((Big ol' thanks to Mars))
The King was standing on the sea shore and looking at the breezy waters. He always liked the salty smell – and here, in Costa Blanca, it was especially good. After the long and tiring work on the decrees and before the long and tiring work that would take place after the new legislature opens, Felipe needed this gulp of fresh air. Over the month he rode from one Spanish region to the other, inspecting the local governments – and the province of Alicante definitely was of his liking. – Do you feel it? – he asked his retinue, watching the white sails of a merchant ship disappearing in the blue skyline. – It goes through your nostrils right into lungs. Very healthy. Then he looked at one of the men standing near him – in fact, one of the most important men in the ensemble, the Secretary for Justice and Interior, the Count of Pontevedra. As it sometimes happened, the Sovereign, while speaking about some base subjects, was thinking more important matters over – and then moved on to them. – I have heard Don Carlos Ponce de Leon has kindly chosen to join us again, when any danger ended? - he asked his secret police chief rather casually, as the green waves licked his high boots. Then he shook his head with disgust, his lips becoming one strict line. After all, despite having to grow up very quickly, Felipe was still young and his sarcasm often was overpowered by stronger emotions. – It is disgrace, a damned disgrace! A War Minister – not a simple soldier – deserting his position and, leaving his subordinates, running into Niger Delta! And it was when civilian men of very senior age, like the good Duke of Escalona, chose to stand by their King and Country.
“Perhaps the good general had heard about the young Prince’s reform plans and had bravely chosen to oversee their implementation in Africa himself.” the Count of Pontevedra replied, his smile hidden under the shadow of his moustache. “I would suggest making such a move more permanent, myself. If the War Secretary is so eager to see the African shore, who are we to deprive him of such a luxury?” The Count stood several feet behind the King; his boots may have been well-worn, but he had precious few pairs of them to sacrifice them to Neptune’s domain; besides, he had little love for the tempestuous ocean himself - too chaotic.
“Indeed. The concept of military honor seems to be alien to this officer. I would be grateful if you, my lord of Pontevedra, informed the… ex… War Secretary of my displeasure. He would serve in Niger Delta and should not be seen in my mainland possessions until he redeems himself by blood… his own or the blood of our enemies.” - the voice of the King became steely and his gaze now was far from friendly. After a few seconds of silent musings he added, almost softly. “ If he would not do that, he would not be simply dishonorably discharged - but court-martialed for desertion.” Then the Monarch picked up a small rock - and almost mechanically flicked it, watching the boulder disappear in the water. Then he changed the topic, moving to other matters. “The elections of the Royal Assembly would happen soon. I do hope that the Spanish people would sent reasonable people there, supporters of order. Do you get any information from the local governors, regarding the potential voters groups?”
“I can assure you the former matter will be done soon enough.” The Count paused briefly “as for the voters,” he said with disgust obvious in his voice, “I’ve heard varying reports from the governors - I have already taken immediate steps to bolster royalist support wherever possible, though I feel that greater will be needed to secure the Assembly’s unyielding loyalty to the Crown. As it stands, it seems that the forces of radicalism have organised more swiftly than our own; I can delay them for some time, but I do fear that we may need to organise our own faction to most effectively challenge the left.” Pontevedra, still several feet away from the lapping waves, had advanced somewhat far ahead of the King, his small eyes staring out at the horizon.
Felipe, tired of watching the stormy sea, turned around and started walking across the shore, followed by the noblemen of his escort. He absent-mindedly picked a big white clam and raised it to his ear. When he was but a small boy, his father told him that if you do that, you can hear the noises of the ocean. Much has changed since these times - and yet these strange sounds remained the same. Then he looked at his Interior Minister - whose last words he was thinking over during the next several minutes. “It is a wise thought, Count. People of tradition need to understand - if they would not use the new system to acquire places in the Assembly, their opponents may be seen as only true representatives of the Spanish electorate - and only source of proposals and ideas coming from this Assembly.. And I certainly would not want the voice of conservatives not to be heard.” The King looked at the chief of secret police and smiled. “Surely it would not be hard for you and people sharing your thoughts to organize such a faction. Speaking of factions… I hear Senor Aldecanta is wishing to create one as well?”
“Yes, Your Grace, so it seems. The Movement for Liberty, he calls it, I believe. Wholly unacceptable in my opinion, for a number of reasons. No doubt he is in a furore over my reluctance to legitimise his radical movement - he may well write to you on the matter, grasping and petty as he is.” The Count turned to look that King. “Senor Aldecanta is under the impression that a party that rejects Catholic dominance over the nation, a party that cedes our ability to protect the economic well-being of our industries by way of tariff and subsidy, and - most alarmingly - a party composed almost wholly of revolutionaries and radicals who sought to overthrow Your Majesty but a year ago, should be welcomed openly. I fear his delusions remain as troublesome as ever.”
