Chapter 73
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 73
Chapter Title: A Moment of Stability
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Early November 1598.
The end of autumn was approaching.
As the weather turned cold, conditions at the fishing grounds worsened, and the sea grew treacherous. The fishermen wrapped up their voyages for the year and rested at home. They probably wouldn't set sail again until around February of next year.
In their place, ships loaded with Shine Muscat grapes and various other varieties departed for England.
The chill of late autumn made for conditions deadly to humans but ideal for preserving fruit freshness.
At the same time, it marked the tail end of the sowing season for winter crops.
With medieval three-field crop rotation still in practice, wheat and rye sowing was wrapping up in some areas, while barley and lentil harvests concluded in others. A full third of the land lay fallow.
...If my fertilizer had truly been 'infinite,' I could have eliminated those fallow fields altogether. But even cutting back on vineyards to spread it everywhere, the supply fell woefully short.
I was starting to feel the limits of what resource cheats could achieve.
Even now, with a population around 50,000, things were tight. What would happen when it swelled to 500,000 or 5 million?
Well, that was the distant future. But our community had grown from just over 30 people to this size in a mere decade. The future might come sooner than... hmm...
Anyway.
In this relatively idle season, idle thoughts proliferated.
Of course, 'idle' referred to the time before September and October, when I had to oversee vineyards everywhere, clear new land, and handle all sorts of other issues.
I was still busy.
Testing the new plows and rotaries attached to the tractors, for one.
-“Ha, haha! Lord Nemo! Behold! I have once again rescued Moorish slaves from Spanish oppression and tyranny!”
-“...Well done, Sir Drake.”
Drake, fretting over blocked routes near Florida, had taken to charging Spanish fleets like a madman. I had to arrange homes for the freed slaves accordingly.
Thanks to that, food shortages were steadily improving. Tractor production cycles were shortening too.
The food problem was largely solved.
But food was just one piece of our troubles.
A piece stemming from the chain reaction since we began accepting large waves of refugees.
Or, looking bigger picture:
What caused those refugee waves?
Why were we taking in freed slaves?
The root cause forcing us to support swelling numbers and stabilize a suddenly tense community...
'Spain.'
The catalog had mentioned it countless times: to Spain, England was just one among many enemies.
They clashed with foes in France, the Netherlands, the Mediterranean, Italy—colonial unrest was merely one front.
Only later, when Britain conquered the world and America inherited it, did they polish this history. But the essence remained unchanged.
Spain was the world's superpower; England, a backwater.
England collapsing the Spanish Armada at Gravelines? Breaking Spanish Atlantic dominance? British historical distortion.
Spain rebuilt such fleets multiple times in mere years.
We were defying that empire.
Specifically, its right leg: the Viceroyalty of New Spain, and its Florida colony.
Spain merely flexing a toe had nearly crushed us.
So, we needed to shore up our internals first.
Before projecting full force toward Florida, ensure our community wouldn't crumble.
“Mr. Huet?”
“Yes, you called?”
“It's time to implement roll calls and nighttime curfews. We must prepare for any internal unrest.”
“I'll pass that along to the council. With few active at night anyway, there shouldn't be complaints.”
“Good. Manteo?”
“Speak.”
“Inter-tribal conflicts might still simmer. Gather rumors and compile a list of suspicious figures—those dissatisfied with the community, especially.”
“It'll take time, but doable.”
Yes. Internal issues were the biggest worry.
Many in our community were entangled in grudges; poor control could spark trouble.
Maintain loose oversight on surprises, eliminate potential risks.
And furthermore...
“Manteo? One more thing.”
“What is it?”
“Monitor the freed Africans closely. Spies might be among them.”
“Of course.”
“Walter?”
“Lord Nemo.”
“For now, reduce information leaks about our settlement during England trade.”
“Understood. What about planting false intel?”
“...Sounds good.”
Don't slack on external vigilance either. Eliminate any chance of Spaniards scouting or infiltrating.
Finally.
“Eleanor?”
“Yes! Right here!”
“Prepare lists of combat-ready personnel and all our weapons, in case of Spanish invasion.”
“Got it!”
“Vicente?”
“You called?”
“Inspect coastal batteries, strengthen patrols and surveillance. Florida's fortified; enemies might react unpredictably.”
“As you command!”
We had arrayed ourselves to repel invasion.
Would enemies truly assault a 50,000-strong settlement? We had no invasion experience anyway. (Except Vicente.)
Rusty spears and swords were sharpened. Lexan shields distributed to coastal households.
Powder stocks checked. Musket drills continued.
We sealed every variable.
We prepared for every scenario.
If they stabbed from shadows, we'd block rear.
If they charged frontally, we'd meet them head-on.
We'd guard flanks before side maneuvers.
No matter how that vast empire moved, we had counters.
We would never crumble.
We'd repel any assault.
We would surely survive...
“L-Lord Nemo! My God!”
“Walter? Why back so soon? You were in London less than a week...”
“The King of Spain is dead!”
“...Pardon?”
