After my mother's little speech—hard to believe, considering she wasn't really my mother—a tear escaped the corner of my eye, thinking that it was all a mistake, a dream I was stuck in. I brought my hand to my face and, to my surprise, it wasn't just one, but several tears escaping the orbits of my eyes.
I quickly managed to say: —I am sorry, Father, Mother, for losing my composure.
And swiftly, to avoid a scolding, I hurriedly wiped my face with the sleeve of the brigandine, which was covered in red cloth, the color of the House of Cortés.
My father... my father approached me, and bracing myself for a reprimand from the strict Count, I returned to attention. But to my surprise, the Count placed his hand on my shoulder and gave me a hug.
—We believe in you. —Was all he said.
Thank you. —Was the only thing that crossed my mind, and the only thing my lips had left to say.
Later that evening, as I headed to my quarters to rest before departure, I found Miel standing near my room with teary eyes. As soon as she saw me return, a small light shone in them. She ran over to where I was and, in one bound, hugged me so tightly she nearly knocked me over.
—Whoa! Miel, what's wrong? —I said, a bit startled by the sudden movement against me. Involuntary, I tensed my abdomen and took a step back.
—Young master, please, do not die in the war. —Miel said through her tears.
—Relax, everything is going to be fine. —I relaxed upon realizing it wasn't a threat—. I am not going on a suicide mission; I am going with many competent people.
—But even so, young master, you will be in danger. —Miel said, her face against my shoulder, leaning forward slightly to reach my height.
—Everything will be fine, there is nothing to worry about. —I managed to say as I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a hug.
Without another word, Miel leaned toward my face and kissed my cheek... well, half on the cheek and half on the lips.
—Please, young master, do not die.
And as if realizing what had just happened, she ran away from me toward some other part of the castle, her face as red as if she had spent three straight days on the beaches of Cartagena de Indias, my favorite spot for beach vacations in my former life. And what I felt in that moment was that I was about to be arrested for the confusion of the situation.
...
Right at four in the morning, Miguel rose from his bed and quickly put on all his gear: the cumbersome chainmail and the rest of his ensemble. He held the helmet in one hand and the sword that had been given to him by his father in the other, which his father said had belonged to his grandfather during his early days as a knight in the service of the king. It was a single-handed sword, free of ornamentation but elegant—functional yet beautiful, a weapon worthy of a knight, ready for both war and peace. On the other hand, he also had his father's crossbow, the same one they had given him during the city's battle, slung across his back with a rope.
—Miguel. —A deep, authoritative voice called out. It was the Count.
—Yes, Father. —Miguel stopped in the doorway of the castle.
—Take this weapon, it is an arquebus. A gift from an old friend in the capital. It is decorated for the hunts we hold once a year with the other nobles of the region and distinguished guests, but it features the finest craftsmanship from the capital's royal forge. It is more powerful than a standard arquebus, so you need special ammunition and extra powder to fire it; do not forget. And by the way, you know how to shoot well, don't you? —The Count asked his son.
—Of course I do, Father. I shot and reloaded the weapon at least fifty times yesterday with Fernández and the hunters, and they were surprised by how quickly I learned. —Miguel said, and also thought: If you only knew that during a Tribunal academic trip to Bogotá, we visited Las Vegas and fired everything, including a minigun.
—Well, I won't hold you up any longer. God bless you, son.
—Thank you, Father.
...
—Francisco, are we ready to depart? —Miguel asked.
—Yes, young master. The deployment formation is ready; the hunters' wagons are distributed evenly among the vanguard, the center, and the rear. The infantry, led by the veterans, is close to both the hunters' and the civilians' wagons, but closer to the latter. The mounted hunters are ready to begin scouting in all directions of the convoy's movement. Finally, the guard force is concentrated in the middle, ready to respond with full strength to any threat from any direction.
—Excellent, Lieutenant Fernández. As requested, everything is ready to depart before dawn. Give the order; we are moving toward the first village on the road.
—As you command, young master. —Fernández said without flinching.
With a blast of the horns that pierced the cold morning air, the troops and the people began to move eastward.
The departure of the convoy was an exercise in precision that contrasted with the urgency of the last few days. First came the vanguard, a group of mounted scouts exploring the roads and looking for signs of bandits. Behind them moved the first supply wagons, followed by the families of the commoners returning to their fields. In the middle of the caravan was the logistics core and the elite guard, surrounding the wagons modified with firing slits, while a robust rear guard secured the passage to prevent ambushes from behind. The rumble of wooden wheels on the dirt road, mixed with the braying of mules and the constant murmur of refugees, created a symphony of movement.
Upon reaching the middle of the caravan, Miguel prepared to enter the wagon designated for the command and control of the whole operation. This was a concept that had intrigued Fernández, as it systematized the modus operandi of the era into something concrete. At the same time, carrying the entire map and communication system inside a wagon saved many hours in loading and unloading the logistics of a traditional command center. Of course, it could not hold more than two maps on the intermediate internal table, but it was a vast improvement over the traditional command and control system when rapid movement was required.
Furthermore, the wagon featured firing ports, where the heir's personal guard was stationed.
—Very well, gentlemen. —Miguel said, turning to the rest of the officers—. We have not been introduced to everyone yet, except for our blacksmith.
—These are the Carmine brothers, young master; proven warriors loyal to the Count, assigned to your personal guard, and they know how to keep secrets. —Fernández said, and the brothers saluted in unison.
—On the other hand, we have the five sergeants of all the forces deployed for the battle. —Fernández continued—. Iván, as my right hand in the center with the guards; Raúl, as my man with the scouts; Jhon, in the vanguard; Francis, in the rear; and José, as the voice of the infantry.