The Price of Prosperity and the Seeds of Discord
I received word from Olivares that war had broken out and he needed to requisition supplies. Upon hearing the news, my advisor Spinola immediately contacted Genoa and took extraordinary measures.
"War has broken out right on your doorstep, and you still insist on this?"
"Instead, we are willing to provide a special low-interest loan, using the Crown's shares in the company as collateral. However, you must stipulate that interest payments be made strictly in silver reales."
They say the Duke of Mantua died without leaving an heir. Now, the French are swooping in, making absurd claims to the succession. The Count-Duke, having set 100 million ducats as his psychological limit for debt, tried to wage war with minimal cost, relying only on the Governor of Milan’s forces rather than mobilizing the main army.
I don't know if that will actually work, but seeing the Count-Duke—who had been gritting his teeth to avoid war—finally choose to fight, it must be an unavoidable conflict.
I was summoned to Madrid by the Count-Duke, and I didn't mince words.
"Count-Duke. Please, stop this. Why are you trying to eat the very seeds for next year's harvest?"
"But I truly have no money."
The Count-Duke’s hair had thinned even further. His forehead had expanded like the Atlantic, and the last few lonely trees on his crown had vanished entirely.
"Sigh. Later, really... no. Count-Duke, just hold on for one more year. From the year-end settlement next year, profits will start coming in 'properly'."
"I have been reviewing the accounting reports. The growth rate is truly remarkable."
Olivares had witnessed the massive flow that began after Genoese capital was injected. If the wastelands of the Castilian interior were all transformed into fertile fields and connected by stone-paved roads, the mere thought of the tax revenue made his hair want to grow back. Olivares’s eyes sparkled as he imagined silver coins raining from the sky with a rhythmic clinking sound.
"It will take at least one more year. In the meantime, please 'process' the request I made. Only then can we start construction sooner and bring in real silver."
Olivares wanted that future even more than I did. If only the road could be paved—from my city of Melgar de Fernamental, through Olmillos de Sasamón, to Burgos, and then via Haro to Bilbao or the Mediterranean! Finally, the goods rotting in the interior of Castile would be connected to the sea. We could truly escape this swamp of infinite debt.
"The work is already underway. It will be handled within three years, no, within one year... Juan. I have a real favor to ask of you..."
"If you’re asking for an advance on dividends, I’m going to say no. If you’re asking me to send supplies, that’s exactly why I requested the land clearance—to build the road."
I was working on multiple fronts to purchase land and rights before the road development triggered a speculative frenzy. I’d handle the ones that could be bought with money through Genoa, the wastelands through my reclamation rights, and noble territories like Olmillos through Olivares’s specialty: the 'Breathing of Purge'.
Olivares kept glancing at me, uncharacteristically hesitant, before finally speaking.
"I know. What I want to ask is not for Genoa to hold the Crown’s shares as collateral directly, but for the company to hold the Crown’s shares as collateral."
I gave him a crooked look at such an absurd suggestion. Are they idiots? Lend money and not even hold the collateral directly, but indirectly? The people who handle money are the most ruthless and clever in the world. What kind of nonsense was he spouting?
"Do you think the Genoese would agree to that?"
"They would if it were you."
"How on earth could I do that? The warehouse district is already held as collateral."
I sipped my watered-down wine, keeping my nerves taut. Unlike his usual antics, that man was capable, and he always found some brilliant, maddening way to get things done.
"...They said it would be possible if you pledged the farms in your reclamation zone as collateral."
At those words, I spat out my wine and jumped to my feet.
What did you just say? Wouldn't it be more certain to use the Count-Duke's own lands as collateral? I wanted to say that politely.
"Hey."
"......"
"Are you even human?"
"Juan, please, I beg you... just close your eyes and sacrifice yourself once... If the country falls, we all fall together anyway."
Take in refugees and resettle them, build roads and cover the maintenance costs, collect taxes in bulk and deposit them, produce supplies to dump into the military at bargain prices... Work yourself to the bone to pay off the investment, cover the debts, and if you can't, die in our place... Please... I beg you... Do you think the Crown or the state could do this?
"I'm not doing it. I'm going home."
I immediately took off my hat, unbuckled my sword, and stripped off my coat, telling the Count-Duke, "I’m done being a Spanish noble. I’m just going to leave with Teresa."
"Your home is already here; where do you think you're going?"
Olivares picked up the clothes I had thrown down and handed them back to me.
"Do you know how a beaver feels when a human destroys the dam right in front of its eyes!?"
I felt like pulling out every last remaining hair on Olivares’s head.
"If we hold out for three years! It’s really possible! The jamón hanging in the drying shed will turn into silver coins! Linen will be copied!"
"I know. So, Juan, can't we just pay it back after we make money in three years?"
"We? You son of a—! Aaaaaaaaargh!"
At Olivares’s words, I made up my mind. At this year’s end settlement, I am definitely limiting that bastard’s authority. In the name of the shareholders' meeting, I will not let him be.
"Juan. Why are you so gloomy? My lady and your child are saddened."
"Ah... I'm sorry, Teresa."
"I love your thoughtful face, but your smile makes my heart flutter even more."
Even after returning to the mansion, I couldn't shake my gloom. It felt like no matter how much work I did, the pile only grew. It felt like the world was bullying me.
