It's Chins All The Way Down (Don Carlos SI)

[Neptune1]

This started off on the Alien Space Bats subforum on AlternateHistory.com. I though, hey, why not post here? So I did.

The basic premise of this SI was like a jumpchain... except for Habsburgs. My first SI was into Franz Josef (the guy whose nephew's assassination kicked off WWI), but that stalled after some time. My second SI - which is still ongoing, which bodes well - was into Don Carlos. Don Carlos was the son of Philip II, the guy who tried to invade England, the epitome of a "religious fanatic Spaniard" etc. [insert anti-Catholic propaganda here]. Don Carlos was, in our timeline, horrendously inbred both physically and mentally. He was high-strung, sadistic and frighteningly single-minded. He attempted to commit suicide by swallowing a diamond. So... not the most well-adjusted fellow.

This story starts off with the FJ SI dying, and then being dropped in Don Carlos. Since the FJ SI has stalled over on AlternateHistory.com, I'll just jump right into the Don Carlos SI. You can skip past the FJ bit if you want - I'll be dumping four updates' worth here first.

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19/10/1923

“I don’t -”

I coughed. The assortment of people crowding around my bed pressed in.

“I don’t want to go.”

My son squeezed my hand. “We don’t want you to go either, father,” he murmured, hoarsely. Tears stained my sleeve. The ceiling had been painted in the Renaissance style - as I’d grown older, my tastes had mellowed considerably. Once upon a time, Schönbrunn had been the centre of modernist art and culture. Now, well… modernism had moved on from Austria.

“Ferdinand,” I said, seriously, “I have made my arrangements. It’s all sorted out.”

My eyes fluttered shut, and then opened again. I was tired. The room was warm - too warm, as it turned out. Most of the people crowded around my bed were sweating. Then again, that was how it was when you were old, sickly and dying. If I didn’t die now, well, things would be even more uncomfortable. I had to think of their welfare.

“You,” I continued, eyes swiveling slowly to the man bending over the bed. “Eicher. Take care of Austria for me. Make sure that your successors do the same.”

“Of course, your Highness.”

“Swear your loyalty to Ferdinand. Swear it.”

The crowd of people pulled away from my bed, like a wave pulling away from the shore. Eicher got down on one knee and stated a contrived, spontaneous oath of loyalty, brushing his moustache across my oldest son’s ring. He shot me a glance and straightened with a murmur. My son - again - came to my side.

“Please don’t,” he sobbed. “Don’t go.”

I smiled. My lips hurt; they were cracked and dry, no matter how much water they gave me. “Don’t be stupid, boy. Everyone goes eventually. If not now, then when?”

“We need you. The Empire needs you. Europe needs you.”

My children and grandchildren had all said their goodbyes. My wife - well, she would probably be waiting for me… or not. There was always that niggling suspicion in the back of my mind… oh, well. If it happened, it would happen. I’d lived a long and full life; it was time to go.

“All hail Emperor Ferdinand the Second, Emperor of Austria.”

“Father…”

I brushed my lips over his white knuckles. Slowly, slowly, he let go.

“Eicher,” I croaked, “tell me my titles. One last time. For the road.”

“All the titles?”

“All the titles.” I’d simplified them considerably - when I was in my late twenties, perhaps - but now? Well… tradition was everything. It was rather like counting sheep, except when I fell asleep… I’d be dead. Such was life.

“Very well.” Eicher’s voice hitched. “It has been an honour, your Highness.”

“Same to you.” I shut my eyes and breathed as deeply as I could (which wasn’t very deeply at all). The world was fading. I couldn’t feel my fingers.

“Franz Josef the First, His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty, by the grace of God, Emperor of Austria.”

“I love you,” my son whispered.

“Rule well.” I didn’t open my eyes.

“King of Hungary and Bohemia, Dalmatia, Lombardy, Venetia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia, Lodomeria and Illyria. King of Jerusalem, et cetera.” Eicher’s voice swelled as he rattled off the list. “Archduke of Austria. Grand Duke of Tuscany and Krakow. Grand Prince of Transylvania, Margrave of Moravia. Prince of Moldavia and Wallachia. Duke of Lorraine, Salzburg, Styria, Carinthia, Carniola and Bukovina. Duke of Silesia, of Modena, Parma, Piacenza and Guastalla, of Auschwitz and Zabor, of T-”

Unconsciousness washed over me like a shroud.

-----

I don’t know how long I hung there, suspended in the darkness. It felt like eternity; it must have been eternity. Yet I felt no panic, no fear; nothing but a sense of vague relief, and even then that faded away after a while. After that there was merely tranquility.

Peace.

-----

9/7/1560

Knowledge came with consciousness… and then consciousness came all at once.

My eyes opened; the world was slightly fuzzy. I realized, with dawning horror, that I lived in an age before the existence of spectacles, and allowed myself a little gasp of annoyance. Even this short intake of breath, however, precipitated a soft cough.

“Habsburg inbreeding,” I complained, softly, and struggled into a sitting position to assess the damage.

The room was very well-furnished, but seemed to lack any mirrors whatsoever. No problem - the window would suffice. I glanced down; my right leg was shorter than my left. Another twinge of annoyance.

So, to the window! I struggled to my feet and limped to the pane of glass. It was slightly stained - as was expected - but things could have been worse. My back hurt - I ran one hand over it and concluded that not only was my chest sunken, I had a hunchback. Note to self: get a metric fuckton of pillows.

I stared at myself in the mirror and ran a finger over my jaw.

Jesus, what a mess.

And my shoulders were uneven, too!

I struggled back to my bed and made a mental note to commission a cane. This - unfortunately - confirmed a theory that I had nurtured for a few decades, stowed always in the back of my mind to be turned over in between matters of state. I had been born in Singapore - this I knew. But Singapore was eighty years away, and in the interim I had been ruling an empire in the nineteenth century, wearing the body of Franz Josef. I’d worn it for so long that I’d almost considered it to be my own!

Now I had changed my attire; now I had swapped out my relatively defect-free Habsburg-Lorraine physique for a pure-blooded, monumentally stunted, Habsburg walking corpse.

Should I live like Phil Connors in Groundhog Day? Historically, the poor soul whose body I now wore had died at twenty-three, incurably insane and irreversibly physically disabled. Surely anything I did would be an improvement.

And yet…

I was Franz Josef just as much as I was Don Carlos, Prince of Asturias and heir to the Spanish throne. I had dragged Austria back from the brink and transformed it into a great power. Who was to say that I could not do the same thing in Spain?

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Letter from Philip II to Catherine of Austria, Queen of Portugal; sent August 1560

[…] but on to more fortuitous matters. The Prince of Asturias has improved markedly. His retainers tell me that he has ceased his childish cruelties and has had a cane made to assist his movement. His tutors tell me that he has made great, momentous strides in learning over the past month. Though I have not seen him myself yet, I am greatly pleased […]

-----

​

Don Carlos, Prince of Asturias, c.1560​

​

 

[Neptune1]

Comments are of course appreciated.

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10/9/1560

John of Austria struggled desperately to avoid staring.

The Prince of Asturias tilted his head to look at him; his face was not displeasing to look at, though his eyes tended to veer apart at times, and his jaw… well, the less John of Austria said about it, the better. One of his eyelids fluttered downwards; when John made no reaction, the Prince huffed quietly and carefully angled his glass of wine towards his mouth.

“It’s a bit odd, isn’t it?” the Prince inquired, leaning back in his chair with a wince, the glass of wine teetering precariously between his fingers. “You’re my uncle, but you’re two years younger than me.”

“I suppose so,” said John, carefully. He’d heard a lot of stories about the Prince. When he’d asked his tutor about the stories, he’d been backhanded across the face and shouted at. Apparently, the Prince was very pleasant in person. Then again, it was an unfortunate fact of life that those who were less physically pleasing tended to be thought of as more evil than those who were not.

“Hmph.” The Prince sipped from his cup again. “Do you have anything you want to talk about? At all?”

John did not, and he said so.

The Prince quirked the corners of his mouth upwards. “Fair enough. Er - I suppose we could take a walk around.” His knees creaked under the table. “I tend to take walks around the Palace. It’s good for my legs.”

It was John’s private opinion that nothing could possibly be good for the Prince’s legs, which were quite stunted, but the Prince was the Prince. He helped his nephew to his feet and the two of them began to amble through the gardens. For the next hour, there was no talk between them except the calm, measured breathing of the Prince and the steady clack-clack-clack of the Prince’s cane.

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Things to Do in Madrid: A Historical Odyssey, by Jonathan Ball. London: Bloody Mary Press, 2010. Fifth Edition. 301pp. Notes, index. Paper, $19.99. SN-38929-39812-57796.

Pgs. 98-100

[… ] As part of Carlos II’s efforts to increase centralization in the Crown of Castile and Leon, he designed a rudimentary communications system above and beyond the contemporary message-carriers of the era. Owing to Madrid’s geographically remote location in Castile (especially considering how Iberia is, in general, not the flattest of peninsulas), this was a Herculean undertaking and dragged on for over a decade - and that’s not counting the time that he took to persuade his father to allocate the necessary resources to sustain the project.

(map omitted)

In the southeastern corner of Madrid, you will be able to see the semaphore tower repurposed by Carlos II for his communications system. In addition to semaphores, Carlos II’s other innovations involved smoke signals and lighting fires atop the tower, especially in the event of bad weather. Until the eighteenth century, the semaphore tower - known locally as the Torre de Banderas, “Tower of Flags” - was still being expanded to facilitate fast communication, benefiting from advancements in construction technology.

In the small museum adjacent to the Tower of Flags, you will notice a well-lit volume mounted under a hermetically sealed display case: this is one of Carlos II’s records on the Spanish voyages. Through his uncle Don John of Austria, Carlos II maintained contacts with loyal shipbuilders and navigators on the coasts of Spain and collected information regarding the success or failure of voyages across the Atlantic to the Spanish Empire in the Americas. According to historians, this may have been motivated by a private wish to visit the Spanish Empire in the Americas for himself - although, of course, this was never accomplished.

[…]

Another historical curiosity near the Tower of Flags is a little chalkboard with the words “Días Desde el Incidente Anterior” (Days Since Previous Incident) printed on it. Established by Carlos II in 1570, the board recorded the number of days since an “incident” - namely, the wrecking of a Spanish ship making a voyage to another continent. Whenever a Spanish ship foundered, Carlos II wiped the chalkboard clean and wrote a large “0” in its place. The practice was sustained by the residents of Madrid after Carlos II’s death.

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5/7/1561

I sipped from my glass of wine and cast my eyes around the room. There was my father, Philip; there was my aunt, Joanna, formerly Queen of Portugal. Scattered around the room were various other Castilian bureaucrats and nobles - prominent among them was Fernando Álvarez de Toledo, the Duke of Alba, and a valued advisor of my father.

There had, evidently, been plans to move me to Alcalá de Henares - palace hearsay had told me as such - but, following my father’s return to Madrid and the ensuing flurry of ceremony, those plans had been shelved. Instead, I had been duly recognized as heir to Castile, and my father had proceeded to transfer his attentions to compelling the Aragonese Cortes to recognize me as heir as well.

I’d spent the whole of last night delving into the shattered remnants of Don Carlos’ mind. Unlike my previous insertion, some manner of the old Don Carlos still remained - his memories, mostly, and a bit of his temper. He had been, shall we say… simple. Mentally… not all there. Not playing with a full deck, and all that.

What I had been doing was cleaning house - cataloguing his interactions, identifying problematic courtiers, perusing potential avenues for advancement. The thing was, I was the heir to Spain, a massive global enterprise; as much as I wanted to hop over to the Netherlands and start fixing things, my father wouldn’t let me go, and I wasn’t stupid enough to insist on it. He probably didn’t even think I was that mentally stable in the first place - and who could blame him?

“…and on to the Netherlands.” The room quieted; my father’s reedy, colourless voice grew louder as he turned to face me. I straightened my back with an audible crack and wrapped my fingers around the arms of my chair. “Carlos. You have been speaking with your aunt. How are things?”

My answer was rehearsed just so; it was prompt enough to keep my father from flaring up and hesitant enough to not come off as pre-prepared.

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The Dutch Letters, by Rudolf Sevigny. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2013. 483pp. Notes, index. Paper, $31.59. SN-68492-39812-77916.

Pgs. 143-145

Chapter III: The Era of Don Carlos and Counter-Inquisition

Much has been made of the rapid change in Carlos II’s personality in 1560, all of it speculation. This chapter will not bother with speculation; it records the correspondence exchanged between Don Carlos in Madrid and the various powerful men and women who ruled in the Seventeen Provinces.

This chapter begins in the middle of things: in 1561, Carlos II’s “Counter-Inquisition” (as it would later be referred to) had only just begun. Words in bold were written in invisible ink.

29 June 1561

My Count of Egmont,

I offer you my heartiest congratulations with regard to our mutual friends Cardinal Granvelle and Inquisitor Titelmann. I trust you have spoken to our mutual friend, the Stadtholder William - they will confirm what I have told you.

What we are doing, my aunt Margaret and I, is simple. We are attempting to endear the Seventeen Provinces to the True Faith by measured and reasoned negotiation. I call it passive resistance; Cardinal Granvelle and Inquisitor Titelmann, if they knew of it, would call it treason. But are they Habsburgs, like myself and my aunt? I think not. The truth of the matter, my Count of Egmont, is that they do not know what is best for the Seventeen Provinces. They are evil councillors, my Count of Egmont, and we Habsburgs have determined to set things aright.

But on to other things; I have heard that there is a most accomplished artist in Egmont; his name escapes me, but Stadtholder William told me that he produces the finest woodcuts.

[...]

Carlos von Habsburg, Prince of Asturias

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5/7/1561

“Things appear to be proceeding very nicely,” I said, blandly. “Duchess Margaret informs me that everything is under control. The Inquisition has taken root. There have been a few grumblings from the Stadtholders, but nothing else.”

My father gazed at me closely, looking for weakness. I blinked languidly, took a sip of wine, and met his eyes stonily.

“Hmph,” he finally grumbled. “Very well. On to other matters…”

-----

John of Austria, c.1560​

 

[Neptune1]

17/8/1561

The Count of Egmont unfolded the piece of parchment and scratched his head. What had the Prince of Orange told him the day before, again? Ah, yes - hold it above a flame.

This he did, with great care, and blinked rapidly as a succession of brown letters revealed themselves above the flickering candle.

“Ingenious,” he murmured to himself, alone in his opulent study in Brussels, “ingenious.”

The following day, he had one of his courtiers place an order for lemons.

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26/10/1561

The sun shone through the windows.

Madrid had been my life for the past few years. I wasn’t exactly cooped up… but there were better things I could have been doing. As it was, I’d commandeered a spare room near the palace gardens into something of a laboratory, and filled it with a collection of glass receptacles. Most of said glass receptacles did nothing in particular, but they did add a fantastic ambience to the room. The real magic, of course, was done in my workstation, buried behind stacks of books and with only one entrance and exit.

"Won't you come out in the sun, my Prince?"

"None can do, mother," I called, "I'm busy."

My mother was my age - nearly two decades my father's junior, and a close relation of the King of France. She was also heavily pregnant.

Elizabeth of Valois, Queen of Spain, leaned into the room and wrinkled her nose. "I've done my job and asked your father to send you to the Netherlands," she complained. "Won't you tell me what you're doing?"