Uh... oh...
I rushed home and flipped open the catalog.
-‘Philip II (1527~1598): Nicknamed the Paper King, he led Spain's golden age, earning merits in forging it into a modern nation-state...’
“...”
Philip II was dead.
And just like that, news from the Spanish Empire cut off.
I turned the page.
-‘Philip III (1578~1621)’
Description:
-‘Known as the worst tyrant in Spanish Empire history, during his reign the empire...’
“...”
And astonishingly,
the Spanish Empire went quiet.
“Father handled this volume of work all alone?”
“Yes. His late Majesty always weighed paperwork to gauge daily load...”
Thud!
“...Like this.”
“...”
Philip II's shining legacy was centralizing and bureaucratizing Spain.
Spain was a loose federation of provinces.
Local powers coiled like snakes, threatening the crown. No one trustworthy.
Thus, he trusted no one.
Lonely, he shouldered immense work to sustain the empire and throne.
He weighed daily documents; otherwise, he'd work endlessly.
Enduring gout, diabetes, he built that power.
“M-Marquis of Denia?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You... uh... handle some of this with me?”
“Of course.”
In minutes, the throne shook.
“No separate orders from the new king?”
“None. We proceed ourselves, right?”
“No. Predecessor punished unsigned moves. Strictly.”
“Wait then. Surely... the new king has deep plans...”
No such thing.
New favorite Marquis of Denia whispered capital relocation for land grabs.
And so.
Administrative vacuum hit the headless empire.
New Spain's colonial government halted too.
All offensive Florida plans canceled; only defensive resource ops approved.
Thus...
peace arrived.
“Spain can't stop this easily. Surely plotting some grand scheme behind it!”
No.
The new king was just... an idiot.
Even 21st-century Spanish historians couldn't rehabilitate him much.
...Couldn't say that.
“...Philip III's reign will be a long morass. The vast empire will lose vigor, plunging many into chaos.”
“Ahh... aaah!”
“Lord Nemo prophesies again! Hu-Huet! Note it!”
“Noting!”
That sufficed.
Convenient, skipping persuasion.
Anyway.
The external threat piercing our skin vanished.
Sudden peace.
Florida's secret society had grown, leaking intel.
Invasion prep measures now hung loose.
No immediate external fires.
“Focus on internal stability first.”
Yes. Internal stability. Good call.
Most of our community were refugees.
Tormented by hunger, displacement, pillage, war.
Mentally and physically drained, harboring mutual hatreds.
No overt clashes or full conflicts.
But lingering tensions; perfect chance to resolve.
Hmm... uh...
Filling bellies was sorted; no more economic fixes handy.
“Internal stability reminds me of something.”
“Ah, Walter? Speak.”
“Residents lack fun or hobbies. Rulers denying leisure breed discontent.”
Oh. Leisure activities.
Makes sense. Medieval peasants' piety stemmed from no other entertainment beyond church.
Unvented social energy leaks oddly. Maybe fueling native conflicts?
“And... fun means 'that,' right?”
“'That'?”
“Yes. Risk of injury, but nothing like soccer for active enjoyment.”
“Soccer!”
Good for health, solid recreation?
“Great idea. Implement now. Build fields first...”
“No need! Haha, simple rules: No hands on ball...”
“Fine.”
“...And no weapons. That's enough! Ask Lady Dare for healers!”
“...Pardon?”
“Pardon?”
I dove into deep debate with Raleigh on soccer rules.
“No... banning fights in soccer? Boring for spectators too?”
“...”
“Benefits clear: Spaniards could strike anytime; instill proper aggression and team spirit...”
Rejected.
Th-that's not soccer.
Soccer... banned here.
Leaving wistful Raleigh, I sought others.
“Morning sermons with Lord's word...”
Rejected.
Kids dozed through pastor sermons.
“Hold festivals!”
Oh, promising?
“When festival peaks, have them chew these mushrooms to excite...”
“...Manteo? Mushroom name?”
“Haha, nothing. Hallucinogenic, but...”
Rejected.
Shamans, drug mushrooms, group dances...? European Christians foaming?
“Baron Raleigh suggested soccer? Why reject?”
“Rules... just no throwing, no weapons.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Huet gets it...”
“No weapons? No fun...”
Rejected again.
You lunatics, that's not soccer.
...
...
...
Sigh.
Can't we keep it simple and tame?
No soccer, basketball, baseball, sudoku, crosswords, escape rooms?
As I pondered, Eleanor shot up her hand.
“Me! I have an idea!”
“...Eleanor? Go ahead.”
“H-how about encouraging residents to decorate homes?”
Oh.
“Homes?”
“Yes. Natives lived simply—pots, tools, huts. Now they can't...”
“True.”
“They endured huts and tents, but envied early settlers' proper houses...”
“So...”
I grabbed Eleanor's hand.
“Understood. Thank you, Eleanor.”
After weird ideas, clarity hit.
“Uh... sure? It was nothing...”
No. It was everything.
Obvious in hindsight.