calzas, Juan Vicuña, domine Perez and one-eyed Fadrique.
"To mistake my works for that sodomite's, hip*... with with that dog... that... that jew!"
"Don't be so harsh!"
"It was a mistake Don Fransisco!"
"It was unintended!"
"Bella gerant alii (Let others wage war)!"

"It's an affront pardieu! A span of steel will set things... hip*! right!"
"So much steel would be a waste so early in the morning Don Fransisco."
"Not for me! so let's be generous: a span for each of these sonsofsomething that... hic* are sons of something, bunno what, but something must've birthed them!"
That was too much...
"Outside then, sir!"
"Please gentlemen, understand the man is inhebriated!"
"What glory is there to duel with a drunkard?"
"Aio te vincere posse (I say you will win)."
"You can do it Don Francisco! Don't belittle yourself! Up to it!"
"Nothing left... hic*! but to fight!"

"So be it! If we cannot avoid it...
It won't be me who leaves a friend in need."
"You who descend from noble Alatristes who, hic*!... ennoble thine blade..."
"Don't fuck with me Don Francisco! I'll fight whoever you wish to... But don't fuck with me!"
The poet was enjoying this little scene
"That is how... hic*...! real men talk!"
"Whenever you like, gentlemen."
"Let's go outside!"
"Let's go!"
"Yes, lets!"

Things were continuing to heat up, when, to the disappointment of the gattered and Alatriste's relief, the unmistakable silouette of the Lieutenant of Marshals, Martin Saldaña appeared...
"Party's over!"
So, Don Fransisco shrugged, strightened his glasses, sighed and sat down serving himself anoter bottle of wine in meek silence.
"I've got a job for you, Diego."
Lt. Saldaña had served in Flandes with Diego Alatriste and my departed father...

... And in good camaraderie had spent many hardships with them.
"You're just out of jail without one coin in your purse"
He was brave and tough. He'd been a good soldier, his body was scarred all over, and knew how to assert himself whether with his fists or with sword in hand.
"In the next couple of days you would've taken any job like escorting some puff or looking for someone's debtors."
And was as straight as one would expect from a chief of Marshals
"And you're bound to run out of luck: a bad wound, a scuffle, a delation... and back to square one. You call that life?"
"Got a better idea?"

He appreciated Alatriste, and would look to help him whenever he could.
"That is why I'm here Diego, somebody needs you."
"Me or my steel?"
"What a question! Women are looked for their charms, priest for their absolution, old men for their money... and for men like us, swordsmanship is all we're looked for."
"This is for important people, a sure thing, no risks outside of the obvious... in exchange for a good pay; 60 escudos."
"Not bad. Do I have to kill?"
"Maybe, don't know the details... All I know is that it's an ambush, discreet and at night. Hello and Goodbye..."
"Alone or in group?"

"Group I think, you have to dispatch a pair"
"who're the pigeons?"
"Everything at it's time. Besides, I'm only the messenger"
Sixty escudos, more than enough to settle debts and eat decently without needing to depend on Caridad's *ample* generosity.
"This job will allow you to meet important people, people who'll be good for your future."
"My future..."

Chapter II: THE MASQUERADE
That evening we dined on some soup with bread, boiled eggs and wine. After that, the captain washed himself and prepared to go out...
"Mind the water!"

He hung a biscayne dagger behind his belt and hid in his right boot his trusty hunting knife that had served him so many times when in jail.
He didn't seem too happy about this job.
"It is what it is."
Then he sheathed his sword, made sure it could be drawn easily, and put on a cape Don Francisco had lent him.
"I'll be back late Iñigo, don't wait up for me."

It was almost midnight. The lamp hung outside illuminated dimly the framework when the Captain knocked on the door four times, as per Saldaña's instructions.
The door opened silently.
"Your name?"
"Alatriste!"
Without a word, the servant guided him inside. The building was old and by the Captain's guess, abandoned for some time.

In a corner of the room stood a man covering his face. He made no move when the Captain entered.
"Wait here to be called, please."
When the servant left, he too stood still, face hidden.
He gave the impression of being a swordsman or a soldier. Neither of them exchanged words and stood there, silent and unmoving...
Studying each other, wondering if the were in front of a comrade or a foe, though, in Diego Alatriste's profession, both circumstances could very well happen at the same time.