“Aldecanta. You know, some of sentimental fools criticized the decision to pardon him - but hang these rebels that were in his employ. But I believe it is a right decision.” - Felipe clenched his teeth rather bitterly. The year that passed made him grow up very quick - and killed much of the youthful happiness that had once existed in his spirit. Perhaps his grandfather felt the same when his own brother send him to exile? Or when he had to raise the sword against his niece, fighting for the rights given to him by God? A path of the King is not a field of roses. “The alliance of goons with long knives and politicians with long tongues - this what makes rebellions dangerous. However if you separate ones from the others…” As he spoke, the King broke the clam into two parts - and then threw both in the ocean. His lips curled, as he saw them drown. “The goons learn better than going to their death upon orders from the so-called politicians.The politicians learn better than to thrust themselves into illegal activities. And in this sense… among the so-called liberal leaders... Aldecanta is a better option, do you not think so?” The eyes of the King were saying more than his words, he winked to his Minister, for a moment starting to look boyish again. But then it would be gone. “If he reaches out to me, I would perhaps see to the matter… By the way, the Lord Chamberlain has written to me.” The face of Felipe became concerned again. “He says my brother, Fernando, is gone. The Lord Chamberlain says he assailed one of the guardsmen and then disappeared. He is afraid he may have gone mad. Have you been reported about this?”
The Count replied immediately. “I heard about his disappearance only a short while ago, myself. Unfortunately, I have been unable to determine his whereabouts - there are still holes in our intelligence, and it seems even princes can slip through the cracks. As for his sanity, I cannot attest one way or the other; I spoke with him but a few times, and even then it was several months ago.” Pontevedra then turned the conversation back what he deemed to be the more important matter. “I suppose, in regards to Aldecanta, that those who oppose your actions call the move expedient. Perhaps it was, Your Grace. However, I would have done it no differently had I been in your place - pragmatism, whilst unpopular at times, is usually the proper course. Your actions not only prevented civil war, but seems to have broken apart the liberal revolutionaries who followed Aldecanta. We need only sweep aside the refuse at our convenience in the future. And I agree with you - it is better to fight the enemy you know than to act foolishly and create new ones.” Pontevedra maintained a demure expression as he replied to the King. The Count, for all his bluster and argumentation during the meeting between the liberals and the Crown, had found the solution proposed by the King to be eminently reasonable; indeed, his bluster had been to some extent a ploy to draw the revolutionaries in. Now, as it seemed the liberals were now playing ball, so to speak, they would be easily contained.
“Take the necessary measures to find him. He is a hothead even in when he is normal - and if something indeed has happened to his mental health…” - the King shrugged. He remembered the unstable stepmother their father has brought into the family. There was no blood ties between them - and yet somehow the Sovereign could not help thinking about her. It is not good if his rash brother would get into some scandal. Then he nodded, as the Count spoke. This man understood him - and always served him well. He had both mind and spine - not something you would find too often these days. “Louis XVI was sentimental - and he made wrong decisions. My father was sentimental as well. I cannot afford myself this luxury.” If Felipe has been taught something by the events of the latter days - in order to fulfill the duty before God and preserve the Spanish realm, he should, first of all, appeal to his mind, not his heart. Even if sometimes the emotions overcome you - they should be your servants, not masters. How can a King rule the realm, if he does not even rule himself? Sadly, many of the royals, like his brother Fernando, did not understand that, driven by their passions. “The War Office is vacant now - and it would not be easy to find an appropriate replacement. I know you have much on your platter, but perhaps, until the new Secretary is chosen, you could assist me to oversee the pending affairs of the department, regarding the reforms of Infante Pelayo and so on? ”
“I may not be a military man, Your Grace, but I believe that I can suitably oversee the reforms proposed by your royal brother; I doubt my time will be tested too greatly by this additional set of duties. As for finding Infante Fernando, I can make no guarantees, though I shall take every effort possible to retrieve him.” The King seemed deep in thought, perhaps over the matter of his brother, or possibly considering the actions of his late father; Pontevedra had his own thoughts on those matters, but he had little desire to speak so freely about the King’s family unless asked specifically on just that. “I do believe you’re right in reining in your emotions, and if I may be so bold, it marks a strong divorce from the policies of your royal father; he had a tendency, as I believe he said himself, to sweep aside issues out of sight, allowing the present situation to fester. I can say safely that your actions thus far have greatly relieved me; so long as we remain on the present course, I believe these threats shall be safely contained.” The Count said with his usual pleasantness, his voice neutral and soft.
