A young servant holding a tray with four glasses of wine made his way through a long hallway. Gaps between high rising pillars were adorned with busts of Corsair Elders and their faces immortalised in marble stared ahead with empty eyes. As the young man knocked on the gilded door at the end of the hallway his eyes fell on one of the many paintings hanging on the walls, shrouded in deep shadows. It depicted a massive Legate battleship flying through a burning cloud of debris. Although the painting was modest in size, the depiction underneath clearly captured his attention and drew his amusement as a small grin appeared on his face. It read: “Captain Armin, for whom no sacrifice was too big to defend the empire.”
The gilded door was opened from the inside by a large brutish man, dressed in a dark Corsair military uniform. The man’s head was shaved bald part from a moustache like pluck of hair on the front of his head, combed to either side. He did not speak but simply nodded and stepped aside, revealing a large drawing room. The room had a sense of regality, Kusarian pillows lay on large sofas decorated with border world gems and Bretonian gold. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the walls were covered by thick red curtains that had the Brotherhood’s cross woven into them. The room smelled of tobacco, candle wax and a soft undertone of roasted meat. At the end of this room, in front of a large portrait of Elder Sephardi stood a low dais with a large chair upon it. In this chair sat a small uniformed man with curly hair and a long beard. Golden strings draped from his epaulettes shook violently as his hand waved about while he spoke to the three seated men in front of him. The servant interrupted his speech by carefully handing out the glasses of wine, serving the bearded Elder Buonocore first. He then served the most corpulent man, wearing a Carabiñeri uniform. This man, Pepe Ladron, was widely known as el Comisario and in charge of the Brotherhood’s mostly planetside police forces, the Carabiñeros. The third man to receive a glass of wine, Tribune Machete, towered over the other men. He was wearing his black Brotherhood flightsuit, and stood out from the other men not only because of his length but also because of his long black hair, draping the sides of his scarred and muscular face. The final man to receive a glass of wine wore a business suit, in the western house style as it was known on planet Crete. He, Alphonso Perez di Martino, had served many years as Elder Buonocore’s Decurion, dealing mostly with administrative duties. In Buonocore’s absence, his ambitions had grown in other directions, keeping a close affiliation with his contacts in the Council of Corsair Elders.
As the servant left the drawing room Buonocore looked over the men seated in front of him. He took a sip from his wine and leaned back in his chair before speaking.
“Ah… wine. It is a marvelous thing is it not? How a juice so rich and civilised can flow from humble soil.”
Buonocore paused and looked across the room. The uncomfortable silence lasted a minute before it was broken by Alphonso Perez who spoke in a nervous tone.
“So Elder, may I ask what is your stance on the Bretonian invasion of our Gran Canaria Protectorate? Many Corsair lives are endangered and the Brotherhood has not done much part from moving a portion of our fleet to Casablanca. Meanwhile the Custodi have been much more helpful by assisting the Gallic-”
Buonocore raised his hand, gesturing Perez to stop speaking and answered with a calm and reserved voice.
“You mean our fleet that has been largely decommissioned in my absence? I believe the root of that problem can be found within Gallic expansionism. They are pushing the Bretonians out of their comfort zone, into our protectorate. Bretonia is such a shadow of its former self that soon there will be nothing left to plunder for us, and nothing left for the Gallic crown to conquer but us.”
Buonocore calmly took another sip from his wine, unmoved by the worried looks on the faces of Ladron and Perez. Another uncomfortable silence took over the room, again it did not seem to bother Elder Buonocore and Tribune Machete. Ladron silently drank his wine, as did Machete and finally, it was Perez who spoke again.
“Elder Presidente, With all due respect I believe your stance on the Gallic subject needs to be challenged. The Gallic crown has promised us full reign over the Cambridge system after the Bretonian forces are toppled. A large majority of Corsair Elders sees this as a good deal. And how can there be doubt about that? The empire would be well served, no I dare say deserves the long awaited expansion in Bretonian space. What better ally could we wish for than the Gallian warfleet, that appeared as if it was a gift of Santa Muerte herself?”
Buonocore sighed and stared at his glass of wine.
“A vineyard is an interesting comparison to our role within the empire señor. A vine left untreated, will grow rapidly, overgrowing other vines, stretching itself out far and tall.
It will also die a premature death, these plants need constant care, and culling. A well cropped vine can outlive his winemaker, and yield much more grapes in the process.
The average Corsair is similar to an untreated vine. He does not know when to stop eating, he does not know when to stop drinking, he will attempt to grow to great heights without considering the future. It takes a wiser man to know when to sacrifice, to build an empire, as how the winemaker knows when to cull. Ladron, summon the other Brotherhood Hermanos of importance and speaking of wine, have a sip Perez.”
Elder Buonocore took off his sunglasses, staring Perez straight into his eyes as he answered.
“I can speak with the Gallians, I can be a liaison, we could invite a representative here to the Sephardi Villa, I am certain we can come to a mutual understanding.”
Elder Buonocore did not blink, but simply gestured to the glas Perez was holding. With a shaking hand Perez brought the glass to his lips, and drank the wine.
As he swallowed, his face turned pale and he coughed violently, dropping the glass that shattered on the floor. Red foam gathered on his lips and within minutes he sank back into his chair.
Perez was no more. His dead body was, however, left in place as an example to those who would arrive shortly.