Chapter 12
The Return and the Gears of Destiny
Barcelona slowly emerged through the morning mist. After months of crossing deserts, seas, and battlefields, Alejandro looked at the city walls with a strange sensation. Everything seemed just as it had been when he left Catalonia, but he knew he was no longer the same man.
The young soldier who had left in search of glory had stayed behind. Now he returned a veteran officer, survivor of conspiracies, wars, and secrets that could never be recorded in official reports. Beneath his uniform, hidden against his chest, remained the two original Rings of Sheba.
The relic that kings, emperors, and secret organizations had sought for centuries — and only two men knew the truth: Alejandro, and Father Bartolomeu.
The reunion with Count Diego de Mendoza came a few days later.
The aristocrat received the party at the Government Palace of Barcelona with his usual studied elegance.
The count's dark eyes swept over each member of the expedition with evident expectation; he wanted answers, above all, results.
Alejandro and Don Luiz delivered the official report.
The document stated that the fighting near Taposiris Magna had caused the collapse of the ancient temple's underground structures. The galleries had been buried. Excavation had become impossible, and any artifact that might have existed at that site was lost forever beneath tons of rock and sand.
Mendoza read every page in silence, his jaw tightening; then he shut the report violently.
"Damn Napoleon." The phrase came out through his teeth.
The count walked to a window and watched the harbor for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was more controlled.
"At least the French didn't find anything either."
If Spain had lost the opportunity, France had failed just the same.
Don Luiz merely bowed his head.
The lie was complete, and Mendoza would never suspect a thing.
But the real surprise of that meeting came moments later.
While servants filled wine glasses and the officers discussed military matters, the count remarked casually:
"Fortunately, the court's affairs prospered during your absence." Alejandro remained silent.
Mendoza smiled. "I married Elena de Madariaga three months ago."
For an instant, time seemed to slow.
But only for an instant.
Alejandro's expression remained unchanged.
"My congratulations, Count."
"I thank you."
Mendoza raised his glass.
"It was an advantageous union for both families. And God has already shown His blessing. My wife is currently resting in her chambers."
The aristocrat's smile grew even prouder.
"She is three months pregnant."
Don Luiz discreetly watched Alejandro.
Not a muscle moved on his face, no reaction; military discipline kept it all hidden. Only he knew the weight of that information.
Mendoza kept talking, talking about heirs, about the future, about legacy.
Days later, the expedition was summoned to Madrid.
The journey to the capital marked the official close of the Egyptian mission. The halls of the Royal Palace were packed for the ceremony. Generals, ministers, bishops, diplomats. Representatives of the Crown.
Before all of them, the King acknowledged the services rendered to Spain.
Don Luiz received the highest distinction of his career. He was officially raised to the title of Don and confirmed among the kingdom's most respected generals.
When Alejandro's turn came, a respectful silence fell over the hall.
Just a few years before, he had been an unknown young man from a forgotten village in Castile.
Now he received, before the court, the insignia of General of the Spanish Crown.
The weight of the metal on his uniform felt almost unreal.
But the journey that had brought him there had been real; every scar on his body was proof of it.
Not everyone stayed for the celebrations. The morning after the ceremony, Mateo disappeared. No goodbyes, no explanations, no trace left behind.
The soldiers searched for hours; nothing, no witness, no clue. Don Luiz only let out a brief laugh.
"I knew this would happen."
Alejandro smiled. It suited the young thief perfectly. Some men belonged to the roads; Mateo was one of them.
The Closed Gate
The morning after the decoration ceremony, Alejandro rode alone through the streets of Barcelona.
Officially, he intended to settle pending matters before departing for Castile. But not even he believed that lie. His horse knew the destination before he was willing to admit it. The Madariaga residence. The mansion appeared at the end of the street, imposing as ever.
The same pale stone walls, the same well-kept gardens, the same tall windows facing the sea.
For a moment, Alejandro sat motionless in the saddle, remembering the ball, the conversations, the discreet smiles, the promises never spoken aloud, and then he dismounted.
He approached the main gate.
