Chapter 2
Nunc Minerva, Postea Pallas
The journey to Catalonia was the first true test of Alejandro de La Vega's military life.
When the detachment's drums left the dry hills of Castile behind, many of the young recruits still wore the excitement of adventure on their faces. They talked about uniforms, glory, and medals like children daydreaming.
Reality quickly set about correcting those illusions.
Don Luiz's sergeants ran the march with brutal discipline. There was no room for complaints, delays, or weakness. The pace was set by the toughest men in the column, and the slower ones quickly learned to keep up or fall behind.
The boots issued by the army were new, stiff, and merciless.
By the third day, Alejandro's feet were covered in blisters.
By the fifth, some had burst. By the eighth, blood already stained the leather.
But he did not complain. His father, a De La Vega, had never complained about hands torn by the olive trees.
His son would not complain either. While many recruits groaned during the breaks or counted the days until they could go home, Alejandro observed.
He observed everything — the small villages, the rivers, the bridges, the fortresses rising on the hills, the carts loaded with goods, the plantations that seemed to have no end.
Every mile covered revealed a world far larger than the one that had existed in his imagination.
For the first time he understood just how small a part of Spain Castile really was.
One night, around a campfire, one of the recruits asked:
"Don't you ever miss home?"
Alejandro took a few seconds to answer.
He looked at the stars, thought of the cabin, thought of his mother, thought of his brothers, thought of the old De La Vega ring tucked away in his pack.
"I do."
"Then why do you seem so calm?"
Alejandro fed the fire with a dry branch.
"Because going home isn't an option."
The other boy didn't understand.
But Alejandro did. Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered his father's words.
"Make the name De La Vega great again."
Those words marched at his side.
Days later, the air changed. It grew damper, cooler, and then it happened.
Alejandro saw the sea for the first time.
The blue immensity rose on the horizon like something out of Scripture. He stood there for several seconds, unable to say a word. He had never imagined that so much water could exist in the world.
Some of the soldiers laughed at his reaction.
But not even that could pull him from that moment.
For the first time in his life, Alejandro realized how small he was. And, strangely, that made him feel larger. When they finally reached Barcelona, the young man from Castile believed he had entered another country.
The city seemed alive. The streets teemed with people. Merchants shouted in Catalan. Blacksmiths hammered metal. Carts crossed narrow alleys. Children ran between the horses.
The smell of fish coming from the harbor mixed with that of spices, wine, and smoke.
Alejandro had never seen so many people gathered together. Nor so many buildings. The structures rose above him like walls. The churches seemed to touch the sky.
And then he saw the fortress.
The Royal Military Academy of Mathematics and Fortification of Barcelona. The enormous complex dominated the hill like a castle built for giants. No building in Castile came close to that grandeur.
Alejandro felt something he rarely admitted to.
Fear. For the first time since leaving his village, he doubted himself. Perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps he did not belong in that place. Perhaps the men who studied there were made of a different stuff than his own.
At that moment, a familiar voice came from behind him.
"Thinking of running, De La Vega?"
Alejandro spun around immediately.
Don Luiz was watching the young man, arms crossed behind his back. His expression was serious, but there was an amused glint in the captain's one visible eye. Alejandro straightened his posture.
"No, sir."
"Liar."
The young man fell silent.
Don Luiz walked up beside him and looked at the Academy.
"Everyone thinks of running on the first day." The captain gestured toward the enormous stone buildings.
"I thought so too."
That surprised Alejandro.
"You did, sir?"
"Yes."
"But you're..."
Alejandro searched for the words.
"Don Luiz."
The veteran let out a dry laugh.
"Before I was Don Luiz, I was just a frightened boy trying to understand why anyone needed to study mathematics to kill Frenchmen."
Alejandro couldn't hold back a smile.
The captain turned back to the fortress.
"The difference between the men who triumph and those who fail isn't courage."
"It isn't?"
"No. It's staying when every instinct tells you to run."
The two stood in silence for a few seconds.
Then Don Luiz pointed to the marble inscription above the gate.
Nunc Minerva, postea Pallas.
"Read it."
"First science. Then war."
"Exactly."
The captain drew closer.
"If you learn only how to fight, you'll be a soldier."
"And if I learn how to think?"
"Then you'll be able to command soldiers."
