"Nuno, where did you find these soldiers? They look murderous, and they've got no discipline... They look like that scum from the sea? You actually brought these men in the middle of the night to block me, and you're wearing armor, carrying Matchlock Muskets?... Damn it! I'm not your enemy. I've never thought of moving against you... We're on the same side!..."
"Duarte! I need you to give me an explanation! The Church mass in two days, the one with Duke Manuel as its focus—will you attend it or not?..."
"...So that's what this is about! Nuno, you came at just the right time. Even if you hadn't come to find me, I was going to find you about this... Come inside with me! Have your men come in too. At a crucial time like this, don't let outsiders watch us make fools of ourselves..."
The new night was as tranquil as water, and the mansions of the royal stewards were not far apart. Only, when two shadowy groups faced off against each other, each man wearing armor and carrying bows, crossbows, blades, spears, and Matchlock Muskets, the scene had not the slightest thing to do with peace and quiet.
Fortunately, the leaders of the two groups were not enemies locked in a fight to the death. They could even be called comrades of many years' close acquaintance. There were too many old ties between them, like the royalist brand carved into their bodies. And their division lay in that uncertain future: now, when they were about to lose their master, where should the road of loyalty lead? And who should be the object of that loyalty?
"Nuno! I'll tell you frankly again... His Highness George is an illegitimate son. Without the pope's absolution, he has no legal basis to