Chapter 417: Alliances Can…

The morning at Porto Palace arrived later than in Lisbon.

The sun crawled up from behind the eastern mountain ridge, sluggishly dyeing the whole city a dark red.

The sea‑borne mist had not yet cleared, and the steamship's mast flickered in the fog like a bare, skeletal forest.

Zhu Yong stood at the palace's second‑floor window, a document freshly translated last night clenched in his hand.

The parchment had yellowed, its edges heavily worn, bearing a string of twisted Latin letters.

It was a state letter from the Kingdom of Castile, one of Spain's precursors.

"Honoured General of the Eastern Great Power, we have heard you defeated the Portuguese, seized Lisbon and Porto. The Kingdom of Castile wishes to trade with your nation, offering annual tribute, and only asks that you refrain from invading our lands."

Zhu Yong finished reading and placed the document on the windowsill.

Castile.

In this era Spain was still fragmented; several kingdoms dotted the Iberian Peninsula.

Castile was the largest, occupying vast tracts in the peninsula's central and western regions.

To the east lay Aragon, to the south Granada, and Portugal in the west, already seized by Great Ming.

"Second Prince, breakfast is ready," Zhu Gang came up the stairwell, bearing a tray with several pieces of bread and a dish of olives.

Zhu Yong took the tray and sat at the windowsill.

The bread was hard, chewing required effort.

The olives were unbearably salty; he wondered how the Portuguese could eat them daily.

"Those Spaniards sent more men; this stuff isn't even as good as our flatbread," Zhu Gang crouched beside him, biting another piece of bread, frowning as he spoke.

"They're here, waiting outside the city, saying they want to see us," Zhu Yong swallowed the olives and took a sip of water.

"Why meet them? Just charge straight at them and it'll be over."

Zhu Yong glanced at his younger brother.

Zhu Gang had spent several years in the Eastern Lands, his temperament softened, yet the underlying impatience remained.

"Spain is far larger than Portugal, with more people and stronger forces; we cannot underestimate them."

Zhu Gang pursed his lips and said nothing more.

Zhu Di came up from below, holding a map.

He had spent years in the Western Regions and developed the habit of carrying a map wherever he went.

"Second Prince, last night I had men sketch Spain's terrain," he spread the map on the windowsill.

The map was pried from a captive's mouth last night, patched together with previously seized Portuguese charts; it was crude, yet the general outlines were discernible.

Castile occupied the Iberian Peninsula's central and western parts; to the east lay Aragon, to the south Granada, to the north the Cantabrian Mountains, and to the west Portugal.

The capital, Toledo, sat in the peninsula's heart, a mountain city easy to defend but hard to assault.

"How many troops does Spain have?" Zhu Yong asked.

Zhu Di replied, "The captive said Castile can muster twenty‑to‑thirty thousand cavalry, even more infantry; with Aragon and Granada's reinforcements, reaching fifty‑to‑sixty thousand isn't an issue."

Zhu Yong nodded.

Fifty‑to‑sixty thousand isn't many, but Spain's terrain is rugged, mountainous, with few plains; cavalry can't maneuver, and artillery is hard to transport.

"Second Prince, I think we can't attack by land," Zhu Shuang came up from below.

He had spent five years in Australia, fighting many battles, gaining ample experience.

"Spain's mountains are numerous; our cavalry and artillery can't be deployed, so a land assault would cause heavy casualties."

Zhu Yong looked at him, "You mean attack from the sea?"

"Yes, strike from the sea. Spain's coastline is long with many ports; our navy far outmatches theirs. We can land by sea, bypass their main forces, and take Toledo directly."

Zhu Yong thought it over and nodded.

This kid, his years in Australia weren't wasted.

"Alright, we'll do as you say—attack from the sea."

Zhu Shuang's eyes brightened, "Second Prince, shall I lead troops?"

"No rush; first meet those Spaniards and see what they say."

Zhu Yong stood and left the palace.

The streets of Porto City remained filthy, litter and excrement littering the ground, sticky underfoot.

Several Longxiang Army soldiers were cleaning the street, shoveling trash with iron spades onto carts to haul outside the city.

One soldier cursed while shoveling, "Damn, those French machines live like pigs!"

Another added, "Even pigs are cleaner; at least they don't defecate in their own burrows."

Zhu Yong passed them without slowing.

He had become accustomed.

This place, if not cleaned for a year or two, would be uninhabitable.

At the city gate, several Portuguese merchants knelt, awaiting passage.

They were all in the sea‑trade business; their ships were seized in the harbor, their people locked outside the city, and they were anxiously pacing.

Seeing Zhu Yong approach, they bowed repeatedly, muttering something incomprehensible.

Wang Gui came up from behind and translated, "Your Lordship, they say they are willing to submit to Great Ming, offering annual tribute, only asking to be released to resume trade."

Zhu Yong halted, looking at the merchants.

They were not young; hair silvered, faces smeared with grime, clothes rumpled, yet their eyes shone brightly.

A merchant's eyes differ from those of officials.

In officials' eyes lie greed and fear; in merchants' eyes lies commerce.

"Tell them the ships may be returned and trade can resume, but the rules must follow Great Ming's: pay taxes, obtain licenses, no market bullying, no collusion with officials."

Wang Gui translated it.

Several merchants kept nodding, uttering words of thanks.

Zhu Yong waved his hand, and Wang Gui led them down.

Outside the city, on a vacant plot, a few tents were set up.

Inside the tents sat several people, dressed in splendid garments, starkly out of place amid the dirty, chaotic surroundings.

At the head was an old man in his fifties, his hair graying, sporting a neatly trimmed beard, wearing a long purple velvet robe with gold trim at the collar.

Seeing Zhu Yong approach, he hurried to stand and bowed deeply.

"Honorable Eastern General, I am a messenger sent by the King of Castile, named Alvaro de Luna."

He spoke in Latin, and Wang Gui translated it.

Zhu Yong sat down in the chair, looking at the old man.

"What does the King of Castile wish to say?"

Alvaro bowed again, pulled a parchment from his coat, and handed it over with both hands.

"Respected General, our king has heard that your nation defeated the Portuguese and is willing to form an alliance with you to jointly confront the remaining Portuguese forces."

Zhu Yong took the parchment and glanced over it.

Alliance…

The remaining Portuguese forces are none other than João I, who fled to England, aren't they?

The King of Castile wants to borrow Great Ming's sword to eliminate his neighbor.

"An alliance is possible, but there is a condition."

Alvaro's eyes lit up: "General, please speak."