Two masked men had Alatriste and the other man wait for almost an hour in the chamber before receiving them.
"I want no deaths."
"And no blood, if that can be avoided."
The man wore clothes of meticulous quality, and spoke as someone whose words were to be obeyed without question.
His companion concealed his own clothing under a dark cloak, but wore a golden seal on his left pinky.
"Maybe a few wounds, as a lesson."
"If you must, wound only the blonder, older man."
"Of course, excellency."
Now Alatriste could see the muffled man's face.
It was the kind of face one would except to see if they searched for the words "Rogue" and "Murderer" in the dictionary.

"Your targets are a pair of young Englishmen. They travel incognito, so their identities are of no relevance."
"The older calls himself Thomas Smith, no older than 30. The other, John Smith, is around 23."
"They'll arrive to Madrid by horse, alone, tomorrow's Friday night. Tired, I imagine, for they've traveled for days..."
"We don't know which gate they'll arrive from, so it'll be better to wait for them somewhere near their destination, which is The House of the Seven Chimneys... you gentlemen know of which I mean?"
Everyone in Madrid knew about the impressive residence of the Count of Bristol, ambassador of England.
"The business at hand must seem as if the two travelers were victims of brigands. That includes taking everything on their persons."

"It would be convenient that the blonder and older man is wounded, a stab in a leg or arm, a graze here and there."
"As for the younger man, giving him a scare shall be enough."
"It's of vital importance you take any documents they carry and deliver them punctually."
For a moment, Alatriste thought he'd seen the unmistakable red cross pattern of the Order of Calatrava in the masked man's chest.
"To whom?"
"Someone who'll be waiting at the other side of The Convent of Carmen Descalzo. the codeword is 'Hunters and Swiss'."
But his attention was diverted to the money the man put upon the table.

"You're ten pieces short for both of us"
"The person waiting for you tomorrow shall deliver the rest, after the documents are delivered"
"And if something goes wrong?"
The portlier of the masked men, whose companion had called excellency fixed a hard gaze at the Captain.
"For the sake of everyone present, it better not!"
The man's word carried a threat, and it was evident that this man did not issued them lightly.
"What about the target's purses? ... shall we deliver these too?"
"That's irrelevant. You may keep them as bonuses."

After hearing his accent, the Captain knew the other swordsman was an Italian.
He looked at the masked men with a grin. His was the kind of smile that gave goosebumps.
The Italian whistled a tune between his teeth.
"I think I'm going to enjoy this errand!"
His smile went from his face to his eyes, who glinted in a dangerous way.
At that very moment, Alatriste knew the Italian was one of those rogues who it's better to stab outright, just in case, before they give you one in the back.

The stouter man was of few words. He stood in silence a while more. Then, after gesturing approval, he turned around...
"No deaths."
By the treatment and the respectful gesture the other man gave him, the Captain knew that this was a man of high standing.
He was deep in this thought when he noticed a change in the man with the gold ring. There was a new, disturbing glint in his eyes, as if the business hadn't concluded yet.
He seemed to be waiting for something, or someone
The answer came after a moment.

A lesser man would've thought they were before an apparition. The man was dressed in the habits of the Dominican Order. His gaze was full of feverish fanaticism...
"Did his fatherhood heard everything?"
"The gentleman that just left is worthy of our deepest respect and consideration. But it isn't just him who has a say in this matter, and it is important we clarify that."
At this point the masked man look to the friar waiting for approval, but he remained indifferent.
"For reasons of higher politics, and despite what the gentleman that just left has said, these two Englishmen must be neutralized in more... definite way."
"Your grace means to say..."

"He means to say that both of the heretics must die."
"Both?"
"Both!"
The Italian smiled in amusement. He whistled that tune again.
"Alright then, it also seems like my companion isn't bothered by the change of plans"
"On the contrary..."
"It makes things easier. Wounding two men in the dark is more bothersome than just killing them."
"The art of simplicity."