I manoeuvred my nose over a cup of transparent liquid and inhaled deeply; there was no smell. This was promising. Rising, I held the tumbler of liquid in one hand and my cane in the other, hobbling out of the building. Elizabeth waited, one hand on her back, expectantly.

"Behold!"

I proffered the tumbler. "I call it lemon juice."

"Who would drink lemons?"

"I added sugar." I tilted my head and adjusted my crooked shoulders. "Come on, try it." I took a sip and held it out to her. When she accepted it with one hand, I tapped my cane on the stones and limped ahead into the gardens. It was a while before she caught up with me; when she did, her eyes were shining and the cup was empty.

“This is really good!”

“As expected.” I stopped and forced my back straighter to gaze closely at the lemons hanging from the trees which lined our path. It had been a little project of mine - interior design - importing lemons from Sicily and Naples to beautify the castle a little. My father hadn’t had a problem with it - not when his beautiful wife (with whom he was deeply infatuated) sang praises of the fruit.

Ah, lemons… I loved lemons. They were so very useful.

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Upon Which the Sun Never Sets: The Spanish Empire in the Age of Carlos II, by Anthony Fernando. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2005. 678pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $54.99. SN-79831-59832-39126.

Pgs. 94-96

Although Don Carlos’ relationship with his father had been fairly distant, the return of Philip II to Madrid provided the young Prince of Asturias with the opportunity to interact with his father more. This was aided by the arrival of the new Queen of Spain, Elizabeth of Valois, who was Don Carlos’ age.

Both Don Carlos and Philip II doted on the Queen of Spain - Don Carlos more as a friend, and Philip II as - well - a husband. Although Elizabeth of Valois was considerably closer in age to Don Carlos, contemporaries affirm that there appeared to be no physical attraction. Philip II, at least, appeared not to see any telltale signs of an illicit and passionate love affair (although many less-qualified authors have asserted hotly that there was in fact an affair going on). With both Philip II and Don Carlos making an effort to hold a conversation in order to please Elizabeth, the two men found that they were able to connect to a considerable extent.

Warming relations with Philip II meant that Don Carlos was able to embark on several projects. He regularly commuted to the University of Alcalá, both to visit his friends and relatives John of Austria and Alexander Farnese and also to attend lectures at the University. However, an additional reason for his commuting was to discuss medicine with prominent lecturers at the University, especially with respect to childbirth and its related dangers. These discussions culminated in the employment of several physicians by the Spanish Court - recommended by Don Carlos - to assist Elizabeth of Valois during her pregnancies.

The birth of Infante Ferdinand and Infanta Isabella in a celebrated twin birth again improved relations between Philip II and Don Carlos, with Philip II praising his son in his letters as having helped tremendously in ensuring the health of both mother and children. […]

Pgs. 104-105

The nature of Don Carlos’ correspondence with the various Dutch grandees would indirectly lead to the emergence of lemon juice as a drink among the Spanish and Dutch nobility. This was due to Don Carlos’ use of lemon juice as an invisible ink to discuss strategies on how to thwart Cardinal Granvelle and Inquisitor Titelmann; in conjunction with his increasing reliance on the fruit, Don Carlos cultivated a persona as an aspiring horticulturist, maintaining a lemon garden on the grounds of the palace.

Lemon juice quickly became popular among the Dutch nobility not just as a way of engaging in clandestine political communication but also as a way to gossip about other people behind their backs. As a way to deflect suspicion, the Dutch claimed to have developed a taste for lemon juice (with added sugar) and poured much money into the lemon plantations of Castile, Aragon, Naples and Sicily.

This professed affection for the drink propelled lemon juice into the sights of the Spanish nobility, and soon lemons were exported into Austria, where Maximilian II was presented with a container of the drink. From there, lemons gained popularity among the European nobility, further driving demand for sugar and establishing Spain as a noted exporter of lemons (owing to its climate and geography). […]

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Elizabeth of Valois, Queen of Spain​

 

[Neptune1]

8/11/1561

Philip II of Spain paused at the door, his breath coming in wisps of fog. There was the sound of industry coming from behind the wooden door: whatever his son was doing in that laboratory of his, it was hard work. He lifted a small white cylinder from his pocket and rolled it around in his hand; little tufts of white dust wafted off of it, mixing with the snow under his feet. Clenching his fist around the “chalk” - which was, apparently, the name his son had given it - he laid his other hand flat on the surface of the door and pushed.

The first thing he felt as the door swung open was a gust of warm air. Quickly, he and his small group of courtiers shuffled inside, just as those within rose to their feet and offered a tidal wave of pleasantries in accordance with court ceremony. His son was still struggling to his feet as the thunder of voices faded; Philip felt, not for the first time, the usual throb of mixed embarrassment, disappointment and anger. He waved a hand. "Be seated."

The room was silent as his son made his way forward. There were torches mounted on the walls, to complement the rays of sunlight shining through the vast windows. Glass receptacles clustered around the torches, producing a curious effect - light from the torches was reflected around the room, making them look brighter than they actually were. Philip made a note of this.

"I was given this," he told his son, pinching the "chalk" between his fingers, "and told that you made it. Is this true?"

"Yes, Father."

Philip paused for a beat. "Show me."

Just months ago, for Philip to have done such a thing would have been unheard-of. He supposed it was due to two things: first, his wife's influence; and second, his heir's sudden improvement in temperament.

"...limestone," Carlos was saying, gesturing at irregular pebbles of rock. "We grind it up into dust and mix it with water, and then boil it off."

Philip realized, with a jerk, that the room was full of sons of the Castilian nobility. When he'd been told that his son was acquainting himself with his future subordinates, he hadn't expected this. He inclined his head at the kettle, which was manned by a rough-looking labourer, from whom Philip kept his distance. "And this provides warmth to the room as well."

"Yes, Father." This explained the lack of a fireplace, though Philip could sense another source of heat in the room.

“And this… blackboard of yours.” Philip waved at a row of black stone sheets leaning against the wall in the corner. “You write on them. With the chalk?”

“Yes. Slate from Galicia.”

That was one thing that made sense to Philip, at least - material wealth, extracted from the ground. Not this new, strange process which his son had invented. “Tell me what these men are doing.”

“Oh, yes. Er, Fadrique is supervising them.” He nodded at the boy - the son of his loyal servant the Duke of Alba - and turned his attention back to his son. “They sift out any further impurities, wash them, dry them, and grind them again.”

Carlos’ cane tapped on the floor as they reached another kettle filled with thick, proto-chalk slurry. Attendants tipped boiling water into the kettle. “Why do you have to perform the washing and drying twice?”

“I tried doing it once.” His son’s face was steady and focused. “The chalk ends up being of low quality.” Burly men forced the rapidly drying white slurry through long, thin metal tubes, which were placed in an oven tended by a boy whom he recognized as the son of Juan Vázquez de Molina. “We leave it in there for four days. When it comes out…” He closed his fingers around a piece of chalk lying on a nearby table and slashed a white line across the surface of the black slate. “Chalk.”

"Hmph." Philip surveyed the room, his face a mask. "So, this is what you’ve been doing in your spare time. Fernando de Valdés tells me that you have been attending mass less regularly.”

His son dipped his head. "Yes, Father."

"But the chalk… might be useful. Even if it is unbecoming of you to bring these activities into the Alcazar." He wrinkled his nose. "Take these operations into the city. It is unbecoming of young grandees like these to be labouring away like peasants."

"Yes, Father."

“I want these men out. I would speak to you personally."

"Yes, Father." Swivelling at the waist - Philip tensed as the nerveless toes of his son’s right leg brushed the white-dusted floor - Don Carlos cupped one hand to his mouth. "My friends, thank you for your help! Uncle, Alexander, could the two of you lead these men out?"

The labourers left in silence. The young grandees shuffled out, offering courtly pleasantries. Philip heard Juan de Molina cuff his son in the ear and whisper harshly, briefly, before the door shut behind them. “Juan, Antonio, leave us. I am not to be disturbed.”

The kettles and the furnace were still burning. With no one to tend them, however, they would burn out within a few moments’ time. That was fine. Philip would be brief; and if he was not brief, well, they could always adjourn to his private chambers.

“Sit.”

Carlos sat. Philip sat down as well.

“You have been in correspondence with your aunt for over a year. She has said good things about you.”

Carlos remained silent, though there was a flicker of hope in his eyes. His hands were folded neatly in his lap.

“There was also a recommendation from the Duke of Alba that you be wed sooner rather than later.” Philip’s eyes glittered in the light of the setting sun. “Evidently, you were the source of the suggestion.”

Carlos’ hands twisted in his lap. His right leg twitched once, violently, and was still.

“You have been a good son to your mother… and to me. Your piety leaves much to be desired, but perhaps that makes you a better match for the Queen of Scots - who is, herself, not a very pious woman. Or so I hear.” Philip set the piece of chalk gently on the table. “You will be given a stipend and sent to the Netherlands. If you can charm Granvelle and Titelmann into writing in your favour, then I shall appoint you Governor. Until then… you are to secure the supremacy of the True Faith in the Seventeen Provinces.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Do not interrupt me.”

Carlos looked at his lap.

“Scotland is yours, if you can take it. France, England and Germany will resist - as they will - but if you can provide a solution… whether from Madrid or from Brussels… I will listen. And I shall decide, ultimately, what course of action is to be taken. Is this understood -”

Antonio Perez burst into the room, panting. Philip rose to his feet and devoted the full force of his gaze at his secretary. “I said,” he hissed, “I was not to be disturbed -”

“The Queen is in labour.”

By the time his son arrived outside the birthing chambers, Philip had already been there for the past five minutes. From inside his private chapel, he could hear his son’s tinny voice, clear and calm, issuing orders. “The midwife… how many births? Not a single stillbirth or miscarriage, or… Hot water? Is it hot enough… Towels. Get them towels.”

Philip folded into himself and prayed.

-----

A History of Toxicity, by Dr. Antonio Olivier. Pamplona: Navarra Medical Press, 1998. 424pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $23.99. SN-48271-58372-70582.

Pgs. 175-178

[…] the sixteenth-century court clearly had some knowledge of the dangers of impure chalk. Following Carlos II’s invention of the chalk-manufacturing procedure and its attendant processes, the hazardous nature of chalk would only become apparent five decades after the fact, with respiratory problems becoming apparent in a number of those who regularly used the writing implements. However, this was mitigated to a large extent by the use of handkerchiefs, which were typically used to cover the nose and mouth of a lecturer when he was writing on the blackboard.

Handkerchiefs also doubled as a rudimentary form of quality control - supervisors with black handkerchiefs over their noses and mouth would scrawl the phrase “God Save His Catholic Majesty, Carlos II of Spain, King of Castile, Leon, Aragon, Galicia, Toledo, Murcia, Córdoba, Jaén, Seville, Granada, Majorca, Naples, Sardinia, Sicily, Valencia and Navarre”, varying the pronouns and regnal names as required. If, after writing the phrase, said handkerchief was now a certain shade of grey (due to the contamination of chalk particles), the chalk was said to be of subpar quality. The practice was said to have been developed by Carlos II. […]

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26/12/1561

“Your Highness?” I turned around from where I was cooing at my younger brother, Ferdinand (who was well-formed, handsome and in possession of two legs of equal length - all qualities which I lacked). “The map is here.”

“Bring them in,” my father said, eyes crinkled in uncharacteristic merriment. “My lady, would you like to stay?”

“Why, of course!”

My mother (though I thought of her more as a sister) was radiant. Her recovery was still ongoing, but given my father’s penchant to micromanage and my own contacts in Madrid’s burgeoning medical establishment, it was going well. I rose to my feet and motioned for the map to be brought in, where it was mounted on the wall.

My aunt, Joanna, formerly of Portugal, was also seated nearby. It was a tendency of my father to only loosen up when he was absolutely sure that he was with people he trusted. As I leaned on my cane and sat down heavily, she smiled warmly at me. Our relationship hadn’t been that good when I’d first arrived - which was more the old Don Carlos’ fault than mine - but she had been very open to reconciliation. Now, she was balancing my younger sister, Isabella, on her lap.

“So, the Italian situation seems to be settled. The Medici woman is stewing in France, which means that we are free to act as we will for the foreseeable future. This means strengthening our positions in Europe, reducing inefficiency in the colonies, funding construction in Spain, and, of course, combating heresy.”

There were already a few men at Alcalá - middling academics who wouldn’t have amounted to anything in the original timeline - whom I had spoken to at the right time, in the right way. It was a hit-and-miss affair, but said men were engaging in enthusiastic academic correspondence with their friends in Valladolid, Toledo and Salamanca. Their core assertion? “Hey, maybe don’t spend so much money on your own lifestyles and divert cash to actual productive assets.” My father, being a generally decent fellow (controversial, I know), had taken their suggestions (and mine) to heart. It was up to him to change his spending policies, in the end.

“There is one place where we can do three of those four things: the Netherlands.”

I lifted a staff from a nearby table (Isabella gurgled happily - she liked shiny things, just like any good Habsburg) and highlighted several points on the map. Lucca, Geneva, Florence, Alsace. “These lands are ruled by neutral princes.” I tapped a few other points - Milan, Luxemburg, Barcelona. Besançon. “These lands are ruled by us.” My impromptu pointer connected the dots. From Naples and Aragon to the Netherlands. “By sea, we are vulnerable to the French, the English and the weather. By land, we are not.”

Offers of marriage had come in quick and fast. Ferdinand was - tentatively - to marry Elizabeth, the second daughter of the future Holy Roman Emperor, and about eight years his senior. Isabella’s pudgy little hand still lacked a confirmed suitor, however.

“In war, Spain is like a tidal wave - we pay our troops and our smiths and our quartermasters, and they spend the money we give them on whatever they desire.” I leaned gingerly against the table and played with the staff. “In peace… well… we are much the same. What we need to do is make Europe ache for our gold. The only way to do this is to stop sending buillion overseas. Gather it here, in Madrid. Then Geneva, Lucca and Alsace will clamour for our gold and we will have the upper hand.”

My father’s face was a mask. I rushed on.

“We now find ourselves at peace. By opening up a reliable path to the Netherlands, we not only secure a cordon against France - all along its perimeter - we also establish cordial relations with the princes along this route. In war, Spanish gold flows all over Europe. In peace, Spanish gold will flow only along the Spanish Road.”

I took a sip of wine. “I estimate an average journey on the Road to take one to two months. It could be surveyed and mapped out formally by February.”

I sat down and took another sip of wine, sliding the staff back into place. Isabella opened her mouth and babbled, eyes shining. I lifted the staff up and passed it to John of Austria, who handed it to Aunt Joanna.

Finally, my father spoke.

“You already know most of the grandees and the administrators in Madrid. I will tell them to obey you with regard to this… Road. But the Road is to be your project and yours alone. When it is complete, you will be the first man to traverse it.”

“Alexander should go with him. It’s time he met his mother, after all these years.” This came from Aunt Joanna.

“Yes. Parma and… five hundred men, I think. Enough to protect and grant the appropriate dignity to the Prince of Asturias.”

“Thank you, Father.”

-----

Philip II, King of Castile, Leon, Aragon, Navarre, Granada, Seville, Toledo, Valencia, Galicia, etc.​

 

[Augustus007]

This is the first jumpchain I'll try to participate - please be easy on the new guy.

 

[KingOfCrafters]

Damn. For what seems like it'd be dry history, this is pretty good. Perhaps moving a bit fast, but honestly I wouldn't want to focus on several decades of pain and inconvenience either.