“Some of the consequences of the past decade are indeed unpleasant. Remember how during the disorders some members of the Royal Audiencia and even two Viceroys supported the riots? And all of these people were appointed or confirmed by the Crown! We need to review the lists of the local appointed officials and make necessary changes - and in the future be more careful in such cases. The government has been too careless - and when one is careless, it quickly becomes weak and vulnerable” - the King finally stopped walking from one beach to the other. Many of his courtiers, who were much older and not so strong, were already relaxing and sitting on the golden sand. While the King was privately conversing with the Minister, they talked as well - whispering, gossiping and exchanging news. The Sovereign made a sign to his aide, indicating they would be returning to the carriages. As the procession started moving again, the King looked at Pontevedra. “I truly value your exemplary service, Count, and want you to know that. If you would need to inform me of something important - you can come to me personally at any time, without any formalities and lingering.” As the Monarch and his men were striding away from the sea, the roar of the waves and the hoarse cries of the seagulls became more and more distant. And yet the salty aroma was still tickling the nostrils of Felipe - and did not fade until they reached the city.
The Count listened to the King placidly, much like how the ocean had bowed to him before the stormclouds came into view. He agreed with His Majesty, fully of course, though that needn’t be said - it was obvious. He watched as the retinue began to gather at the King’s command - his small brown eyes scanned over each and every one of them, cold and cautious. Not one of them struck Pontevedra as a man of worth; they lacked the courage of conviction and the strength of will, or the sense of being, to be effective tools of the King. If push came to shove, he had little doubt that they would step aside at the moment most convenient - that or rush foolishly ahead and merely get slaughtered. His mind soon turned away from the retainers - they had occupied a scarce amount of it to start with - and instead he began to consider what his next steps should be. He fully expected the liberals to be stymied; they lacked the guile to challenge the Crown. But he doubted that even if Aldecanta fell, or even if a hundred of them, or a thousand, along with him, that the liberals would be stopped. Perhaps he was only plugging up the dam, and the flood was just crack away from breaking through. Fortunately, Spain was in the hands of a competent mason, at least for the nonce. Pontevedra followed the king back to the city, the same demure coldness across his heavy face.
The King was standing on the sea shore and looking at the breezy waters. He always liked the salty smell – and here, in Costa Blanca, it was especially good. After the long and tiring work on the decrees and before the long and tiring work that would take place after the new legislature opens, Felipe needed this gulp of fresh air. Over the month he rode from one Spanish region to the other, inspecting the local governments – and the province of Alicante definitely was of his liking. – Do you feel it? – he asked his retinue, watching the white sails of a merchant ship disappearing in the blue skyline. – It goes through your nostrils right into lungs. Very healthy. Then he looked at one of the men standing near him – in fact, one of the most important men in the ensemble, the Secretary for Justice and Interior, the Count of Pontevedra. As it sometimes happened, the Sovereign, while speaking about some base subjects, was thinking more important matters over – and then moved on to them. – I have heard Don Carlos Ponce de Leon has kindly chosen to join us again, when any danger ended? - he asked his secret police chief rather casually, as the green waves licked his high boots. Then he shook his head with disgust, his lips becoming one strict line. After all, despite having to grow up very quickly, Felipe was still young and his sarcasm often was overpowered by stronger emotions. – It is disgrace, a damned disgrace! A War Minister – not a simple soldier – deserting his position and, leaving his subordinates, running into Niger Delta! And it was when civilian men of very senior age, like the good Duke of Escalona, chose to stand by their King and Country.
“Perhaps the good general had heard about the young Prince’s reform plans and had bravely chosen to oversee their implementation in Africa himself.” the Count of Pontevedra replied, his smile hidden under the shadow of his moustache. “I would suggest making such a move more permanent, myself. If the War Secretary is so eager to see the African shore, who are we to deprive him of such a luxury?” The Count stood several feet behind the King; his boots may have been well-worn, but he had precious few pairs of them to sacrifice them to Neptune’s domain; besides, he had little love for the tempestuous ocean himself - too chaotic.
