The Saintly Farming of the Marquis
Before attending to his master, Ribeiro spoke to the smugglers.
"You lot stay here for another day."
It wasn't the high-end inn, The Wolf and the Spice, but even the communal dormitory of the cheapest inn the smugglers were staying in was cleaner than expected. However, the price, which seemed to have had its conscience "sold out," made Ribeiro furious.
"Isn't there anywhere cheaper to stay?"
"I'll tell you in advance, it's better to stay in an inn. If you get caught sleeping on the street by the patrol, you'll be dragged off and forced to pay a fine."
"But I'm telling you I want to sleep outside!"
"They say it's because the security of the warehouse district becomes unstable if homeless people and vagrants are wandering about."
At the innkeeper’s mocking tone, Ribeiro narrowed his eyes sharply. These bastards were clearly imposing restrictions just to squeeze out more lodging fees.
They called this Valladolid, the heart of the Holy Kingdom of Castile, but there were no bastards more obsessed with money than these.
After settling the payment in cash—not a single coin discounted even when offering silver—Ribeiro muttered a word.
"Isn't that just an excuse?"
"What if it is? The Marquis does not allow it."
The innkeeper shrugged and spoke. Then, he added a warning in a serious tone.
"Oh, and since you seem to be an outsider, I'll tell you this: never urinate or defecate in a secluded spot. The Marquis hates beasts who can't control their bowels more than anything."
Only then did Ribeiro realize that this town—no, all the Marquis’s settlements he had passed through—had been strangely free of any stench.
"Then where should I go if I have urgent business?"
"Go to the public toilets you see on every street and do it there."
"Does everyone go there to do it?"
"Or use a chamber pot and have it collected in the morning. If you get caught saying 'water's coming' on the street, you'll have to pay a chicken fine and get whipped, so don't do it."
Hearing that even the act of relieving oneself was coerced, Ribeiro looked at the innkeeper with suspicious eyes.
"Don't tell me you're charging money for that too?"
"Ahem! What do you take us for! The maintenance costs for the public toilets are paid by the village, so don't worry."
At those words, Ribeiro felt the insidious malice of the people living here once again.
The costs were already sucked out—one coin for "hot water therapy," one for special care and grooming, one for bread—and the price for pooping was already included in the gold coins he had been bled of!
"Is the creed of the people in this land that money is everything? Why are people so heartless!"
Ribeiro couldn't hold back and spoke. The innkeeper laughed heartily and replied.
"The creed handed down to the Marquis's loyal servants is: 'If you do it, it can be done! You are capable people, so even if you fail, it is not your fault! If you fail, it is the world's fault!'"
"The Marquis values human will above all else. There is no other master in the world who shares both bread and work."
"I heard he was deeply impressed by the teachings of the Benedictine monastery and values the dignity of labor."
When Ribeiro made a pointed remark, the innkeeper clenched his fist and said.
"That is why our Marquis is great!"
"If you work, you get bread! You won't starve, and you can feed your children! Do anything! As long as you work, the Marquis himself will recognize your efforts! You diligent people of Castile, settle down!"
"He is making this Kingdom of Castile a country that can do it if it tries. Five years ago—no, even two years ago—this was unimaginable."
Seeing the innkeeper, who looked like a total fanatic, Ribeiro said with a slightly disgusted expression.
"...What if the Marquis breaks his promise?"
"What? Are you... don't tell me you're saying you can't trust the Marquis... surely not?"
-Cling-
As the innkeeper rang a bell, two burly men came up and stood behind Ribeiro.
Watching Ribeiro being dragged out by the two men, the innkeeper adjusted his hat.
"Don't forget, outsider. The stain of suspicion does not fade easily. I will be watching you from now on."
"Ouch!"
Ribeiro, thrown outside the inn door, grabbed the hand of João at his feet and stood up.
"To think you would reach out your hand to me... I am merely humbled. My Lord."
"How could I wander around here alone without you? I trust and rely on you, Ribeiro."
"My Lord!"
Ribeiro, overwhelmed by the honor of grabbing his master's hand to stand, gathered the guards.
Leaving the warehouse city and about to arrive at the mansion where the Marquis was staying, João said to Ribeiro.
