Red City on the Ocean

Chapter 9. In the Name of the King

Captain Stefan, the commander of the Vila Viçosa garrison, lifted his head from the pillow and listened. It was still early, but a discordant chorus of drunken soldiers could be heard from the barracks. They chanted in derision at the pot-bellied nobles and threatened to let the red rooster into the estates of the gentlemen and defame their wives and daughters. Only the name of the king remained sacred to them. Only the king was spared by the soldiers and only on him did they continue to rely. The worst thing was that the soldiers delivered their blasphemous speeches in rhyme. They didn't even invent anything special; they just twisted the words of the drill song, and, of course, a once-uttered obscenity is impossible to get out of your head. Stefan knew this from his own experience.

Last night, when Stefan didn't find a single sentry on the castle wall, he looked into the barracks, and even the duty sergeant didn't come up to him with a report. Only one, the drunkest, but somewhat obedient, soldier tried to get up, and even that was out of some force of habit. What else, damn it? What next?! Stefan knew well that the army was rotten from the inside and falling apart.

After one or two days of idleness, the first cracks would start on even the strongest shelf. One soldier, then another, would stop shaving or mending his clothes and armor. Then, the sullen grumbling of the most irrepressible troublemakers would begin. These would be silently supported by the majority, some agreeing and others following because they were afraid of these loudmouths. There may be only three or four of them, but they would have strong fists and a habit of keeping everyone down. They liked to fight, which most, on the contrary, did not like at all, despite their trade. A week later, a soldiers' revolt would become inevitable, turning the regiment into a huge gang of looters and rapists, terrifying civilians. Once it began, it could only be brought to obedience with the help of regiments that had not yet been touched by corruption, and there was already one such regiment – camped just outside these castle walls.

My God, while he, the commandant, was fussing with his secret, the soldiers had already guessed everything! That there would be no assault and the duke had fled. He was left alone with his lies and looked at the ground. After all, the whole garrison had eyes. Everything the soldiers saw; they would freely discuss. The red line had already been crossed. He, the captain and commandant, would not be able to hang even one soldier-perjurer to impose fear, because he simply would not find any amenable performers.

Stefan imagined being pushed out into the street, into a crowd of drunken soldiers. Everyone was angry at him for some reason or another; such was military service. Everyone kept a stone in his bosom. The soldiers angrily shouted righteous words. They made up a terrible, criminal untruth, but the crowd was unable to see through it, and finally, a noose was thrown around his neck...

For the first time in days, Stefan felt goosebumps running down his spine.

He couldn't help the duke anymore. He was no longer able to carry out his orders. Neither the duke nor his family was in any danger. Yes, the treasurer continued to regularly give both soldiers and him huge sums in gold cruzados, but sooner or later the supplies would run out, and then they wouldn't be able to buy half a dead rat for those damn cruzados.

Stefan remembered how the superintendent shouted at another captain right in front of his eyes. When the officer tried to justify himself by referring to an order he received, the superintendent retorted, "That's why they made you an officer, so that you could decide for yourself which order to carry out and which not!" He meant you had to get yourself out of predicaments! And Stefan started packing.

He had prepared simple peasant clothes in advance, reasoning that they would protect him better than any armor at this point. Stefan just put the armor under the bed, and from there he took out a heavy bag of gold. Stefan took only a dagger for his weapon. Now he had to wait until dark. To reach the entrance to the underground passage, which only he knew about in the castle, it would be necessary to cross the square, where drunken soldiers were walking around now. Stefan didn't want to meet them at all, not in his captain's attire but even more so not in his current dress.