The Tax Collector of Valladolid

Olivares had made it his primary task as chief minister to reduce the usurious asiento loans owed to the Genoese bankers, the long-standing creditors of the Spanish Empire. His core mission, built upon the rigorous blade of the "cleansing of deep-rooted evils" that began in 1621 and the "voluntarily donated contributions" from the Low Countries, stood at the brink of ruin following the Great Flood of 1626.

The devils of Genoa. Low-life scum destined for hell! Selfish bastards! If this continues, the Empire will truly collapse! Do you think you will be safe if the Empire falls?

Waiting for the treasure fleet from the New World, Olivares practiced what in the 21st century would be called holding on for dear life. He gritted his teeth and endured, scrimping on every single candle.

What saved him was the "contribution from the Protestants of the Low Countries to console the victims of the flood"—a repeat of the "contributions from the Low Countries to console the locust damage" from five years ago, which had bought peace ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for the Netherlands.

"Do you know how much shipping insurance premiums rise when there's a war?"

"Are you going to pay money to a country that God punished with a flood, just to buy peace?"

"Yeah~ We're not going to war~ We're just going to pay the money and trade peacefully~"

Though some resisted, most of the people in the Low Countries were fearful that the five-year tacit truce following the Twelve Years' Truce was coming to an end and that war would break out again.

When the great flood hit Spain, they used it as a pretext to send a larger sum than five years ago, and the tacit truce between Spain and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Low Countries was extended for another five years.

Olivares, who had managed to wet his parched throat thanks to the contributions from the Low Countries, began by restoring Cadiz, the gateway to the New World.

The "Old Castile" region, which was already in decline, and the northwestern Meseta region, including Valladolid, had been half-intentionally neglected, but the Marquis had grabbed them by the collar and brought them back to life.

And seeing Valladolid rise again, even while Cadiz—where the Count-Duke had focused his budget—was still struggling, made him realize something.

"This country has no money, but it has too many thieves."

Thanks to the Marquis, who deposited half of his profits in the year-end settlement in December and even prepaid the taxes to be levied on the Valladolid area, Olivares felt a sense of abundance, as if his hair were starting to grow back.

When he asked the Marquis, who claimed he would exercise "reclamation rights" on abandoned land by the river, to purchase the tax collection rights for the Valladolid area in exchange for his silence, the Marquis—after a brief tug-of-war—purchased them at a significantly discounted price.

And he even prepaid! To Olivares, he was nothing short of a godsend.

"Lord, could you not send me just one more coachman..."

Hearing the Count-Duke of Olivares's prayer at the Christmas mass, nobles sent their own coachmen to him, hoping to build a connection, but none of them were the coachman Olivares was looking for.

No one enjoys paying taxes. Especially if they know how viciously tax collectors squeeze them. During the Great Flood, tax collectors were beaten to death while trying to collect taxes even in the midst of the disaster.

Of course, they were desperate because bankruptcy was inevitable if they failed to collect the taxes.

In any case, tax collectors are objects of resentment and hatred for everyone.

A good tax collector is not a dead tax collector, but one who has lost the paperwork. Because if the tax collector dies but the paperwork remains, the taxes will eventually be found.

In that sense, the Great Flood melted tax documents just as it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠melted mud-brick houses, forcing many tax collectors to become "good."

Those who survived the flood had no way to collect taxes, either physically or administratively, so they were either dragged off to be galley slaves for failing to pay the taxes on behalf of others or had to jump back into the river.

In that sense, the citizens of Valladolid were feeling uneasy that the Marquis of Meseta, the city's biggest trader and investor, had become the city's tax collector.

"Sturdy citizens of Valladolid! Immortal knights who did not yield to flood or drought! I, the Marquis, simply did not wish to see you groan under the tyranny of wicked tax collectors!"

At the Valladolid Cathedral, during the mass on the afternoon of December 25th, it was announced that the Marquis had gone to Madrid and paid "next year's taxes," and as his status as the hero of Valladolid was solidified, the city turned into a festival atmosphere.

"What a joy! The protector of the city is born!"

"The savior of Valladolid and the master of the endless, fertile wheat fields!"

"Our hero, who will be honored forever! The pioneer of all the wastelands and plateaus!"

Taxes being deleted? Spain's vicious and inefficient tax system was an object of hatred and resentment. The two pillars, the sales tax alcabala and the millones, were technically indirect taxes, but in the romantic reality of the 17th century, each administrative district was assigned a "target amount" and forced to meet it.

It was called a 10% sales tax and a 10% special consumption tax, but if the money collected fell short of the target, it would stretch like a rubber band to 20% or 30%. Furthermore, nobles were not included in these heavy taxes. Armed with tax-exempt privileges, they did not carry this heavy log together.

Even during the Great Flood, tax exemptions and deferrals were issued to the regions, but "donations" were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠squeezed out of the churches and wealthy individuals who had "cash." I, too, was spared only because my assets were mostly heavy goods; if I had been holding cash, there would have been no mercy.

Even without the Great Flood, another wicked aspect was that in Valladolid, where the population was declining every year, the fixed amount set during its heyday had not been reduced by a single coin. Just the fact that the Marquis, who had gone up to Madrid, had handled that in advance and declared that he would not apply "rubber-band-like" adjustments turned all the citizens into a sea of tears.

As the news spread, the citizens welcoming the procession of the Marquis and his wife were consumed by madness.

"The Marquis looked at me! He looked at me!"

"He was looking at your religious figurine!"

"He turned his head and looked me straight in the eye!"

"He was just surveying the blessing procession!"

"No, he chose me. He's going to take me to the Marquisate!"

"MAR~~~~QUIS!!!!!!"

I left the city amidst the enthusiastic cheers of the citizens and returned to the company.