 

[Neptune1]

19/3/1562

Sancho d'Avila stood and squinted as Barcelona faded into the distance.

The Prince of Asturias had said his goodbyes and dashed off a few notes in Madrid some weeks before; his arrival in Barcelona, where d’Avila was waiting, was met with general fanfare. D’Avila had been recommended for this duty by his employer, the Duke of Alba; as such, he was determined to make a good impression on the heir to the Spanish throne.

Five hundred men (with a few hangers-on, as expected) had been quartered, paid and provided for. Just last week, d’Avila had met a merchant from Lorraine who had travelled south along the new Spanish Road - from Brussels to Genoa, and thence to Barcelona. The Road was already reaping dividends for Spain, it seemed.

And it was all because of the young man reclining in an easy chair in the corner, kneading his malformed left foot.

Alessandro of Farnese had stayed aboard the flagship with his cousin - all the better, thought d’Avila. He wouldn’t have to divide his time between his two noble charges. (Though it wasn’t like there were only two noblemen in this contingent - it was just that the Prince of Asturias and Alessandro of Parma were the only ones who mattered.)

“D’Avila, is it?”

Farnese had gone belowdecks. D’Avila suspected that he’d brought along a whore from one of the brothels, but he wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t his place, anyway. “Yes, your Highness?”

“Come over here.” The Prince wrapped his fingers around a strange-looking wooden stick and wound a piece of string around a knob attached to the stick. As d’Avila approached, he noticed that the string was dangling off the side of the boat, which explained why none of the deckhands had gone anywhere near the Prince for the past few hours. “You know copper, d’Avila?”

“I do.”

The Prince gestured at the knob of string in his hands, and then at the rapidly retracting string. At the end of the string was what appeared to be a wet copper plate. “I dropped this overboard when I first arrived in Barcelona,” the Prince explained. “Dangled it in the waters of the Mediterranean to see what would happen. You see, I have a little idea. Ship hulls are always under attack from worms and whatnot, you know - it damages the ship, slows it down. Now, I’ve been thinking, and it appears that copper is considerably more resistant to these worms and such, as opposed to wood or lead.”

“I see, my Prince,” d’Avila replied, as humbly as he could, although he actually didn’t.

“It could be expensive,” the Prince answered, spinning the copper plate in his hands idly, looping the threadbare string through a hole punched in its centre, “but I imagine it could be done. It’s up to my father.” He lifted the plate aloft and threw it back into the sea; the string unspooled rapidly, and he spoke no more for the next few hours.

-----

25/3/1562

“Say, d’Avila,” asked one of the nameless men who crouched in the corridors of power in the Republic of Genoa, “what do you imagine the Prince of Asturias is talking about, in there?”

D’Avila stared at him stonily. “I am not privy to the personal thoughts of the Prince,” he said. “The Doge, I should imagine, keeps his own counsel as well.”

The current Doge of Genoa was Giovanni Battista Cicala Zoagli, who had dealings in Corsica; d’Avila remembered his name having been mentioned, once or twice, in passing, by the Duke. He took another sip of wine and closed his eyes in a bid to stay the throbbing pain behind his eyes.

-----

1/4/1562

D’Avila preferred to stay in Spanish territory. Ally or no, Genoa got on his nerves; to hear Francesco Ferdinando d’ Ávalos’ voice chanting the familiar Latin prayers in a recognizable dialect was more soothing, as was the private chapel of the Governor of Milan.

The Prince of Asturias was at the forefront of the chapel, head bowed in prayer; when d’Avila opened his eyes, it was to stare (not by choice) at the hunched back and uneven shoulders of the Prince, who took a certain amount of time to rise to his feet and sink to his knees. Naturally, of course, this meant that mass had to be retarded by a certain duration to not make his disability apparent.

Thereafter, the streets of Milan were lit up so brightly that d’Avila could almost believe that it was day. The Prince spoke at length, publicly, on the wonders of the new Spanish Road. A number of Genovese noblemen who had joined with the expedition signed a treaty with d’ Ávalos, or so the word on the street had it. One of his men - whose portfolio concerned the finances of the expedition - informed him that supplies had been transported in a steady flow from Genoa, and now to Milan. “Excellent,” d’Avila told him. “If they continue until we are in Luxemburg, it will be a miracle indeed.”

Instead of moving on to Savoy, however, the Prince insisted on taking a detour to Pavia. D'Avila, of course, had no choice but to comply. In Pavia, the Prince summoned the local judiciary and had a certain Giovanni Battista cleared of all crimes. Battista's father, a man named Gerolamo Cardano, spoke to the Prince at length afterwards and agreed to join him in the Seventeen Provinces. D'Avila would later find that Cardano was an accomplished polymath.

-----

15/4/1562

Duke Emmanuel Philibert of Savoy greeted them in Turin, which was mildly surprising to d’Avila; was his capital not in Chambéry?

Further discussion with the Duke’s retainers cleared things up considerably. Duke Emmanuel intended to move his capital; Chambéry was too exposed. D’Avila was sent elsewhere to witness the drilling of the provincial militia, which supposedly formed the backbone of the Duchy’s army. “This,” said the Prince, before they arrived in Turin proper, “is the future of warfare. Not mercenaries, d’Avila - militias. Spanish men fighting Spanish wars. No questionable loyalty.”

Thereafter, at a feast thrown by the Duke, d’Avila was clapped on the back by the man. “You set off from Barcelona, then?” the Duke was saying. “A great city! A great city! I defended Barcelona from the French in ‘51.”

-----

2/5/1562

They had passed through the Swiss Cantons without much fanfare. The Duke had lent them some two hundred men who knew the mountain passes and the Swiss who lived there. Suffice to say, there was little diplomatic contact. The Swiss remembered the Habsburgs well, after all… but there were, supposedly, diplomatic embassies which had been set up. Of questionable reliability, of course.

Besançon had been quiescent; a quiet little city, ruled by a quiet little man who was of little note. (Said quiet little man had been appointed by William the Silent, the Prince of Orange - he was not of little note.) This was around the time that the shipments of gold had begun to arrive; d’Avila counted ten carts of gold, stamped in the image of the King, defended by two hundred men. This was the Prince’s stipend, to be used as circumstances required.

Eventually, they arrived in Nancy. The Duke was married to a Princess of France, but he maintained a policy of scrupulous neutrality. While Alessandro of Parma was stumbling from the dining chambers, drunk out of his mind, he leant on d’Avila to convey him to his rooms. While d’Avila was supporting him, he told d’Avila of the recent eruption of conflict in France; the way he told it, d’Avila supposed Paris would be in flames by Epiphany.

In Nancy, one cart of the Prince’s Spanish gold was delivered into the hands of the Duke, for which d’Avila recorded in his journal that Charles III “was greatly moved, and pledged his eternal friendship to the Prince of Asturias.” Supposedly, the Duke had been on the verge of requesting assistance from the Estates of Lorraine; the gift reinvigorated his finances, reaffirmed his absolutist tendencies and ensured that he would be secure for at least six months more.

The Prince also made the acquaintance of the Duke’s French wife, who also had a hunchback; some of his men joked that the two made a charming couple, and d’Avila summarily administered punishment.

Supplies began to arrive from the north on the fourth of May, just as supplies from the south slowed to a trickle; the system had been designed by a fellow in the employ of the Prince of Asturias who had been named Secretary of the Spanish Road and promptly shoved into the Alcazar in Madrid. A missive was received from the Duke of Alba; three hundred of his men were to return to Spain to fight the Turk in the Mediterranean. D'Avila recorded that he now had four hundred men with which to defend the Prince and his gols.

Future travellers in Lorraine would find that, passing along routes frequented by Spanish troops, the roads seemed better paved, tolls appeared to be cheaper, and the merchants tended to be either Dutch or Spanish.

-----

10/5/1562

They passed through Luxemburg, and then through to Brussels.

At last, in Coudenberg, the Prince of Asturias and his companions were welcomed by the Governor of the Netherlands, Margaret of Parma, who embraced her son fiercely. Cardinal Granvelle, a confidante of the King, and Inquisitor Titelmann greeted the Prince formally, and d’Avila noted in his private journal that the two men “seemed displeased”. D’Avila was invited into the palace, where the Prince then met with the members of the Council of State in the Netherlands, who welcomed him with a glass of lemon juice - a gift which the Prince appeared greatly amused by, to d’Avila’s private confusion.

Thereafter, the Prince determined to retain d’Avila in his service, an offer which d’Avila accepted. Thereafter, d'Avila authorized the departure of two hundred more men to fight the Turk, given that the Prince's stipent was now safely stowed in Coudenberg.

-----

Memoirs, by Sancho d’Avila; edited by Marie Jol. The Hague: Dutch Historic Press, 1998. Fifth edition. 424pp. Notes, index. Paper, $26.99. SN-48421-43143-38712.

Pgs. iii-iv

Introduction

[…] d’Avila’s journals in the service of the young Don Carlos are a wealth of historical information about the operation of the 16th-century Spanish Road. Although his sphere of movement would, from 1562 onwards, be largely confined to the Seventeen Provinces, he remained a trusted retainer of the Duke of Alba and was a middleman between the Prince of Asturias and the Duke.

His frequent travels along the Spanish Road allowed him to pick up gossip from both all corners of Europe: to the west lay France, and to the east lay Germany, both in turmoil. Arteries of commerce leading north and south conveyed commercial information and new innovations to and fro, from Brussels to Milan and across the Western Mediterranean to Barcelona, Valencia and Seville.

Therefore, it would not be remiss to say that d’Avila offers a concise summation of the history of continental Western Europe in the later half of the 16th century […]

-----

Charles III, Duke of Lorraine, and his wife, Claude of France​

 

[Karlsider]

And now let us sing to the tune
"Habsburgs, Habsburgs all around!!!"

Nice to see another story set in historical setting. Another good story as I see. And chalk? I see it is not just me, to be in the mood to let go of introducing the superweapons in lieu of something tiny, useful and profitable for the start.

 

[Neptune1]

12/5/1562

“I must say,” said William, Prince of Orange said, idly swilling his glass of wine, “you are not what I expected.”

The Prince of Asturias grunted and tipped a stream of lemon juice into his mouth. The process seemed needlessly complicated; considering the Prince’s jaw, however, it seemed to be the only way that he could drink. William exchanged glances with Lamoral, Count of Egmont. While the Prince was clearly not his father, his penchant for uncomfortable silences spoke volumes about his upbringing.

“Allow me to congratulate you for being granted the stadtholdership of Franche-Comté,” said the Prince, finally, and William dipped his head in thanks. “But - on to more important things.”

“My thanks, your Highness.” William shuffled through his papers, precariously balanced on his lap, and withdrew a section. “Laws against heresy and the Inquisition itself may be hard to change, as we understand, but here - the bishopric scheme.”

The Prince pinched the paper between his fingers and looked it over for a beat. “Yes, I know this.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Seventeen bishoprics, and Gravelle Primate. I see no issue with prebends being university graduates.”

“Nor do we, your Highness,” Egmont hastened to add, “but the main issue that we see is that the means of implementation would displace many god-fearing abbots - an innovation which, we fear, is ill-suited.”

“God-fearing abbots with seats in the States, you mean,” said the Prince lightly, and laughed so that the men in the room could see that there was no malice. Belatedly, a soft ruffle of laughter swept the room, and ended as abruptly and artificially as it had begun. “But I see your point. Yes, I shall work for the proper funding of this scheme - but I am but the Prince of Asturias. Save my blood… Titelmann and Granvelle are the ones with true power, and my Aunt is oppressed by them.”

“We shall stand by you,” de Brimeu declared, and a general murmur of agreement followed. William remained silent; the Prince’s eyes alighted on him briefly as his gaze swept the room, but William could not help but feel mildly unsettled.

-----

The Dutch Letters, by Rudolf Sevigny. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2013. 483pp. Notes, index. Paper, $31.59. SN-68492-39812-77916.

Pgs. 167-169

Chapter III: The Era of Don Carlos and Counter-Inquisition

The following was the first memorandum written by Don Carlos on his arrival in the Netherlands. Don Carlos kept his private memoranda in a small drawer in his desk. In what historians assume was a bid to practice the language, Don Carlos wrote all his memoranda in broken Dutch interspersed with Spanish. Notes in (brackets) are annotations made in the margins.

(diagram omitted)

Caption: Above, a concise diagram of the divisions within the council. Centralists are obviously outnumbered.

Particularists

• William; Holland, Zeeland, Utrecht
• Lamoral; Flanders, Artois
• De Montmorency; recently relieved of Guelders. Met him in Madrid. Coming back next year?
• Brimeu; Guelders
• Mansfeld; Luxembourg (not particularly committed, though)
• Bergen; Hainaut
• Berlaymont; Namur
  
• Hoogstraeten (de Lalaing - the most hilarious name I’ve ever heard); Mechelen

Centralists

• Granvelle (scapegoat #1)
• Titelmann (scapegoat #2)
• Noircarmes
  
• Croÿ; not a stadtholder, but still has a voice

Reasonable Folk

• Viglius; tolerant fellow. MUST NOT RETIRE. Part of Grand Council of Mechelen (Nicolas Everaerts - current President. Note to self: get in contact with him.)
• Aunt Maggie, nominal Governor
• Ligne; Drenthe, Friesland, Groningen, Overijssel (friend of Willy)

Ambiguous

• Valkenburg; Limburg (stays in his castle in the Rheiderland and doesn’t venture out much; not a bad idea, to be honest)

-----

15/5/1562

“Thank you for bringing my son back to me,” my aunt finally said, snapping the volume in her hands shut and turning to smile at me.

“Oh, it was no problem,” I said. “Actually, my father was the one who ordered it.”

Aunt Maggie (as I now tended to refer to her in private) shook her head, a mutinous expression on her face. “Your father dropped me in here,” she complained. “It’s wonderful - a fine land - but couldn’t he have appointed someone more experienced?”

“You have Granvelle,” I said.

“Allow me to correct myself: someone more experienced and more likeable.”

Seeing as Granvelle was actually fairly pleasant, I reckoned the problem wasn’t so much his demeanour as much as it was his policy - centralization as opposed to autonomy. Though - to be fair - Titelmann was, to put it mildly, a massive douchebag. I knew the type. Outwardly, though, I returned her smile and chuckled.

“So,” Aunt Maggie continued, seating herself opposite me, “what course of action are we to take? You promised myself and the Stadtholders that the Inquisition and Granvelle would be dealt with. We’ve done our part; the King insists on supporting them. How long must we ‘passively resist’ - ” here she repeated a term which I had coined in one of my letters to her - “before the Duke of Alba has to march up your Spanish Road and arrest all of us?”

“I’ve met the Duke, you know,” I replied, mildly. “He’s a decent fellow, as long as you don’t get on his bad side.”

My aunt huffed.

“The way I see it,” I continued, “Titelmann and Granvelle have to be dealt with. The Inquisition has to be curbed; the local grandees must be appeased. First we appease them - ” I raised my hand and curled it into a fist - “and then we centralize, faster and harder than Granvelle ever could.”

My aunt smiled thinly. Born on the wrong side of the sheets or not, she was still a Habsburg. “And how do you suggest that we do this?”

“Remove the Inquisition. Demand men and taxes - nothing more. Build universities on the Castilian model. If a man in Brussels thinks like a man in Madrid, then he will be more obedient to the King of Spain than, say, the Prince of Orange.”

