The Desperate Gambit of the House of Manrique

There were many who held a grudge against the newly minted Marquis, Juan Manuel de la Meseta Enríquez.

For starters, he was under the protection of the "favorite," the "tax-obsessed," and "that bald man" whom the high nobility so despised. Although Olivares would always deflect, claiming it was the King’s protection, not his own, every Grande in Spain knew the truth: that this coachman-turned-marquis was a wicked farmer, acting under Olivares’s orders to undermine the righteous wool industry.

And then there was the House of Enríquez. Despite having married off their daughter to him, they maintained a stance of, "He’s not officially my son-in-law," yet they went around saying, "Ahem, my son-in-law may be a bit unrefined and uneducated, but he’s a good lad at heart." The House of Velasco, which stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the Enríquez, also protected him, saying, "He’s a man who speaks common sense, so why are you all giving him such a hard time? I see no problem with him." Because of this, no one could bring themselves to take punitive action.

It was also burdensome that he held such a tight grip on the interests and public sentiment around Valladolid. Being favored by the Enríquez, the kings of the northwest, and the Velasco, the kings of the north, meant he was untouchable in those regions. If he had ever shown his face in Madrid, they could have at least confronted him or tried to negotiate, but this Marquis never set foot in the capital.

If he had held shares in the Mesta Association like most other nobles, they could have at least vented their frustration by bullying his sheep or seizing his assets. But this Marquis de la Meseta didn’t even raise sheep. He ignored any direct protests from those who were angry at his selfish act of putting up fences to farm. He didn’t even care if he was ostracized from high society.

When the Mesta Association protested to the Velasco, demanding they "keep him in check," the Velasco replied, "I will go manage him myself. You lot go to my pastures instead." Once the Velasco’s sheep flocks moved into the vicinity of Valladolid through a pasture swap, the Marquis showed his true colors by "voluntarily paying taxes"—refusing to raise a single sheep in his territory, claiming, "A farmer’s pathetic sheep must not mingle with the solemn flocks of the Velasco."

While he raised chickens, cows, horses, goats, and pigs, he avoided the most profitable animal of all: sheep. Yet, he churned out wheat in massive quantities, replicating his assets year after year. There was one family that harbored deep resentment toward his growing wealth and his cozy relationship with the Velasco: the House of Manrique.

The Marquis of Aguilar, ruler of Aguilar de Campoo, was a victim who had suffered in many ways at the hands of the Velasco, the rulers of the north.

Since the days of the great Charles V, the two families had competed over Salinas de Pisuerga, a vital salt-producing region in the northern interior.

The name itself, Salinas, meant "salt"—it was a literal white gold mine. Because the land was so lucrative, the two families had growled at each other without yielding an inch. Then, during the reign of Philip III, the Duke of Lerma, the "Spanish Jin-hoe," handed the land over to the House of Velasco in the King’s name. Once it officially became the Marquisate of Salinas and they completely lost their rights to the salt mines, the House of Manrique’s finances were hit with a "credit rating downgrade" by the Genoese creditors and collapsed.

Once that massive interest was lost, the Genoese creditors demanded new collateral, and the lands of the House of Manrique were shattered and seized. The current reality, where the Marquis of Aguilar—a member of the original 25 Grandes—had to return to the countryside because he couldn't afford the cost of living in Madrid, was a stark testament to their fall.

On the road from the lower reaches to Aguilar de Campoo lay "Herrera de Pisuerga," a medium-sized village of 3,000 people and the most important settlement north of the Pisuerga basin. If you looked at a map, it was practically in the Marquis of Aguilar’s front yard, but the House of Velasco had exerted their influence so strongly that they had pushed the House of Manrique up into the mountains.

Furthermore, the small village of Nogales de Pisuerga, at the entrance to the canyon leading up to Aguilar de Campoo, had originally been the fief of Rodrigo Calderón, the right-hand man of the "Duke of Lerma." However, he was executed in 1621, and the land was reclaimed by the Crown, with its management eventually passing to the House of Velasco.