"There's thing one that worries me. the other gentleman that just left seemed a person of station, and he requested we don't kill anyone."
"I would not like be at odds against someone you've called... Excellency."
"The pay will be greater"
"I should like to know how much."
"Ten more pieces of four. add the ten pending and these five, sum up twenty five doubloons for each."
"Plus whatever Mr Thomas and John Smith carry."
"Suits me fine."
It was obvious that to the Italian it was the same thing two or twenty; wounded, killed, or skewered.
For his part, Alatriste thought: this was way too much money to kill a couple of nobodies.
Too much a pay to not be disturbing.
His instincts smelled danger.
"I'm still not sure."
"Sword-hands are aplenty in Madrid"

It was then that the friar faced Alatriste. His visage a stone carving of fanatism.
"I am father Emilio Bocanegra, head of the holy inquisition's tribunal!"
At these words it felt as if a chilling wind had crossed the room...
"And I need no mask nor hide my face like a thief, for the power invested on me by God is enough to exterminate any enemy of the Holy Mother Church and his Catholic Majesty the King of Spain."
"You are mercenary scum, drenched in blood your hands are, just as your blades and conciences."
"Tonight you are being entrusted with a sacred task. And you will execute it, because in doing so you serve Divine Justice."
"If you refuse this task, be sure that the wrath of God shall be upon you through the long and terrible arm of the Holy Office."

Even the toughest men trembled at the sole mention of the Holy Office; and for his part, Diego Alatriste knew very well of Friar Emilio Bocanegra's fame as a relentless inquisitor.
It was unavoidable now. Alatriste understood that these English, whoever they were, were doomed. One could not fight against the church!
"What is your bidding?"
"Pass them through the sword!"
"Without knowing their names?"
"You have been told who they are. Mr. Thomas and John Smith, English travelers."
"And impious Anglicans!"

With that said, the friar pulled a bag with twenty golden coins and threw it disdain on the table.
"Now you see that unlike earthly powers, divine justice pays upfront."
The friar looked at both the captain and the Italian with intensity as if he was engraving their faces in his memory.
"But know that none can escape its gaze and it knows how to reclaim it's debts!"
Diego Altriste was a brave man, but he could not stop a shudder run his back. Next to him the Italian had gone pale, his tiruri-ta-ta choked on his throat.

Chapter III: A LITTLE LADY
Even after all these years, I remember yearningly the Turk's Tabern. The place was a taproom where one could eat, drink and drink spirits. That's where Diego Alatriste and I took recidence.
The captain would spend his time there when he had nothing better to do, which was most of the time.

"Face to face must I fight, Wherever I see him, wheter it be on the plaza or the steet; for the one who dies without struggle must be reprimanded, but more honor to he who is truck in the back than the one who would strike." (forgive my shitty prose)
I had just finished writing these verses when the captain too the paper to read it...
He read the verses in silnce...
And then, he gazed at me with a look I learned to understand, serene and longing, as elocuent as could be all the words he would never speak, I learnt to read on his face
He returned the page to me and went back to his table...

Don Francisco and all of the Captain's friends used to frequent the tabern, spending hours on end discussing about politics, theater, poetry or women, while I, sat next to the door and practiced my calygraphy.
"That way, he'll be able to edcuate himself and study law so he can bleed any plaintiff of their last coin, as you lawyers do."
"Isn't that the truth. The pen is more profitable than the sword."
"Longa manus calami (the reach of the pen is long)."
"How goes teh memorial Don Fransisco?"
"I believe Philip the Great wipes his great ass with it."
"Doesn't stop that from being an honor."

This is pretty cool
Lurkan and readan

"In any case, the honor goes to his royal ass. The paper was of quality, half a Ducat for a ream, and it had my best writing."
Those weren't good times for Don Francisco, neither for his prose, his poetry or his finances.
The memorial he had written to the King requesting his old pention of 400 escudos that were owed to him for his services in Italy enjoyed of his Majesty's silence as response.
"Patientia lenietur princeps (With patience one appeases a sovereign)."
"the only thing that needs placating is what I'm owed father."

"Let us be prudent, Ser Quevedo. You aren't in a position to mutter certain subjects in a loud voice."
"Mutter, me? you misjudge me father. I do not mutter but affirm in loud voice...!"
"I will not quiet, never by a finger on my lips, but by a cross on my temple, wether silence imposes or fear menaces? musn't the spirit be brave? musn't one feel that which they say? musn't one say what they feel?"
Caridad went for the empty jars, asked the gentlemen some moderation, and silenced the debaters with a sway of her hips as she left.
"Nothing left but to fight..."

