Baiting the Corrupt General
I planned to send the General of the Armory packing exactly as my brother had taught me. And I intended to use the exact same method.
Jermi Walli returned from the hunt. Goaded by my persistent urging, he finally showed up at my office late that night.
"You summoned me, my lord."
A humble tone. But irritation was etched across his face—like a modern-day golfer dragged back from the course, wondering why the hell now? I swallowed my rising bile and forced a smile.
"I know full well how tirelessly you've labored for our fief, day and night."
"I'm deeply grateful for your recognition."
His expression softened a touch at the flattery. The general stepped forward.
"I've called you here at this late hour to reward your hard work."
Surprise flickered over his face—he'd just had a fine time out, and now gifts? But true to his mercenary nature, there was no hint of refusal.
"I believe the previous Count of Malaga undervalued your talents."
His face lit up as if to say, about damn time. I tamped down the nausea surging in my gut.
"Thank you truly for seeing my worth."
"To that end, by my authority, I appoint you a baron."
The general's position typically outranked a baron. But the previous count, wary of him, had granted only the title and fief of General of the Armory—stopping short of a noble peerage. In essence, noble in name but not in truth. For the prior count, making him a baron carried too much risk. And so the general nursed a complex over his lack of nobility.
The best way to hook someone is to give them what they crave. And the finest bait I could offer was a noble title. Not from just anyone, but from Don Juan de Austria—half-brother to King Philip II of Spain. A barony I recognized? He'd be thrilled.
"I am eternally grateful, my lord Count. I pledge my life to you."
An empty oath. I knew it was just words to stroke his ego, so I let it slide.
"Furthermore, I grant you a fief."
"Might I ask..."
His eyes darted nervously. He feared I'd strip him of Nerha—the city he ruled—and ship him elsewhere. The most valuable spot in Malaga County, straddling the Atlantic and Mediterranean trade routes. He raked in hefty protection money there. Losing his golden goose had him on edge.
"No, not at all. I know full well that Nerha's peace is maintained thanks to your governance."
Relief washed over him in a smile. Then greed sparked in his eyes. Nerha and a new fief? He eyed me eagerly, clueless as to where.
"The land I grant you is called Benzú."
He tilted his head, puzzled. A local like him knew Malaga had no such place.
"If I may ask... where might that be?"
"It's within my new territory of Ceuta."
"Ceuta..."
"Yes, currently held by the infidels."
I rose and pointed to the map. He stared at the spot.
"His Highness commanded me to seize it—and promised this land to you."
Baron and iron granted, now ordered to conquer it. Partly my idea, but the real issue was it lay beyond my control. Still, with the title secured, he'd have to go. That's why I planned to send General Jermi Walli as vanguard in my stead.
His eyes spun as he processed. Before he could scheme, I intimidated him into silence.
"This is the command of His Holiness the Guardian of Catholicism, His Highness Philip II. We must obey."
"O-of course."
My brother's order, no less. His base was Nerha-bound; fleeing meant starting from scratch.
"The infidels will tremble before the valor of Benzú's baron-to-be."
"I... well..."
He tried to backpedal on his incompetence, but the barony of Benzú was already shoved down his throat. Renounce it for lack of skill? I'd strip his generalship on that pretext. Fine by me. But power, once grasped, is never relinquished.
"I... I shall obey your command."
His face soured. I hadn't expected instant surrender, so I curbed my haste.
"As expected of the valiant General Jermi Walli. To aid you, I've conferred with Chancellor Sancho Núñez to craft the optimal troop composition."
A flash of gotcha crossed his face—but spilled water can't be gathered.
"As a military expert, may I review it?"
"Of course. It's the finest soldiers from the fief."
He scanned the roster I'd handed him. His scowl eased. Pro-general loyalists, no moderates. Mostly melee troops. To cross to Ceuta meant ships—and foes wouldn't idly watch. Melee was key. I'd stripped all cannons, packing it with his faction. For me, it was shoving Jermi into the enemy's maw. For him? Seemingly workable.
Artillery back then was unreliable. It could harass from afar or smash oars, but gunnery-focused tactics? Near impossible. On land? Worse. Culverins needed nine horses to drag—madness in battle. No North African foothold meant a pure sea assault on Ceuta. So Jermi, gun-averse, approved.
I smiled at him.
"I trust only you, General."
"Trust in me alone, Lord Count Don Juan."
Far my junior, yet he wore the smirk of a treacherous elder. I endured, knowing patience would rid me of that vile face forever.
The next day, I headed to the workshop in Hibralfaro Castle.
An existing facility. As a Reconquista-era fortress, it housed a modest smithy—enough to melt iron for a last stand, not grand. But suitable for Mateo and his artisans' temporary quarters.
Mateo Garcia approached as I arrived, representing the forty-one craftsmen. Guards moved to block, but I waved them back.
"I trust you're settling in."
"Long neglected, but the basics should function."
A substantial crew; in a day, they'd revived usable sections of the old forge.
"Can you process cast iron right away?"
"Yes, though it'll take time."
I nodded. Iron from my brother arrived next week. I'd mass-produce partisans and Spanish rapiers to fill gaps.
Cannons in a week? Absurd. No bronze or cast iron on hand—just old culverins and stone-throwers. So, Spain's hallmark: tercio pike-and-shot.
Arquebuses and matchlock muskets mostly for Jermi's vanguard. Thankfully, fifty arquebuses remained. Plus five culverins they'd skip.
Five culverins to plug arquebus gaps. I'd tweak these horse-drawn beasts.
"A question for you."
"Speak, my lord."
"As a cannon master, what do you see as the greatest hurdle to field artillery for ground troops?"
"Hm... mobility, I reckon. Ships carry them, but on land? Horses or manpower aplenty."
"I see."
"Unlike massive bombards, these are compact, wheeled—viable in the field."
A true gunner, versed in field tactics. I revealed my intent.
"Solve mobility, and they'd be far easier to deploy on land."
"Misfire risks, but the firepower's unmatched."
"Suppose..."
I paused; he cocked his head. I continued slowly.
"What if we added two more wheels?"
"To the current pair?"
"Precisely."
"Stability drops, aim suffers."
I needed mere arquebus substitutes—accuracy secondary. Pike-and-shot thrived on synergy: pikes and swords shielding gunners' advance.
With ample arquebuses, no need. But infantry pace lag? A boon—buying time till foes dealt with Jermi.
I gestured reassuringly.
"Can you modify the existing culverins?"
"Yes."
Mateo nodded. I smiled, satisfied.