"Ribeiro. First, send someone to announce our arrival. But in the meantime, let us check the parts we haven't been able to confirm until the very end."
Ribeiro chose one of the guards and sent him to the Marquis's mansion, then confirmed the way to the "farm village" he had learned about from the merchants he met at The Wolf and the Spice.
The farm village they arrived at was a very small place with 30 households. Centered around a village hall that had a small chapel attached—though there was no church—there was a small granary that could barely store seeds.
-Cock-a-doodle-doo~ Cluck, cluck, cluck. Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck!
"There are truly many chickens. But there are no pigs. It is strange."
"I will look into it."
Ribeiro quickly went over and grabbed a man passing by to ask. He was a typical solemn and blunt Castilian man.
"Sir. I have a question."
"Who are you? This is the private land of the Marquis, so outsiders are forbidden. Leave."
He was a man wearing a stylish hat that a Tercio soldier might use and a thick doublet. His sturdy leather boots, which reached his calves, were well-maintained, and an axe hung from his thick belt. With eyes that knew the battlefield, smelling of blood and gunpowder, he was wary of the intruder with his sunken eyes.
He stood with his hand on the 'Pito' whistle hanging around his neck, ready to let out a shrill Screeeech! at a moment's notice.
Seeing this, João stepped forward, pulling out his family pendant to prove his identity.
"This Duke has come from far away in Portugal to meet the Marquis Juan. We are lost, so could you guide us through the village and farm until the Marquis's guide arrives?"
At those words, the man’s expression brightened as he said.
"Are you a guest of the Marquis? Oh, what an honor! Please wait a moment. I will inform the village."
The man tucked the whistle into his chest, looking as if he would run to the village immediately.
"Ah, I don't want to trouble everyone in January, when they are resting from the winter cold. In fact, I came because I heard the Marquis cultivates his farms well and wanted to see it once."
At those words, the man said proudly.
"That is correct! In particular, our village is the 6th auxiliary farm of the 3rd settlement, which has the honor of directly offering wheat and quince to the Marquis! The Marquis also visits our farm often!"
"The 6th farm, you say? Indeed! How good a farm must it be for the Marquis to come himself! I must see it once!"
At João's words, the man smiled so wide his mouth seemed to split as he said.
"As it happens, I am on my way to patrol the farmland right now! If you are a guest of the Marquis, I will guide you through our village farm!"
The village farmland was divided into several plots. The strange thing was that they looked like islands, cut into squares of similar size.
"Why have you divided the farm like this? Isn't it a more profitable business to gather them together and farm on a large scale?"
"Those who farmed that way all died during the past floods and droughts. Our Marquis, who has been promised a bountiful harvest by God, ordered us to cultivate the farm according to holy numbers only to bring God's glory down to earth."
"I don't understand at all."
At João's words, the man began his explanation.
"We cultivate 15 fanegas of land that commemorates the Trinity God sent to this land, and the twelve apostles, and walk seven steps that signify 'rest' at the end of that farmland. From there, along the farmland, we plant a total of 160 fruit trees: 40 days of rain during Noah's Ark, 40 days Moses stayed on Mount Sinai, 40 days Jesus was tested in the wilderness, and 40 days of Lent. Our village planted quince, which the mistress prefers, and other villages will plant trees that do not yield to harsh hardships, such as plums or pears."
The man made the sign of the cross, cried out the Lord's name, and began his explanation again.
"In the four corners of the farm, we plant walnut trees to beg for Christ's wisdom to watch over us, and beyond the fruit trees, we plant shrubs like lavender, rosehip, and rosemary to drive away the snake that tempted Adam and Eve, preventing evil misfortune from coming to this blessed farm. And we set up 33 beehives to commemorate the years the Lord Jesus Christ stayed on earth, and pray that His sacrifice and the light of salvation watch over us in our hardship."
He continued his story, suppressing his face, which was almost brimming with tears.
"Twelve such farms gather to beg God to bestow His blessing upon us. Honoring the glory of the four gospels, in the first year, we plant barley and are forgiven for daring to beg God to bestow a harvest, and in the second year, remembering the bread of the prophet Ezekiel, we plant fava beans. Only then, in the third year, do we pray for God to bestow life and glory, spread blessed compost, and plant wheat with sincerity. Finally, to dedicate the farmland that has bestowed the harvest to God, we sow wild radish and clover seeds to create the land of the beginning, and let only beasts run about to block the approach of humans."