"Fight against who, Don Francisco?"
"Against stupidity, wickedness, superstition, envy and ignorance. Which is to say, against Spain and the world."
I listened to their conversation from my seat, wondered and amazed, thinking on what Don Fransico's words could mean.
I was then too young to understand, that one could be harsh when speaking of the things they loved, precisely because of that love.
Back then I could only think of the audacity of those words, and would turn my head outside, in search of any marshals out in the street.

It was then that I notcied the chariot, I would lie if I said I didn't long to see it pass.
And I looked in the window searching for a reflecion of that flowing shining blonde hair and I saw those blue eyes...
Around then, Angelica de Alquezar must've had 11 or 12 years old adn was already anouncing the world of what a beauty she would grow to be one day.
I didn't know who she was. To me she was a heavenly vision, so out of my mortal reach as was the sun itself.

That day the coach stopped a few feet away from me. Something had gotten stuck in one of the wheel's axis.
A group of urchins gathered to made fun of the coachman.
"Pardieu they're worse than flies!"
"he smells worse than how he drives."
and so, to teach them a lesson, he waved his whip.
"By God i'll...!"
He shouldn't have done that.

That carriage transported the most precious thing I could imagine.
And I was a son of Lope Balboa... so it was out of question...
that I would not rise to protect my lady.

... I closed on the brigands, and with a couple of blows...
and four kicks in the rear, I dissolved this enemy force.
I was about to leave, when those blue eyes appeared fro behind the curtain.

She gazed at me so fixatedly she would've frozen the water running on the nearest fountain in place.
"Iñigo Balboa, page at the serivce of Captain Don Diego Alatriste, at your service."
Imapssive, she looked at me straight into my eyes.

>Mom’s spaghetti

I heard the coachman's whip crack and the carriage began to move, taking away a smile that to this very day I ignore if it was real or imagined.
And I stood there in the middle of the street, enamoured to the bottom of my heart, ignoring, to my disfortune, that I had just met my most sweetest, dangerous and mortal enemy.

Chapter IV: THE AMBUSH
Alatriste and his companion had chosen a narrow, dark and lonely alley by which the two Englishmen would have to cross.
"I like this, them in light and us in shadow, seen and unseen."
A messenger had delivered the pair's schedule and route.

I like storytime

The place chosen for the ambush was perfect to unmount with ease two surprised travelers.
A shadow moved from across it's hiding position. The Italian was going stiff, after half our of waiting.
To distract himself, Alatriste passed the time reminiscing on the men he'd killed; not the one's in war, but face to face.

Fighting face to face was important, at least to him. Diego Altriste never stabbed a man from behind. As feeble as this seemed as an excuse, it was his reasoning or justification for it.
Eleven men, he counted.
And there, hidden from sight, waiting for his would-be victims, Diego Alatriste wished to be once more in Flanders.
Compared to the bystreet where he lay in wait to kill two men who he had never seen before, the fields of battle seemed cleaner and loftier

The bell of the Carmen Descalzo's tower tolled eight. And a few moments later...
The whistling of his companion indicated he too was on the alert.
Unaware of the ambush before them, the English turned around the corner...

"Woe to the madman who carries no sword..."
Altriste breathed five or six times to steel himself...
"Now!"
Everything seemed to be easy.

The younger man had barely a moment to dodge the Italian's trust.
"Steenie! Careful Steenie!"
Meanwhile, Alatriste was ready to skewer the so called Thomas Smith.
The Englishman defended himself with courage and resolve.
But he was too fiery in his defense and was straining himself in his efforts.

"So long Englishman!"
Suddenly a cry was heard. And it made Alatriste's foe freeze.
The younger Englishman was wounded and could hardly defend himself from the Italian's lunges.

What Thomas Smith said then, threw the captain off his feet.
"Quarter for my friend! Quarter for my friend!"
"The balls on this damned heretic! Pardieu!"
"You ask mercy for your companion, when you are about to become food for maggots?"
"Yes...! Quarter for my friend!"
For a moment, Alatriste looked into the Englishman's eyes, and saw no fear in them, but unselfishness.
"Quarter, sir...!"
And he doubted.
"God damn it! Damn this all to hell! By the devil and its demons!"

