The God of Normalization
As the Tercio brothers brandished their swords and raised their morale, and the local youths gathered to raise their voices, the crowd that had swarmed the area began to murmur, their eyes darting toward the priest and the magistrate. But when the crowd saw that the priest and the magistrate had already vanished, they were just about to scatter, muttering, "I don't know anything!"—when I called them back.
"Hey! Come here and listen to me for a moment!"
At my shout, the crowd, who had been stealthily trying to disperse, flinched like a large dog caught doing something wrong and gathered once more.
"I know why you've come here. It’s because the last flood ruined your harvest, and you came here because you had nowhere else to vent your frustrations, isn't that right!"
"Th...that’s right. We were just... so aggrieved...!"
The farmer standing at the very front, who had locked eyes with me, began to sob, "Waaaaah."
"I am a farmer myself, so I know your hearts well! Your wives and children are whining for food at home. The farming is ruined. You still have to pay your land taxes. We’re all in the same boat, aren't we!"
"Ohhh, that’s right. My Lord! How do you understand our hearts so well!"
"I am a man sent by the Royal Court to manage these farmlands! How could I turn a blind eye to the suffering of His Majesty the King’s subjects who are starving and in pain!"
When I shouted this loudly, they looked at me with expressions that seemed to say, Could it be!? Is it possible!? Of course, in this era, it is the unwritten rule that those who happen to land a special stroke of luck—like a good harvest during a famine—must "donate" to the local community if they don't want to be beaten to death. But I had absolutely no intention of just donating.
"However, according to the teachings of the Benedictine Order I study, he who does not work shall not eat. So, I will create jobs for you! How about that! I will ensure you get as much grain as possible to take home, so why not do a little work and receive your grain! To those who swear before God that they will work diligently here until the autumn sowing, I will provide beans and wheat in advance!"
At my declaration, the crowd murmured, exchanging questions and answers as if they hadn't quite understood at first. But the farmer who had been sobbing in front of me earlier seemed to be a bit sharper; he caught the most important part of what I said.
"Ad...advance payment?"
"That’s right! There is only one condition. For those who promise before God to fulfill their duty of good faith! I think I can help you at least until this year’s harvest is finished!"
"Ah...... Amen!"
"Sir, my household has three able-bodied men! We will work hard! Please, I beg of you, My Lord!"
"God! Please look kindly upon His Majesty the King!"
In the end, this was grain that wouldn't even make it into the granary anyway. I was effectively turning the grain that would have inevitably been stolen if I’d put it in the city granary into a festival of public sentiment. Here stands Juan Manuel, the God of Normalization, who would make even Shin Chang-seop weep.
"Now! In front of the clerk here, just state your name, your village, and swear before God. Do those three things, and take the grain home first. You need to feed your hungry children at home, don't you!"
"Thank you, My Lord! You will be blessed!"
I wondered what their original intentions were, but they had each brought a sack for grain from the very beginning. Even though they looked like a mob that had been eyeing a "looting spree," I pretended not to notice, filled their sacks to the brim with grain and beans, and sent them on their way.
Additionally, I shared the grain with the neighboring villagers who had rushed to help us, sharing in the joy of the harvest. But even after all that, there was still plenty of wheat that hadn't made it into the granary.
"If you were going to give the grain away anyway, wouldn't it have been better to give it to the priests?"
The clerk asked me after finishing the work.
"If I had done that, would these people have even taken a single sack of grain home? Besides, I believe in the productivity of voluntary labor."
Labor done because someone ordered it and labor done because one wants to do it have overwhelmingly different levels of efficiency. At my words, the clerk spoke an uncomfortable truth.
"If word of this gets out, all the poor in the region will come flocking, asking to be fed."
"If they have the will to work, and if there is grain left in my possession, I will continue to do so. Well, if the grain runs out and we don't have enough for ourselves, then there’s nothing I can do."
I said firmly. This is not charity or a donation; it is a fair contract. There is no grain for those who do not work.
"This is not a donation or charity, but a labor contract. A 'holy' labor contract where God is the mediator."
As I said this, I examined the empty wheat seed jar that Quijote had cherished. This "blessing of God," which has now become hundreds of seeds, is scheduled to be grown in an open field rather than a jar this coming autumn.
I call these seeds Don Quijote. It is partly because these seeds were discovered in Quijote’s hands, but also because I yearn for a will that does not yield, even in this desolate land of Spain. I imagine a wheat field in the plains northwest of Valladolid, where droughts are severe, enduring without a single drop of water.
'A seed that dreams of an impossible harvest, fights against an unbeatable environment, endures an unbearable drought, and promises a future in the sky that cannot be grasped.'
For a 21st-century farmer, lying down and staring at the sky just because the environment is bad is the same as begging to be killed. Although it is almost impossible to pierce the bedrock or dig canals in the 17th century, there are certainly aspects that can be overcome through human-powered dynamic labor.
Just as the clerk said, the number of poor people coming to swear that they would work hard continued to increase steadily. I calculated the materials requested through Bartholomew of Segovia in terms of grain and formally commissioned the Valladolid Stonemason Guild for a major construction project. What I requested was two 50-ton capacity granaries, built in parallel sharing a wall, and I demanded arches and a column-free construction method. With the effort of the endless wave of farmers digging the ground, filling it with stones, and laying drainage pipes, combined with the sudden participation of the starving Valladolid Stonemason Guild, half was completed in less than three months, and I contracted to have the remaining half finished whenever a famine occurred next year or the year after.
