Alatriste Page #4

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The church is broad.

Might you mean Father Bocanegra?

Excellency, I...

You are right, don Luis.

The good Father is a saintly man.

As we all know.

Tell me...

Are your boots a sign of lack

of means or soldierly arrogance?

Both, Excellency.

As you see, don Luis,

senor Alatriste

is both poor and haughty.

But he also appears to be

brave, discreet

and trustworthy.

It would be a pity if some

misfortune were to befall him.

I would not wish it so.

I imagine you agree with me.

Of course, Excellency.

But with the kind of life

I imagine senor...

Batriste...

whatever his name, leads,

he must often

be exposed to danger.

No-one could then

take responsibility.

Naturally, don Luis.

In order to spare you any such

inconvenience, I have decided

that henceforth

you will serve your king

in the Indies.

Men like you are needed there.

You may begin preparations

for the voyage.

As for you...

Your former general,

Ambrosio Spinola,

wishes to win more battles

for us in Flanders.

It would be considerate of you

to be killed there, not here.

I'll bear that

in mind, Excellency.

Come with me.

For four long years

I've studied this map every night.

I know every port,

every canal, every estuary,

every fortress...

Flanders deprives me of my sleep.

Yet I've never been there.

It is the end of the world,

Excellency.

When the Lord God created Flanders,

he lit it with a black sun.

A heretic sun

that neither warms you nor dries

the rain that soaks you to the bone.

It is a strange land,

inhabited by strange people

who fear and despise us

and will never give us peace.

It deprives one

of more than sleep.

Flanders is hell itself.

Without Flanders

there's nothing, Captain.

We need that hell.

Breda, 1625. After one year's siege

by the Spanish

They're close now, curse it!

They'll blow our balls off

with their mines.

Keep down!

Sons of b*tches!

Did you find eggs?

Yes.

How many?

Two.

Wine.

Clumsy!

Give me that.

I hear you had

a letter from the Indies.

Yes.

And who wrote to you,

if I may ask?

Angelica de Alquezar.

Alquezar...

A name that brings us bad luck.

I almost have him.

Give me that bread.

Do you have him or not, damn it!

Not now.

But he occasionally looks out.

I'll be ready the next time.

Sh*t!

Portuguese, see if

you can draw him out.

Dutchman!

Did you kill him?

One bastard less...

Another Dutchman

dead in mortal sin.

Like you when they kill you.

What did you say?

What did you say?

You can't fool me,

however much you cross yourself.

You Portuguese

are all half-Jews.

Do you want to die?

The Captain!

I bring orders.

Perhaps these gentlemen

have something to say.

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