The Knight of La Mancha and the Seeds of Survival
"Mayor."
The Mayor’s words pierced through me. If I were the man I had been at the beginning—the one who pushed her away to the very end, acknowledging the insurmountable wall of social status—it might have been different. But having already been caught in her anchor, I possessed a genuine desire to become truly her man.
"Have you made up your mind?"
"If so, Mayor, how far will you go for the survival of Valladolid? Even if I were to empty all my grain stores, it wouldn't last a month to feed everyone in this city."
My question spoke to the cold, hard numbers of reality. Opening my warehouses wouldn't be enough to save everyone.
"I have already laid everything down. I will do whatever it takes if it means restoring order."
"Good. Then let’s do this."
"Do you have a plan?"
"First, we must secure salt. Are there men in Valladolid who are skilled with horses and carry blades?"
I looked out at the geldings grazing on the grass and the mares that were not pregnant. The Mayor selected the *hidalgos* of Valladolid—men with deep roots in the local community whose families remained in the city—and sent them to me, armed with gold and silver.
"A gelded horse, you say..."
Spanish knights considered riding a gelded horse a disgrace. The virility of a stallion was a metaphor for a knight's combat prowess, and they took pride in controlling the unruly beasts with exquisite horsemanship.
"My apologies, sir. For now, we have nothing but geldings."
"And what of that horse?"
The *hidalgo* asked, his eyes filled with greed as he looked at Aventador, who was guarding the pregnant mares. The pure-white, purebred Andalusian was the equivalent of a high-end sports car in the 21st century—a luxury item of this era that every knight coveted.
"That horse is not mine to command; it belongs to His Majesty the King."
"Then it cannot be helped."
At my words, the *hidalgo* withdrew his greed.
"Now. With the Pisuerga River and its tributaries dried up, this is our chance. You must bring back every last grain of salt to Valladolid! The citizens of Valladolid will be waiting for your honorable march!"
I framed their mission not as a commercial transaction, but as a crusade of knights marching to save the city. Of course, my words alone wouldn't suffice; the city council and the clergy had already stepped forward, gathering the citizens to bless the knights and praise them as the very incarnations of noble chivalry.
The knights of Castile, who would pursue honor even if it meant starving to death, became the most noble and courageous embodiments of honor in the face of this sanctioned opportunity for glory. Since the floods had destroyed all the mills, they didn't carry bread or biscuits made of flour; instead, they strapped raw wheat and thick, vinegar-like wine to their saddles. Like the knight in the novel charging at windmills, they spurred their horses toward the salt mines.
The Mayor of Valladolid, leading soldiers who were even more terrifying than the starving citizens, turned a blind eye to a dangerous measure that could have politically ruined him. Under his tacit approval, sturdy men and soldiers took up spears and swords and climbed the Paramo Plateau. They raided the *Mesta*—the sheep-herding guild—that had driven their flocks up despite the floods. The wool, once considered as valuable as gold, was discarded on the plateau. The soldiers, driven by the need for meat, brought the flocks down and consumed everything: every drop of raw blood, every piece of entrails, even the marrow from the bones. The citizens cheered for the sheep the soldiers brought back, slaughtering them little by little each day to supplement their meager rations.
When the circuit judges of the *Mesta* swarmed in to protest, the Mayor, having invoked emergency powers, refused to even meet them, instead seizing the cheese and grain they possessed. Even the circuit judges, who were said to be the law above the law of the *Mesta*, were nothing before the starving citizens armed with spears and swords. Some of those who had long harbored resentment toward the *Mesta* continued to murder the displaced shepherds and judges, and the Mayor turned a blind eye, using it as a vent to release the anger directed at those above.
What is the best way for public authority to maintain order? It is to show the masses that if they maintain order, the authorities will help them. If the authorities appear to be doing their best and there is a glimmer of hope, the proportion of rioters drops significantly. Crowds only turn into mobs when the authorities abandon them or offer no hope at all.
"It's coming!"
"It's here again today!"
Once every day, a wagon pulled by two oxen enters the south gate of Valladolid. And in the south gate square, they wait, having prepared firewood and cauldrons filled with water that I had 'simply purified' and delivered to the Mayor.
