A bloody but riveting historical novel of Breda siege

“PON my oath, Your Mercies, a commentary penned in fresh-flowing human blood would more truly reflect the atmosphere and subject of the novel at hand than does mere insipid ink.” That said, pardiez, no more bloodshed. This respectful imitation of Spanish author Arturo Perez-Reverte’s period style will have to suffice as flavor.

Narrated, apart from a few lapses in point of view, by 14-year-old Inigo Balboa, a mochilero, or servant-page, in the Spanish army, “The Sun Over Breda” is an eyewitness rendering of the siege of that Flemish stronghold during 1624 and 1625, culminating in a notable Spanish victory toward the end of the Eighty Years’ War. Inigo is the devoted shadow and dogsbody of Capt. Diego Alatriste, a proud and taciturn soldier worthy of Errol Flynn, with his gray-green eyes, aquiline profile and flourishing mustache.

Opening with the ruthless sacking and pillage of the town of Oudkerk, moving on through pitched battles, private fights and public hangings toward the gruesome siege that would claim more than 10,000 enemy lives, the mochilero’s account of his beloved master’s daily grind thickens with swordplay and slaughter but a certain thinness in plot and character development. “It was carnage, game and madness all rolled into one ... a slaughter of young English bulls and Flemish cuts .... There, we descended on them, taking a fine catch of Calvinists, plunging our swords into them, slicing and ripping right and left, deaf to their pleas and to upraised hands begging for mercy, until the blackish water was bright red and they were floating in it like chopped tuna fish.” The historical details of the novel have the heft and richness that only thorough, intelligent, ardent research can provide. Readers may want to keep a dictionary at hand, although the author, speaking as Inigo, strives artfully to insert definitions of harquebuses, armor parts, battle ploys and the like without destroying the illusion of a soldier reminiscing to an audience of his peers. The sense of verisimilitude is heightened by quoted scraps of poetry, references to the popular writers Cervantes and Lope de Vega, and, most important, closing discussion of a lost, or erased, image of Alatriste himself in the famous painting by Velazquez commemorating the victory at Breda.

Alatriste and his comrades-in-arms ponder and struggle with issues of their time, not necessarily ours. It’s a man’s world, in which women figure only on the misty edges, as prostitutes, camp-followers and memories of idealized ladies in Madrid. For the glory of a Spain represented by a weak king and parasitical upper class, these long-unpaid soldiers scavenge their moldy bread and fouled water in a cold, foreign land. The one gold ducat each man possesses is his personal honor, and hands are constantly twitching -- suicidally -- toward swords at the mere suspicion of a slur. Mutiny is frequent, even institutionalized, but solidarity returns in the face of the enemy. While the soldier risks butchery (both given and received) with mind-boggling stoicism, he trembles at the thought of meeting death on the battlefield without his last rites.

For all its rigorous authenticity, and lack of narrative surprise, “The Sun Over Breda” is no arcane, little-known exercise in military history. It’s the third volume in Perez-Reverte’s Capt. Alatriste series, which, with his other novels, such as “The Club Dumas,” first caught fire in the Spanish-speaking world and now have sold almost 5 million copies worldwide. Perez-Reverte, a former war correspondent, has recently garnered bouquets of critical accolades in Europe for a subsequent, contemporary novel (as yet unpublished in English), “The Painter of Battles.” The title merges two subjects in the foreground of “The Sun Over Breda,” and just as Velazquez painted himself into his own work as an observer at Breda, so one can visualize Perez-Reverte writing himself into the character of a portrayer of warfare.

Perhaps the role, and the attitude, of such fascinated observers must by nature be ambiguous. As Inigo exclaims, after another round of mutual dismemberment and extinction, “I know that from the beginning of time, well-intentioned people have condemned violence and preached peace and God’s word, and I, better than many, know what war does to a man’s body and soul, but despite all that ... I cannot help but shiver with admiration when I witness the courage of valiant men.” Words to ponder, in our time.

Kai Maristed is the author of the novels “Broken Ground” and “Out After Dark” and the story collection “Belong to Me.”