"Marquis, this is not right. It is fine that you prepaid the taxes. But then you must collect them thoroughly."

Leonel, the chief accountant, grabbed me, arguing that my public declaration to collect taxes only as stated was a wrong policy.

"Did I not say it once? If it's short, just process it as an expense in the accounting, didn't I?"

I had clearly told Leonel, the chief accountant. If there's a loss, just treat it as an expense and be done with it. But Leonel frothed at the mouth, saying that was absolutely impossible.

"My Lord!"

"And who said I wouldn't collect taxes at all? Death and taxes are unavoidable."

"The taxes assigned to Valladolid are based on the days when this was the capital! When the city had over 50,000 citizens!"

It was based on 50,000 people? I had heard the population was around 20,000 before the flood, so I naturally assumed the taxes were based on 20,000. I felt once again the heartlessness of the Count-Duke and the cause of the many ruined villages.

"Then we just need to increase the population of this area to 50,000."

"Is that even possible, my Lord?"

I placed a thin sheet of oil paper over the map in my office. Then, the locations of the agricultural settlements I had scattered and the logistics settlements connecting them appeared on the map.

To the west as far as Tordesillas, and to the north as far as Palencia, northwest of Valladolid. I intentionally did not extend the roads toward Madrid.

"The potential is sufficient. Don't you see it already? The population of Valladolid city has dropped to 10,000, but if you add up the population of this entire area, it will exceed 30,000."

"Most of them are the destitute. With what money will they pay taxes?"

"Don't worry, Leonel. They will pay every tax faithfully without even knowing they are paying them."

I said to Leonel with confidence.

"Every piece of bread they eat. The meat. The cheese. The wine. Even the pepper the nobles seek. They must all use my products. Do you think they can live without paying taxes?"

This is the key. The city of Valladolid is a monopoly market prepared for me, and most of the goods that will flow into the city come through my warehouse. The city getting fat is the same as my Hynix getting fat.

"As long as I monopolize all the logistics, farmland, and pastures in the area, Valladolid is my city. I will keep those sheep alive for a long time, shearing their wool and taking their milk."

"Then you must charge a high price for that! This isn't a charity; why are you supplying wheat at harvest-time prices even in the middle of winter!"

"If I raise food prices when I'm squeezing labor costs this much, they will never be able to endure it. They are already paying taxes with the 'low wages' I have set."

Valladolid is already spinning fiber and weaving cloth for the textiles I outsource, and even those who have nothing but their bodies are planting trees and digging drainage ditches and reservoirs. The stonemasons' guild and carpenters' guild have already been integrated into the architects' guild and are being endlessly deployed to build warehouses and settlements. The low wages set for them during the famine years were still the same.

"No! Then you should at least let others collect them."

"No. Them being squeezed by tax collectors means their ability to consume my products decreases. They must consume for goods to keep entering my warehouse."

When I firmly refused, Leonel sent another opinion, as if half-resigned.

"You should at least interact with the prominent people in the area."

"Those citizens and poor hidalgos are on my side, but they aren't prominent power players anyway. No matter what I do, in their eyes, I will forever be a coachman and a farmer."

"You must break that prejudice! You, Marquis, are a grandee."

I told him my real plan in response to his words.

"Leonel. Where do land lawsuits go in this vicinity?"

"To Valladolid."

"Most of the landlords who lived in Valladolid have handed their land over to me. What remains is mostly church land. But there are still 'abandoned lands with owners'."

I saw the best fertile land on one side of the Pisuerga River being left as a mud pit.

"According to the laws of the Kingdom of Castile, land that has not been farmed for three years is considered wasteland, and 'reclamation rights' can be applied. The great drought the year before last, the flood last year. And even during this year's sowing season, they couldn't find workers to farm."

"Isn't that because you, Marquis, have dragged all the people away?"

As Leonel said, it was natural for workers to flock to me, as I forcibly grouped them into 30 households to allocate farmland and distribute seeds.

Comparing landlords who only lend land and tell you to figure out the seeds yourself with me, who even provides food while they farm, makes the comparison meaningless.

Usually, when there are more people than land, you can act tough and say, "There are plenty of people to farm besides you!" but now, with people dying off from floods, famine, and plague, people are more precious than land.

"If I use my reclamation rights next year, will they file a lawsuit?"

"Surely not!?"

"Every citizen saw who defended the city to the end, and who enjoyed banquets in Madrid regardless of whether the city collapsed or not."

"Supplying food to the city, supplying jobs and textiles, controlling logistics by concentrating them. It is all me."

"The fair city council of Valladolid will have to take my side."

"This... this is tyranny, my Lord."

"Is there a problem? The talk with Madrid is already finished."

"A friend in need is a friend indeed, and a leader who stays together in times of need is a true leader. They call themselves nobles, but in the moment of crisis, they abandoned being nobles."

"The position they abandoned. I intend to take it over and do it properly."

At my words, Leonel fell into thought and then said.

"You seem very angry, my Lord."

"A little."

I said, stroking the sword given by the city council.

Author's Note: In historical reality, in January 1627, the Empire defaulted due to the triple whammy of military spending for the Thirty Years' War + the accumulated damage of the 1626 Great Flood + the destruction of Cadiz, the Empire's lifeline. The cause was Olivares's wild actions of wanting to borrow money from Jews and Portuguese rather than pay the crazy interest of up to 48%. The Genoese creditors immediately sent the Empire's credit into the abyss, and the Empire suffered even more. One of the reasons Spain failed was the "absentee landlord" system, where landlords stayed in the center and land was left neglected. I think the reason England had an agricultural revolution during the Industrial Revolution was because of the culture where landlords directly managed farming and competed.