It was plain to see that the Italian was having the time of his life, he could've killed the man, but took pleasure in harrying him.
This John Smith didn't ask for any reprieve and looked ready to die in stoic silence.
Alatriste knew then he would be unable to kill the Englishman in cold blood.
And he knew too that he was about to launch himself, as the complete fool he knew he was, into the most dangerous situation he could place himself.

"Leave him!"
The Italian couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
"You joking?"
"Leave him."
"Come on!"

The wounded man could not comprehend what was happening.
Alatriste faced the Italian.
"Something's wrong here, very wrong."
"So, we'll kill them later."
"You're mad! This will costs us our necks!"
"I'll take the blame!"
"Right."

Suddenly, Malatesta lunged at the Englishman with a sword thrust that would've killed him, had Alatriste not blocked it with his sword.
Malatesta struck again.

And again...
"I don't like this!"

"This isn't over!"
The Italian disappeared like a shadow in the dark. And his fading laughter sounded like the worst of augurs.

>Don't do your job
Is Alatriste a fucking spergy autist?

Chapter V: THE TWO ENGLISHMEN
They turned the lamp on and layed it next to tthe wounded. Despite his limited knowledge of the Enlish tongue, besides a few words he'd exchanged in the battlefield - fockyu (fuck you) and vergoin tucat yurbols (we're going to cut your balls)-, the Captain could understand that the man talked to his wounded companion with affection, yet utmost respect.
"It's only a light wound, makes you bleed some, but no real danger."
While he called him Steenie, the other used the formal title of Milord to adress the wounded.
"I've been had!"
That caught Alatriste's curiosity so, that instead of fleeing, as his common sense screamed to him, he chose to remain
"Of curious people the cemeteries are full."

At this point, after the dealing with the Italian, the two masked men and Emilio Bocanegra, the cemetery was an obvious outcome.
"Damned my luck! perfect timing for me to play the hero! damn my concience if it hasn't doomed me!"
"We're in your debt sir, in spite of everything."
The englishman's accent was strong. Yet his tone was sincere, after such a near brush with death.
"In spite of everything."
Alatriste didn't knew how to respond. He gave an appraizing look to the younger man who's companion had called Milord.
"If this man isn't of good stock, then I'm willing to take the turkish faith."
"Your are not just some common brigand. Your name?"
He remained silent. The Captain wasn't given to light confidences, even less to two foreigners he had been about to kill.

The Italian could come back in any moment with his damned whistling and with reinforcements to boot
"You have to leave, quickly!"
"Who sent you?"
"Mount and go!"
"You were about to strike me dead but did not. And you saved my friend too... why?"
"The years have turned me soft."
"This wasn't a coincidence. Someone sent you against us, right?"
All these questions began to irritate him. Even more when he percieved any answer he could give had a monetary weight to them.
"Do I look like the kind of person that talks about his affairs to others?"

>not rolling for intent or perception
I bet you like to play just to squash the mooks and grind exp

The man looked at him appraisinly.
"No, you really don't."
"I'm glad you understand that. Now, mount and ride, my accomplice could return."
"And you?"
"I am my own man."
"This cannot be known, too much is at stake."
"My head for example."
"My friend needs rest. And the man that wounded him might be waiting for us ahead... Do you know what our destination is?"
"Possibly."

>Leaving it to dice
>Not just knowing it
Truly you have no honor.

"Do you know The House of the Seven Chimneys?"
"Maybe."
"Would you lead us there?"
"No."
"Would you deliver a message in our stead?"
"Out of question."
"The man takes me for a fool. To throw myself into the wolves den!"
"Do you know of a place where can seek help? ...or at least rest for a while?"
He was going to answer no, when an idea dawned on him
"Maybe."
"Follow me gentlemen!"
That haven was a hundred paces from him.
He was Alvaro de la Marca, Count of Guadalmedina
"You're in a fine mess"

Álvaro Luis Gonzaga de la Marca, Cound of Guadalmedina, handsome, elegant and rich enough that he could lose 10000 ducados in a game and would'nt even raise an eyebrow.
"A fine bloody mess! ..."
Guadalmedina had been a staff member for the duke of Osuna, and fought against Venetians and the Turks. Since those times they knew each other.
"Do you know who you were about to kill tonight?"
Alatriste had just explained what had occured; with a few ommisions. The count was one of the few people he trusted entirely.
"No your excelency, I do not. Some Thomas Smith and his companion. Or at least, that's what I was told."
"Who told you this?"
"That's what I would like to know."