Aguilar had been pushed out of there as well. For the Manrique family, who couldn't even secure the management rights to the entrance of their own home, this was no longer a matter of pride—it was a matter of survival.

And now, Juan the Marquis had appeared, claiming he would build a new settlement in this land near the canyon leading to the mountains—a place so cold it was hard for people to live, a wasteland where any wheat planted would simply freeze to death.

Ah! So those Velasco bastards were using that uneducated coachman to block even the canyon leading up to Aguilar!

Indeed, the House of Manrique was being forced into a showdown from which they could not retreat.

What kind of farmers formed Tercio squares with long pikes to resist? What kind of shepherds rode horses? Wasn't this just an armed militia stationing themselves under the guise of a settlement?

They couldn't fight them with force because the opponent was no pushover, and could they really afford to escalate the conflict? Not with Olivares, who was itching to establish the principle that "not even a Grande is an exception," watching over them?

If a conflict were to break out here, the Velasco, the "Judge of Castile," would surely step in with a wide grin to "mediate" before the matter could even reach the central government.

But fighting in the capital wasn't easy either, not against a coachman-marquis protected by the chief minister, Olivares.

In this nameless canyon entrance where only cold winds blew—a land that would be called "Alar del Rey" 200 years later and become ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the northern terminus of the "Canal of Castile"—the 6th Marquis of Aguilar, Juan Luis Fernández Manrique de Lara, who could not afford to wither away, was attempting his final resistance.

The Marquis of Aguilar formally sent his steward to request a "dinner," not a social event. By coming out to the main gate instead of waiting in the parlor, he metaphorically signaled that this meeting was between equals, and by offering food and wine, he made it clear he was treating him as an honored guest.

"Marquis Juan."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"You may drop the title of Excellency. Aren't we both Marquises?"

"How could a rootless 1st-generation Marquis like myself be on equal footing with a family that has endured through the ages?"

The Marquis of Aguilar felt his insides burning at Marquis Juan’s stiff attitude. He had sent his steward to earnestly request and "escort" him because Juan kept dodging the dinner invitations, yet this was the atmosphere he was met with. It was an outrage that would never have happened during the heyday of the House of Manrique.

"No, Marquis. Is there really a reason we must be so stiff with each other?"

"I heard you drew your swords on my men."

At Marquis Juan’s blunt remark, the Marquis of Aguilar waved his hands frantically.

"No! That is not so. Not at all. It was merely a misunderstanding."

As Marquis Juan drank his watered-down wine in silence, the Marquis of Aguilar began to slowly explain the reason he had called him.

"Marquis. I am well aware that you have formed a deep relationship with the House of Velasco, but..."

The Marquis of Aguilar steeled his resolve and continued.

"Our House of Manrique could surely become a good friend to you as well."

The Marquis of Aguilar unfolded an old parchment map made in his ancestors' time. He pointed to the area below the canyon where the Marquis was settling, and to the sea far to the north, using ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his ancestral castle in the center as a reference.

"Does all cargo necessarily have to go through Haro to Bilbao? Beyond the lands of Aguilar lies Santander to the north. It hasn't developed much yet, but I assure you, it is a natural harbor."

It was difficult to imagine the massive Santander port of the 21st century. While it possessed a natural terrain, the current Santander was nothing more than a quiet fishing village.

The Marquis of Aguilar was truly desperate.

That natural harbor had been a source of regret for the House of Manrique since the time of his ancestors. If he could turn Santander—the object of his love and hate—into a trading port like Bilbao! Wouldn't a brilliant future await them?

"Unlike Bilbao, it is a quiet fishing village. We can design it from start to finish. If you and I join forces! Can't we do it? We could monopolize all the profits! Why share the gains with those Velasco?"

