The Gambler’s Gamble
That day, Felipe, the Count-Duke, and I discussed many things. When he insisted that we must go to war immediately, I told him that if the Dutch had achieved such significant economic growth during the twelve-year truce, they would never give up their position without a fight.
"Everyone in the Low Countries knows the Imperial Army is being assembled right now, don't they? They must be lobbying and causing an uproar to stop it."
"How could you possibly know that! You are clearly a spy for the heretics of the Low Countries."
I sighed at the Count-Duke’s intense suspicion.
"No, really... How could I be a spy for the Low Countries when I’ve lived in the royal stables since I was born? I’m not going anywhere, so stop jumping to conclusions and calm down, Count."
"You insolent stable boy!!!"
I treated his shouting as mere background noise and continued.
"First, they want peace above all else. Why not ask them to pay for it? Not an exorbitant amount, just enough to save face. Make it a short-term deal, three or five years. We aren't prepared for war right now anyway.
If you truly intend to wage war, wouldn't it be better to use that time to prepare for three or five years and finish it in one decisive blow?"
"But the honor of the Empire..."
"Then how about this? Since the locust swarms ravaged everything from Extremadura to La Mancha last year, we could declare a time of mourning and prayer. You’re good at that sort of thing, aren't you?"
"Once a campaign has been declared..."
Watching the Count-Duke continue to fall for the sunk-cost fallacy, I grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.
"Count-Duke. I know you well."
"How dare a lowly stable boy take the hand of a Grandee! How dare you claim to know me!"
Feeling embarrassed, I walked to the window, pulled back the curtain, and looked outside.
"You are one of the finest talents in Spain. At the very least, you aren't the type to think about lining your own pockets while the country starves, are you?"
"!!!!!!!"
"The reason the Duke of Lerma flourished was that most of the Spanish nobility went along with him. To be honest, Count-Duke, you have no allies in Spain. No one wants the revival of Spain more than they want to increase their own wealth."
I turned to look at him.
"Count-Duke. If you shout at the high nobility, 'You selfish bastards, do you not care if the country falls!?', they will just scoff. Even if you scream, 'Sacrificing half your wealth in taxes and tributes to fund the military is the true happiness of a Grandee!', no one wants to spend their own money to do it.
The military nobility on the front lines might follow your lead.
But the pastoral nobility of the Mesta Association, or the landed gentry who have to pay for it—they have no intention of following you. You know that, don't you?"
The Count-Duke had nothing more to say. He was a sharp man; he understood.
"Count-Duke. In the end, the powerful and the wealthy never pay taxes, anywhere, anytime. It is the poor and the powerless who pay. But if you squeeze them too hard, they fall into poverty and can no longer pay even those taxes. And the commoners of Spain are currently in that state of destitution.
If you want to build that integrated army you’re always talking about to the Prince, you need a large population of ordinary farmers who can afford to pay taxes."
"You stable boy. Then what must I do? Are you saying it is the kingdom's fate to wither away like this? If it is the kingdom's fate to perish as you prophesied, I do not wish to hear such prophecies!"
He was sobbing. His bloodshot eyes were not those of the confident, imposing man I knew, but the despairing eyes of a man who had finally faced a truth he didn't want to see.
"The easiest thing is to escape, like I am. Haven't the brave and the adventurous already left for the New World? I believe this country has survived this long only because those who were dissatisfied left for the colonies. Conversely, those who still live here are truly obedient lambs. And reviving a dying country is inherently a difficult path."
I looked him straight in the eye.
"Count-Duke. At least for this year, 1621, the first decree of the newly crowned King will carry weight.
Even those who are disappointed will listen once, and even the most disloyal will at least pretend to listen. You should start by purging the corruption you’ve always wanted to address.
And as for the Low Countries... yes, why not demand a donation to prevent locust damage? They will understand. If they refuse to pay even that, send the army as you wish. But if they bow to the majesty of the Empire, give me five years."
"Why five years? If you have such a brilliant method, why not harvest ten grains for every one starting this year?"
He was already being hostile, twisting my words at every turn.
"No, really... does raw wheat bake into bread? You have to grind it, sift it, and knead it before it becomes bread, don't you?"
"Enough, Count-Duke of Olivares. Juan, watch your tongue. Not everyone has the patience that I and Olivares possess."
As the Count-Duke and I growled at each other, Felipe stepped between us and warned me again.
"Anyway, if you give me five years, I will show you the maximum yield that land can produce. Of course, I can't do it if you give me land where nothing can grow."
When I said it flatly, silence filled the room. In the end, it was Felipe who broke it.
"Olivares. I have decided. Your plan is postponed for five years. And Juan, swear to God that you will do your best."
"My Lord! No, Your Majesty, you cannot! We must go to war now. After five years, we won't be able to start a war even if we want to!"
Olivares was horrified, and I spoke to Felipe with the face of a victor.
"Fine. Then may I tell you what I need?"
"How dare you use such a rude tone to His Majesty in this kingdom, you lowly stable boy!!!"
"Count-Duke. I’m a swindler who’s going to die in five years anyway, so let me speak comfortably..."
As I tried to mock the Count-Duke, Felipe spoke with the voice of a lion.
