The King's Groom and the Impossible Resignation
Working for the royal family is a job that’s hard to get into, but even harder to get out of. Resignation is impossible without a clear, valid reason. The standard acceptable excuses include physical disability rendering one unfit for labor, a calling to religious life, or being scouted by another noble house.
However, my current position—the prince’s stable—or rather, my new position as the King’s groom—is the most critical of key posts. Naturally, there was a line of people waiting to take my place the moment I left, so I assumed my resignation would proceed without much trouble.
"You want to resign?"
"Yes, my Lord Mayor-domo."
I bowed my head as I stated my intent to the administrator.
"But why? You have such a prime spot. And you haven't even recommended a successor?"
"There are many seniors who dislike me being in this position, sir. I should know my place and step aside."
"You certainly know the proper decorum. Everyone has been coveting that position."
The King’s groom. If you’re the groom for the King, the level of "pocket money" you receive is on a different scale. Since there was already plenty of envy and jealousy, the administrator was happy to see me go, thinking it was a wise decision, and began drafting the paperwork. However, before that day’s lunch had even passed, I was summoned by the Corregidor—the site manager.
"The King knows your face, yet you think you can just leave?"
"My body isn't what it used to be... I intend to go out and tend to a monastery garden."
"You're only sixteen, yet you speak like a sixty-year-old man. Regardless, you want to quit, is that it?"
"Yes. I wish to live a life of prayer."
Does a manager really hold a formal interview just because a mere groom wants to quit?
Regardless, I gave him appropriate answers, and after a thirty-minute interview, I was finally released.
Then, that night, while I was sleeping in a corner of the stable, I was grabbed by the hands of some scary men and dragged into a quiet room.
Waiting there was Philip IV, who had just finished his coronation ceremony a short while ago.
"Juan."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
He threw my money bag, which the scary men had found in the stable, at me. A few silver and gold coins bounced out of the sack.
"Where were you planning to go after leaving the palace?"
"That... a life of prayer and cultivation..."
Unlike his usual self, I prostrated myself quietly before the stern-faced Philip. But at that sight, Philip unleashed a lion-like fury upon me.
"Lies. Lies. LIES! You are lying to me right now, Juan."
At his words, I decided to just throw caution to the wind.
"I was planning to leave Spain."
"Why? Everyone is yearning for my coronation and a new era, so why are you trying to leave my side?"
"That is..."
"Answer me straight. No matter what answer you give, I will not hold it against you. This is merely a personal curiosity."
He pressed his temples as if he had a headache and spoke to me.
"Prince... no. Your Majesty. That is exactly why I am trying to leave."
"What?"
"The era of the late King was darkness. Morally corrupt, economically collapsed, and honor was tarnished."
I spoke calmly. The position of a royal groom is a plaza of information. People are always coming and going, and the conversations of nobles are always audible.
This country has already failed spectacularly.
"Exactly! That is why I am saying I will restore our honor. My honor, the kingdom's honor, and your honor!"
"Can you eat bread with that?"
"!?"
"I might not starve if I stay here as a groom, but if I try to leave Spain when I’m fifty, I don’t think I’ll make it to the port alive."
I tried to beat around the bush, but Philip jumped up and shouted at me.
"Do you dare tell me that I will fail, Juan?"
"No. You will succeed. But what will you do once you succeed?"
I threw a fundamental question at him. So, if you win, what are you going to do now?
"What do you mean?"
"Let’s say you fight the Low Countries and win. Do you think France or England will just sit by? And let’s say you fight them and win, too. How many years do you think that will take? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? There are already so many poor people in Madrid begging for mercy—can the country endure that?"
"No, more importantly. Can you even win? Didn't we have to sign a truce last time because we couldn't win?"
As I brought up the fact that the kingdom most wanted to deny, he shouted and stomped his feet.
"Juan! You are in the presence of the King. Know your place and speak respectfully."
"My King, do you truly wish for me to do that?"
When I stared at him rudely, he stopped his anger, looked at me, and slumped into his chair.
"......No."
I sat down on the floor and looked up at the King sitting in the chair.
Sixteen years old.
Looking at the King, who was the same age as me and still had the air of a boy, I put my hands behind me and braced myself on the ground.
"Philip. I don’t think you’re a bad person. You’re clearly a good person. Let me say this first: it is not your fault that this kingdom has failed. You are merely the heir who inherited a kingdom that had already collapsed."
"......"
"So don’t blame yourself too much. But as the heir to this kingdom, you have the duty and responsibility to revive it."
His stern face returned to the expression he had when he was a prince. No, it looked like the face of the young prince I first met when we were about twelve.
"Then why are you trying to leave me? Weren't we like 'friends'?"
"Friends... well, our relationship was a bit close for a prince and a groom."
I replied with a smirk. The prince was a figure who maintained an implicit distance from the noble children around him, called Meninos or Pajes. The interesting thing was that while he kept his distance from his peers, he followed the Count-Duke of Olivares, who was eighteen years his senior, like a real older brother.
"Fine! Philip. Then, as your friend, I shall take the time to answer your question. First, could you tell the person hiding over there to come out?"
As I pointed my chin toward the thick curtain in the corner of the room, a man stepped out.
"A lowly groom is being insolent beyond measure."
Gaspar de Guzmán, the Count-Duke of Olivares.
He growled as he emerged from behind the curtain. He was the young noble who had risen to the core of supreme power, appointed as the chief minister to Philip IV, who had just ascended to the throne.
"Philip. He is the one who tried to control you rather than serve you."
I looked at him quietly. From what I had seen and felt while working as a groom, he was the one who tried to put Philip in the palm of his hand and manipulate even his emotions.