“And Orange and his cronies?”

“They must not be allowed to make themselves invaluable.” I lined up a number of small golden pieces on the table and selected three, which I pushed forward. “Stadtholders - pah. What authority do they have when the business of administration bypasses them entirely?”

“Fine words, though we have no men. My brother needs men to fight his wars with the Turks - how long do you expect d’Avila’s men to stay?”

I blinked. “Yes… yes, that’s as may be. Well, then I suppose all we need to do is to keep the peace. My father has told me that he can spare two hundred; the men who delivered my stipend as well as the better part of d’Avila’s men must return.”

My Aunt rubbed her hands. “Then I suppose we had best commence.”

I had been working on Aunt Maggie for a while. The problem with her (well, it wasn’t exactly a problem) was that she tended to defer to my father’s and Granvelle’s wishes due to her lack of experience. Once I’d stiffened her spine a little, though, she was rapidly becoming more assertive. Granvelle looked spooked.

-----

The Dutch Letters, by Rudolf Sevigny. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2013. 483pp. Notes, index. Paper, $31.59. SN-68492-39812-77916.

Pgs. 175-177

20/5/1562

My Count of Horn,

Much has happened since your departure and we eagerly await your return to affairs of state in Brussels. The Prince of Asturias arrived two weeks before and has been named Stadtholder of Brabant. This is a fortuitous event for those of us who uphold the sacred liberties and ancient prerogatives of the Estates of the Seventeen Provinces.

You will remember that I proposed such a policy some years back to His Excellency Cardinal Granvelle. Earlier, that policy was rejected. Now, however, with the support of ourselves and the Governor, Margaret of Parma, as well as the personal desires of the Prince of Asturias, our proposal has been accepted. Following an exchange of letters between the Prince and his father the King, Granvelle was compelled to grant the Stadtholdership.

This is a turning point in the prosperity of the Netherlands. I pray that soon the Inquisition will be withdrawn, alongside the foul placards which trample, as the Cardinal has trampled, on our rights and liberties. Truly, the Prince of Asturias is a most astute man. The Governor, Margaret of Parma, has shown herself to be a measured and reasonable woman to deal with. There is no better time to return to Brussels.

William, Prince of Orange

-----

The Political and Economic Infrastructure of Spanish Power, by Wilhelm Klaver. Brussels: Stadtholder of Brabant Press, 2002. 758pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $34.99. SN-47621-43413-73712.

Pgs. 156-158

Part I. Spain under Charles I, Philip II and Charles II

Chapter Three: The Spanish Road

[…] the development of the Spanish Road and the contacts which it fostered between Savoy, Lorraine and the Swiss on one side and Spain on the other, as predicted by Charles II, greatly strengthened ‘soft’ (that is, mercantile and diplomatic) Spanish influence in the former states. It also provided an alternative route to the Netherlands which could not be interdicted by the consistently hostile powers of France and England.

Nor did the Spanish Road merely facilitate trade, ease military movement and secure communication. Over the next few decades, vagrants and ‘excess population’ in the Netherlands were ferried south by the repurposed ‘Provincial Inquisition’, amplifying the Spanish Road’s reputation as a ‘land of transformation’ (Tierra de Transformación) - a man could enter it from the north as a beggar and exit it into the south as a respectable individual, bound either for the colonies or Iberia.

Papal fears over Habsburg encirclement, which were shared with the French, were lessened greatly by Charles II’s policy of ‘Carrot’, or La Zanahoria. In the 1595 Treaty of Rome, Spain relinquished all claims to Papal lands ‘in perpetuity’ while simultaneously granting merchants based in the Papal States certain trade rights in Spanish territory, adding them somewhat tangentially to the ‘Spanish sphere’, which at this time already contained Lorraine, Savoy and - to a lesser extent - (PAGE IS SMUDGED).

However, the Papacy - much like the Swiss - were sufficiently economically potent and politically advantaged to resist the Spanish pull. Although they certainly benefited from cheaper consumer goods manufactured in Spain, they were able to remain competitive by dint of their substantial internal economies of scale, whereas the ‘three whores’ (Tres Putas, a pejorative directed at those countries which were reliant on Spain) had had Spanish influence entrenched within their borders by the policy of Philip II by the time Charles II ascended to the throne. […]

-----

​

Coudenberg Palace, Brussels, Duchy of Brabant, Seventeen Provinces​

 

[Neptune1]

Comments appreciated, etc.

-----

The Dutch Letters, by Rudolf Sevigny. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2013. 483pp. Notes, index. Paper, $31.59. SN-68492-39812-77916.

Pgs. 179-180

Chapter III: The Era of Don Carlos and Counter-Inquisition

23/11/1562

My son,

I have been receiving a number of complaints from all quarters about the manifest unsuitability of Titelmann to head the Inquisition. Your letters have also served to affirm this impression.

However, I have decided not to strip him of his position. Titelmann, as you know, is an old man, and many years both my and your senior. I have also received reports regarding his numerous illnesses. Therefore, I have decided to allow him to discharge his duties as is required of him, since he will ascend into the glory of the Lord soon enough.

Philip, King of Spain

-----

25/11/1562

“What do we do?” asked the Count of Horn. William of Orange fiddled with his beard in the corner; Charles de Brimeu took a gulp of wine to steady himself. The Stadtholders of the Seventeen Provinces had gathered in a palace on the outskirts of Brussels to plot their next move.

“My father is on the verge of losing his trust in Titelmann,” said the Prince of Asturias, grinding his words out. Of all the nobles seated at the table, he was the only one who was entirely still. “This is no time to lose your nerve. He doesn’t know anything about what we’re doing.”

“How long do you think it’ll be before he discovers what lemon juice can be used for?” John of Glymes, Stadtholder of Hainaut shot back. “All that Spanish gold you’ve been receiving could dry up with a word from him.”

William of Orange cut in. “Haven’t you been speaking to Viglius?”

The Prince of Asturias shook his head. “He fears my father’s wrath.” He poured himself another glass of lemon juice and wrapped his fingers around the thin stem of the cup. “If we can just get rid of Titelmann, we might be able to secure the appointment of a more malleable Inquisitor.” He chewed on his lip. “I’ll need to think this over.”

-----

When the rest of them had left the room, I scratched my ear and finished my glass of lemon juice. The Stadtholders were still in a panic, which was exactly where I wanted them. That way, when I got the job done, I could expect a sizable amount of respect and gratitude - as well as a healthy dose of fear.

I knew very well, of course, that my father’s faith in Titelmann had never wavered, regardless of the volume of complaints that he was receiving - in fact, all I had done was add my pen to the already-massive quantity of documentation of his abuses. There was, therefore, only one thing left to do.

My laboratory in Coudenberg was considerably more advanced than my laboratory in the Alcazar of Madrid. Despite that, I hadn’t actually started making anything yet. I pushed the door open and limped to a nearby drawer. A keyring was withdrawn from my pocket; when I opened the drawer, my last-ditch solution to Titelmann’s problem revealed itself.

The drawer was full of bitter almonds.

-----

12/1/1563

“Walk with me.”

“My Prince,” began Gaspar de Zúñiga, the Inquisitor General, “I have business to do - it is my first day - ”

“Who is the heir to Spain?”

Gaspar de Zúñiga went.

The carriage wound through the streets of Brussels. De Zúñiga did not like the way the Prince was looking at him. Eventually, they arrived at the Cathedral of St. Michael and St. Gudula, where a single figure was dangling in a cage.

“Do you see him?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Inquisitor Titelmann died in agony, you know.”

De Zúñiga glanced at the Prince.

“He sat down to dinner one day and fell over. When his servant came to find him, he was already dead. His fingers were tangled in his robes - it looked like he was trying to strangle himself.” The Prince removed his glove and flexed his fingers experimentally. “An investigation was conducted. His second-in-command was implicated - that fellow.” De Zúñiga followed his finger to stare at the pile of remains hanging from the cathedral. “He wanted the job, you see.”

“Yes, your Highness.” De Zúñiga swallowed.

“Didn’t tell you that in Madrid, did they?”

“No, your Highness.” The Prince was smiling, now, but de Zúñiga could still feel cold sweat running down his back.

“The King of Spain is very far away, Señor de Zúñiga,” said the Prince softly. “If the Inquisition is to survive, it must obey the needs of the Crown. Do you understand, Señor de Zúñiga?

“Yes, your Highness.”

“And never trust your subordinates. Learn from Titelmann’s example, hmmm?”

When de Zúñiga returned to his well-furnished quarters, he dashed off a letter and handed it to an attendant. The attendant left the room, and when no reply from his superior, Fernando de Valdés, came after two months, de Zúñiga knew that he was now a prisoner. Worse - an instrument.

On his death twenty years later, the Prince of Asturias would call him “a faithful servant”, which was more true than anyone knew.

-----

Charles the Poisoner: A Reasoned Historical Evaluation of the Reign of Carlos II of Spain, by Dominic Furtado. Seville: Golden Gateway Press, 1996. Second edition. 310pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $28.59. SN-58271-38597-07952.

Pgs. v-ix

[…] while his father was an avid alchemist (in addition to many other obsessive pursuits), Carlos II was considerably more successful in achieving pragmatic goals through his skill at the field which would develop into chemistry.

His talent for devising and deriving acids, poisons and medicines - which he then tested on prisoners in Breda and Antwerp - earned him a reputation - the so-called “Grey Legend” - to distinguish him from his predecessor, Philip II’s, far more deserved “Black Legend”.

Although conclusive proof of Carlos II’s chemical knowledge was not released until after his death, rumours still spread, especially considering his own twisted physique. Owing to the attitudes of the time, the European public tended to adhere to the maxim of “beauty within, beauty without” - which meant that Carlos II, who was hunchbacked and lame, had to be a sinner of the greatest magnitude. This attitude would plague him all the days of his reign, and arguably still plagues his reputation today. […]

Carlos II would found an officially sanctioned printing press in Brussels - the Stadtholder of Brabant Press (also known as SoB Press, and colloquially as King Carlos’ Press) - and order the construction of a university around it. In his will, he ordered that his own findings were to be published by the SoB Press to be taught in the University of Brussels. His studies brought about huge advances in practical chemistry when they were smuggled out of the Seventeen Provinces in the early 17th century, and served to maintain the relatively higher quality of Spanish goods well into the 18th century.

This contribution, considering Carlos II’s dismal (or otherwise relatively understated) historical reputation, is a great indignity. Apart from Spanish-language universities, no other educational or popular institution seems particularly interested in keeping the memory of this memorable King of Spain alive. I have therefore decided to embark on this book in the hopes that it will encourage a general re-evaluation of the time period […]

-----

Cathedral of St. Michael and St. Gudula - Titelmann's subordinate would have been hanging just above the central window​

 

[Danny Lucas]

Great job on the story. I am looking forward to reading your next chapter

 

[Cherico]

wow thats pretty ruthless

 

[Neptune1]

Do tell me if anyone appears to be behaving out of character. If there are any important people whom I might have missed, feel free to point them out. If there are any international events which might be coming up soon (e.g. Spanish intervention in the French Wars of Religion), please tell me. I want to keep this relatively plausible.

-----

Upon Which the Sun Never Sets: The Spanish Empire in the Age of Carlos II, by Anthony Fernando. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2005. 678pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $54.99. SN-79831-59832-39126.

Pgs. 125-127

Chapter Three: Don Carlos in the Seventeen Provinces

[…]

The Provincial Reforms

In summation, by 1563, Don Carlos had effectively seized control of the reins of the Inquisition. The highest court in the land - having been elevated outside of the authority of the Great Council of Mechelen, which was linked to Brussels by Viglius - it had gained notoriety under Peter Titelmann, who was in command of the Dutch Inquisition.

Don Carlos’ links to the (now considerably tamer) Inquisition and the Council of Mechelen (abbreviated as simply Mechelen) allowed him to implement wide-ranging reforms which would later be called the Provincial Reforms. A great deal of this was simply a rationalization and re-implementation of his father’s policies. However, Don Carlos’ Reforms lacked much of the ham-handed secrecy which characterized Philip II’s dealings with the Netherlands, such as the Bishopric Scandal of 1561. This willingness to speak openly about his reasoning - as well as his command of the Dutch language - endeared the nobility to him. Furthermore, his position as Stadtholder of Brabant gave him direct control over the core of the Seventeen Provinces and access to a public forum outside of the relatively more constrained Councils at Coudenberg.

Don Carlos began by reorganizing and re-implementing the Bishopric Policy, as it is called in universities today […]

-----

25/1/1563

A vast number of men arranged themselves in the Brussels Town Hall. They glanced at one another, blinked, and came together in conversation. The hall rapidly filled with the sound of conversation and exclamations. A few of them recognized the bent figure seated at the head of the hall upon the dais, flanked by Margaret of Parma and Granvelle; those who did happened to be prominent characters in the Duchy, members of the States of Brabant. Flanking Parma and Granvelle were a row of dignitaries, most of them Stadtholders. Two men in particular drew attention - there was Viglius, and there was the President of the Grand Council of Mechelen on which he sat, Nicolaas Everaerts. Members of the Grand Council were generally respected; a few men in the audience bowed in their direction, a gesture of deference accepted gratefully by Everaerts, a man acutely aware of his non-noble status.

A low hum of hostility issued from some of the men at the sight of Granvelle, but a few whispers bade them to look closer; was Granvelle’s face red? Yes, it was! Anger gave way to a light frisson of amusement.

Granvelle vibrated.

When everyone was seated, the figure rose to his feet and spoke. He spoke loudly, so that all could hear him.

“Gentlemen, my name is Charles von Habsburg. I am the Prince of Asturias, heir-apparent to the Crown of Castile, and I have called all prominent members of the States of the Seventeen Provinces here, to the Town Hall in Brussels, to inform you of an urgent matter that has been resolved.” A pause, to let the crowd get its excitement off its chest. “I suppose you might be wondering why the thirteen new bishops - appointed by my father - are not here. This is because they have already acquiesced to what is to come.”

Now a frisson of excitement passed over the crowd.

“The new Inquisitor has arrived -” he raised his hand at the groan - “and he agrees with me and my aunt the Governor that the policies of his predecessor have been… remiss.”

Silence.

“Hence, persecution will cease. The Inquisition’s role in the Provinces is still unclear, but right now, it will limit itself to criminals. The Inquisition has - as you know - unlimited power, and its reach covers all the Netherlands. With its new mandate, it will be able to track down smugglers, thieves and murderers with ease - and punish those who deserve to be punished!”

A lukewarm cheer rose. The Prince smiled.

“Furthermore, all abbots here who have been so rudely evicted from their posts are now reinstated.”

A cheer rose up. Granvelle turned purple - a change in hue watched with some interest by a number of citizens from the States of Groningen who had elbowed their way to the front.

“The thirteen bishops who have been installed -” and here the Prince rattled off a list of names - “will be allocated a portion of the taxation collected by the States of their assigned Provinces for a duration of ten years so as to allow them to construct an appropriate seat for a representative of the Church. Donations are, of course, much appreciated.” The Stadtholder paused. “For those bishops without land, plots have been provided at my own expense, so as not to exhaust the coffers of the valued citizens of the Seventeen Provinces -”

He was cut off by loud and lusty cheers.

A number of men in the crowd (invariably part of the States of Brabant, whom the Stadtholder had spoken to just the day before) began to shout, spontaneously, “Motion to recognize Don Carlos as heir apparent to the Seventeen Provinces!”