Knowing him a cool headed fellow and of cheerful disposition, rarely had the captain seen him so distressed
"Thomas Smith. Thomas Smith, just like that!"
"Yes."
"Thomas Smith my arse! the older man's named George Villiers, sound familiar? ...he's known throughout Europe by his title: The Marquiss of Buckingham!"
"The Marquiss of Buckingham!"
Everyone in Spain knew that the Marquiss of Buckingham was King James of England's favorite, the very cream of English nobility
"Meaning that; You were just about to skewer the English King's right hand man, who was traveling incognito, as for the other...
"John Smith?"
The very mention of mister John Smith - whoever he was - made him go pale in disbelief.
"You're incredible Alatriste! Incredible!"

To talk about friendship would be too much to define the relation between Guadalmedina and the old soldier; but the held themsleves in esteem.
"Are you sure you could not recognize either of the masked men who hired you"
Diego Alatriste had always kept distance from the Count, and would only go to him in case of absolute and desperate need.
"I've told your lordship. They seemed people of station, but I could not recognize them from anywhere."
"It was just these two?"
"Just the two, that I remember"
"And one said to spare them, and the other to not to."
"More or less."
"You're hiding me something!"
"Maybe."

They knew each other enough to know Alatriste would speak no more.
"Fine. It's your neck the one in danger."
It was one thing to talk about masked men, and another to denounce his employers. Even as a sword for hire, he still held to some twisted codes.
Álvaro de la Marca meditated on how he could profit from this secret of state that fate and Alatriste had placed on his lap.
"I thought of notyfying the english ambassador, but the gentlemen say that it would be inconvenient that the meeting took place in my home."
"So, since they've rested, I will escort them there myself - with some of my own men - to the house of the seven chimneys to avoid any more unpleasant encounters."

"Is there anything I can do to help your grace?"
"You've done plenty I'm afraid. Best you stay in the sidelines for now"
"You'll stay for the night, and tomorrow we'll see how thing develop, I've had a room prepared for you.
Alvaro de la Marca was not willing to put his guest in any more dangers
"In a few hours the news of these men will spread and all of Madrid will be in an uproar"
"They've asked me that I refrain of speaking of your... meeting, or that you brought them here on my word of honor"

"This is a delicate matter Alatriste, and more than your life is at stake"
"Officially, their voyage must end without incidence at the english embassador's recidence."
"And that is precisely what I mean to ensure"
"By the way, the wish to see you before they leave. I have no idea how you resolved the matter, but after telling them about who you are and how everything happened, they seem to hold no grudge against you."
"Those damned English and their brittish chivalry...! Had it been me in their place, I would be demanding your head, by God!"

The meeting was short. Alvaro de la Marca dressed and armed as if ready to assault a turkish ship too the captain to the lobby where the english were waiting.
"Here's the man."
Marquiss, archbishop or villain; advisor to King James or cousin of the pope, the man didn't give Alatriste any worry. I t was friar Emilio Bocanegra and themasked men who would torment his thoughts that night and some others later on.
"You almost killed us tonight..."
"I appologize, not always are we owners of our blades."
The man looked at him with a slight air of superiority
"I believe we are at peace."

The younger man, John Smith remained silent...
Until he spoke a few words to his companion, Buckingham
"My firend says he owes you his life, the last lunge the man in black threw at him would've been fatal."
"It's possible, we were all lucky tonight."
"... My friend also asks what made you change sides and idea."
"I haven't."
"I'm always on my side."
"I hunt alone."

"He says that it does not matter who you are and what you do...
"Only that you acted nobly by not allowing him to be killed as a cur, assasinated..."
"He says that in the end, he considers himself indebted to you."
"That by tomorrow morning, all of Europe will know that the son and heir
of King James of England is in Madrid, escorted only by his friend the Marquiss of Buckingham..."
"And that, though tonight's events must be forgotten by reasons of state, he, Charles, Prince of Wales and future King of England, Scotland and Ireland, will never forget that a man named Diego Altriste could've let him to die but instead saved went to his aid."

