Internal Affairs (3): The Nature of Power
I had earned my brother's trust, but if even the slightest hint of a challenge to his power ever appeared, he was the sort of man who would kill me without hesitation. A textbook absolute monarch, straight out of the history books. It was precisely because of him that an absolute monarchy could take root in Castile in the original history. He brooked no challenge to his authority—in fact, he later executed his own son, Don Carlos, with a single stroke when the boy rebelled. The history books might call him the Paper King, but when it came to power, no one was sharper.
That was why he was demanding an explanation from me now. Because I'd laid the groundwork in advance to secure his trust, I at least had this chance to make my case. If I hadn't... the thought was horrifying. I took a deep breath and prostrated myself flat on the ground.
Philip II didn't flinch at my sudden movement. His eyes were utterly steady, like he would strike me down on the spot if he sensed even a whiff of defiance.
"I beg your forgiveness for troubling Your Highness's heart."
"Your apology is accepted. I want to know why you did it."
The resolute Philip II. Emotional appeals wouldn't work on him... so I had no choice but to go straight to the point.
"There is one reason I brought these people from Italy."
Philip II, the Paper King and map fanatic. His office and every place he traveled were covered in maps. That let me point to one and explain my intentions clearly.
"Before the sea battle erupts, I plan to seize this place and exterminate the infidels offending Your Highness."
"Hmm..."
The spot I indicated was none other than Ceuta. Thanks to Isabel, I had ample justification, and it made a perfect base. Uniting the Malaga-Ceuta territories would position me to control the gateway between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean.
The challenge was packaging it right for my brother... I decided to tie it to the Battle of Jerba.
"When the Battle of Jerba begins, the infidels near Tunis will surely provide land support."
"That's true enough."
Naval battles back then weren't the cannon barrages from movies. The Mediterranean was still dominated by galleys. From ancient Phoenicians, Egyptians, Persians, Greeks—right up to now, these oar-powered ships were the kings of combat. Wind helped, but human muscle did the real work, making them agile in battle. Sinking ships with cannons was nearly impossible; their short range meant artillery's main goal was smashing enemy oars to cripple mobility. And those were bronze cannons. Ships relied more on manpower than guns anyway.
Melee combat was the heart of it all. They'd chain enemy vessels and board them—think storming floating fortresses. So even at sea, battles often hugged the coast for land support.
The Catholic League targeted Jerba, close to Tunis. For Spanish ground forces to help, they'd need to muster from Sicily. That stretch—from ancient Rome vs. Carthage—was an adventure in itself. Smooth land support from Sicily was a pipe dream.
Jerba, meanwhile, was near Ottoman Tripoli, ripe for their ground reinforcements. What we needed was to cut or disrupt that enemy land support. In short, I'd hit their rear at Ceuta and pull the aggro.
"I meant to come to you directly with this plan, Your Highness..."
I trailed off, and Philip II gave me a puzzled look. I deliberately piqued his curiosity before explaining why I needed these people.
"For a two-pronged strategy, these men are essential."
"I know you're planning to strike the rear and sow chaos among the pashas of Morocco and Algiers. But I don't see what that has to do with the people you've brought."
His expression had softened considerably from the start. Cautiously, I pointed to the Strait of Gibraltar on the map. The Pillars of Hercules—two massive mountains framing a strait where the Mediterranean's salty brine met the Atlantic's fresher waters, calm enough for a bridge even today. Modern tech struggled with it, but the weak currents made it feasible.
"Malaga County has no warships, only merchant vessels—vulnerable to enemy fleets. Worse, no one there has real naval combat experience."
They'd only dealt with pirate landings. No one had fought at sea.
"And?"
"So I'll link those merchant ships with chains into a massive floating fortress and pour in ground troops to seize Ceuta."
My strategy: a physical chain bridge of ships. The iron chains needed for that made these men indispensable, and I could pitch it naturally to Philip II.
"These are men who know how to work iron."
I caught my breath and pressed on.
"Chain the merchant ships to create a wide platform, then move as many troops as possible across to take Ceuta."
"That would force the enemy to split their naval reinforcements..."
"As expected of Your Highness."
Unlike his Paper King label, Philip II had real insight into military matters. He grasped the tactic instantly.
"An infidel ploy."
I nodded. The Ottomans ran swarms of small war galleys. Sinking ships with guns? That was seventeenth-century stuff. Boarding capacity was king.
When they took Venetian outposts, the Ottomans chained ships to maximize troops—like with Naxos and Tinos, conquering Greece's southern isles. They'd profited from it recently, proving its tactical value.
Justification and plan laid out. Now it was up to Philip II.
I was still on edge. This was a gamble. I'd planned to face him later, but the sharp-eyed king summoned me first. His insane intel network befitted the era's superpower leader.
Regardless, I'd brought these talents on my own authority. If he nitpicked to the end, I had no counter.
I'd visited Rome and tipped him off about Elizabeth I's marriage proposal first... hoping he'd overlook it. I prayed silently.
"I understand your intent."
"Thank you, Your Highness."
"But this is the only time. If you act rashly again... only God knows what will happen."
"...Understood."
A warning because war—the Battle of Jerba—loomed, so he'd let this slide once. I shuddered, breaking into cold sweat.
One thought dominated my mind: escape Philip II's reach in Malaga County. Fast. At minimum, establish a foothold across the sea in Ceuta. It wasn't beyond his grasp, but the water bought time in a pinch.
"I hear the cannon expert is English... but a Catholic?"
"Y-yes, Your Highness."
He knew everything from one to ten. Dodging bullets with straight talk was a relief.
Philip II paused, deep in thought, then beckoned his guard.
"Summon the prime minister."
"Yes, Your Highness."
The guard left the terrace. I glanced his way.
"Do you remember when I said I would trust you?"
"Of course, Your Highness."
"I'll prove it with actions."
"..."
I nearly blurted, "What?" My eyes darted awkwardly.
The tense terrace atmosphere broke when the prime minister arrived.
"You summoned me, Your Highness?"
"Come in, Prime Minister Burgos."
Prime Minister Burgos looked like a paunchy everyman, but like all of my brother's paper slaves, dark circles ringed his eyes.
"Is there enough iron in the kingdom?"
Iron here meant wrought iron—easier to work than tricky cast iron with the tech of the day.
"Yes, Your Highness."
He seemed reluctant to get specific with me there.
Why mention iron now? I wondered.
"Can we divert iron to support Malaga County?"
The prime minister calculated briefly and nodded.
"More than enough."
"Good."
Philip II smiled, satisfied. Calling the prime minister to discuss iron? He was granting it to me—a key strategic resource. It meant he trusted me, fully committing.
Tension melted away inside me.
"And..."
He beckoned the guard again, who drew a sword from his belt. Same as when sending me to Rome. What now? I fretted.
"I, guardian of the Catholic faith, king of the great Spanish realm and the Low Countries, and lord of the Order of the Golden Fleece, do declare:
'Don Juan de Austria, I appoint thee Count of Malaga-Ceuta.'"
He laid the Spanish sword on my shoulder. I dropped to one knee in reverence.