You’re still holding on? Even after this? Yeah, keep holding on~ If I bully you more, that’s just how it is~ I could see the clown mocking me.
When Teresa saw I couldn't relax my face, she pulled me into her embrace.
Teresa, now nearing her due date, had a noticeably rounded belly. Finding it difficult to move, she had stopped riding horses and now spent her time strolling through the blooming gardens or the wheat fields below the estate.
"Are you alright? Is it difficult?"
I placed my hand on her belly as she guided me. I held my breath for a moment, feeling the movement of my child.
"Hehe. It’s not difficult at all. Your child’s movements always bring me joy; I’m so looking forward to this child coming into the world."
"I want to see them soon."
As I stroked her belly, she whispered quietly to me.
"I hope it’s a son."
"I hope it’s a daughter."
At my words, her eyes widened, and she kissed me with a truly radiant face.
After our affectionate kiss, she whispered to me with a melancholic expression.
"You truly are the greatest man. I am a lucky woman to have taken you as my husband. Meeting you is the blessing of a lifetime."
Around the time the seeds I sowed last year began to sprout and bear fruit in her fields, strange things were happening in farmland across the Kingdom of Castile, beyond Valladolid.
"Wahahaha! In May! The wheat! It’s being copied! Don Quixote is a holy relic! I am invincible!"
"Yee-haw!"
"Siuuuuuuuuu"
Beside those who were dying of joy looking at the ripening golden wheat fields, there were others plunged into despair and rage, looking at withered wheat fields.
"No... it can't be! It can't be! We're all going to die at this rate!"
"What is this! Why is the wheat field withering and dying! This is good land where we harvested wheat last year!"
"Why is the wheat falling over! What is going on!"
Palencia. Zamora. Benavente. Even as far as Galicia in the northwest, Burgos in the northeast, Salamanca in the southwest, and Segovia in the southeast, 'that seed'—known to every landowner who knew a thing about farming—had been planted like a trend.
The Segovia side, in particular, was completely ruined. Being high ground unaffected by the floods, the 'Don Quixote' wheat had sucked the soil dry, leaving only chaff behind to wither and die.
Places like Salamanca and Zamora, which had suffered significant flood damage, actually had good harvests. But in fields that had been spared the flooding or where the soil wasn't great to begin with, the Don Quixote wheat withered and died overnight.
Unlike the Meseta Plateau, Galicia, where it rained abundantly, was vulnerable to fungal diseases due to its humid climate. But the Don Quixote wheat had grown so vigorously that it was just about ready for harvest. Then, the stalks began to tip over one by one.
Lodging is usually a disaster that strikes tall wheat. This wheat, which had short stalks and a thick wax layer, had continued to grow while enduring the moisture, but as the heads grew heavy and the wax layer melted in the humid climate of León, they simply buried their heads in the dirt. The farmers of León had to release their pigs to eat the fallen wheat ears just to salvage something.
Farmers who grew traditional noble wheat like Trigo Candial or commoner wheat like Trigo Legacha were fine, but those who had sought out and grown the rare, special seed were either completely ruined or experienced a massive windfall where their wheat seemed to 'multiply' in May.
Landowners don't farm themselves; they employ tenant farmers. While the landowners who succeeded with 'Don Quixote' were fine, those who failed whipped and berated their farmers, declaring that their laziness had caused this result.
But rumors were already spreading among the tenant farmers.
"It’s cursed! The master’s wheat field is cursed!"
"It’s because they stole the wheat from the 'Guide of Bountiful Harvest' in Valladolid!"
"God! Please have mercy. Please lift the wrath that has fallen upon this land!"
In the holy nation of Spain, such 'wrath of heaven' is punishment for sin. The tenant farmers began to leave the land God had judged, migrating toward the 'Guide of Bountiful Harvest' who was said to be far away.
Of course, there were well-managed places. The estates of Enrique and Velasco had banned Don Quixote, or if they had already planted it, they overcame it through intensive fertilizer application. Unlike those who were enjoying the joy of harvest with new wheat from late May, those whose farming had failed took special measures.
The inquisitors who appeared after receiving their petitions spoke after investigation and discussion in each region.
"If this were a crop given by God, it would not die leaving only miserable chaff. This was a fake abundance obtained by contracting with the devil from the beginning."
"It’s the same seed, yet some have a bumper crop and others a famine? This is clearly a harvest obtained by sacrificing others' wheat to the devil."
The framing of it being magic—psychic—or heretical, defying the providence of nature, had occurred on a massive scale.
The strange appearance of the 'silvery wax layer' on this wheat had changed from 'divine wheat made of silver' into evidence of a contract with the devil.
In the midst of this, a terrifying fact was revealed: the estates of Marquis Juan, who had first grown this wheat, were barely growing it at all, with only about one-eighth of their land dedicated to it. On his farmland, where barley, beans, wheat, and pasture were mixed, half of the wheat consisted of Trigo Candial or Legacha.
They sent a notice for him to attend an interrogation to explain himself, claiming this was proof that Marquis Juan knew the dangers of this evil seed.
At the center of it all was the inquisitor 'Fray Rodrigo de Sandoval', the priest who had been forced to step down years ago after being humiliated by a royal coachman.