Chapter VI: THE ART OF MAKING ENEMIES
The next day, Madrid awoke to an astounding news. Charles Stuart, oldest pup of the English Lion, impatient due to the snail pace of the negotiations for his bethrotal with the infanta doña Maria, sister of our King, don Felipe IV, had concoted with his firend Buckinham the maddest of ideas: to travel incognito to Madrid to meet his bride-to-be.
The wedding between the anglican prince and the catholic princess was a complicated tangled mess that included foreign embassadors, diplomats, ministers, governments and even his holyness the Pope of Rome.

The Prince of Wales, seconded by his friend Buckingham, had proposed that, going through with this adventure so full of hazards and dangers of marching into Spain, unanounced, and without protocols...
would end in both swooning the infanta, and him taking her away back to England, to the astoundment of all of Europe and with the blessings of both the english and spanish peoples
Furthermore, this marriage would end the longstanding enmity between both nations.
That morning, as the news flew the King's councillors, with the Count of Olivares at the helm, were looking for a way to get out of such a compromisisng political situation.

The people of Madrid went in droves to the House of the Seven Chimneys to acclaim the dashing traveler.
Guadalmedina had been called urgently to the Royal Palace, where he brought the King and his First Minister up to date.
As he had given his word, the Count could not and would not reveal anything about the ambush, but knew how to express himself through gestures, silences and implied details so that both the monarch and his advisor understood that both of the reckless travelers had been almost filleted in a dark alleyway of Madrid.

All of this had been explained to Diego Alatriste by Guadalmedina himself, who had spent the better part of the day traveling back and forth the House of the Seven Chimneys and the Palace...
"To summarize, the situation is simple. England is pressuring for the wedding to be celebrated, but Olivares and the council - under his influenze - are in no hurry."
"For and Infanta of Castille to marry an Anglican Prince is anathema."
"So Olivares keeps stalling things, which in turns made Charles decide to take the bull by the horns and made the demand in person."
Alvaro de la Marca invited Alatriste to dine with him, but he politely abstained.
"Who does his lordship think this wedding would inconvinience?"
"Many... In Spain, the church and the inquisition are absolutelly against it."

"Not to mention the Pope, France, Savoy, and Venice are willing to do anything to stop an alliance between England and Spain..."
"Can you imagine what would've happened had you killed Buckingham and the Prince last night?"
"War with Enlgand I suppose."
"You suppose rightly."
"Those masked men that hired you could be agents paid by Venice, Savoy, France or God knows who... Are you sure they were Spaniards?"
"As sure that you and I are, and people of quality"
"Don't be so sure about qualit. In these days, everyone boasts the same: old christian, somebody's son and gentleman. And since labor diminishes honor, not even Christ works."

"Well, these men I met were of stock, and Spaniards"
"Well, Spaniards or not, it's the same thing. As if foreigners couldn't pay their way inside..."
"In this dear Spain of ours Diego, with enough gold you can buy either the villain or the noble. Everything's for sale, save for the nation's honor, and even that we can pawn given the chance."
"As for the rest, what can I say. Our concience... our swords..."
"Or our souls."
"Yes, your masked men might even be in the employ of our esteemed pontiff Gregory. The Holy Father can't stomach us spaniards"

The sole mentione of the church was enough to make Diego Alatriste uncomfortable. The image of Friar Emilio Bocanegra rose in his memory like a specter.
"Whoever they were, their objective was clear; to stop the wedding."
"Sending a grievous message to England and provque a war between our nations."
"And you, by changing of idea ruined eveything. Yours has been a masterstroke in the art of making enemies"
"Were I in your place, I'd watch my back."
"The problem now is that I cannot protect you any longer. If I do, I would become your accomplice"
"So I suggest you take a long vacation far away from here..."
"And whatever you know, keep it to yourself, don't say a word, even under confession. If any priest caught a wind of this, he would hang his habits, sell the secret and retire rich."

"What about the Englishman...? Will he be safe?"
"Obviously, with all of Europe aware of it, the Prince's as bloody safe as his accursed Tower of London."
"Besides, Olivares is smart and knows how to improvise. Maybe he'll come around and so will the king. Do you know what he said to him?"
"That if they couldn't get consent from Rome to give the Infanta as a bride he would very well give it him as a lover... Olivares is a wily bastard, shrewd and dangerous as can be. And Charles is now sure of having Doña Maria within his grasp."
"And how has she taken these events?"
"She's a twenty year old lass, take a guess. She's exctatic. That a royal blooded heretic, young and handsome would do all this for her fascinates her."

