The Harvest of Survival and the Inquisition's Greed
Last summer, while I was busy supervising the construction work, Quijote brought me a single stalk of wheat.
"Boss, look at this! You've got to see this!"
He held out a stalk he’d found in the parched wheat fields. Even at a glance, it possessed the spirit of a hero rather than a common weed. The stem was bleached white, like durum wheat pasta, as if coated in wax, and it stood only about four palms high—nearly half the height of regular wheat. And to top it off, it had survived the drought that had withered everything else, yet its grains were plump and full!
"How on earth did you do that???"
I was so bewildered that I examined the wheat again before turning to Quijote. Seriously, how did you manage this?
"Huh? Did I do something wrong, Boss?"
Seeing Quijote’s clueless expression, I couldn't help but think that this wasn't just the work of nature, but perhaps the energy of the universe—or something, something—had lent a hand.
"...Hey, Quijote."
"Ye...yes, Boss."
"It seems that God truly does look after those who put in the effort."
I gathered ten cracked, red clay jars that were meant for rough use. I filled the bottoms with broken gravel and pottery shards. I laid a foundation of river sand, then filled them with a mixture of river sand, clay, and rich, well-rotted soil from the compost heap, finally topping it off with a layer of humus. I planted two or three grains in each jar and had Quijote manage them every single day.
In early February 1624, we were busy with the quince cuttings. The saplings that had already grown for a year were planted like a fence along the perimeter of Zone 1, about four meters away from the farmland. Unlike the previous year or the year before, there was a heavy snowfall, blanketing the fields in white. Watching the farmers rejoice, saying, "There won't be a drought this year," I felt a shiver run down my spine.
The land we tended was soft, dark, and rich. But what about everywhere else? After three years of drought, the soil was parched to the bone, and the vegetation had been decimated by overgrazing sheep. If the temperature rose slowly, the melting snow would seep in and become the strength to turn the plains green. But what if the temperature spiked? I could 'feel' that a surface flood was coming—a phenomenon where the ground, unable to absorb the water, would cause it to surge rapidly across the surface.
At first, I tried to ignore the thought. But by mid-February, the premonition of a flood felt as vivid as watching a YouTube video. I looked at the jars of wheat that Quijote was tending like his own children. I stared at the green sprouts for a long moment, and the next morning, I decided to trust my intuition.
I immediately ordered the expansion of the farm's drainage ditches and had the drainage leading out of the rainwater reservoir dug deeper. I also had additional channels dug at the left and right ends of the farm to divert water in case of a deluge. Then, I mounted my horse and rode to the surrounding villages, grabbing every village chief I could find.
"Chief, I think a flood is coming. You need to build drainage ditches in your fields right now!"
"Is... is that for real, young man?"
"I’ve seen it through a royal vision—you must be careful of a flood! Get the villagers out there and make holes for the water to drain!"
"A... a flood? The priest said the heavy snow would resolve the three-year drought..."
"Regardless, I’ve warned you! Get to work immediately!"
After spreading the warning, I struggled to reinforce our own drainage. I used fist-sized stones and large gravel from the construction site to fill the ditches, preventing rapid soil erosion and ensuring smooth drainage. At the top of the farm, we piled up leftover soil to build a temporary dam. My farmers didn't complain or offer a single objection; they worked silently like oxen, laboring alongside the cattle for two weeks without rest.
And then, at the end of February, the plateau around Valladolid, which had been dying of thirst for three years, faced a deluge of muddy, snow-melt water.
My intuition had been spot on. The water rushing toward our wheat fields like a tsunami from the plateau first met the outer lupin fields, where it scattered, softened, and lost its momentum.
"Damn! Big Lupin, you’re the hero of our village!!!"
Watching the remnants of last year's bean stalks and the seeds that bloomed even in winter hold the ground together, resisting the flood, I couldn't hold back my shout. Seeing that, the others chimed in one by one.
"Lupin! Hang in there!"
"I wondered why the Boss left those poisonous beans that we can't even eat! So this was the benefit!!!"
"You're the best, Lupin!"
"Hey, doesn't this feel like when we fought with pikes in the lowlands?"
"You're right! It's reassuring!"
"This... this must be reported to Madrid. Who knew lupins had such a use!"
The water that passed the lupin fields hit the earthen ridges and diverted to the sides, while the water pouring into the farmland soaked the furrows and headed straight for the drainage ditches and the rainwater reservoir. The already-full reservoir was tirelessly vomiting water into the lower drainage channels, holding out against the flood.
"Alright! Everyone, let's keep it up! Block that spot with the sacks!"
We didn't just sit around because there was a flood. Under a clear, cloudless sky, we filled tough hemp sacks with soil to urgently repair the earthen ridges and breached levees, gritting our teeth for three days. After three days of exhaustion, the flood finally began to subside.
"Hooray! We won!"
"¡Hemos vencido!"
"¡Ganamos!"
-Wooooaaaah!!!!
We let out a roar of victory and began the cleanup. A week later, when the aftermath was mostly cleared, I mounted my horse and toured the surrounding villages.
"Oh, young man. If it weren't for you, we would have ruined our farming again this year... If it weren't for that fine seed you gave us, we would have all starved to death."
"The villagers who asked why you were buying trouble at first all trust you now. Young man, they say it's true you came from the royal court—you really know your farming."