One after the other, the Stadtholders rose to their feet - some mildly grudgingly, some quivering with excitement.

“We recognize Charles, Prince of Asturias,” began William of Orange, “as heir-apparent to the County of Holland, the County of Zeeland and the Lordship of Utrecht -”

“And of the County of Artois and the County of Flanders -”

“And of the Duchy of Luxembourg -”

And so the declarations came hard and fast, one after the other, until those who were there swore that the Prince had probably gone deaf from begin shouted at for so long. When they were done and their ears were ringing, people began to wonder why Brabant had not declared for the Prince. Murmurs spread through the hall. Then the Prince tapped his cane on the floor three times.

The Prince had remained standing all the while, his stunted leg trembling and his knuckles white on the wood of his cane. The hall quieted; every eye was on him.

The Stadtholder of Brabant cried: “And as heir-apparent to the Duchy of Brabant!”

The hall erupted in laughter, which was soon followed by the chant, “Lord of the Netherlands! Lord of the Netherlands! Lord of the Netherlands!”

-----

Night and Day: The Rule of Philip II and Carlos II, by Alphonse Perredito. Naples: Bailey Books, 2016. 584pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $43.59. SN-58271-38597-07952.

Pgs. 43-45

[…] Philip’s insistence on sticking to Spanish against all odds greatly impaired his ability to endear himself to his peoples, and his personality did not help matters.

In comparison, Don Carlos was appears to have been able to speak in English (thus granting him access to other spheres in which variants of English were used, such as Scottish and Gaelic) as early as 1566, and evidence exists of him practicing Dutch from 1561 at least (The Dutch Letters, 2013). Moreover, his scrupulous adherence to local etiquette endeared him to the Dutch magnates, who witnessed how he remained standing (as custom demanded) even when his uneven shoulders and stunted legs visibly pained him. This adherence would serve him well in what is known as the “Extraordinary Convocation of the States-General” in the Town Hall of Brussels, which took place in Jan 1563 […]

-----

Brussels Town Hall, in the distant future​

 

[ATP]

Interesting.
1.OC with modern knowledge could not create Apollo or even AK47,but steamer and musket&guns for Napoleon- style army are possibility.
2.He knew about Australis,Australia gold,Alasca and California.but better if he use that knowledge when he will be Emperor.
3.In OTL Japan was lost to christianity thanks to Spanish mistakes and protestant plots.Now - he could make Japan kind of spanish ally in Asia.
P.S fortunatelly Napoleon take over Inquisition archivas - so we knew,that both spanish and papal inquisition killed less then 10.000 in 600 years.Imprisoned more then 200.000,but only 3% was tortured,and every one had real advocate.
Common cryminals was judged by "Magdeburg law" - every suspect was burned 6 times,and if do not confess,could go home.
to compare scale of presecutions - later communism killed more then 100.000.000 in 70 years,and all prisoners was tortured.'advocats" acted as addidional prosecutors.

Althought spanish inquisition was spanish secret police from the start - that is why they practically never start witch hunts/In protestant countries - more then 200.000 killed/

 

[Everfew]

I know nothing of that period of history but you manage to keep everything really interesting.

 

[Neptune1]

Comments appreciated, etc.

2/2/1563

“Orange!” the Prince of Asturias said, rising to his feet. “Please, be seated.”

William sat. “What are you doing?”

“Reading de Zúñiga’s correspondence.” The Prince made a note. “He’s learnt to write just how I want it. ‘All is well in the Provinces’; ‘heretics are leaving in droves’; ‘perhaps heretics should be made useful.’” He twisted his lips. “You can almost see his opinions changing as the weeks go by.”

“You’ve ordered a census.”

“I have.” The Prince looked up again and met his gaze. “Why?”

“In my experience, censuses are taken only when one is preparing to exact a new tax.” William leaned forward. “Are you planning a new tax?”

“Only on heretics,” the Prince answered, setting de Zúñiga’s letter aside and retrieving a sheaf of documents.

“What?”

“Twenty-five percent for all,” continued the Prince, “to decrease by one percent once a year, down to ten percent at minimum. The same policy will be implemented for new converts. Foreign merchants will pay a flat twenty-percent. Let's call it... the Heretic Fifth.” His lips twisted again. “Those who won’t pay will be conscripted and sent to fight the Turk.”

“And you need me to approve this.” William leaned back and folded his arms. “You only have Brabant, after all.”

“It’s better than burning them.”

“No doubt, but…”

“It won’t chase merchants off…” The Prince counted off his fingers. “Those who can’t pay in gold will pay in labour. I’m not seeing a problem.”

“It sounds like slavery to me.”

“We can remove that.” The Prince rubbed his fingers together. “What’s important is showing people that only the poor are Protestant. Can’t get rich by breaking with Rome.”

“And those who might still be lured in by Calvinist preachers?”

“I’m sure you’ll agree that heretic preachers and mad monks, at least, deserve to be burnt.”

-----

15/2/1563

“…you are to combat heresy in all quarters…” Karel Hein finished, looking up in confusion. “Where are the Inquisitorial powers?”

Hendrick de Witt, his fellow canon and Inquisitor, blinked. “They’ve removed it? Let me see.” He snatched the parchment from his colleague and leafed through it. “Then what are we supposed to do? Debate with Calvinists?” He shook his head. “I’ll write to de Zúñiga.”

“Don’t bother. He won’t respond.”

“Then I’ll write to the King.”

“Bishop’s forbidden it.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want to be torn apart by the Stadtholder.”

“Fair enough.” De Witt was silent. “Pity, I was looking forward to arresting and burning people.”

“I prefer arguing with Calvinists, honestly.” Hein flicked through the papers again. “Oh! I found it. It seems to have been altered.” He traced his finger under the words. “There is a tax to be levied. We are to prosecute those who do not pay the taxes; a list will be sent from the Stadtholder.” He looked up. “We’re taking orders from Stadtholders now? What is this, England?”

“This is the Netherlands,” de Witt answered, who was the son of a prominent nobleman in the States of Brabant. His remark was remarkably prescient, for a man who had decided to devote his life to burning people alive. “And who is the Lord of the Netherlands, Hein? None but the Prince of Asturias himself, who was confirmed in that role in Brussels by general acclaim barely two weeks ago.” He rose to his feet and took the papers from Hein. “Mark my words - this is but a taste of what is to come.”

-----

Upon Which the Sun Never Sets: The Spanish Empire in the Age of Carlos II, by Anthony Fernando. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2005. 678pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $54.99. SN-79831-59832-39126.

Pgs. 134-139

Chapter Three: Don Carlos in the Seventeen Provinces

[…]

The First Heretic Fifth

After overhauling the entire administrative hierarchy of the Church in the Seventeen Provinces, Don Carlos devoted himself to the task of extracting what he would consistently refer to as the “two most vital resources for the maintenance of Empire” - men and gold.

Through intimidation and collaboration, Don Carlos had constructed what he called a “mafia state” (the origin of “mafia” remains sketchy; possibly it was a made-up word by Don Carlos): the Stadtholders fostered a “culture of silence” among the clergy, who were urged to do as they were told, mostly due to the example of the new Inquisitor-Plenipotentiary from Spain, Gaspar de Zúñiga. Now, he attempted to extend this metaphor further by implementing a “protection fee”. Although the fee was eventually argued down from an even more onerous burden, it was nonetheless implemented by April 1563.

The “Heretic Fifth” borrowed its name from the tax on minerals harvested in Spanish America, the Royal Fifth, but focused its ire not on material wealth but on individuals. A flat 25% tax was levied on all known Protestants in the Provinces, to be reduced by 1% every year until it reached 5%. Those who did not pay had the full force of the Inquisition levied upon them, and found no sympathy from their religious brethren, who by exchanging political favours for a “tax break” or a reduction in rates found themselves far richer than their more pious brothers in faith.

Any new converts found themselves taxed the full 25%, with the same policy of a fall in 1% every year down to 5% - migrants to the Netherlands paid a flat tax of 20% straight to Brussels. Foreign Protestant merchants paid 15% straight to Brussels.

Understandably, then, the policy caused great unrest among the people. But the memory of the Inquisition and Don Carlos’ implicit threat of informing his father of the actual situation proved most compelling, and the States approved the tax, provided that they received a chunk of the sum (25% to the States, 25% to the Stadtholders, and 50% to Coudenberg. The Stadtholder of Brabant, then Don Carlos, “graciously” forfeited his income in his role as Stadtholder to his colleagues.)

In this way, the Inquisition remained alive, though greatly reduced, and preyed predominantly on poorer and generally more pious heretics who preferred to fight rather than pay or recant. Its reputation was also enhanced by its new mandate to punish criminals and “rabble-rousers”, generally taken to define Protestant preachers. Occasionally - but very rarely, and only after Don Carlos was more secure in his power - it was turned against those in the ruling class who stepped out of line as well. It had thus begun its transition to an unofficial secret police. […]

In addition to increasing the revenues of the central government at virtually no political cost (since an overwhelming majority disliked the Inquisition in its former form and Philip II’s ham-handed religious policy), the Heretic Fifth also increased Don Carlos’ influence in government by providing him with a supplement to his own prodigious stipend. It also intensified competition in the States for the position of Stadtholder, which was even more lucrative than it had been previously. Apart from turning his fellow Stadtholders against their States (whereas he, the Prince of Asturias, could promise bloody retribution to whoever displaced him as Stadtholder of Brabant), Don Carlos was also now able to forge ahead with centralization measures, although his immediate efforts were complicated by (PAGE IS SMUDGED).

The immediate effect of this policy was a substantial drop-off in the number of people attending Protestant sermons (since the Inquisition had begun to monitor them). Non-Catholic worship went underground, forcing the Inquisition to invest in an intensive spy network (which aided its transition). Furthermore, conversions greatly decreased among prominent citizens who had much to lose from converting. By dividing the people of the Provinces by class, Don Carlos had succeeded where flat repression had failed.

Nor was this the end of things. After the tax - in some shape or form (see The Second Heretic Fifth (PAGE IS SMUDGED) - had been in force for some (PAGE IS SMUDGED)years, Don Carlos - now Carlos II - returned to Brussels to offer poor heretics (of whom there were now very few) a bargain: he would abolish the tax on them if they converted and served in his armies for a period of five years. Exhausted, terrified, impoverished, the last Protestants of the Provinces agreed to his terms, and so Carlos II secured nearly thirty thousand soldiers bound to his cause in a time of emergency by gratitude and obligation.

Naturally, also, trade with England and Scandinavia fell off. But nevertheless the Provinces profited, for Antwerp and Amsterdam were the centrepieces in a trade hub which spanned the world - and British and Scandinavian merchants quickly negotiated tax breaks for themselves in exchange for trade concessions to Brussels. Not to mention that Don Carlos would soon unveil an invention which would change the face of the Provincial textile industry…

[…]

-----

2/4/1563

"I don't understand what you're trying to accomplish with this," Gerolamo Cardano insisted. At the ripe old age of sixty-two, he was starting to grow annoyed with the young man who had dared to uproot him from his comfortable, humdrum existence in Pavia and bring him here, so far from the warm Mediterranean and so close to the freezing North Sea. Never mind that the young man was the Prince of Asturias. Never mind that his "comfortable, humdrum existence" had been marred by long-running arguments and feuds with his colleagues. Never mind that he had chosen to leave Pavia of his own accord because the Prince of Asturias had spared his son from being beheaded.

Right now, he had no idea how the Prince wanted his so-called "Carolingian wheel" to be built.

The Prince, for his part, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look," he repeated, gesturing at the crumpled piece of parchment in his hand, one hand braced on Cardano's table. "Metal frame. Eight wooden spindles. You turn the wheel and the thread comes out this end."

"No," Cardano snapped, "you look. I don't care if you're the Prince of Asturias, I don't appreciate being forced to learn how cloth is made at the age of sixty-two! If you don't employ anyone else apart from me, how do you think I'm going to turn your Carolingian wheel into a proper device?"

The teenager made an inarticulate cry of rage and stormed out of the room.

Two days later, five labourers and three cloth spinners took up residence in a shed outside Coudenberg.

-----

​

Statue of William, Prince of Orange, erected in Middelburg, County of Zeeland. Engraved below:
​

WILLIAM, PRINCE OF ORANGE​

FAITHFUL TO GOD AND HIS CONSCIENCE​

WE HONOUR HIM FOR HIS STEADFAST OPPOSITION TO HERESY​

 

[Everfew]

The teenager made an inarticulate cry of rage and stormed out of the room.

Click to shrink...

Hehe, nice to see him struggling somewhat. It's always good to have a flawed character that makes errors.

 

[Speed53066]

This is very interesting, and you do a great job at making people believable for this time period.

 

[Neptune1]

29/5/1563

“Do not do this,” Marie Retif pleaded. Her son shook her off - for the last time - and marched for the gates. There was a pair of men in red caps standing there, leaning against the gate-posts. Beyond the gates, the city of Mons - the capital of the County of Hainaut - stood - tall, proud… and ostensibly Catholic. It was this cityscape which Marie Retif and her neighbours woke up to, day after day. Sometimes, she wondered if it was deliberate.

The Retifs - like most of the others living in this tiny, impoverished hamlet - had fled France following persecution. They were Protestants - Huguenots, or so the Catholics called them. After days travelling in the wilderness, hoping to find sympathetic brethren, they had been found by the men in red caps.

They were called the Inquisition, but they were not here to burn them.

No - on the contrary, the men in the red caps said, smiling genially, “We are here to save you! To provide you with a means for your own livelihood!” There was only a small price to pay.

The Retifs parted with their possessions, for the alternative was burning.

Now the Retifs and their brethren were herded into a little hamlet atop the hill, where the women were provided with spinning wheels and the men were forced to build a fort and a Catholic church. The Stadtholder, John van Glymes, visited once; he patted Marie’s children on their heads and told them that all this could have been resolved if they were to convert. “It’s much better than burning,” he told them, sympathetically, as if that absolved him of all his crimes.

Sometimes, some of the villagers fled into the woods - they wanted to find a more sympathetic community. Perhaps, if they were to go to Holland, to Zeeland, to Utrecht, to Frisia… but every night, without fail, those who ran were dragged back and dumped unceremoniously onto the wet grass. That is, unless they desired to flee back to France, in which case they were simply allowed to leave. It wasn’t like there was anything left for them there, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Manuel had told her last night. “I’m sorry, mother, but I won’t stand for this anymore.” Marie’s children had told her the same; though they had been raised in the faith, they had seen Mons - and taken note of its prosperity. They had also seen, just three months ago, as a hamlet not too far away from them had turned, violently, against the men in the red caps; the day after the rebellion (if it could even be called that) there was the smell of gunpowder and blood on the wind.

The men in the red caps smiled at Manuel as he reached the gates. They patted him on the shoulder and shook his hand. Then they led him through the doors of the Catholic church.

Manuel Retif would (unbeknownst to anyone) be the Huguenot convert to Catholicism in the Provinces, but he would not be the last.

-----

Upon Which the Sun Never Sets: The Spanish Empire in the Age of Carlos II, by Anthony Fernando. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2005. 678pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $54.99. SN-79831-59832-39126.

Pgs. 155-158

Chapter III: Don Carlos in the Seventeen Provinces

Population Movement on the Spanish Road

[…] Huguenots fleeing persecution necessarily had to flee through either Spanish territories or through the territories of Spanish allies. Given the comparative prosperity of the Seventeen Provinces and their close proximity to Protestant Germany, more Huguenot exiles passed through that region than through Lorraine, Franche-Comté, the Swiss Confederacy or Savoy.

