Low Countries (2)
Toledo's Alcázar. The palace had been painstakingly restored from the era of his father, Charles V—also Carlos I of Spain—right up to Philip II's reign. Yet inside this monument to ancient history, there were surprisingly few furnishings. For now, all that remained was the task of reviewing the stacks of documents in the office.
Buried under a mountain of papers, Philip II irritably sifted through them.
"At this rate, I'll spend my whole life crushed under paperwork."
A faint hiss escaped through his malocclusion. His prime minister approached cautiously at the sound, laced with fury.
The minister had served the king for years. He often seethed inwardly at how the man was perpetually busy yet accomplished nothing of substance, but he was wise enough not to show it. Composing his face, the prime minister began with flattery.
"Your Majesty, just a little patience, and you'll soon move to the new capital."
"With all these documents?"
The prime minister squirmed under Philip II's rebuke. Sighing, the king waved it off.
"Never mind that. What news of the letter to England?"
Grateful for the lifeline, the prime minister exhaled in relief and reported.
"It seems Your Majesty's reputation in England isn't favorable..."
"Hmph, that hardly matters. To keep those shameless islanders from straying from Catholicism's fold again, there's no better way."
England had briefly broken from the Church under Henry VIII, that madman who founded the absurd heresy of Anglicanism just to ease his divorce. Philip II clicked his tongue in disgust. True, Henry was the father of his late wife, Mary I, but to a devout Catholic like Philip, the man was utterly repugnant. Mary herself had been imprisoned in the Tower of London, and his overtures to Elizabeth I—who had usurped his nominal title as co-king of England—had fallen flat.
"As Father said, I should ship her off to the ends of the earth."
Plus ultra—the motto of his father, Carlos I, implying even farther beyond. Philip II chuckled at his own jest, thinking it rather clever. The prime minister forced an awkward smile, playing along as duty demanded.
"Before that..."
Philip II rummaged through the pile. His bulging eyes skimmed the papers until one caught his hand. He gestured for the minister to look. Bowing low, the prime minister unfolded the parchment.
"What do you make of it?"
"Count Egmont of the Order of the Golden Fleece, Count Hoorn, and even the Prince of Orange... It seems rebellion is brewing fiercely in the Low Countries."
"Holdovers from Father's era. Of course, these three are my loyal vassals and won't betray me—but as representatives of the nobility, they give a sense of just how much unrest there is among the nobles."
"Truly perspicacious, Your Majesty..."
The king usually procrastinated on important matters, but his sharpness here impressed the minister. Compared to the vague Elizabeth I, Philip was clearly superior. The prime minister piled on the praise.
"This is a Catholic land, and my domains must follow my will. The nobles must obey the governors and viceroys I appoint."
The prime minister nodded at Philip II's firm declaration. He himself was a noble, but not like the others. Centralization had been underway even before Philip fully ascended the Spanish throne. The king had long been curbing the excessive power of the aristocracy, reducing the prime minister to an administrative noble with only a title left—a far cry from the estate-managing lords of old, or the grubby Junker class infesting German lands.
"But... my brother is the real problem."
Though estranged by his uncle's schemes, his perceptive younger brother Juan had wisely kept his head down. Reports from Málaga County showed local powers—the bishop and military governor—making it hard for him to act rashly. He didn't seem an immediate threat... but the Luxembourg inheritance was an issue.
Today's petition warned of growing unrest among the nobles of the High Counties—the northern Seven Provinces. From loyal vassals like Counts Egmont and Hoorn, and William of Orange, it delicately hinted at an imminent revolt. If the nobles rebelled, they'd seek a king—and from Philip II's perspective, only two names topped that list.
One was Elizabeth I, openly defying him. The other was his brother Juan, heir to the Luxembourg lands encompassing the Low Counties' Ten Provinces. The nobles might fancy Elizabeth as their queen, but Philip was skeptical. The debts from Mary I's reign lingered, and France had even seized Calais. Aiding the Low Countries would require a disastrous landing. Plus, England's internal strife over Mary I's execution made any move unlikely. Thus, Philip naturally eyed his brother warily.
"And to top it off, who knows what the emperor might do..."
The prime minister nodded. He had eyes and ears too; he understood the king's concerns.
The Holy Roman Emperor—Philip's uncle—remained obsessed with Burgundy. A prime example: splitting the Luxembourg title and giving part to Philip's brother, sowing discord. If Juan were elevated by rebels, the emperor would surely follow up. Bohemia had joined Habsburg Austria thirty-two years ago, yet the electors' votes remained. Handing those to Juan would be a masterstroke—expanding imperial sway in the Low Countries while checking Philip. His serpentine uncle might well scheme it.
But it was unlikely for now. Philip planned to feign benevolence by accepting the nobles' petition while instructing the governor to tighten the screws.
"What will you do, Your Majesty?"
Philip II smiled.
"Keep enemies close to manage them easily. Avoid provoking the Count of Málaga, but intensify surveillance."
"Understood."
The prime minister, who handled foreign and domestic diplomacy, felt relieved to return to his core duties amid the added tasks.
"The bite should come soon..."
My mind whirred like a taut reel as I sat in my office, scribbling and erasing on parchment repeatedly.
1558. This was when my Jesuit brother would blunder spectacularly, so I was biding my time for the opening.
The Low Countries' rebellious spirit had intensified since my father Carlos I—Charles V. It had endured harsh policies thanks to Father's Ghent roots, but no one would follow a brother issuing idiocy remotely via governors.
Sure, there were loyal Golden Fleece knights like Count Egmont, Count Hoorn, and William of Orange. But as a man from the future, I knew they'd soon become fathers of independence.
Especially William of Orange, the battle-hardened veteran of Father's French wars. Now was when his loyalty wavered—I expected a nibble soon.
"Information... I lack information."
In the game, I could see everything on screen, but as an NPC now, intel was scarce. I needed Isabel Gomara for finances, the chancellor for maps. This wasn't a simple war of casus belli and manpower grind; I had to persuade nobles personally, or face revolt and deposition.
"If there's any reaction from those around me, at least I could gauge it..."
If my brother went berserk with crusades, I'd notice—but no word from the Low Countries yet. He was silent as the grave.
Not surprising, given his blunders: first, proposing marriage to Elizabeth I, Mary I's sister. Then moving the capital from historic Toledo to Madrid. Finally, sending our sister Margarita as his avatar to bully the Low Countries. These piled up, leading to the Battle of Gravelines and independence for the northern Seven Provinces.
I aimed to profit from the petty revolts starting now—not peasant uprisings, but noble and merchant ones. I'd skim slush funds using three Jewish merchants in these near-wars.
War profiteer. Then buy merchant ships for big trades. They wouldn't reach the deep oceans, but it'd build a solid foundation.
Of course, if the Jewish merchants fled, it was over—but if they did, all the better. I'd wring their necks, feast on the fattened golden goose, and pocket the eggs. A win-win.
They couldn't produce eggs forever; disobedience meant death. No need to spell out why I chose persecuted Jews.
This was a game world. With a fantasy skin patch, they barely felt human. If it were hyper-realistic, my modern sensibilities might make me a abolitionist lunatic decrying slavery or racism... but as a game, I couldn't empathize with orc-skinned Africans or elf-skinned Muslims.
A virtual world. My goal: live freely, die old, not soon.
"Good thing Asia got the patch too."
This Age of Discovery era. The conquistadors—Spanish conquerors—planned ugly deeds. As their handler, this ex-Korean was glad the colonized weren't "real" people.