—Bring him out! I, Friar Arthur of Negroponte, demand the presence of Miguel Cortés before God.
The shout echoed throughout the perimeter of the village, cutting through the cold morning air and bouncing off the worn wooden walls. The soldiers who were clearing the ground and helping the families stopped in their tracks, exchanging confused glances at the interruption.
…
—What is all that ruckus?—asked Miguel.
—It seems our representative of God on earth has just arrived, young master.—said Fernández with excessive sarcasm.
—Oh, and I thought I was always the one who was late.—replied Miguel with spite, just enough to draw a chuckle from Fernández.
…
Miguel walked out of the infirmary adjusting the collar of his jacket, and as he peered out, he saw the elderly friar trying to force his way past not only the Carmine brothers with the super-muscular Clayton at the front, but also the regular guards posted at the entrance beforehand.
—Arthur of Negroponte, young man.—said the friar haughtily. —Show more respect to the holy servants of God on earth. The young people of today no longer have respect for holiness and the gifts that have been granted by God for his people THROUGH his one and holy Church.
—Friar Arthur, with all the respect that God and the Church deserve, I must inquire about the reason for this expression, which is neither formal nor respectful of form and etiquette towards me. Frankly, I am astonished by such a speech. What could be the reason for... this?—said Miguel, shifting to a pompous tone to refer to the friar and disconcert those present.
—You know very well the transgression you have committed against the sanctity and primacy of the friars in the celebration of religious rites, with that embarrassing display when performing the funeral rites for the fallen soldiers. That mission, by express condition of the Canon Code, is the function of the friars or the fathers.—said Arthur, accelerating his voice and raising his tone more and more.
—Wait right there, Friar.—said Miguel, already beginning to lose his patience. —As far as I know, of everything reported by the caravan before beginning this endeavor to take the PEOPLE back to their homes so they could resume their lives after the illegal attack carried out against our town, no personnel of the holy and true faith were counted among those who were leaving. Not even one! Oh, don't tell me, Friar Arthur: did you hide in commoner's clothing during the whole trip and bring the ever-sacred robes inside a random bag so as not to be recognized on the return trip? For what reason would you do that, Father?!—said Miguel, with the last part louder than usual, eliciting some laughter among the onlookers who had begun to gather.
—Young man, you do not hold the cards. I have not heard a single word of gratitude to God from you among all these pomps that you yourself attribute not to divine work, but to the work of mortals. Remember, you do not hold the cards. And God's punishments can come in many forms.—the friar threatened flagrantly.
—I am not playing cards, Friar.—said Miguel. —And to make it clear, with God by my side, no one is against me. The victories of my people are also the victories of God. Do not be confused, Friar.
—Hum, we shall see about that.—said Arthur, and turned on his heel to head toward his chapel, the one from which Miguel had landed the coup de grace against the Marquis of Narico's lieutenant.
…
—Phew, what a pain.—said Miguel, and then looked at Fernández. —Any idea why he did that?
—No idea, young master.—said the lieutenant, —but I'm afraid it might not be an isolated incident. Honestly, I was surprised initially that there was no religious personnel within the caravan, but I assumed they would stay in the towns. I had no idea that a friar had ever done that in history. The robe is sacred to them.
—Ummmmm, we'd better send a report to my father.—said Miguel. —I know the messenger has already left, but we can send the report of this strange situation, plus the new hygiene rules and the plan for our departure with the carriage of the disabled. Oh, right, the new loot distributions, with the relevant explanations.
—It shall be done at your command, young master.—replied Fernández, already moving to carry out the order.
…
The next day In the city of Pasto, inside the Count's office, was Alban Cortés, Protector of the North, reading the reports arriving from the current convoy mission.
—I didn't expect a camp full of the Marquis's men so close to our capital after their defeat.—said the Count looking at Francisco.
—It makes sense if what you want is to avoid a 3-day pursuit all the way to your border. One way or another, you force the pursuing force to leave troops in the worst case scenario, if they have sufficient numbers, or even to stop completely to assault that position if they don't want to have their supply routes completely cut off or risk an attack from the rear in the middle of the pursuit.—said the captain.
—Yes, but it would be best to preserve your forces in case the enemy wants to cross into your territory to devastate it... unless...—said the Count.
—That you are waiting for reinforcements.—said the captain.
And they looked at each other.
—I don't think it's as immediate as a full mobilization of the Duke of Sosa's faction against us. Yes, we are not their friends, but neither are we their direct rivals, besides initiating a civil war. But we have enough problems without getting mixed up in the capital's intrigues.—said the Count.
—They don't necessarily have to be troops with their territories' flags; they can be disguised mercenaries.—said the captain.
—Good point.
—We need to know how Giuseppe's progress is going. We need to buy time, stop the war casualties, allow the peaceful planting of our fields, and prepare for the next assault. Furthermore, we must look at how we can maneuver politically to get the forces we can legally maintain as guards expanded.—Alban was saying, and right before he could say another word, there was a knock at the door.
—My lord, correspondence from the young master and Mr. Giuseppe.—the guard bowed before handing over the messages.
—Thank you.—said the Count, and began to read them.
…
—Incredible.—said Alban. —Look, read.—and he handed the letter to Francisco.
And after reading the letter, Francisco himself, who was at least 40 years old, had eyes like a child looking at candy.
—I am impressed, my lord.—said Francisco. —It's pure gold. New medical techniques, new loot distributions to improve morale and thus discipline, a promise to the combat wounded, and a full report of their progress from a military perspective.
—But not everything is good. Read below...
Francisco went from wide-eyed to a serious look.
—Well, this is indeed unexpected. Could Friar Arthur be on the Marquis's side?
—I don't think so.—said Alban. —Men like him don't get involved in these matters just for personal whims; they don't have enough to gain, nor do they have enough to bet in these leagues. Most likely, he is following orders from his seminary master, some bishop from the capital, or something. Friars getting into politics usually means this.
—And Giuseppe?—asked Francisco.
—Well, he reports that he reached the Marquis's border from our southern route, to avoid the eastern route. But he reached the first border post invoking the right of parley, but was ignored and even threatened.—said the Count. —He said he returned to our southern border post, bypassing the southern mountain formations.
—The bastard wants the case to be taken to the Council of Nobles, hoping that the Duke of Sosa and his cronies will corroborate it.—the Count continued. —I will need to call in some favors from the border wars with the empire. And Francisco, we need a good spy network.