The wagon unloads the salt sacks and rye bags and turns back. While the soldiers guard the food strictly, it all goes into the cauldrons under the supervision of the city council. It is a coarse rye porridge, so rough that the husks are still chewed, and it is hardly fit for human consumption—but to the starving citizens, it is the hope that allows them to see tomorrow.
Of course, not everyone agreed. Some opposed even the idea of that coarse porridge entering the mouths of the poor citizens.
"Step aside! This is the charity of Sir Juan!"
A group of men, all in filthy rags but wearing slightly better clothing, blocked the wagon entering the south gate.
Some nobles from the city council tried to stop them, but they were in the minority among the nobility.
"Why waste precious grain on such wretches!"
"That's right! Don't do that, bring it over here at once!"
"Are you so hungry that you must eat rye? How pitiful your circumstances must be."
"Hmph! It’s better for that trash to die than for a noble like me to starve!"
Though few in number, the nobles had a more powerful voice because they possessed more. After a conversation with the Mayor, I planned not to keep them trapped in the city where they were uncontrollable, but to make them sell their assets at a pittance and leave.
"L-listen, Sir Gallardo. Have you heard the rumors?"
A *hidalgo* entered the salon where the nobles were gathered and grabbed a friend.
"What rumors are you talking about?"
The nobles, who were pretending to maintain their elegance even while starving, clicked their tongues at the flustered *hidalgo*, but at his next words, everyone held their breath.
"The... the Black Death is spreading! I heard it clearly when I went to the city council!"
The Black Death. At the mention of that catastrophe, which one feared to even name, Sir Gallardo made the sign of the cross.
"Strange diseases, dysentery, diarrhea! And now the Black Death is spreading? Oh God, have you truly forsaken this land!"
"This is no time for that! We must leave the city at once!"
Sir Gallardo agreed, but where were they to go with their starving families?
"How are we supposed to leave! We have no food and no horses?"
The flustered *hidalgo* spoke in a secretive voice.
"Sir Gallardo must have heard the rumor. If you go a day's journey to the southwest, there is a royal farm that is said to have distributed grain to the poor during every famine."
"Ha, those idiots?"
If they had such grain, shouldn't they be investing it in holy relics or treasures? The nobles, who had been able to reduce their own charitable obligations thanks to the royal farm distributing grain with its misguided sense of justice, called the farm "idiots."
"They say those idiots somehow managed to harvest a decent amount despite this disaster. The rye coming into Valladolid right now is coming from that very farm."
"Is that true? That was the location of the granary that survived the flood, which the Mayor had been keeping secret?"
The *hidalgo's* words shook the salon. A few quick-witted nobles were already slipping out.
"If you go there, you'll find donkeys and wheat. A man must live, must he not?"
"If they distribute grain to the poor like that, they’ll be even more generous to us, the loyal subjects of His Majesty. Thank you. I will reward you when this chaos ends."
Trusting in their noble status, the nobles knocked on the farm's doors without bringing anything with them. But when two *tercios* leading the now-dozens of farmer-soldiers drew their swords and threatened them, the nobles realized that their status meant nothing, and they had to bring goods to trade.
If they wanted a donkey, they had to lay down silver and gold. If they wanted food, they had to hand over ten *fanegas* of land just to get one sack of wheat. Only by doing so could they secure as many donkeys and as much food as possible to leave the city of despair, where the fear of the Black Death was closing in.
"To think they even have a notary ready and waiting..."
"Damn it. If they handle the paperwork this strictly, it’ll be hard to appeal to the court later and get it back."
"How can a royal farm treat the blue-blooded nobility so harshly! I will tell my cousin, the Count of Benavente, and lodge a formal protest!"
The royal farm, gathering the farmland and grazing land that the nobles were selling off at a pittance, had reached 160,000 *fanegas*—10,000 hectares. Adding the farmland taken over from fallen smallholders, the total exceeded 50,000 *fanegas* of farmland alone, excluding the grazing land on the Paramo Plateau. The gold and silver were being handed over to the *hidalgos* of Valladolid to keep buying salt, but as time passed, salt became more precious than gold and silver.
To manage the rapidly expanding farmland, I would occasionally mount my horse and visit the sites. I organized the farmland into plots, grouping them into units of roughly 300 *fanegas*, and forcibly settled thirty families in each to create small settlements.
"Everyone is in the same difficult situation! But I believe in you. We can do this! Diligent farmers of Valladolid! I believe you can succeed!"