A servant appeared almost immediately.
Recognizing the General's uniform, he bowed respectfully.
"May I help you, Excellency?"
Alejandro took a few seconds to answer.
"I would like to speak with the Countess de Mendoza."
The servant hesitated.
An uncomfortable silence settled.
"My lady does not receive visitors."
"Just tell her Alejandro de La Vega is here."
The man lowered his eyes.
"That will not be possible, my lord."
The answer came polite, but firm. Final.
Alejandro understood at once — someone had given orders. Specific orders.
The gate was not closed to strangers; it was closed to him. Even so, his eyes rose instinctively to the second-floor windows.
And then he saw her — for just an instant, a female silhouette behind the curtain, motionless, watching.
Alejandro's heart tightened.
The figure did not move, did not wave, did not call out — she merely remained there.
Separated from him by a few meters of distance and by an entire world of social convention.
The servant cleared his throat discreetly.
"Sir..."
Alejandro looked away from the window.
He straightened his posture.
Recovered the officer's mask.
"I understand."
He drew from the inner pocket of his uniform a small object wrapped in cloth.
It was an emerald-green ribbon.
The same one Elena had worn tied to her wrist during one of the Academy's receptions.
He handed it to the servant.
"Just give this to your mistress."
The man nodded.
Without another word, Alejandro returned to his horse.
Mounted.
And rode away.
Only when he reached the end of the street did he allow himself to look back. The window was empty, the curtains drawn.
As if nothing had happened, as if that chapter of his life had ended.
But inside the residence, Elena remained standing by the window, one hand resting on her belly. And pressing to her chest the ribbon she had just received.
Freed from the court's immediate obligations, Alejandro finally returned home. The small De La Vega property remained almost unchanged. The olive trees, the low stone walls, the dry earth, the familiar smell of the countryside.
When his mother saw him dismount, she ran to embrace him, weeping without any shame; his father took longer, only placing one hand on his shoulder.
But Alejandro noticed the gleam of pride in that simple man's eyes.
No medal received in Madrid held more value than that look.
That night, for the first time in many months, he slept in peace.
The tranquility, however, was brief.
A few days later, a royal messenger arrived on horseback at dusk. The man carried a document sealed with the Crown's stamp. Alejandro broke the seal at once. The order came directly from Madrid.
A new mission. A mission far larger than any he had faced before; his destiny would be the other side of the Atlantic — the Viceroyalty of New Spain.
The instructions were clear.
Over the past decades, the Spanish possessions in the Americas had accumulated power and autonomy. Creole families dominated tribunals, businesses, and local institutions. Many in Madrid believed that growing influence represented a direct threat to the Crown's authority.
The Bourbon response was equally clear. Centralization, control, administrative reforms, reassertion of peninsular authority.
The empire intended to fully recover the reins of its overseas territories, and Alejandro would be part of that effort.
Weeks later, the Spanish ships set sail from Madrid; months later, they sighted the American coast.
New Spain was vast, rich, complex, and profoundly different from anything Alejandro knew. Upon landing, he quickly realized it was not merely a military matter.
There, he would later discover, governors vied for power, merchants protected their own interests, influential families sought to expand their reach, bishops and religious authorities tried to preserve old privileges.
Meanwhile, officials sent from Madrid worked to strengthen the metropole's authority.
It was a gigantic chessboard, far larger than any fortress or battlefield. Amid inspections and reports, Alejandro began to notice something even more unsettling.
Certain figures seemed to appear repeatedly in the most improbable places — discreet men, plain clothing, silent movements. Archives disappeared. Ancient relics changed hands. Documents were removed from churches and monasteries. All without drawing attention. Alejandro recognized the signs.
The Congregation of the Shadows was there too.
While kings governed empires and armies marched under banners, the organization went on operating silently across the continents.
The search for knowledge and power had never ended. On a quiet afternoon, Alejandro looked out over the horizon from atop a hill.
Before him stretched an immense land, mountains, forests, cities, thousands of kilometers of territory under the Spanish flag. He understood the true scale of the world. Castile felt distant. Barcelona felt distant. Even Egypt felt distant.