"Insolent!"
The Count-Duke of Olivares had poured his heart and soul into "controlling" him since he was a prince.
But at some point, the prince began to cast "doubts" and "questions" on Olivares' words. Olivares could not believe that the source of those uncontrollable questions, which he couldn't find among any of the surrounding nobles or clergy, was a mere groom.
"Stop! Tonight, in this place, let us set aside etiquette for a moment. It is the King's command. Juan. Answer my questions honestly."
"Understood, Your Majesty. What are you curious about?"
"Don't be sarcastic. Juan, I want to consider you a friend."
"Fine. You're curious why I was trying to resign and leave, not even a week after your coronation, right?"
"That is correct. The war hasn't even started yet, and winning or losing is in God's hands, so why were you trying to leave so soon?"
I looked at the Count-Duke of Olivares and answered Philip’s question.
"I don't know much about war, but the war I know is a contest of who has more money, fought with guns and spears. Count, how much silver does the kingdom have? Aside from the silver coins expected from the New World, do you have anything?"
"......"
Olivares couldn't say a word to my question. He was certainly a man who understood numbers. In this regard, he was in the top 1% of Spanish nobles.
"Then how do you intend to supply the army? Are you going to borrow silver coins from Genoese bankers at a 40% annual interest rate, after taking off 10% in advance interest, fees, and risk premiums? Isn't that exactly what you've been talking to the Prince—no, Your Majesty—about reforming for years because you didn't want to do that?"
"An ignorant groom speaks quite well. But do not worry. We can purge the faction of the Duke of Lerma, who spent the late King's era hoarding wealth, and use that money to wage war."
He stated his plan confidently.
Oh, I see. The idea of using the banner of "clearing out deep-rooted evils" to label a portion of society as evil and extort money is a truly irresponsibly sweet method.
If you say you're going to use that to fund a war or whatever, everyone except those directly harmed will stand in favor or remain neutral.
"How many years can you wage war with that money once you start? Won't you just have enough left to catch your breath after paying off the debts first? If you want to wage war again with that money, won't you have to borrow from Genoa at 40% interest again? Or are you going to go around to the Grandees every year, extorting taxes and donations to cover it?"
"What is the problem with that? Serving for the glory of the Kingdom and God is the duty of a noble."
I was dumbfounded by his incredibly confident words.
Isn't that exactly the same as shouting, "If you don't follow my words, you are an enemy of the state"?
Looking at things like this, it’s clear that studying history is the right thing to do. It seems the scholars who say history always repeats itself are correct.
"No, I mean, will those people agree to it? Did you get their consent? Of course, they will say 'Of course' to your face, but when it comes time to actually pay, they'll make all sorts of excuses to delay it, won't they?"
It was Philip who answered in place of Olivares, who couldn't respond to my words.
"...But what about the honor of the kingdom? My honor? And there is a bigger problem, Juan. During the last 12 years of the truce, our kingdom has been swept up in Lerma's schemes, just as you said, and has grown weaker. If we don't suppress them through war right now, we won't even have the strength to wage war later. They are growing stronger as time goes on. This is our last chance."
"That is true. Then, let's change the premise. Can't we just do it? Doesn't the fact that we haven't grown as much mean, conversely, that there is an opportunity to grow?"
"Ha! By what means? Are you going to find the Philosopher's Stone and perform alchemy?"
The Count-Duke of Olivares mocked the dreamer. If that were possible, Olivares would have been the first to claim it and achieve it. Because it's impossible, he's trying to solve it through war.
"Count, if you sow one fanega of seeds, how much do you harvest?"
I answered his mockery with a question. He replied:
"About 4 to 5 fanegas."
"Then what do you think would happen if that changed to 10 fanegas?"
"Ha! Your delusions know no bounds! Do you not know that such a harvest only comes with a bumper crop that would go down in history?"
"Well, farming is not something you can guarantee, but isn't it worth a try?"
I shrugged my shoulders and said. Then I met eyes with Philip, who had been staring at me, "observing" me.
"You... you aren't lying. You really know a way to do that."
He grabbed my arm with eyes filled with a strange fervor.
"Yes. I don't have absolute confidence, but I know a method worth trying."
"Your Majesty! Do not believe him! That groom is a fraud!"
At Olivares' shout, Philip looked at him and said:
"Count-Duke of Olivares. If his words are true, how much silver would that be worth?"
"That is a matter that cannot be measured in silver coins. But it is impossible. The harvest is something bestowed by God. Your Majesty."
It’s not just a simple matter of the harvest doubling. If you count the seeds, it’s increasing by three times or more. Olivares instinctively sensed it, but it was in the realm of fantasy.
I felt my pride as a former 21st-century farmer being scratched by his words.
"If you give me land and manpower, and five years of time, I will prove it to you."
"Do not try to deceive His Majesty! You fraud!"
"What if you fail? Juan. What will you do if you fail?"
Between Olivares' anger and Philip's strange gaze, I smiled and said. Farming is something that can be ruined by a single drought or flood, no matter how well you do it. If I failed, it would just mean my fate ended there.
"Then do as you please. Whether you kill me or let me live, I will follow Your Majesty's will."
"I can kill you or let you live right now, you insolent groom!"
Ignoring the Count-Duke of Olivares, I said to Philip:
"If I succeed, please allow me to leave. It would also be nice if you gave me enough money to buy a farm."
"Very well, Juan. Then I shall give you the chance to 'prove' it."
Afterward, accompanied by two soldiers to guard and watch over me, and one scribe provided by Olivares, I left Madrid and headed northwest to Valladolid, the city that was once the old capital of Spain.
Author's Note: In actual history, there would have been no commoner who would act like this toward the King.