Of course, not everyone had prepared and blocked the disaster. In one village, the chief was hanging in the town square.
"Uh... what is going on?"
"Oh, sir... that madman ignored the warning you gave and just played around, turning the whole village wheat field into a mud pit."
"That's right, sir. When someone from the royal court tells you something, you should work right away! You damn fool! You're not just killing yourself, you're trying to starve the whole village!"
The farmer explaining the situation to me was so angry that he threw a stone at the hanging chief. Because I had spoken openly in front of the villagers when I went to deliver the warnings, there were traces of some villagers paying attention to drainage or levees, but the reality was that such a large disaster was virtually impossible to overcome without community-wide effort.
Watching that, I felt a bitter sense of futility. In the end, even if you know the method, individual effort cannot overcome reality.
Of course, it wasn't all bad news. I had been worried about the wheat field I’d made by reclaiming the lupin field last year, as the sprouts were weak and spindly. But interestingly, after the flood, the sprouts grew rapidly, and in the blink of an eye, the wheat stalks took over the land as if to say, "Is this my world now?"
In the end, while the rest of the Valladolid region was in shambles due to the flood, we enjoyed a bumper harvest. The 8-hectare fava bean field yielded a whopping 15 tons, and the 8-hectare wheat field reclaimed from lupins showed a crazy harvest of 12 tons. We hadn't even harvested half, yet our newly built 10-ton warehouse was packed to the brim, leaving nowhere to put the rest.
And so, from the fava beans in early June to the wheat at the end of June, we enjoyed the joy of harvest for a whole month—only to face hundreds of angry Valladolid citizens who came with clubs and torches.
"It's magic!"
"Heretic!"
"Didn't they say those guys didn't even pay their tithes? Aren't they complete apostates? Aren't they Morisco bastards?"
"That's right, that's right! Otherwise, how could they be the only ones doing so well during this flood?"
"Exactly. Look at how neatly they dug those water channels—they're definitely Morisco bastards!"
"Hey! What are you doing! Kill them all! Burn them all to the ground!"
They spat out angry words, gathering at the village entrance. At the center were a few priests in black cloaks over white tunics. A medal depicting a sword, a cross, and an olive branch hung on their chests. The mark of the Inquisition. There was also an executor wearing a doublet and a sword. Unlike the enraged farmers, they stood perfectly still.
"Bastards... they knew this was a royal farm and came anyway."
They incite the uneducated farmers and stand back. They’re full of the intention to take the profit first, and if things go wrong, just wash their hands of it and say it's not their fault. The behavior of those who cry out, "I am the only righteous one in the world," is just as shitty in the 17th century as it is anywhere else.
With over a hundred people acting so threateningly, the *Tercio* brothers, who usually looked like Guan Yu and Zhang Fei, were cowering like Jian Yong and Sun Qian. But the clerk was standing tall, shouting bravely.
"How dare you cause a disturbance on royal land! Get back at once! This is royal farmland and land under military privilege!"
Since the instigators who should be stopped by now were pretending not to know anything and the farmers were getting even more excited, I called Quijote and the farmers to send them back before I stepped forward.
"Quijote. Go out right now and drag everyone from the neighboring villages here. If you say I told you to come, they'll all come."
How long would it take for them to arrive? I cracked my jaw and walked toward the clerk, who was facing the crowd alone.
"Hey, you ignorant fools, be quiet! You there! Priest and executor! You must not cause such a disturbance on royal land!"
When I scolded the farmers and shouted directly at the instigators, they replied with expressions that said, "I don't know anything."
"Hahaha, that's an interesting story. These good-natured farmers came out here of their own free will; we didn't bring them, did we?"
"Then, with the attitude of a shepherd, lead your lost lambs back. If you use the priest's sheepdogs to drive the flock away, the matter will be settled quietly."
"Hahaha, that’s not something I can do as I please, is it?"
I sighed inwardly as I watched the greasy-faced servants among the farmers inciting them. Seeing the inquisitors and executors maintaining an attitude that suggested an "accidental" incident might occur if money or grain wasn't handed over, I truly wanted to kill them all.
I couldn't trust the Spanish courts, where if you go to trial, they’ll just say, "Well, let's just reconcile and end it, clap clap," ten or twenty years later. If I had twenty *Tercio* brothers instead of two, I could do something...
"I'll have to ask them to send any retired *Tercio* veterans who want to farm."
I grumbled to myself, wondering what to do.
-Murmur, murmur
"Hey! What are you doing coming to our neighborhood and causing a ruckus?"
"You've got some nerve! How dare you break into royal farmland and act like thugs!"
"This is our territory!"
"Yeah, get out of here right now!"
Young men from the surrounding villages appeared like the cavalry of Rohan, each carrying clubs, flails, and pitchforks. This is why you have to build up goodwill among your neighbors. As the numbers became even, the *Tercio* brothers, who had been acting like Jian and Sun, transformed into Guan and Zhang, drawing their swords and shouting.
"You rascals! How dare you cause trouble in His Majesty the King's garrison!"
"Who is the bastard that wants to learn the severity of military law with his own body!"
Heh.
"I guess you're finally ready to 'negotiate'."
I couldn't hold back my laughter as I watched the priest's face, which had been wearing a "hahaha" smile, turn into the expression of someone who had just eaten shit.