Of course, this presented a golden opportunity for the Governor and the Stadtholders, who seized upon the chance to secure greater incomes for themselves and ensure the retention of potential tax-paying citizens. Huguenot exiles were informed of the presence of the Inquisition as well as the presence of the First Heretic Fifth, and immediately thereafter promised exemption from both if they were to settle in certain locales and paid a certain lump sum of money to the Stadtholders. Those who agreed were treated kindly; those who did not were forcibly settled in majority-Catholic areas, with their retainers the only ones standing between them and certain death.

Said retainers wore red caps, which signified their status as members of the Inquisition. […]

-----

REDCAPS: The Inquisition in Spain, by Pedro Alvarez. Salamanca: University of Salamanca Press, 2001. 550pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $37.89. SN-34894-29821-70952.

Pgs. iii-vi

[…] the changes in the Inquisition’s mandate did not happen all at once. They began in 1561, when Don Carlos arrived in the Seventeen Provinces to learn how to rule. Through a single assassination, the cooperation of local officials and multiple incidents of intimidation, Don Carlos forced the Inquisition to curb its enthusiasm with regard to torturing and killing “heretics” - most of whom were considered decent, law-abiding citizens whose sole crime was following a different creed - and to transfer said enthusiasm into a zeal for torturing and killing enemies of the Prince of Asturias.

From 1561 to the death of Philip II in (PAGE IS SMUDGED), the Inquisition in the Seventeen Provinces evolved from a purely religious organization into a secular organization which used religion as a pretext for embarking on class warfare. By detaining Protestants within Spanish territory and concentrating them into regions where they could be easily managed and made to work for longer hours and lower pay, they enforced class divides between richer Protestant nobles, burghers and merchants and the “heretic mob” of the radical Protestant poor. The increasing concentration of Protestants in the Netherlands culminated in the transfer of thousands of Protestants along the Spanish Road to settle in Milan, Naples and Spain itself, followed by the corresponding adjustment in the Inquisitorial mandate in the rest of Spain’s European empire - which led to the so-called “Protestant ghettos” which endure to this day - even though they no longer contain any Protestants in any appreciable number.

The practice of burning heretics, while less and less frequent, gained greater and greater prominence in the minds of contemporaries, providing the Inquisition with an outsize amount of power in relation to its relatively small size. Even so, its enrollment had increased: even though select members of the clergy sat at the top and reported directly to the King, joining the Inquisition was seen as an acceptable profession by several relatively irreligious noblemen and merchants. On Charles II’s death, the Inquisition numbered - at a conservative estimate - some thirty thousand men.

[…]

-----

5/7/1563

I hung my coat on a wooden hook (I’d had it installed last month) and seated myself beside my Aunt. Granvelle hung around to her left - the atmosphere of animosity in the chamber had grown ever more potent with his consistent attendance. My very presence undermined his existence - though, of course, there was another flip-side: while I would probably have to move around the Spanish territories at the behest of my father, Granvelle’s sole mandate was to plant himself down in the Netherlands and defend - vociferously and fanatically - my father’s vision of a loyal, Catholic Netherlands.

“Revenues from the Heretic Fifth have grown substantially,” Aunt Maggie began. Alexander - who was sitting to my right, muttering with the Count of Egmont - straightened in his seat and pushed a folder forward. “Protestant murmurings have largely been resolved… due credit must be given to the Prince of Orange, the Count of Egmont and the Prince of Asturias.” A soft murmur swept across the table.

“There have been a number of known Protestants leaving the Netherlands,” Viglius continued, as de Zúñiga nodded beside him, eyes fixed on his own papers. “There has already been a trend of departure among even Catholic citizens… presumably due to the taxation.”

“We dropped taxation across the board to accommodate for the Heretic Fifth,” Granvelle complained. “Do they still want more?”

“Typical Spaniard,” the Count of Horn muttered. Granvelle flared up.

“What did you say?!”

It took a while before the Council of State wound down again; by that time, things had moved on, by silent consensus, to other matters. But the issue of migration had ignited something of an idea in my head: it felt expensive and hamfisted… and that’s because it probably was. Well, no matter - as long as it remained a fairly small enterprise and required only a minor initial investment, it should probably be sustainable. I glanced over the papers detailing the collection of the Heretic Fifth: yes, it should be doable. A quarter of the proceeds should be sufficient.

-----

Upon Which the Sun Never Sets: The Spanish Empire in the Age of Carlos II, by Anthony Fernando. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2005. 678pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $54.99. SN-79831-59832-39126.

Pgs. 161-164

Chapter III: Don Carlos in the Seventeen Provinces

Population Movement on the Spanish Road

[…] the necessity of dealing with the influx of Huguenots alerted Don Carlos to the problem of departing Dutch workers. Since the institution of the Heretic Fifth barely three months ago, a number of Provincial Protestants - ranging from base labourers to merchants without no fixed assets - had declined to pay the Heretic Fifth, declined to convert and declined to negotiate. Instead, they simply departed the Netherlands. This number merely supplemented the existing outflow of people, mostly due to onerous taxation from Brussels. Of course, it was a situation which Don Carlos refused to accept.

“It is impossible,” Don Carlos wrote, “to keep these folk without forfeiting all the progress we have made.” Therefore, he concluded, “it becomes necessary to ensure that these folk do not leave.” The Prince of Asturias, Lord of the Netherlands and Stadtholder of Brabant gathered the proceeds which he had accumulated from the Heretic Fifth and other taxation available to him, and proceeded to fund what would become known as the Border Patrol.

Border Patrol

While the Inquisition was sustained predominantly by money sent from Spain, the Border Patrol - which initially patrolled only the eastern borders of the Provinces - was Don Carlos’ first project which entailed some substantial expenditure.

Like the Inquisition, the Border Patrol drew from the urban poor, who were quite satisfied with relatively low pay and had the incentive to use the position to enrich themselves. The Border Patrol’s mandate was to establish checkpoints at popular thoroughfares along the borders to Protestant Germany, apprehend and record those who were leaving and exact a “toll” approximating the First Heretic Fifth. The information enabling this had been collected in the February Survey of the Provinces.

As always, people managed to find ways around the Border Patrol - which normally numbered less than two hundred men - but its presence posed a considerable obstacle to richer would-be emigrants. This ensured that most of the emigrants leaving the Provinces were poor or what we define today as lower-middle-class. Nonetheless, the Border Patrol was able to turn a meagre profit, most of which went into the pockets of the Stadtholders of Overijssel, Guelders and Zutphen. This net outflow would soon be countered by the influx of economic emigrants from impoverished German states, drawn by the financial pull of Brussels and Amsterdam, who were not apprehended by the Border Patrol - their main mandate was to keep people in, after all. Nonetheless, profits continued to rise as recruitment companies set up shop around Border Patrol outposts, paying the Border Patrol hefty bribes to allow them to record the information of emigrants and reel them into commercial enterprises of dubious legality and profitability.

Fundamentally, the first Carolingian period in the Provinces was one where Don Carlos was still finding his feet. He could not afford to allow full religious toleration and entirely secularize the Inquisition - since Philip II could interfere and wipe clean all that he had wrought in an instant - but he laid the foundations for such a thing to happen in the future. Similarly, the measures which he took to ensure that no one left may have appeared draconian and unsustainable, but they were merely a stopgap measure to stem the tide while his father remained intractable on the issue of religion. Of course, said “stopgap measures” would end up lasting for longer than anyone - even he - could have imagined…

-----

Retrieved from The Late Modern, March 2011 edition. Article by Isaac Leicester.

The Life of Manuel Retif

[…]

In June 1563, Retif officially left the religion of his birth and became a Catholic. This - his cheerful disregard of any and all creeds - would become a recurring theme in his life, a man who “believed in all faiths but committed himself to none”. Descending from his secluded, Huguenot hamlet into Mons, one must imagine that he felt free for the first time in his life.

In Mons, Retif established a reputation for himself as a confidence man and a gifted actor. He was evidently employed by the Inquisition as an informant, travelling all over the Provinces to infiltrate and report on secret Protestant gatherings. Retif’s experience with Protestant ceremony and his convincing cover story (a Protestant brother-in-faith who had escaped persecution in France) won over many underground Protestants, who were soon after arrested by the Inquisition on charges of “fomenting rebellion” and made to pay an exorbitant fine… or, even worse, burnt.

It was in 1565 that Retif’s talent came to the attention of Alexander Farnese, who needed a loyal and gifted actor familiar with Protestant rites to establish a more, shall we say, lasting solution to the Scottish Reformation. Farnese’s scheme was really a plan concocted on the initiative of the then-reigning King of Scotland, Charles, Prince of Asturias… known today as Carlos II of Spain.

[…]

-----

Man in a Red Cap (1571); painted by Jakob Holbein

Jakob Holbein was the second son of Hans Holbein the Younger, an accomplished court painter in Henry VIII's court. A well-traveled merchant, he was one of the first men to use the Spanish Road to travel from the Swiss Confederacy to the Seventeen Provinces. He settled in Brussels and is said to have been patronized by Don Carlos during his time there, after which he entered into the employ of Viglius. During this time, Holbein evidently transitioned completely to a career as an artist and converted to Catholicism. He painted numerous portraits of prominent figures in the Provincial Inquisition; the eponymous "Man in Red Cap" may have been Wilhelm Jansen, who ran Inquisitorial operations in the Duchy of Brabant.​

 

[ATP]

Well,in OTL Inquisition was still better then any other european law enforces.And they work for Spains Kings,not pope.
1.In Lepanto battle Christian win becouse of 6 galleons with oars.Could you make it 10 steam galleons?
2.In OTL Winged hussarls was made as heavy cavalry in 1588,when they beat Habsburgs in Byczyna battle.Could you turn them into Habsburg tool,for example making Charles King of Poland?
3.Please continue.

 

[Neptune1]

15/8/1563

The pastry fell from John of Glymes’ nerveless hands.

“Not bad, isn’t it?” the Prince of Asturias said, one hand on his hips, the other clutching his cane. The Stadtholders of the Seventeen Provinces (most of them, at least) stood, blinking, as William of Orange, mouth agape, grasped the handle and turned it, over and over again. The contraption before them, a dizzying jungle of metal and wood, churned and groaned as it swallowed up more and more wool. Before their eyes, a mountain of thread rose, rose, rose…

Philip de Montmorency cleared his throat. “We have to levy a tax on cloth,” he whispered, and that was enough to break the spell.

Margaret of Parma moved forward and planted one small hand on her nephew’s shoulders. “Have you told anyone of this?” she asked, urgently.

“Of course not.”

“You are blessed,” de Brimeu muttered.

“So I’ve been told,” the Prince quipped, and turned to his aunt again. “Aunt, may I entrust the keys to this room to you?”

The Governor of the Netherlands nodded. “Of course. Do you have the designs?”

“It’s rudimentary.” The Prince scratched his head. “I took a few months to make this - a few hours here and there - it might not work perfectly. You’ll have to send it to a dedicated workshop before it can be successfully implemented.”

“The spinners will be upset,” Jean de Ligne pointed out mildly.

“We can find something for them to do,” William of Orange shrugged, airily. “Send them to the Americas. How much of a fuss can they make?” He tapped his fingers on the steel frame of the massive, room-sized device. “I’d say this would do the work of fifty, a hundred of them. We could outproduce England with ten of these.”

“Actually, there’s one more thing that I need to address.” The Prince of Asturias tapped his cane on the floor. “I’ll be leaving for Valsaín soon. My mother is pregnant again, and my father wants me there to… take care of things.”

“They’ll call you the Midwife Stadtholder,” the Count of Egmont quipped, to general mirth. “Good travels.”

The Stadtholders lined up to offer pleasantries; for all that the strict court ceremony had been gradually eroded, such that Granvelle existed in a state of near-permanent apoplexy, they were still nobles; the Prince of Asturias himself still adhered to a certain level of etiquette. Don Carlos left one week later.

-----

Night and Day: The Rule of Philip II and Carlos II, by Alphonse Perredito. Naples: Bailey Books, 2016. 584pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $43.59. SN-58271-38597-07952.

Pgs. 243 - 248

[…] In contrast to his son, Philip was an obsessive micromanager. Over the course of his life, he conducted numerous other activities - devoting hours to managing monasteries, making countless architectural decisions regarding his palaces, and maintaining his numerous gardens. While some might argue that the various missteps that he took during his reign were a direct result of his broad personal failings - a toxic mix of overweening self-assurance, fanatical religious devotion and inflexibility - it would be more accurate to pinpoint his obsessive personality and inability to manage his priorities as the main reason behind these issues.

[…]

Don Carlos remained the sole person to whom Philip II was willing to delegate to - extensively - although this would soon run into complications […] “Alone of all his servants,” said Don Juan de Silva, “the Prince was accorded, among others, the right to appoint physicians at the Alcazar in Madrid (1561), the right to organize the Spanish Road (1562) and the right to regulate the Inquisition in the Seventeen Provinces (1563).”

One reason for this - despite their obvious differences in demeanour - was that Don Carlos was similar to Philip II in temperament, and maintained the outward appearance of steadfast loyalty towards his father. Like his father, he was scrupulous and fastidious, and demonstrated the “swiftness of wit” and “efficiency of work” that Philip prized both in himself and in his ministers. In his letters, he defended his every action as being “for the benefit of my Father, the King of Spain” - a trend which obsequious courtiers hoping to ingratiate themselves to two Kings of Spain at once never failed to point out.

Another reason was Don Carlos’ flat refusal to involve himself in court factionalism. “He is friends with all, and has no favourites,” said Philip approvingly in a letter to Margaret of Parma. This manifested as a cheerful willingness to get along with both the imperialist and humanist factions at court. […]

-----

9/10/1563

“Carlos!”

I straightened up and stretched one of my arms to the side, oofing a little as my mother almost-but-not-quite collided with me. Behind her, my father took his time in walking over; sometimes, it felt like Elizabeth of Valois was younger than me.

“Mother,” I breathed, holding on for a few moments, and then, extricating myself from her warm arms, “Father.”

“Granvelle has been complaining,” he stated, firmly, fixing me in the eye. “And your methods… there have been rumours.”

“Well, de Zúñiga agreed to it,” I answered, as I hobbled towards the palace-complex of Valsaín, my inventory somewhere in the distance at my back. “You’ll notice that I’ve managed to increase revenues from the Provinces substantially.”

“And they acclaimed you Lord of the Netherlands.” My father shook his head. “I’ve never seen my sister so pleased with herself in a while. I thought I would have to travel to Brussels myself to have the States-General accept you as heir-apparent.” He planted one large hand on my shoulder, such that I nearly tilted to the side dangerously from the uneven distribution of weight. “It is well that you are able to secure such a feat.”

“I had thought that you would be concerned about me reducing the number of heretics burnt,” I answered, surprised.

“I am,” my father answered, as we passed under an arch and into the shade. “Nonetheless - it seems to me that those who are willing to pay a worldly price for their heresy should also be willing to pay the eternal price for their heresy as well. Dead men cannot pay taxes.” He fixed me with a baleful side-eye. “But relaxing heresy laws just to attract merchants - that is dangerous.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You are to marry the Queen of Scots after assisting your mother with her birth,” Philip II continued, changing the subject. “It is well that you have been acclaimed heir-apparent to the Provinces, for it should provide you with adequate stature to wed. I regret that I will be unable to speak with you further; I am occupied with the Turks.”