The Marquis of Aguilar was truly urgent. Honey cakes, beeswax, linen, and heavy wheat were all being shipped through Haro to Bilbao, and since they were only moving light, expensive goods, rumors were rampant that the Velasco were throwing banquets in Madrid every day with that money. If it wasn't heavy goods like wheat, why would it be impossible to transport lighter goods along the mountain path to Santander?

If even half—no, even 10% of the logistics flowed that way, he could use it as a foundation to cultivate Santander and look toward the future. Even if it wasn't now, his descendants would be able to enjoy a glamorous life with the profits Santander would spit out.

However, Marquis Juan did not give a positive answer to the Marquis of Aguilar’s proposal.

"Your Excellency. I value contracts and credit. I have already made a solemn vow with the House of Velasco that all my goods will pass through Haro."

"Marquis! The House of Manrique is not a family that deserves to be ignored like this!"

The statement that he couldn't do it because he had decided to work with the Velasco was a reverse scale to the Marquis of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Aguilar. Marquis Juan then spoke quietly.

"Your Excellency. Logistics is not the only way to make money. Would you perhaps give me the opportunity to examine your territory?"

"Marquis. I know that you have great ability in farming... but wheat does not grow well in these cold mountains..."

The House of Manrique had been struggling for generations to fix the reality of having to buy wheat from the Velasco down below because they couldn't grow it themselves. But this was land where barely even rye could grow.

"Your Excellency. A cold mountainous region is certainly a disaster for wheat farming. But there are many things to farm other than wheat."

"But isn't there no point in farming if it isn't wheat?"

At those words, Marquis Juan shook his head and began to explain.

"No. In terms of profitability, there are many items better than wheat."

"First, there is a way to grow 'hops,' which is what brought me here. If Your Excellency joins me, I can promise that all the hops I use will be sourced from your lands."

"Th... thank you, but..."

Isn't that just something used to make beer? The Marquis of Aguilar drank his wine, his insides burning.

"And then there is linen. As I have studied it, linen grows best when it receives the cold chill of a northern land. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠area around Valladolid, where I am, is too hot and dry, so the fibers don't grow long, making it difficult to raise top-grade linen. As I came up, I observed that this land has cold, abundant water, even in midsummer, which is perfect for growing linen."

At his words, the Marquis of Aguilar put down his glass and nodded.

"The water in this land of Aguilar is as pure as wine. But once you grow linen, the land is ruined..."

In fact, the Marquis of Aguilar, who had tried everything to make money, had dabbled in linen. But after growing it once, the soil of the barren rocky mountains lost its vitality and could barely be used as pasture for the next 10 years. Considering that, it was actually a loss.

"I am aware. Once you grow linen, you have to work hard to restore the land for 5 to 10 years. I have a method."

When he said he had a method, the Marquis of Aguilar’s eyes widened. If he could grow linen every year! He would earn more silver coins than if he were growing salt mines in the ground.

"I understand that you also have shares in the Mesta’s sheep flocks. It must have been difficult because you had to provide the mountain pastures of this region to them, preventing you from farming properly."

"You know a thing or two! And now that the Velasco’s sheep flocks have started coming..."

"Indeed. I know your pain, Marquis. Have you heard what I did for the Velasco’s sheep flocks? Your Excellency."

The reality is that while one’s own sheep are precious, one hates it when someone else’s sheep tread on their land. The Marquis of Aguilar was also a member of the Mesta, but he hated it when other nobles’ sheep, especially the Velasco’s, passed through his territory.

"I have heard. You created pastures between the farmlands and don't raise any sheep in your territory at all."

"Haha, the reason I don't raise sheep is that if Merino sheep for wool and the sheep a farmer raises for meat and milk mingle, everyone only suffers."

Marquis Juan laughed heartily. Then, with a serious face, he took the Marquis of Aguilar’s hand and said:

"I will share with you the farming plan I intended to implement in this northern land, so how about we walk forward arm in arm?"

Gulp. At the mention of the farming plan from the famous "Guide to Bountiful Harvests," Aguilar gripped his hand tightly and said:

"I must! I want to hear it."