"Juan! I told you to watch your tongue. I forgive your rudeness now only because you have faithfully cared for my horses. I will not forgive any further insolence!"
I looked at Felipe, who was displaying the majesty of a King, and thought: *Wow, the bloodline really makes a difference.*
"Understood, my King. Then, I have a few requests to carry out my work."
"Speak."
"So... how much of a budget have you allocated?"
At my words, Felipe turned his head to look at Olivares. The Count-Duke replied mockingly, as if he had been waiting.
"Ha! As you said, there isn't enough silver in this kingdom to eat and die. But I will find you the land. I suppose you can achieve your 'harvest' even in the waterless wasteland of the Meseta Plateau?"
"No, you need water to farm. Count-Duke, are you sulking?"
I asked, bewildered, and the Count-Duke sneered.
"Then how about this? The marshlands of Aranjuez, which flood every year. There’s plenty of water there, so it should be possible, right?"
"If it’s that kind of land, will you give me the men to build the embankments?"
"You are incompetent! You delusional, daydreaming stable boy!"
I flared up at the Count-Duke’s words.
"This is why I keep saying I’m going to leave Spain. And what’s the point if I struggle and succeed, only for you to take everything but the seeds?"
"That is only natural, is it not? You are farming on royal land with royal water."
"Fine, but if I show you a harvest within five years, you have to admit I was right, okay?"
"You swindling stable boy!"
Felipe, watching the Count-Duke and me bickering as if we were about to throw a punch, drank a glass of wine with a frustrated look and said:
"Juan, if you succeed, will you really leave?"
"Yes."
"I see."
"What kind of manners is that to His Majesty, you stable boy!"
Felipe watched Juan and the Count-Duke bickering with a somewhat sorrowful expression. It was funny to see the Count-Duke arguing with a mere stable boy, and it was sad that Juan, whom he had considered a friend, was so quick to say he would leave.
But more than that, he laughed at himself for wanting to pin his hopes on the swindler-like words Juan had spoken.
"Olivares. It doesn't have to be good land. Don't give him bad land on purpose. And if Juan needs anything, grant it within reason. And Juan, you apologize to the Count-Duke and behave respectfully. If you show any more insolence after tonight, I will not forgive you either."
""Yes, my King.""
The Count-Duke and I answered in unison. We glared at each other, then stood up.
"Count-Duke. I am genuinely going to succeed. So, I would appreciate it if you at least didn't get in my way."
"Of course, you stable boy. I, too, will do my utmost to help you succeed. Know clearly that this is not because I like you, but because it is the King's will."
-Hmph!
I don't know what happened in politics after that day.
Anyway, I left the palace, no longer Juan Manuel the royal stable boy, but just Juan Manuel the commoner. But I wasn't alone.
"Hey, buddy. I don't know what's going on, but tell us even when you're going to the bathroom."
"Yeah, yeah. We were ordered to kill you and drag your corpse back if you try to run away."
Two *Tercio* brothers, whose intensity was evident just from their eyes, were following me. And a clerk with a sharp gaze who wouldn't exchange a single word with me was watching me. One wrong move and I’d be dead in five days, not five years.
"Now, now, brothers. Do you know how to farm?"
"Farming...?"
"When I was young, my family was a farming household. We went bankrupt because we couldn't pay the rent, and it turned into pasture."
I sighed deeply as I looked at the *Tercio* brothers, who looked at me as if to say, "What's farming?"
This is truly hopeless...
"Clerk, what is the budget I can receive for now?"
"If you request it, I will obtain permission from Count-Duke Olivares and provide it."
"Then let's go look at the land first."
With the population "normalized" by the plague, dysentery, and malaria that had broken out frequently since 1590, the taxes falling on the village level hadn't decreased at all, forcing people to abandon their villages and leave.
'*Despoblado*' (Abandoned land).
The ruins of villages, with their roofs gone and only skeletons remaining, existed as if stuffed in the dry climate of the Meseta.
"This is the worst."
The marshlands by the river looked hopeless, reeking of rot and swarming with mosquitoes, and the places that were once wheat fields were overgrown with weeds.
Is it a relief that the well is at least intact?
I surveyed the land I would be managing, following the clerk's guidance.
About 100 hectares.
Of course, no matter how I think about it, 20 hectares? Even 10 hectares might be a stretch. If labor is scarce, I’ll have to use animal power. And I have to reclaim it in a way that requires as little manual labor as possible.
After roughly surveying the farmland and returning to Madrid, I delivered the estimate I had thought up through the clerk. And it was approved in less than a week.
Before leaving again, I asked the clerk to buy two donkeys, two oxen, and a wagon loaded with food and farm tools from Valladolid.
And I brought along a few vagrants from the Madrid square who said they were willing to work. The village ruins were too vast for just ten men to live in, but I felt a sense of helplessness.
This is truly hopeless...
The first thing I had to do with the refugees before the autumn rains came was to restore the grain warehouse and the village oven. I told one *Tercio* and the clerk to guard the grain and animals, and went to Valladolid with the other *Tercio* to find something to use as seed.
What I was looking for was the cheat code for Korean organic farming.
Vetch beans.