The Birth of a Daughter and the Purge of the Heretics
When people think of luxurious olive oil soap, they think of Marseille soap. However, the true high-end luxury soap used by the nobility is properly the soap of Castile. In 17th-century Europe, Marseille soap was little more than a cheap knockoff of Castilian soap.
First, the ingredients are different. Spain, the largest producer of olive oil even in the 21st century, was a land filled with olive trees in every village during this era as well, a place where fifty-year-old olive trees grew like weeds. The soap used by the nobility is made with extra virgin olive oil, the kind that would be a waste to even feed to a person.
Then there is the high-grade sodium carbonate made by burning a halophytic plant called Barilla. This Barilla is sold to Venice to be used as the raw material for top-tier glasswork, and it is also the finest ingredient for dyeing; it was, quite literally, silver made from ash.
The golden wool of the Merino sheep that shook Europe. The high-grade Barilla that only grows in the dry climate of Spain. The finest silk textile industry in Europe.
Spain was destined to fall even with all these advantages. Perhaps that is the curse of silver.
Because there was silver, they could make the decision to expel their own citizens, the Moriscos, and because there was silver, it was possible to import products from other countries rather than relying on their own production. What the 21st-century United States does by running the dollar printing press, Spain did with the silver coins of the New World.
This supply of liquidity eventually leads to the development of the market and the growth of emerging capitalists, but that is a story for the distant future.
At the entrance to the birthing room hang icons of the Virgin Mary and Saint Margaret, the patron saint of childbirth. The entire estate of the Marquis offers prayers for her safe delivery, and all the farmers of the Meseta turn their rosaries, praying for the health of the mother and child.
I know nothing about medicine. Giving birth? How would I know? All I could do was bring the finest Castilian soap, have the midwife and everyone else scrub themselves from head to toe, and ensure they entered the birthing room in a state of absolute purity.
The people of this romantic era believed that water allowed germs to enter through the pores of the skin, so they avoided bathing at all costs. I provided warm water and soap and entrusted the inspection to the head maid. Only after repeatedly sending away those who failed to reach a 'pure' state did I allow them into the mansion.
The long-time midwife of the Enrique family entered, and the doctor sent by the Velasco family stood guard outside the door, prepared for any emergency.
-Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap
I sat in my study with an anxious face, shaking my legs and praying. I don't particularly want to rely on God, but with nowhere else to turn, I prayed fervently.
'If you let them both come out of that room healthy, I will build you one hell of a cathedral.'
'Truly?'
"Huh?"
I felt as if someone had answered my prayer, so I opened my eyes and looked around.
"My Lord! My Lord!"
"Leonel! What is it! What happened!"
I felt a surge of fear at the sight of Leonel bursting into the study.
"It's a daughter! Huff! Huff! A daughter! It's a daughter!"
"Oh! Wow! Phew! Ah! Heh!"
I let out a sigh of relief at the news, which had arrived less than two hours after she entered the birthing room.
"It must be the protection of Saint Margaret! To give birth before there was even time to prepare a banquet—this is surely the blessing of a saint!"
".... Fine. I admit it. This time, I truly admit it."
It was too extraordinary an event to simply say "no count." I spoke to Leonel.
"The first cathedral to be built in the new settlement will be dedicated to Saint Margaret (Santa Margarita), who helped my daughter be born safely. Leonel, see to it."
"A wise decision! The saint will continue to bless the young lady. More importantly, you should go now. The midwife has granted you permission to enter."
I headed to the birthing room with Leonel. The old midwife, a smile blooming on her usually blunt face, showed me the small child wrapped in white cloth. The child was crying, "Waa, waa," pouring her existence into the world.
"Ah.... so small."
I wanted to kiss her, but I restrained my desire, settling for just touching the tip of the baby's foot. The midwife placed the child back into Teresa's arms.
"Hehehe. Are you that happy?"
There lay a woman who didn't look like she had just fought the battle of childbirth. Her upper body, visible above the new cloth covering her waist to hide the blood, was as proud and upright as a triumphant general.
"Thank you so much, Teresa."
"It is a daughter."
"Yes! Our daughter."
I looked at the child in her arms and said.
"As I said before, you are the finest man. This woman is truly...."
"Teresa. Why are you crying? It's the day our child was born."
I was flustered to see her suddenly shedding tears.
"I am crying because I am happy."
Seeing her calm down and the child being taken toward the wet nurse, I asked.
"Are you not feeding her the colostrum?"
"Is that not poison? The mother's first milk contains poison, so it must not be fed."
At her words, I felt as if my 'common sense' was being denied.
"No, it's not? In my hometown, I heard that the child becomes healthy only if you feed them colostrum? I heard my mother raised me on colostrum, too."
Of course, in this life, I was told I was raised on goat's milk. If it weren't for the old coachman 'father' who didn't even tell me his name, I would have died as soon as I was born.
"Hmm.... Juan, do you wish for this woman to do so?"
"If you don't want to, I can't force you, but I would like it if you did."
At my words, she said with a firm face.
"Keep in mind that the master of this house is you. Not only the servants, but this woman also follows your words."
She called the maid, took the child, and placed the baby's mouth to her own full breast.
"And in truth, I also wanted to be with the child."
"She is such a beautiful child."
I watched blankly as the child explored her breast.
"Ufufu, she will grow up to be a beauty, resembling your handsome face."
"She is a beautiful child who resembles you more than me, Teresa."
"She must not resemble me."
She said, looking serious.
"Listen everyone! The mistress has given birth to a healthy daughter!"
A messenger toured the village, shouting the happy news.
-Saint Margaret! Thank you for protecting our mistress!
-Everyone gather! Our village will hold a prayer meeting for the health of the little master and the recovery of the mistress!
"Ha. Safe delivery? Protection of a saint? How absurd for a mere coachman."
Inquisitor Fray Rodrigo Sandoval had been eyeing that Marquis for several years. What heretical magic did he use to avoid the punishments God sent to the earth through droughts and floods? This was an act of rejecting the glory of God.
He gathered seasoned legal scholars with doctorates in theology, armed attendants (Familiares), landlords who had suffered from the recent poor harvest, and nobles who had been stripped of their land during the previous water disaster.
"We shall prove his heresy! And return the property he acquired through wicked means to the bosom