Yes, I thought, glancing around at the pleasure-palace that my father had retired to, Occupied with the Turks. Certainly. “I will do my best,” I replied, instead, and dipped my head modestly.

A smile, small and grudging, appeared on my father’s face. “Good.” Then he spun around and power-walked into the palace. I was left to hobble my way into the bowels of Valsaín as Elizabeth of Valois did her level best to talk my ear off.

-----

28/10/1563

“You have not been designing as of late, I see,” Philip observed.

His son’s head jerked up with a crack; Philip was struck by the similarity between himself and his son; did he look like this when he was working, as well? Carlos’ table overflowed with papers, most of them stamped with seals which he recognized as originating from the Seventeen Provinces. Philip thought back to his own desk and waited for his son to calm himself before sitting opposite him.

“Were you not working halfway across the palace?” his son inquired.

“I have finished.” Philip selected one sheet of paper at random; out of the corner of his eye, his son pursed his lips. Philip ignored him and retrieved several more sheets. “So, a fall in tax revenues. Have you truly made yourself so indispensable to the governance of the Netherlands?”

“The States of Brabant would prefer that their Stadtholder remain in close proximity to them.” His son shrugged diffidently, though it may merely have been the fact that only one of his shoulders moved. “Control has reverted back to my Aunt, and therefore to Granvelle.”

“You have made your dislike of Granvelle and Titelmann very obvious,” Philip observed. “Especially Titelmann.”

“Their talents would be best employed here.” His son shook his head and started arranging his papers. “The people of the Netherlands - nobility and peasantry alike - strain at the leash. I’ve eased discontent somewhat, but -”

“Eased discontent?” Philip inquired, icily. “You tore down my bishoprics and perverted them.”

His son paused.

“De Zúñiga has recently written to me,” Philip continued, rising to his feet and forcing his son to stand up as well, “and he has informed me that something is very, very rotten in the Provinces.” He towered over his son, even standing up; Carlos had never been the hardiest of men. “Politics! Gold! Does that take precedence over God and the True Faith?”

“He lies,” Carlos answered frantically, keeping his eyes fixed on Philip’s. “De Zúñiga simply wishes for more power for himself. As an Inquisitor - he is striving for more power, like the Pope - yes, exactly like the Pope! Are the cathedrals in Castile and Aragon not yours? The Pope insists on exercising authority over them -”

“He serves me,” Philip sneered, icily. “And you serve me as well. You do not serve William of Orange. You do not serve Margaret of Parma. You do not even serve yourself.”

His son broke his gaze. “Yes, Father.”

“This Stadtholder of Brabant nonsense comes to an end now. You will come with me to El Escorial. You will come with me to Aragon, where I will have you sworn in as heir-apparent by the Cortes. And then you will go to Asturias, where you will conclude the agreement that I have drawn up with the Queen of Scots.” Philip took a breath. “But Lord of the Netherlands you shall be - and if you behave, I shall see to it that you are returned.”

“Your Highness -” came a call, and both men glanced at the door. “The Queen is in labour.”

As Philip hurried ahead, his son’s cane tap-tap-tapping its way down the corridor behind him, he decided not to mention that he would be maintaining his son’s “Heretic Fifth”. And, furthermore, the bishops had already been installed; there was little left to do. There were other matters that occupied his attention, after all, such as the construction of his palace and the war in the Mediterranean. All these things demanded taxes; he could enforce the True Faith at a later date. Yes, at a later date.

-----

Upon Which the Sun Never Sets: The Spanish Empire in the Age of Carlos II, by Anthony Fernando. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2005. 678pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $54.99. SN-79831-59832-39126.

Pgs. 168-173

Chapter III: Don Carlos in the Seventeen Provinces

[…]

Benign Neglect

[…] Although the King had, as he had threatened, stripped the Prince of the Stadtholdership, it was only because he had revised Philip’s own designs. It seems likely that Philip’s anger stemmed more from having his bishopric scheme overturned than from his heir’s bargains with heretics - especially considering that said heretics were delivering a healthy sum of money into his hands, most of which went into fighting the Turk. And, in any case, the heresy laws had not been repealed completely - or so the King must have told himself - they had merely been loosened slightly to provide for maximum gain.

The rise in revenues and fall in complaints that the King received from the Netherlands after his heir’s arrival greatly reduced his burning desire to micromanage things there. Though correspondence arrived regularly, as long as the Inquisition was doing its job (after a fashion) and the tax and manpower kept flowing, he was pleased.

Don Carlos had taken care to maintain a sort of equilibrium at court, with Granvelle and his subordinates fighting tooth-and-nail to centralize further, while the Governor and the Stadtholders, having the Heretic Fifth and a decent working relationship to bind them together, beat back all attempts at such efforts. The Inquisition, under the benevolent but firm grip of Viglius, who remarked to all who met him that he would retire once the Prince returned to the Seventeen Provinces, continued to double as a religious organization and a proto-bureaucracy for the whole of the Netherlands. De Zúñiga, although he had helped to implicate the Prince, was unable to regain complete control over the Inquisition, which had slipped too far out of his reach. Henceforth, although he sided with Granvelle in all things, his sole portfolio would be managing the religious facet of the Inquisition.

Therefore, Granvelle - who was periodically reinforced by Philip - and the Stadtholders exhausted one another, such that Don Carlos’ order in the Netherlands remained predominant. Protestant merchants willingly paid their dues, which did not seem so onerous when they witnessed a few burnings for themselves.

Prosperity surged to as-yet-unforeseen heights, with Philip’s attention directed at the Mediterranean. The exaction of further taxation was met with less unrest than the previous year, as the cloth-spinning factories of the Provinces gradually ramped up production with the use of the Carolingian wheel. Nonetheless, unrest remained - especially from displaced workers, who resented being sent to work in the homes of the wealthy for a living when they had been earning more as spinners in the past. Therefore, while Philip’s “benign neglect” was generally good for the Provinces, not everything was entirely peaceful.

Even as Don Carlos was isolated from the Netherlands - with correspondence intended for the Stadtholder of Brabant being rerouted to Coudenberg - he continued to advise his Aunt on policy, maintaining a separate channel of communication with her. This enabled him to concoct, coordinate and maintain quite possibly the first tax-evasion scheme in modern history. With the assistance of the Stadtholders and Granvelle’s secretaries, who controlled the Cardinal’s access to certain incriminating information (and who had, coincidentally, accumulated a dazzling amount of wealth along the way), Don Carlos had been able to mask just how much the taxation revenues of the Netherlands had risen.

Nonetheless, those revenues which were not given over to Madrid were funneled mostly into causes that Don Carlos deemed important. Military depots, inns and forts sprung up along the Spanish Road, and several villagers in the Provinces were paid a (relatively) generous stipend to report to their local friar, who had - at that point - become entangled in the growing network of the Inquisition.

All this took place without arousing Philip’s suspicions, who, although he enjoyed working tremendously, did not enjoy facing unforeseen problems. Thus, as unrest seemed to fall under a thick blanket across the Seventeen Provinces and taxation remained steady, he continued on his own path, safe in the assumption that nothing was wrong. There was, in fact, nothing wrong, but that would not have seemed to be the case to him at the time.

Of course, this would not last.

[…]

-----

Sketch of the Carolingian Wheel (vastly simplified and improved from the original design)​

 

[Everfew]

Honestly, when this is finished you might think about getting it published. It's really good.

 

[Neptune1]

Honestly, when this is finished you might think about getting it published. It's really good.

Click to shrink...

I'll ask you if I ever need help re: publishing.

-----

Upon Which the Sun Never Sets: The Spanish Empire in the Age of Carlos II, by Anthony Fernando. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2005. 678pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $54.99. SN-79831-59832-39126.

Pgs. 113-114

Chapter II: Don Carlos in Castile and Aragon

[…] At the time of his second departure from Castile, therefore, Don Carlos had acquired an eclectic variety of retainers. As Francisco de Eraso said: “They are greatly illustrious and learned men from every corner of Spain,” and, indeed, “every corner” was something of an understatement. There was Gerolamo Cardano, a famously crotchety and eccentric polymath from Milan, who had left Valsaín in mid-1564 following the successful completion of an improved, Castilian version of the Carolingian wheel, only catching up to the procession on the outskirts of Bilbao. There was Martín de Azpilcueta, called “Dr. Navarrus” for his place of origin, who had been called back from retirement to refine his theories on the value of money at the behest of the Prince, and who served as his proxy in Madrid. There was Alfonso Martínez, of Aragon, who was employed as Don Carlos’ notary from 1564 onwards […]

-----

11/11/1563

Gerolamo Cardano glanced around and settled into his seat, muttering expletives under his breath. Here, in the bowels of Valsaín, he felt supremely out of place. All around him, a vast number of people (at least forty - he’d lost count) sawed, hammered and shouted, feeding wool into one prototype after another and discarding them almost as quickly. Insults flew through the air faster than thought itself, and Gerolamo gave as good as he got. Here, as in Brussels and Pavia, the general sentiment was that he was an irritable, unpleasant old man - albeit a remarkably intelligent, irritable and unpleasant old man.

He'd maintained his provincial outlook since he was a boy, all the way until the Prince of Asturias had sat him down in his modest residence in the Duchy of Milan and cut a deal with him when he was sixty-one in exchange for the life of his firstborn. Never in his life had he dreamt that he would end up in the employ of a Prince - well, never in his life had he imagined that anyone would be able to make him do something against his will. The Prince had raised him up, in exchange for his expertise, and now Cardano was a rich man. Richer than he'd been before, at least.

At least, in theory. It was rather hard to actually be rich, since Cardano was an inveterate gambler and had lost most of the proceeds from the first prototype of the Carolingian wheel within the week. Eventually, though, he'd managed to win the proceeds back - and then some. Then he'd lost it again at another gambling table in Nancy, on the way to Spain. He huffed to himself, briefly, and then got back to work. Later, he found the Prince in his office.

“Cardano.”

“Boy.”

“Any progress?”

“Do you think it's that easy? Keeping your mother from bleeding out was simpler than this.”

“You're not listening to me. Any progress?” The Prince intertwined his fingers and adopted a long-suffering expression.

“No. The labourers are idiots and the spinners keep whining that their fingers hurt." Cardano put a hand to his chin. "And we need more springs - better springs. These ones are too weak."

“The springs I can manage,” the Prince agreed, almost immediately. "Can you speak Scots and Gaelic?"

“Why would I need to speak Scots and Gaelic?”

The Prince smiled. “I am to go to Scotland and be wed. Surely you’ve heard the joyous news.”

Cardano grimaced. "Two things, boy - first, it's not joyous news, and second, I've never spoken Scots or Gaelic in my life, and I don't intend to start now."

"Think about it this way." The Prince spread his arms. "There's a lot of gamblers in Scotland. Centuries from now, they'll speak of you. Imagine that!" He deepened his voice. "Gerolamo Cardano, God of Gamblers. Turned one hundred ducats into a thousand, and a thousand ducats into a million."

"At the height of his powers. In the employ of a cripple." Cardano's voice was flat.

"Just so."

-----

29/12/1563

“Do you like it?” the Prince of Asturias inquired, smiling.

“It’s wonderful,” Rudolf von Habsburg, son and heir to Maximilian II, Holy Roman Emperor, replied, as he gazed at the lemon juice in his cup with some level of reverence. The sun shone down on both of them, pleasantly warm in the winter. Around them, the gardens of Valsaín seemed to stretch for miles. “The taste is so - refreshing.”

The Prince of Asturias - eight years Rudolf’s senior - wrapped an arm around his cousin’s shoulders. “This, Rudolf, is alchemy,” he continued. “Everything is alchemy - it’s not just magistral, or gold, or silver, or anything like that. Poison is alchemy.” Rudolf’s eyes opened wide, but Don Carlos forged on. “Food is alchemy - sugar, salt, spices. Medicine is alchemy.”

“Teach me.”

“Oh, I will.” Don Carlos rose to his feet and winced, fingers tightening around his cane. “Let’s start with silver ore. I’ve got a shipment coming in from Potosi - silver ore, now, Rudolf, listen here.” He kept talking as they made their way slowly out of the gardens. Lemon trees became more and more prominent as they proceeded towards Don Carlos’ laboratory, which rose out of the tangle of vines and tree trunks like a secret, concealed garden. Rudolf gaped.

“You do that every time I bring you here,” Don Carlos grumbled, but he ruffled his nephew’s hair and held the door open for him.

Since it was winter, the interior of the laboratory was considerably warmer than the outside. The two boys removed their cloaks, and Carlos led Rudolf to the carefully labelled glass bottles lining the walls. “Here,” Carlos told him, “are the most vital chemicals necessary for alchemy,” and he named them, one by one. Rudolf found that they had a comforting regularity.

Rudolf now found himself standing in front of a furnace tended by a pair of labourers brought in from Cardano’s workshop. Cardano was a very angry and very scary man, although he had taught Rudolf how to swear in Milanese. Carlos had made him promise not to tell Uncle Philip about that. He watched, mesmerized, as the ore shattered and flattened in the cauldron, his little face streaming with sweat.

From that point onward, he was inseparable from his cousin.

-----

5/1/1564

Philip winced as the horse jolted.

“Are you well?”

“Of course I’m well,” he snapped, and his son’s face flattened. Philip felt, briefly, a pang of guilt, but soon wiped it away; after all, it was his son’s duty to obey him. He had stripped him of the Stadtholdership precisely because of this disobedience. And yet he had just recited the Lord’s Prayer: “Let us forgive those who sin against us.” Yes, Philip was in a bind.

“… I used to be afflicted by it as well,” Carlos was saying, his left leg dangling in the stirrup. “I find that if one consumes more fruit and vegetables, it becomes easier.”

Philip gave no indication that he had heard him, but he sent out orders to procure fruit and vegetables for his consumption. It would prove useful.

-----

29/1/1564

Philip emerged into the courtyard of the Aljafería, blinking in the sunlight (although it was dusk), and stared.

“What are you doing?”

The assembled labourers - and his son, whose hunchback seemed unusually prominent today - abruptly ceased their celebrations. The labourers bowed and scraped, while his son limped over to him. “Father,” he announced, “I have found a way to derive silver from ore.”

“Show me.”

“The ore is grinded and mixed with salt, mercury, magistral - heated in shallow copper vessels - it’s simple.” Carlos guided him forward to gaze into the mouth of one of the copper vessels. “Applied alchemy.” A thick layer of silver had formed over the bubbling mixture; the heat was an almost physical creature, sweeping its fingers through his beard. Philip passed by open vessel after open vessel, and then turned to look at the slime simmering in the sun. “What’s this for, then?”

“It’s another method.” Carlos grabbed another cane - a slightly silver, metallic cane - and stirred the slime. “Again, we grind the ore -” Philip noted a silvery-streaked boulder standing in the shade of the courtyard, surrounded by guards - “and mix with salt, water, magistral, mercury. And we drive the horses around to mix it.” Carlos nodded at a man standing beside the slime, watching it intently; the man jumped up and bowed deeply. “Francisco here is an azoguero - he brought the silver ore over from New Spain. This method takes weeks, while that one takes barely half a day - a full day at maximum -”

“How long have you been preparing this?”

Carlos looked sheepish. “Since Valsaín.”

“And you didn’t tell me.” Something curdled in Philip’s head. Carlos must have seen something of his inner thoughts, for he dipped his head and leaned heavily on his cane.