"I say this on the honor of the Valladolid Stonemason Guild: it may look plain without any decorations, but we built this with more care than we would have built a cathedral!"
The 50-ton granary, built by digging over a meter into the ground and using stone, brick, and lime up to a meter above ground to create an artificial rock foundation, was a practical design without any decorations, but they showed off an unbelievable skill by installing vents and stone roofs between the arches—I don't even know how they did it.
"I have no worries at all. How could I ever ignore the dedication of a master craftsman?"
"By the way, thank you. Thanks to the wheat and beans you provided in advance during this series of famines, the members of the guild were able to spend the summer without going hungry."
It was the autumn of '24, and the cultivated land, now organized into five plots of 12 fanegas (8 hectares) each, was entering the sowing season, each fully equipped with its own charca (water reservoir).
"Olivares. Have you seen the report from Valladolid?"
At the Aranjuez palace, the summer court of the Spanish Empire, Philip said, stroking an ear of wheat. The King, who refused the fragrant and sweet strawberries of Aranjuez and put the wheat grains sent from the north directly into his mouth, chewed them with a crunch, enjoying the nutty taste of the wheat before spitting out the husks.
"My King. It is certainly an encouraging result. However..."
The legendary harvest of 1 to 15, achieved while the surrounding farmland was being completely wiped out by floods, was a result that was almost miraculous. However, Olivares did not trust the uniquely hyperbolic reports of Spain. Seeing that it was full of words like "God's blessing" and "miracle," he wanted to believe that it was probably a harvest of 1 to 8 or 9, which was better than last year's 1 to 7. And the very fact that the King was paying attention to an area he could not control was a risk factor for Olivares.
Even using the harvest of royal lands at his own discretion to maintain granaries and waterways was an act bordering on treason, going beyond overstepping his authority. If he hadn't been under the protection of Philip IV, he would have lost his head for treason immediately.
"I would like to stop by Valladolid once before leaving Aranjuez for Madrid this year."
At Philip's words, Olivares suggested other options to change his mind.
"Your Majesty. To do that, you must cross the rugged mountains beyond Segovia. It is difficult to make plans for that immediately. Instead, how about you visit Toledo on your progress?"
"I see."
Philip did not have much dissatisfaction with a life "adjusted" by Olivares. He was a diligent and faithful servant, and if it weren't for him, it would have been Philip himself who had to look at documents all day like his grandfather, Philip II. Because he bore that weight, Philip could continue a life of enjoying hunting, holding beautiful women, and riding horses across the fields.
But at least Philip personally reviewed and decided on a few documents. Final military matters. Diplomacy. And friends.
"Olivares."
"Yes, my King."
"Make it so that he cannot leave this land of Castile. You know as well as I do that he is not a man who can be forced by violence or made to submit by threats. Also, he is too precious a bird to break his wings and put him in a cage. I mean, make him build a nest and stay in this land voluntarily. Is it possible?"
"Of course, my King."
"You may go."
Olivares, the favorite of Philip IV, is a capable man. Having answered the King confidently, he was thinking about how to make that rude dreamer stay in the kingdom.
"A man is naturally shaken by alcohol, women, and honor..."
Olivares was collecting information about him through the clerk he had assigned. Unlike the way he lived as brothers with the rough Tercios, he did not enjoy alcohol.
He lived a life like a faithful monk, drinking only diluted alcohol as a substitute for beverages, yet he was almost indifferent to religion.
He only went to church to lead people and put on a show, and he only participated in festivals on major feast days. Seeing him disappear whenever he saw priests because he was determined not to pay tithes, his attitude toward religion was hopeless.
Ironically, he did not seek honor either. If a dispute arose, he would physically avoid or punish it by mobilizing the Tercios assigned to watch him, and he was skilled at scheming and mingled with the poor without hesitation. He had no qualms about engaging in business, and he enjoyed wearing peasant clothes, only wearing royal uniforms when necessary.
Regarding women, he was stricter than the religious people of these days. He did not embrace the young country girls who courted the successful bachelor, but rather showed the strange behavior of trying to get the poor under his command married and settled.
I wondered if he was like those uncivilized French frogs across the Pyrenees who preferred married women, but they said he didn't even perceive the flirtations of noble widows or married women with fair skin in Valladolid as flirtations at all...
It probably wasn't that. When I heard his story from the time he worked in the stables from His Majesty, he had the audacity to ask, "Is the Crown Princess pretty?" when he heard that the Prince at the time had gotten married.
And according to the testimony of other grooms in the stables, he told "obscene stories that could not be uttered" in a fun way, so he was a rude brat, but he wasn't greatly hated.
Looking at the testimonies of the surrounding grooms and the clerk's reports, if there was anything he showed obsession with, it seemed to be money. And the farm itself.
If so, how could I bind this eccentric to this land?
"Everyone finds it hard to leave once they have something they own."
He had clearly said it that day. If he won the bet, he wanted the money to buy a farm.
"Then, conversely, wouldn't it be enough to give him a farm? A special and enormous farm that no one else could give."
Olivares leaned back in his chair and stretched comfortably.
"You rude groom, you will not be able to leave this kingdom, neither in life nor in death."
If he had truly wanted to escape this country, he should have achieved just enough results to be neither here nor there. If he had done that, His Majesty would have been disappointed and lost interest, and I would have just ended it with an expulsion order.
Olivares read the clerk's report piled up in one corner of his office once more and lightly held the wheat grains enclosed by the clerk in his hand.