>we're halfway there Veeky Forums. how're you liking the story so far?

"Yet, she is and Infanta of Castille. I higly doubt they may allowed so much as pray a hail mary together on their own..."
"True, an alliance with England would strengthen us against France, who is our main concern in Europe."
"But eitherway, one thing was to dispatch some nameless traveler whose dissapearence wouldn't be missed, and another to make an attempt against the grandson of Mary Stuart, guest of the King of Spain and future monarch of England."
"The moment is passed. Which I imagine infuriates your masked acquaintances and would have them baying for vengeance."
"Furthermore, it wouldn't be convenient for them to have witnesses who could speak of this, and the best way to silence a witness is to turn it into a corpse, understand?"
"I'm glad you do. Now, Captain Alatriste, I've dedicated much of my time to you, and I have businesses to attend to, and you should to yours, and may god watch over you."

I like it, don't stop posting

All of Madrid was jubilant, and the people's curiosity har turned the embassy into a fair
The people called for the Prince of Wales, and when at noon the young man appeared from one of the windows, he was acclaimed in a thunderous ovation
I myself went there accompanying Caridad, who couldn't miss the spectacle.
La Lebrijana was around 30 to 35 years old back then, an andalusian of fine features and appearance who had been an actress for the comedies for five or six years, and a prositute for about the same in a house in the Huertas street.

Tired of that life, she saved her earnings and bought the Turk's Tavern, and had made a decent living since then.
and I will add - not that it was a secret - that was in deeply enamoured of Alatriste, and for that reason she waived any debts he had in the tavern.
"He's a gallant lad the englishman! A fine look and port! he'd make a great couple for our infanta!"
As with the rest of the female public, she was on the groom's side.
"A shame he's a heretic. But that can be solved with a quick confession and a baptism... A pair of breasts will reel you harder than a pair of beasts!"
And she laughed, making her lush breast flutter, which had me entranced.

>Spaghetti status: spilled

I frequently asked myslef just what did the captain do with those lush curves that were so mysterious to me whenever he sent me on errands...
... when he would be alone with Lebrijana, and all I could hear was her mirthful and happy laughs coming from upstairs.
Anyway, we were enraptured in our cheering for any figure we could see from the windows, when the captain approached us.

He looked tired, and walked amongst the people as if ready for a dagger to appear in any moment.
He semeed a bit more relaxed when I assured him that no one went looking for him
"No Captain. neither during the night nor in the morning."
"Same thing at the tabern; neither strangers nor questions."
There were people of stock amongst the curious, even two or three charriots with ladies liiking from behind the curtains.
I thought I recognized one of the charriots. The coachman was busy chatting so I was able to get near without worrying of trouble.

And there she was, when I saw her the doubt that opressed my heart left when I was proven right.
I don't know of anyone who can smile the way she did back then.
"At your service."
Hers was one of those smiles, innate to women, fruit of centuries upon centuries of looking at men commit all sort of stupidities.
"There's no mud in the street today."
The ring of her voice made me shook where I stood.
"There is none... And I'm sad for it, for I can't be of service to you because of it."

She smiled again, and I was the happiest, most gallant and noble of all the boy of the world.
"He's the page I told you of, his name's Iñigo, and he lives in Arcabuz street with a captain..."
She told someone who accompanied her.
and I was too engrossed by the fact that she could remember my name.
"Isn't it so? some Batiste or Eltriste fellow."

There was a ruffling inside the coach.
And a man's face appeared. It radiated a sensation of ruinous vulgarity
But the most distressing thing was the expression hate and anger that I saw in his eyes when she mentioned the name of the captain.

In those times, taking the rue was a traditional stroll of Madrid by traversing in coach, on foot or by horse the Mayor road to the orchards of the duke of Lerma, the Jeronimos monastery and the meadow of the same name.
As for the latter, it was a place of social meeting and courtship, auspicious for discreet meetings and the favorite place for courtiers to relax. No better place then, for our monarch Felipe IV to choose from to arrange a first official meeting between his sister the Infanta and the gallant english suitor.