Alatriste

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In the 17th century,

though surrounded by enemies,

Spain still dominated the world.

The king was Philip IV,

the "Planet King",

and his territories were ruled

with an iron hand by his favourite,

the Count-duke of Olivares.

To Flanders, the Americas,

the Philippines,

part of Italy

and North Africa,

Portugal and its colonies

had been added,

but it was in Flanders,

in a long, cruel war,

where the battle for the Empire's

survival was to be fought.

An Empire sustained

by professional armies

whose main core were veterans

of the dreaded Spanish

infantry regiments.

This is the story

of one of those men...

Flanders, winter, 1622

Here, Count!

Count, cover us!

Retreat!

Stay close to me, Count.

Hold on to my shirt.

Die, Catholic dog!

Damn.

Lope.

My son...

My son, Diego...

My son, Diego.

My son.

Don Diego Alatriste: In compliance

with the wishes of my father,

who died, may God rest his soul,

in the land of heretics,

I send you my brother Inigo, whom

I have not the means to maintain.

He knows mathematics,

can read and write,

is obedient and quick to learn,

though somewhat given

to fantasy and stubborn.

MADRID, ONE YEAR LATER

As you know, my father

wanted him to study,

MADRID, ONE YEAR LATER

to go to university,

but he wants to be a soldier.

I pray that God and Your Honour

may forbid such a thing.

Ana Balboa,

Oate, Guipuzcoa.

Which one's that?

"M".

You're glum today, don Francisco.

How fares your memorial?

I do believe Philip the Great

and his favourite Olivares

have wiped their arses on it.

That's still a great honour.

An honour for his royal arse.

It was good paper, costing

half a ducat per ream,

and in my best hand.

Rumour has it that Olivares

begins to hold you in esteem.

Yes.

He even gives me leave

to live in Madrid.

He needs your verses.

Damn you, Captain!

You make a better friend

than an enemy.

So they say.

Excuse me, senor de Quevedo.

My friends and I were wondering

if certain verses were yours...

"Here lies, in black tomb hemmed,

lifeless and condemned

who sold his soul for profit vile

and e'en in death

lacks flair and style."

"In black tomb hemmed..."

Might be improved if they were mine.

Right, Inigo?

Of course, don Francisco.

In any case,

is Gongora so ruined that

they dedicate epitaphs to him?

Not that I know of.

I hear don Luis de Gongora

still enjoys good health.

So good that he still writes

the best poetry in Spain.

Don't waste your steel so early

in the day, don Francisco.

And on such a trifle.

The merriment's over.

The cuckold constable.

Quiet,

or I'll kick your arse

to kingdom come.

Back to work.

Diego, I have work for you.

There's someone who needs you.

Safe work,

no risks involved,

save the usual ones, of course.

And for a good purse...

to share.

To share?

With whom?

Follow me.

Two foreign gentlemen.

They'll enter Madrid alone,

on horseback, this Friday night.

Payment for your services

will be 6O escudos in doubloons.

To share. Agreed?

That suits me.

We are each

three gold pieces short.

To be paid when the work

is done to satisfaction.

To whose satisfaction?

My sons,

I am Father Emilio Bocanegra,

President of the Council

of the Inquisition.

The two heretics must die.

Mercy!

Mercy!

Mercy for my companion!

-Leave him!

-Do you jest?

None of this is clear.

They are not simple heretics.

We can kill them another day.

We shall meet again.

Diego, you are in a fine mess.

I imagine so.

The news will soon spread and

all Madrid will be in an uproar.

Now to the point.

Who commissioned you?

People.

Don't annoy me, Diego.

What people?

That's what I'd like to know,

Excellency.

I didn't see their faces.

And your companion in the ambush?

Didn't you see his face either?

As Your Excellency knows,

I always hunt alone.

Diego, this is not

an interrogation by the Inquisition.

Well, it's up to you.

It's your neck, not mine.

But, out of curiosity...

Do you know who

you almost killed last night?

No, Count.

I give you my word on that.

I believe you.

Then why didn't you kill them?

I had a presentiment.

Sir, matters of extreme gravity

took place last night.

The Prince of Wales

and the Duke of Buckingham

have entered Madrid incognito.

They wish to be received

by Your Majesty.

They were almost

killed in an ambush.

I have ordered an investigation

to find the culprits.

Sir, this unexpected visit

obliges us to take a decision

concerning the possible marriage

of your sister,

Princess Maria,

and the Prince of Wales.

I have called the Council of State

and the Committee of Theologians

to give you their opinion.

Thrust!

Go on!

You're not so good.

Come on, thrust!

What is it, Inigo? You look

as though you'd seen a ghost.

No, no.

They say the English prince

was ambushed.

Well.

Do they know who did this?

Thieves, they say.

People have

too much imagination.

Go get some wine.

You brute.

Help me up.

I can't walk.

How shall I get home?

I'll carry you.

Am I very heavy?

No.

No.

What's your name?

Inigo Balboa.

Page to Captain Diego Alatriste.

I like soldiers.

My name's Angelica.

Will you remember?

Of course I'll remember.

I hope so.

You can put me down now.

I hope you know what you're doing.

I know, don't worry.

Dismiss those men.

Don't kill that Batriste...

Latriste, whatever his name is, yet.

-But, madam...

-I have plans for Inigo.

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