Now he was part of something much greater. Empires moved armies, kings signed decrees, the Church expanded its influence across continents.
And, hidden among all these forces, existed invisible hands shaping the destiny of nations. Without realizing it, Don Alejandro de La Vega had just entered a game that spanned oceans, crowns, and centuries — and his family's story was only just beginning.
Two years passed under the heavy skies of New Spain. However, the apparent calm was shattered when the sentries of the port of Veracruz sighted an imposing fleet of Spanish warships cutting across the horizon, flying the royal banners of the metropole.
To Alejandro's shock and fury, the party that disembarked in the colony was led by none other than Count Diego de Mendoza, accompanied by General Don Luiz — whose gray eyes now seemed hardened by Madrid's relentless bureaucracy — and by Archbishop Don Alfonso de la Serna,
a peninsular cleric of severe features and icy gaze, sent directly by the Council of the Indies to align the faith with the Crown's fiscal interests.
Mendoza and the cleric had not come to inspect; they had come to subjugate. At an emergency meeting with the military and ecclesiastical high command in Mexico City, the Count pounded the oak table, echoing the direct orders he had brought from Europe:
"The reforms and the reclamation of this colony are intolerably slow!"
Mendoza roared, his eyes blazing with the same blind greed he'd shown in Egypt.
"Madrid will not tolerate any more excuses. His Majesty's orders are absolute: remove immediately the entire Mexican bourgeoisie from every seat of power. Courts, high tribunals, religious orders... everything must fall under the total and exclusive domain of the peninsulars.
We will double the tax collection starting this month. If the local elites cry, ignore them. And if there is the slightest sign of resistance, use maximum force."
Right after, Archbishop Don Alfonso stepped forward, raising a massive gold crucifix with his right hand, while his left rested on stacks of the provinces' fiscal reports. His voice echoed through the hall with the weight of an eternal condemnation:
"The heresy of insubordination has taken deep root in this land," the Archbishop declared, in a tone of cutting contempt.
"Our reports indicate that the local missions, once created for the purpose of catechization, have completely strayed from the Holy See. Those criollo priests and the indigenous communities they protect have abandoned the true doctrine of obedience,
openly refuse to pay the tithes and tributes owed to the King and to Rome, and use the word of the Lord to sow discord. They have turned away from God, and for that, there is no room for mercy. These rebellious missions must be utterly destroyed, purified by fire and steel.
Their temples must be turned to dust and their false shepherds eliminated. We will do this not only for the Crown, gentlemen, but in the name of God!"
Behind them, Don Luiz kept a rigid posture, the old General's silence showing that blind loyalty to the metropole had swallowed whatever trace of chivalry remained in him.
Alejandro felt his blood boil beneath his uniform.
The noose was closing. The high Church and the State marched together toward a massacre legitimized by faith.
However, the true Achilles' heel of that plan of oppression lay not in the halls of the capital, but in the rumors beginning to descend from the mountains.
While the Archbishop and the Count ordered the fiscal and spiritual purge at the country's center, urgent reports from messengers pointed to the northwest.
On the arid, mountainous coast bathed by the Gulf of California — the region encompassing the old territory of Sinaloa — an invisible insurgency was beginning to take shape.
Rumors spoke of Crown silver convoys simply vanishing in the mountain passes, of diverted supply shipments, and of a network of peasants sheltering a band of rebels and fugitive clergy.
The natives said, in dark taverns and around campfires, that the peninsular oppressors might have the laws and swords of the Inquisition, but the shadows of those lands belonged to a new kind of justice.
A justice that stole from the arrogance of the rich to give back dignity and bread to the hungry.
Don Alejandro de La Vega crossed his arms at the back of the hall.
He looked at the Archbishop's fanaticism and at Mendoza's greed, and he understood: total war had begun.
The new fleet had brought the tyrants and the executioners of the faith, but the Gulf of California already echoed with the cry of resistance.
The board was set, the mystical and political gears were aligned, and the New World was about to bleed... to be continued!