Fighting over whose land is whose is meaningless. Through my deal with the Mayor, all farmland in the Valladolid area was to be managed centrally by the royal farm, and any issues would be settled with the land north of Valladolid that we had squeezed out of the nobles. Among the land taken from the nobles, the northern tracts were handed over to the city council, with the agreement that they would handle any legal disputes or issues.
Midsummer. The farmland, already late, had its surface hardened by the clay layer, making it impossible to plow even with oxen. But the farmers moved up to the plateau, which was actually more livable in the summer. They scraped up everything edible and cut down every bush to use as fuel. Only then did I realize why the disaster of the last five years had been so severe. In a wasteland where even shrubs, let alone trees, had disappeared, nothing could grow unless it was a hardy species like lupine.
"This is all because there are no trees on this plateau! We must plant trees!"
"The master is right! My grandfather clearly told me when I was young that if you cut down all the trees like that, it causes floods and dries up the riverbeds—that you shouldn't do such things."
When an old man over sixty said this, my argument was officially recognized as the mysterious strategy of the brilliant royal administrator. As I built a nursery to plant acorns and juniper berries to create seedlings, the time for sowing finally arrived.
"Capitan. What will you do?"
"One day. Can't I have just one more day to think?"
"Everyone is waiting only for the Capitan's command."
"Phew. I'll decide by daybreak tomorrow."
My dilemma was what to plant. Should I play it safe and plant rye? Or should I plant wheat? If I plant wheat, should I plant the traditional *Candial*? Or should I plant *Don Quixote*? A mix of both? The problem was that no matter how I calculated it, the food reserves were insufficient.
The potatoes that had originally been planted to feed the cattle had long since been eaten by people, and there was a shortage of hay for the cows and horses that were surviving on grass alone. But if I slaughtered them, it would be impossible to cultivate the farmland when the hardened clay layer thawed next spring.
"You seem to have a lot on your mind, Juan."
Teresa visited the house I used as both my office and residence. She, who now occupied my space as if it were the most natural thing in the world, could have worn sufficiently noble attire, but whenever she came to me, she appeared in an old coat over her linen nightgown.
"Ah. Teresa."
"My heart always races when I see you moving so passionately."
She said this, staring straight into my eyes. As I stopped thinking for a moment, mesmerized by her captivating gaze, she spoke to me in the solemn language of a noble.
"Do not forget, Juan. One who leads must make decisions. Those who stand above others exist for that very purpose."
"I am not a noble, Teresa."
At my reply, Teresa smiled brightly and said:
"Aha. Then are you a good servant who faithfully follows the decisions of the noble of nobles? The thought alone is delightful, Juan."
Her cool fingers tickled my cheek. Her sweet scent, drifting closer, made my head even more confused.
"I'm not in the mood for idle jokes."
"I assure you, I have never once made an idle joke in front of you. My words and actions have always been sincere."
Before I knew it, she had taken off her coat and pulled me into her embrace. As I buried myself in her warm skin, I stopped all thought and simply existed. She held me in silence, stroking my hair.
"Are you a bit calmer now?"
"Yes. Thank you, Teresa."
As I lifted my head toward her, she pressed her body firmly against mine and explored my lips. A sticky kiss followed, with lips parting and tongues mingling.
-*Pah.*
Wiping her lips as if satisfied, she smiled seductively and said:
"From tomorrow, you shall be the one to kiss first. I am a ruler by birth, but I am also a woman who wishes to be conquered by you."
At those words, I had no choice but to let go of the thread of reason I had been barely holding onto.
The next morning, leaving the great noble still lying in bed, I went out and commanded everyone.
"We launch *Don Quixote*. I will stake our fate on our mad knight!"
Author's Note:
I ended up going back five chapters from episode 15 just to add one heroine. I am truly sorry. T_T
The biggest bloodshed in Valladolid actually occurred after everything was over. As the sowing season approached, all farmland boundaries had disappeared due to the floods, so farmers fought daily over whose land was whose, and city citizens fought over their house plots in the same way. Even sadder, records from the city council remain of farmers who, having eaten their own seeds because the sowing season was approaching, committed suicide after plowing their land... And the nobles took the empty land and turned it into pasture for sheep instead of farms. This is the difference from my novel.