Chapter 2193 - 1580: Favored by Fate, the "Lucky" King
"Nuno, where did you find these soldiers? They look fierce, yet they lack discipline... Are they the scum from the sea? You actually blocked me with these people in the middle of the night, wearing armor and carrying matchlock guns? Damn it! I’m not your enemy, I never thought of making a move against you... We’re in this together!..."
"Duarte! I need you to explain something! The church mass in two days, with Duke Manuel as the main figure, will you attend it?..."
"...So that’s what this is about! Nuno, you came just in time. I was going to find you about this whether you came or not... Come in with me! Let your men come in too. At such crucial times, let’s not become a laughingstock to outsiders..."
The new night was calm as water, and the homes of the royal household chiefs were not far away. However, when two blurry groups confronted each other, all clad in armor, wielding crossbows, knives, guns, and matchlock guns, the scene had nothing to do with tranquility or peace.
Fortunately, the leaders of the two groups were not mortal enemies—in fact, one might say they were long-time allies. They had too many ties in the past, like the royalist marks etched on their bodies. Their disagreement was about an uncertain future: at this moment, when losing their master seemed imminent, where should their path of loyalty lead? Whom should they pledge allegiance to?
"Nuno! I’ll be honest with you again... Prince George is a bastard, and without the Pope’s dispensation, he has no legal right to the throne! The Lisbon Church does not recognize him, nor do the great nobles across the lands. Even if we, the trusted confidants of His Majesty, united with the naval nobility of Lisbon... we could, at most, control the Lisbon Royal Capital!"
"Could it be that after Lord Joao goes to Heaven, the next Portuguese King would only be the mayor of Lisbon City? If the Church issues a decree, and the great nobles of the land lead their armies here, what means do we have to resist? We can’t expect Prince George to sail on a Caravel to the Southern Continent and become the king of those barbarians, can we?..."
In the secret chamber, Duarte was panting, grabbed by the collar of his military uniform by Nuno, who was also grabbing Nuno’s robe in return. These two top royalist nobles in the Lisbon court were locked in a stare, their faces flushed red. Nuno gritted his teeth hard, and after a while, asked breathlessly.
"So, you are going to betray His Majesty... Join with those great nobles and the Lisbon Bishop to support Duke Manuel? His Majesty trusts you so much, even entrusting you with commanding the Royal Palace Guard! Don’t forget, you have Braganza blood on your hands! You personally killed..."
"Damn it! Nuno, be pragmatic! I have no other choice, and neither do you! If His Majesty could live for another ten years... no, even if for just another three years, he could establish Prince George’s succession rights! Even now, those bishops rearing their heads in Lisbon could be dealt with by His Majesty, replaced with more reliable people..."
"But His Majesty is out of time! I met with His Majesty the day before yesterday; he’s as thin as a rusty sword, still coughing blood, unable to speak clearly. His Majesty could go to Heaven at any moment! Prince Afonso’s death was too sudden, His Majesty’s illness progressed too quickly... We simply have no time, no other opportunities! In such a situation, supporting Prince George would be a dead end—we would be overwhelmed by the Church and the great nobles!"
Truthful words are often more unspeakable than lies. After a brief eruption, the two chiefs in the chamber fell into silence. Nuno Chief pursed his lips, his expression grim and ferocious. After a while, he spoke in a low voice, revealing a ruthlessness never shown before.
"At the blessing mass in two days, Duke Manuel, Duke of Braganza, the Count of Cantenede, and Bishop Diogo will all attend... Duarte, if we could convince His Majesty to issue a decree, mobilize the City Defense Army... eliminate them all... crack!..."
"Almighty Lord! Are you crazy?! Nuno! That’s a group of bishops, plus a group of the kingdom’s great nobility! Even when His Majesty was in good health, he wouldn’t openly act against them! If we killed them all at once, it would shake the entire Catholic World, even the Holy See in Rome! ... Even if Prince George inherited the throne this way, he would face excommunication by the Holy See! The great nobles across the lands would still raise their armies, and might even bring the Castilians’ Holy War Army here. By that time, we would be the sinners of the entire Kingdom of Portugal! ..."
Upon hearing such an incredible proposition, even as a mere suggestion, Duarte’s eyes widened suddenly. He scrutinized this old friend responsible for internal affairs, who had never wielded a weapon. He hadn’t expected that when this old guy got ruthless, he’d be even more vicious than Duarte, a seasoned Commander of the Guard!
"Nuno! Think of your family! Your sons, your grandsons! If we truly resort to violence, spilling blood would mean an endless vendetta! If we fail by then, it could mean the end of our bloodlines! And after His Majesty’s death, our chances of victory are very slim—almost impossible!..."
"...Family?... Sons... grandsons?..."
Reflecting on these continuing bloodlines, Nuno Chief’s murderous countenance gradually dimmed. He breathed silently, listening to Duarte’s heavy breathing. After a while, he sighed, asking bitterly.