The first days were a disaster.
Alejandro would never admit it out loud. But they were. The Academy was an entirely different world. The sons of nobles arrived already reading Latin, already knowing geography, speaking French, knowing how to dance and which utensils to use for each course.
Alejandro could barely keep up with some of the lessons.
In the first week, he botched a simple geometry exercise. In the second, he confused artillery measurements. In the third, he mispronounced a French word so badly the whole room burst into laughter.
Worst of all was Rodrigo de Alarcón, the son of a marquess of Aragón — tall, elegant, and blond, perfectly aware of his own social standing.
When the professor asked the students to solve a fortification problem in front of the class, Alejandro made an error in the drawing of a bastion.
Rodrigo watched and smiled.
"Perhaps the walls are different on olive plantations."
Some cadets laughed.
Alejandro said nothing.
"Or perhaps in Castile the stones grow crooked."
More laughter.
The professor ordered everyone to be quiet.
But the damage was already done.
That night, Alejandro returned to the barracks with his pride wounded. For the first time since leaving his village, he felt small — very small.
The months passed, winter arrived, and Barcelona's cold was different from Castile's — damp, cutting through one's clothes; the Academy's very stones seemed to hold the cold inside them. One particularly cold night, a sergeant entered the barracks carrying a stack of letters.
"Mail call!"
The cadets lifted their heads immediately.
The man began calling names. When he pronounced "Alejandro de La Vega," the young man stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the bench.
The letter was simple, cheap paper, uneven handwriting. His mother's, he recognized it at once.
Alejandro sat alone near the window and opened the envelope.
My dear son,
The house feels empty without you. Your father keeps pretending he doesn't miss you, but every evening he looks down the road before coming in for supper. Your brothers keep asking when you'll come back. I keep your place at the table set. Don't worry about us.
Study. Honor your name, take care of yourself. With love,
Your mother.
Alejandro read those lines once.
Then again, and again. The young man who had faced sergeants, marches, and humiliations felt his eyes burn.
For the first time since his departure, homesickness struck him like a blow. He folded the letter carefully.
He put it away with the De La Vega ring.
And he swore he would not waste his family's sacrifice.
It was that same night that Don Luiz found him studying alone, the corridor empty, only the small flame of a candle lighting the calculations spread across the floor.
The captain watched in silence for a moment, then approached.
"Still awake?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
Alejandro showed him the papers.
"I can't solve this problem."
Don Luiz studied the calculations.
"Good."
Alejandro blinked.
"Good?"
"It means you've finally found something worthy of your intelligence." The captain sat down beside him.
Something extremely rare.
For a few minutes the two of them worked on the problem together, then Alejandro asked a question.
"May I ask you something?"
"Depends."
"Why did you choose me?"
Don Luiz stayed silent.
The corridor fell quiet.
Only the distant sound of the wind passed through the windows.
"Do you know why I really brought you to Barcelona?"
"Because I passed the test."
"No."
Alejandro frowned.
"No?"
"Everyone else tried to look intelligent." The captain pointed at the young man's chest. "You tried to understand the question."
Alejandro stood still.
"That seems like a small difference."
"It's the greatest difference in the world."
Don Luiz got up. "Intelligent men solve problems."
His gaze grew serious. "Extraordinary men discover which problems need to be solved."
The captain walked to the stairwell.
Before disappearing, he spoke without looking back:
"Keep studying, De La Vega."
"Yes, sir."
"Because one day I'm going to die."
Alejandro's eyes widened.
"Sir..."
"And when that happens, someone will have to carry the work forward." For the first time, Alejandro realized that Don Luiz was not training him merely to be an officer.
He was preparing a successor.
The following year, everything began to change. The same cadets who used to laugh at him began to watch him with caution. Alejandro's grades rose. Then they surpassed theirs. Then they kept climbing.
The mathematics that once seemed impossible became natural. Geometry turned into a language.
Maps began to make sense. Fortifications revealed their secrets. And, little by little, Rodrigo de Alarcón stopped being the top student of the class. That place now belonged to Alejandro.
That was enough to turn rivalry into hatred. One afternoon, after a cartography class, Rodrigo intercepted Alejandro in the courtyard.
"You can memorize formulas all you like."
Alejandro kept walking.
"But you'll never be one of us."