The Emperor's Bastard Son (3)
From time immemorial, Jews had been renowned as merchants. Of course, in the eyes of Europe's Christian society, they were the wicked race that killed Jesus, scorned alongside gypsies. This forced them into despised trades, ones no one else would touch. Commerce, long held in low regard, was one such field they had no choice but to enter. Even in this early modern era, when trade's importance was rising, their reputation remained poor.
For that reason, they sought to protect their lives by lobbying those in power.
The three Jews standing before me had deliberately avoided offending me—no traditional kippah caps, just the appearance of typical Christians.
It made me feel my father's lingering majesty anew. As the son of Charles V, the protector of Catholicism, I was treated as a guardian of the faith by association with him. My brother truly was a Catholic zealot, but I wasn't. Still, the widespread perception made these Jews tremble without even meeting my eyes.
"It is an honor to meet the son of Charles V, the blessed protector of holy Catholicism, heir to the Duchy of Luxembourg, and Count of Malaga County, Don Juan de Austria."
Had I fully inherited the Duchy of Luxembourg, I'd be a duke—but alas, only the claim remained. Thus, my official title was count.
"Raise your heads."
At my gesture, the three men looked up. I gazed steadily at the eldest among them.
"Who are you?"
"I am Samuel, my lord. With the previous count's aid, I humbly engage in commerce."
The man named Samuel—a common Jewish name, confirming his heritage. Balding with copper-toned skin, yet his lively eyes marked him as no ordinary elder.
As I studied his face, the old man hurriedly pulled something from his robes: florins, the empire's currency. Knowing I'd come from Vienna, he'd offered not Spanish coin but these Imperial gold pieces.
"A meager token of our sincerity, my lord."
"Florentine florins?"
I feigned ignorance with a casual probe. Samuel the Jewish merchant bowed deeply.
"Yes, my lord. I fear it may fall short—my deepest apologies."
He kept glancing at me, weighing whether to offer more gold. Isabel Gomara, my elf steward watching from the side, clicked her tongue and glared.
"Tch... Jews."
To reiterate, this was early modern Europe—discrimination wasn't just common; it was expected. Jews, like gypsies, were despised, and Isabel's disdain for their usury, forbidden by Christian ethics, was par for the course.
Undeterred by her icy reaction, Samuel stood firm. I regarded him quietly.
"What do you want from me?"
He waved his hands as if to deny it.
"I seek nothing, my lord Don Juan de Austria, protector of Catholicism. Meeting you is honor enough."
A tricky spot. Should I deal honestly or intimidate him? Honesty was ideal, but revealing it to a Jew would displease Isabel. With few allies in Malaga County, making enemies was unwise.
I steeled myself inwardly and prepared to scare the Jewish merchants.
"Best to speak truthfully. Otherwise, it may be your last day trading in this holy Catholic land."
Samuel paled in fear. It worked because my father had been a Catholic madman—anyone else might not have flinched.
"Forgive our imposition, my lord. As faithful Catholics, we merely help those in need."
A roundabout way of admitting usury.
Usury had existed forever. Without laws or collectors, lenders took insane interest. No banks meant the needy borrowed from Jews at exorbitant rates, then faced relentless pursuit day and night.
Jews had little choice—debtors fled, leaving losses. It was high-risk in a world where profits were slim, demanding bribes to rulers who offered no guarantees. Some Jews had no other options and swallowed the bitter pill.
I pondered this, eyeing them steadily.
"So, you're usurers."
"We merely help..."
Eyes wide shut. How to exploit this? Confiscating their wealth and expelling them would be foolish—killing the golden goose too soon.
I needed cash now, but even with it, options were limited. Time to use them.
"Isabel, step out for a moment."
My polite request puzzled her.
"They're dangerous..."
Her loyalty wasn't absolute, so she hesitated. Unavoidable—I asked again courteously.
"Guards are here; no need to worry."
"...Understood."
With Isabel gone, only two guards, the three merchants, and I remained.
The merchants eyed me warily, rolling their eyes. Intimidate or entice? From my Vienna days studying kingship—ill-suited to me, but one lesson stuck: carrot and stick. Overdoing the stick required balance.
Time for the carrot. I softened my expression.
"I hear the previous count helped you in trade."
"Y-yes, my lord."
"Yet you dabbled in usury, against Church doctrine."
"That was..."
Samuel tried to explain; I raised a hand to silence him.
"No more on that. Withdraw from usury instead."
My firm command widened their eyes—it meant starvation to them. Seizing the moment, I continued.
"I know quitting usury leaves you struggling to survive."
Lip service, really. They could farm as tenants. But they'd tasted wealth. Usury was risky but lucrative; merchants wouldn't quit easily.
So, I dangled a carrot-like lure.
They eyed me, glimpsing hope, mistaking it for a chance to persuade.
"Then, us..."
"No—I'm offering other work, not usury."
"What do you mean, my lord?"
"I know little of commerce, but isn't it buying cheap and selling dear?"
As a modern soul, I knew finance well, but a devout Catholic like me couldn't admit expertise—hence the roundabout phrasing.
They nodded. I spoke lowly.
"If I give you chances to buy cheap and sell dear, will you abandon usury?"
"What do you..."
"I'll make you rich. You'll share profits with me, of course."
"..."
Samuel rolled his eyes furiously. I was negotiating now.
No sellable goods in Malaga yet, no special skills for soap or pens. Even Isabel the beautiful elf and Chancellor Sancho Núñez weren't confirmed allies after today's meeting.
In this bind, only money was trustworthy. To get it, I'd sell one piece of knowledge I recalled.
A massive moneymaker. Alone, it'd take too long and draw too much heat.
But these knights in front of me—perfect proxies. Jews doing it? Expected. Bloodsucking merchants—same as usury, but bigger scale, more fun profits.
"I'm too lacking to grasp your words, my lord..."
Samuel backpedaled. I smiled.
"Is that so? Then I'll share profits with someone who understands."
The other Jews' eyes gleamed with greed beside him. They knew my name—Habsburg blood—carried weight. Follow me and fail? Not total ruin. Malaga County was mine; Luxembourg's claim too, a rich Low Countries duchy.
Seeing this, Samuel pondered, then resolved.
"What would you have us do...?"
"Just trade. In a special place."
1558. My brother, King of Spain and the Low Countries, Philip II. Time for his Jesus crusade.