"Plowing the field often might be the attitude of a diligent farmer, but we only do large-scale plowing when planting the first barley. This is done to make atonement to God, and afterwards, we manage shallow furrows and ridges and mound the soil to keep the earth's tears from flowing. Ah! God, please bestow life and glory!"
When his explanation ended, he began his confession of faith and started to sob loudly.
His behavior, a mix of the fanaticism and loyalty peculiar to Castilian men, was frightening to watch.
It was a rather bizarre sight, but because it was the appearance of a sincere believer, João and Ribeiro also made the sign of the cross and waited for him to calm down.
Only after listening to the man's long explanation could they see the future fruit trees, still saplings, planted neatly. And outside that, small shrubs formed a fence.
"Hmm... then doesn't the land to grow wheat decrease? If you leave space for several carriages to pass between the farm and the farm, isn't the land used for fences larger than the land for farming?"
At Ribeiro's question, the man, who had barely calmed down, said.
"No. Doing as we originally farmed in this Castilian land means we have to leave half the land empty because we can't sow seeds even after plowing half the land. According to the Marquis's teachings, God's blessing descends on this land, so new life sprouts even in severe droughts, and water cannot flood it even in floods. May the Lord Jesus Christ have mercy!"
To prevent him from entering another confession of faith, Ribeiro quickly spoke up.
"What I want to ask is why you built a reservoir but don't irrigate?"
The farm was tilted in one direction as a whole, and at the end of it, there was something that was embarrassing to call a reservoir and quite large to call a puddle.
The large puddle, planted with a hundred cypresses like a folding screen, was full of water lilies, which were frozen and iced over in the winter cold.
There was a drainage ditch from the farmland to the puddle, but there was no path to the farmland. Even so, there was no other farm where the water coming out of the puddle could go, and it was set to drain far away through a gravel road.
"I don't know well either. Anyway, thanks to that puddle, the trees grow well. My job is to make sure no thieves come to cut down the trees."
"Hmm..."
Ribeiro, from Portugal, where forests are still abundant unlike the deforested Castile, brushed it off with a "Is it that much?", but the man preached its importance seriously.
"This dried-up land cannot find fuel, so even nobles have to mix donkey dung with dry grass for heating. If you want to avoid that terrible dung smell, you have to buy dry firewood, and the price is truly like silver. You foreigners must not know how many silver coins you have to spend in one night to use log firewood!"
"Indeed, if firewood is expensive in this land, it is understandable to grow trees on good land by the waterside..."
What stopped their conversation was the sound of rough horse hooves.
-Thump, thump, thump, thump
"Duke, thank you for your hard work coming such a long way."
The Marquis, who dismounted, took off his gloves, and paid his respects, was not a "ruthless tyrant and cold ruler," but just a good-natured and handsome man.
"For the noble blood of the Kingdom of Portugal to make the journey to this barren frontier of Castile is nothing but the greatest honor for me. My Lord."
Following the Marquis, who even took off his hat and paid his respects politely, João moved to his mansion.
***
Author's Note:
Some goddess's breasts are pads, but the Lady's breasts are not pads.
The farming method appearing here is no-till (minimum tillage) farming, microclimate creation, indirect irrigation, and complex ecological composition currently being researched in the 21st century. If you ask if this is possible, it's not done in the 21st century because applying fertilizer and mechanized large-scale farming is overwhelmingly efficient, and they didn't know about this in the 17th century. However, there are records of monasteries actually setting up farms in this style and surviving the worst times as 'immune' to droughts or floods.
Since no one actually does this, its theoretical advantage is that it shows considerable resistance to the climate crisis of the 17th century (not complete defense, but extracting yields when everyone else fails). And it's a composition where not all farming fails together.
The disadvantage is that it's hellish labor. Labor consumption is intensive, mechanization is fundamentally impossible, and large-scale farming is also impossible. It's a farming method that would be weeded out just by coming to the 20th century.
But wouldn't it be sufficiently possible in the crazy climate of the romantic 17th-century Little Ice Age? It's a theoretical farming method. It's closer to theory than historical evidence.