“I wasn’t sure if it would work.”

“Indeed.” Philip crossed the courtyard and cast his gaze over a row of rough silver ingots, roasting in the sun. “See that knowledge of these two processes finds its way to Juan Sarmiento,” he told his secretary, Pérez. “Also, see that he is still well; he has been sick for some time, and I wish to know if he needs to be replaced.”

Before he returned into the dark corridors of Aljafería, he took up position in front of his son again. “Next time,” he murmured, staring into Carlos’ eyes, “I do not want you conducting any affairs of yours without my consent… even if you believe that it is for the good of Spain. Is this understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

Philip paused and thought of the Lord’s Prayer again. Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who have sinned against us. He looked at his son, then back at the ingots.

“… well done.”

“Thank you, Father.”

As he turned his back on Carlos and stumped back into the shadows, Rudolf appeared from where he had been hiding behind the tall, muscular labourers. The future Holy Roman Emperor shared a glance with his cousin and exhaled in relief.

“More alchemy?”

“Soon, young Archduke,” Pérez answered, sharing a fond glance with Don Carlos. “Soon.” The Prince of Asturias held his hand out and Rudolf wriggled under it, squirming as Don Carlos patted his curls. “Pérez, tell us more about Aragon, why don’t you?”

“Certainly.” Pérez puffed himself up. “Aragon is a most beautiful land, your Highness, have I told you that yet? The jewels of the Mediterranean are here in Aragon - Valencia, Barcelona, Naples, Zaragoza…”

-----

Upon Which the Sun Never Sets: The Spanish Empire in the Age of Carlos II, by Anthony Fernando. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2005. 678pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $54.99. SN-79831-59832-39126.

Pgs. 109-110

Chapter II: Don Carlos in Castile and Aragon

[…] While Don Carlos maintained good relations with both de Silva and the Duke of Alba, he made an effort cultivate a special friendship with Antonio Pérez. Pérez had, partially on his own initiative and partially at Don Carlos' behest, cultivated a number of contacts in the Aragonese Cortes, which he now put at the Prince's disposal. In Monzón, the Prince - although struck down by malaria - was thus able to use Pérez’s network of patronage to paint himself as a person sympathetic to the private privileges of Aragon. The goodwill which he extracted from this meeting would be useful in the distant future […]

At Monzón, the Prince also secured the appointment of Alfonso Martínez, a jurist from Catalonia, as his personal notary, thereby endearing himself further to Aragon, which felt threatened by the Castilian character of Philip II’s government. Pérez and, later, Martínez would be crucial to Carlos' centralizing efforts in Spain during his reign...

-----

Gerolamo Cardano
Back when he worked as a physician, Cardano had left Pavia for Scotland in the 1550s to treat the Archbishop of St. Andrews. He evidently left a great impression on both Scotland and England, for he was called to London to write a horoscope for Edward VI and Mary, Queen of Scots attempted to hire him. Only the Prince of Asturias was able to bind him to his service, and even so, he entered into Don Carlos' employ grudgingly. If the Prince of Asturias had not saved his son from a beheading, Cardano would not have joined him in the first place.​

 

[Neptune1]

12/4/1564

“Welcome,” the Prince said, grandly, and shook Martín de Azpilcueta’s hand. At their back, an imposing stone-and-brick palace loomed. It was a nameless fortress, located somewhere in the vicinity of a nameless village in the Kingdom of Aragon, its purpose lost to the sands of time - relevant for the sole reason that it was housing the King of Spain and the Prince of Asturias within its confines for the day. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Señor Azpilcueta.”

“It is my honour, your Highness,” Martín answered, bowing his head. He was an old man - well past his seventieth year - but he was still sprightly, and possessed a sort of grave nobility. “Am I to meet the King soon?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” the Prince answered, hobbling into the shade with Martín. They walked at a slow pace - as much for Martín’s benefit as it was for the Prince’s. “He’s preoccupied with business, of course - speaking with a representative from the Council of Finance - but -?”

“The Council of Finance?” Martín inquired.

“I believe so, yes.” The Prince blinked. “You’re not going to…”

“I believe I am,” Martín concluded. His eyes twinkled. “One thing I learnt at the University of Salamanca, your Highness, is that the best way to come to a lasting consensus is to embark on a debate of the issue.”

-----

Upon Which the Sun Never Sets: The Spanish Empire in the Age of Carlos II, by Anthony Fernando. New Orleans: FDL Publishing, 2005. 678pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $54.99. SN-79831-59832-39126.

Pgs. 110-111

Chapter II: Don Carlos in Castile and Aragon

[…] Not much is known of what transpired between de Azpilcueta and de Eraso, given Philip’s penchant for secrecy. There were only four men in the room - Philip, Carlos, de Azpilcueta and de Eraso - and none of them spoke about what happened after the fact. What is clear, however, is that immediately after de Azpilcueta was formerly introduced to Philip, he opened with a blistering criticism of de Eraso’s policy as President of the Council of Finance - a criticism that de Eraso immediately contested vociferously. […]

The eventual conclusion of the impromptu debate - which probably lasted at least thirty minutes - left Philip convinced of four things: first, that Castile had to radically intensify its industrial production if it was to succeed; second, that mortgaging American silver was not a viable way forward; third, that his Council of Finance was woefully under-equipped to meet the actual demands of the economy; and, fourth, that de Azpilcueta had to join the Council of Finance.

De Azpilcueta initially refused to join the Council of Finance, but after substantial coaxing by Don Carlos and the very, very grudging assent of de Eraso, he gave in and subsequently travelled with Don Carlos and Philip to Aragon, parting ways with them midway on their journey to Bilbao…

-----

5/5/1564

John of Austria dismounted from his horse and ran into the bowels of the castle. He was not familiar with it, but he could probably find his way around. Servants and courtiers bowed lowly as he passed, but he could spare them no attention. Eventually, the number of people in the corridors thinned out, and he had to pass a number of guards; this alerted him to the fact that he was entering into the heavily-guarded portion of the castle. A scullery maid yielded before his affections and pointed him in the right direction.

“And how are you enjoying Monzón, dear nephew?” he inquired, as he shut the door behind him.

“Don’t come near,” the Prince of Asturias grumbled, but he was smiling. “The malaria might pass to you.” His frame was almost swallowed up by the mattress. He’d always been sickly; malaria was just one of the illnesses that he tended to be struck down by at times, but his bouts of sickness were fewer and further between as he got older. It was a terrible time to fall ill, though.

John glanced down at the floor and noticed a white line scratched out across the stone. “What is this for?”

“Don’t step past that line,” his nephew replied, his thin, misshapen frame rising out of the sheets like a spectre. There were circles under his eyes; he grasped a mug beside him and took a small sip from it. “If you come closer, you might fall ill as well.”

“You’re always right,” John agreed amiably. His nephew snorted. “What’s that you’re drinking?”

“Quinine from Peru. The Jesuits sent it over.”

“Exotic… is it working?”

“I pray that it does. Otherwise, Father’s physicians will administer bloodletting and clysters on the morrow.” His nephew stood up on tiptoes, grimacing as the bones in his back popped, and settled back in bed slowly. “Is my father working?”

“Presumably.”

“I’m the heir-apparent to Aragon now.”

“So I’ve heard.” John smiled. “Truly, a terrible fate. And I hear that even worse fates await you!”

“I’m marrying a woman two years older than me. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s not the age that’s the problem, it’s the whole idea of marriage! Alexander taught me that much before he ran for Brussels.” John tilted his head. “Speaking of which, how is he?”

“Alexander? Having the time of his life. He’s helping Aunt Margaret run the Provinces.”

“All grown up.” John put a hand to his heart. “Well - I’ll be nearby if you need me.” He opened the door and paused. “It’s good to see you again, Carlos.”

“You too, John.”

-----

27/6/1564

“Cardano.”

“Boy.” Gerolamo Cardano turned around to glare at the guards and shut the door behind him. With a grunt, he collapsed into the padded chair opposite the Prince’s desk. “It’s done.”

“The wheel?”

“The wheel.” Cardano lifted out a spool of thread and tossed it onto the table; it clanged as it hit the wood. The Prince held it between his fingers and squinted at it. “It’s been calibrated to be more accommodating to wool. In Castile, I understand, the primary textile is wool; in the Seventeen Provinces, the primary textile is cotton.” Cardano shrugged. “I shrunk the measurements here and extended the spindles there… child’s play.”

“And how much did you make at the gambling tables?”

“Valsaín is not a particularly welcoming environment for gambling,” Cardano snorted. “Slim pickings, boy… slim pickings.”

“Hmmm.” The Prince tapped his chin. He had begun growing a thin, carefully maintained beard. “Cardano, have you ever thought of setting up a gambling-house?”

“A what?” Cardano could not disguise the flicker of interest in his eyes.

“A gambling-house. You know, a house specifically for gambling - where you could gamble to your heart’s content all year long.” The Prince reached into his drawer and withdrew a pack of playing cards, a pair of dice and a little bowl containing a single ball. “I had a minor epiphany while on the outskirts of Monzón. I call it ruleta. See, the ball rolls around the wheel…”

Cardano leaned forward.

-----

With Secrecy and Dissimulation: The Life of Philip II of Spain, by Gordon Kohl. Strasburg: El Principe Press, 1999. 764pp. Notes, index, bibliography. Paper, $54.99. SN-74531-50982-39134.

Pgs. 265-268

Road Trip

In late 1563, after the birth of Infanta Katherine, Philip and Carlos left Valsaín and the Queen to embark on a procession over the next six months which would wander across Aragon, and eventually set a course straight for Bilbao, where the Prince of Asturias was to travel to Scotland to wed Queen Mary in person.

What happened over the course of the procession between father and son is a mystery, but what little is known points to gradual reconciliation regarding Carlos’ policies of religious toleration in the Seventeen Provinces, in addition to several other incidents where either father or son fell ill, such as Philip’s tendency towards piles and Carlos’ bouts with malaria. The climax at Valsaín - where Philip’s paranoia had peaked and where he had - for the first time - seriously considered detaining his heir - was now receding rapidly into the distance.

The reasons for this are manifold. Carlos was dear to Elizabeth of Valois, who Philip wished to please, and he had come to rely on Carlos to ensure the health of his wife in childbirth - a task that the Prince would carry out faithfully until Philip’s death. Furthermore, the Prince was a useful pawn in Philip’s schemes - he was to marry Mary Stuart and play a vital role in returning England to Catholicism (a role which the Prince himself knew little and thought even less of). Furthermore, there was also a component of real gratitude towards the Prince. The Netherlands - which had protested the heavy hand of Madrid in its affairs for a long time - now seemed quiescent, and there was no denying that the Prince had an astute scientific mind.

This “quiescence” agitated Pope Pius IV, who wrote to Philip in February 1564, castigating him over his “accommodation of heresy”. The letter - while genuine in its outrage - had arrived at a bad time; in January, evidently, Philip and Carlos had reconciled. The reconciliation was so quick that Pérez reported seeing “The King and Prince seated together in the King’s office, with the King’s eyes closed as he dictated his correspondence to the Prince” by early March. The King’s response to the Pope contained several of the arguments that the Prince had used; heretics were still being burnt, heresy was still being extirpated and the taxation was necessary. Instead, Philip reproached, the Pope should have enabled him to collect a further portion of tax from the monasteries and assorted other Papacy-linked institutions in Spain, so that “I would not be forced to choose between accommodating the infidel [the Ottoman Empire] or the heretic [Dutch Protestants].”

Over the course of the tour, Philip and Carlos evidently discussed the “extravagant and wasteful spending undertaken by the Court” (as recorded by Pérez with a hint of annoyance). While this had virtually zero impact on the King’s spending on his own lifestyle in the long run, festivities along the route noticeably decreased in magnificence. Similarly, it was observed by courtiers that “the less the King spent, the livelier he became” - a trend that increased his own productivity.

We know also that, most likely at Aljafería, Carlos showed his father some of the chemical work that he had been involved in, for Philip later wrote in a letter to his half-sister, Margaret of Parma:

He has concocted several highly potent potions which I have duly noted. The processes are deceptively simple but require much material and effort to bring to fruition.

The chemical work which he had been involved in predominantly comprised of the development of two crucial silver-extraction processes - pan amalgamation and the patio process - which would propel American revenues to unheard-of heights and aid Philip in repaying his loans in brief periods of peace.

Thereafter, at one of his palaces, Don Carlos introduced Philip to Martín de Azpilcueta, a noted economist who would serve under Philip until the end of his life. De Azpilcueta’s first meeting with the King involved a spirited debate with Francisco de Eraso which left a deep impression on Philip, eventually driving him to appoint de Azpilcueta to the Council of Finance.

In Monzón, the King and Prince met with the Cortes, which apparently became eager to expedite the process of confirming him as heir-apparent when it became clear that the Prince was suffering from malaria. Due to the Prince’s illness, Philip was forced to remain in Monzón for a duration of time, where he met his half-brother, Don Juan of Austria. The “miraculous” recovery of the Prince from malaria within a comparatively brief period of time mystified the Aragonese Cortes, who listened intently to the Prince’s account of his use of quinine and promised to cultivate it wherever it was possible.

As the procession wound its way west, towards Bilbao, the King also ordered the construction of several new roads, irrigation facilities and port facilities, while further tightening his own spending. This is expected to be due to the influence of Carlos, who would turn out to be even more frugal than his father. Of course, the “Philippine projects” would take longer than expected to complete - not least due to Philip’s predilection for war over peace - and be concluded only in the last years of his reign.

Midway through the procession, the household of Archduke Rudolf headed for Madrid. The future Holy Roman Emperor had spent over four months in the company of his uncle and cousin, and it would not be a stretch to say that it had been a formative time in his life. Rudolf would maintain a stream of healthy correspondence with Don Carlos for the rest of his life, accomplishing his mother’s goal of reducing discord between the two branches of the House of Habsburg […] A question mark throughout this period, however, is the whereabouts of Rudolf’s younger brother, the Archduke Ernest. It seems likely that he remained at Valsaín to dote on his infant cousin, for it would be a period in his life that he remembered for some time - especially when he married her (PAGE IS SMUDGED) later.

In August 1564, Philip and Carlos arrived in Bilbao - Philip’s first and last time in the city. There, they dwelt for a week while supplies and men arrived. On 10 August, Carlos left for Scotland, after which Philip immediately returned to Madrid, determined to take advantage of the relatively peaceful lull in the Mediterranean to contest Ottoman naval power. […]

Another odd consequence of the tour was a change in Philip’s relatively constant diet. Since it comprised predominantly meat and fish, he often suffered from constipation and piles due to the lack of fiber in his diet - a problem which was evidently resolved during the tour. After the tour, Philip made a concerted effort to consume more fruit and vegetables, and incorporated this effort into his personal landscaping projects. How this problem was resolved remains a mystery.

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Martín de Azpilcueta, "Doctor Navarrus". Served on the Council of Finance until his death. Generally considered to have contributed considerably to the professionalization of the Council of Finance under Philip II, with a number of career bureaucrats being ousted in favour of merchants and businessmen from the northern cities of Castile. Notoriously incorruptible on account of his old age and religiosity.​

 

[Sayle]

I was listening to a BBC radio talk on gambling and probability, and who should come up but our friend Cardano. Talking about the probability of certain results in dice - that there are six ways to have a result of 7, but only one way to have a result of 2 or 12.