“Indeed. The concept of military honor seems to be alien to this officer. I would be grateful if you, my lord of Pontevedra, informed the… ex… War Secretary of my displeasure. He would serve in Niger Delta and should not be seen in my mainland possessions until he redeems himself by blood… his own or the blood of our enemies.” - the voice of the King became steely and his gaze now was far from friendly. After a few seconds of silent musings he added, almost softly. “ If he would not do that, he would not be simply dishonorably discharged - but court-martialed for desertion.” Then the Monarch picked up a small rock - and almost mechanically flicked it, watching the boulder disappear in the water. Then he changed the topic, moving to other matters. “The elections of the Royal Assembly would happen soon. I do hope that the Spanish people would sent reasonable people there, supporters of order. Do you get any information from the local governors, regarding the potential voters groups?”
“I can assure you the former matter will be done soon enough.” The Count paused briefly “as for the voters,” he said with disgust obvious in his voice, “I’ve heard varying reports from the governors - I have already taken immediate steps to bolster royalist support wherever possible, though I feel that greater will be needed to secure the Assembly’s unyielding loyalty to the Crown. As it stands, it seems that the forces of radicalism have organised more swiftly than our own; I can delay them for some time, but I do fear that we may need to organise our own faction to most effectively challenge the left.” Pontevedra, still several feet away from the lapping waves, had advanced somewhat far ahead of the King, his small eyes staring out at the horizon.
Felipe, tired of watching the stormy sea, turned around and started walking across the shore, followed by the noblemen of his escort. He absent-mindedly picked a big white clam and raised it to his ear. When he was but a small boy, his father told him that if you do that, you can hear the noises of the ocean. Much has changed since these times - and yet these strange sounds remained the same. Then he looked at his Interior Minister - whose last words he was thinking over during the next several minutes. “It is a wise thought, Count. People of tradition need to understand - if they would not use the new system to acquire places in the Assembly, their opponents may be seen as only true representatives of the Spanish electorate - and only source of proposals and ideas coming from this Assembly.. And I certainly would not want the voice of conservatives not to be heard.” The King looked at the chief of secret police and smiled. “Surely it would not be hard for you and people sharing your thoughts to organize such a faction. Speaking of factions… I hear Senor Aldecanta is wishing to create one as well?”
“Yes, Your Grace, so it seems. The Movement for Liberty, he calls it, I believe. Wholly unacceptable in my opinion, for a number of reasons. No doubt he is in a furore over my reluctance to legitimise his radical movement - he may well write to you on the matter, grasping and petty as he is.” The Count turned to look that King. “Senor Aldecanta is under the impression that a party that rejects Catholic dominance over the nation, a party that cedes our ability to protect the economic well-being of our industries by way of tariff and subsidy, and - most alarmingly - a party composed almost wholly of revolutionaries and radicals who sought to overthrow Your Majesty but a year ago, should be welcomed openly. I fear his delusions remain as troublesome as ever.”
“Aldecanta. You know, some of sentimental fools criticized the decision to pardon him - but hang these rebels that were in his employ. But I believe it is a right decision.” - Felipe clenched his teeth rather bitterly. The year that passed made him grow up very quick - and killed much of the youthful happiness that had once existed in his spirit. Perhaps his grandfather felt the same when his own brother send him to exile? Or when he had to raise the sword against his niece, fighting for the rights given to him by God? A path of the King is not a field of roses. “The alliance of goons with long knives and politicians with long tongues - this what makes rebellions dangerous. However if you separate ones from the others…” As he spoke, the King broke the clam into two parts - and then threw both in the ocean. His lips curled, as he saw them drown. “The goons learn better than going to their death upon orders from the so-called politicians.The politicians learn better than to thrust themselves into illegal activities. And in this sense… among the so-called liberal leaders... Aldecanta is a better option, do you not think so?” The eyes of the King were saying more than his words, he winked to his Minister, for a moment starting to look boyish again. But then it would be gone. “If he reaches out to me, I would perhaps see to the matter… By the way, the Lord Chamberlain has written to me.” The face of Felipe became concerned again. “He says my brother, Fernando, is gone. The Lord Chamberlain says he assailed one of the guardsmen and then disappeared. He is afraid he may have gone mad. Have you been reported about this?”
The Count replied immediately. “I heard about his disappearance only a short while ago, myself. Unfortunately, I have been unable to determine his whereabouts - there are still holes in our intelligence, and it seems even princes can slip through the cracks. As for his sanity, I cannot attest one way or the other; I spoke with him but a few times, and even then it was several months ago.” Pontevedra then turned the conversation back what he deemed to be the more important matter. “I suppose, in regards to Aldecanta, that those who oppose your actions call the move expedient. Perhaps it was, Your Grace. However, I would have done it no differently had I been in your place - pragmatism, whilst unpopular at times, is usually the proper course. Your actions not only prevented civil war, but seems to have broken apart the liberal revolutionaries who followed Aldecanta. We need only sweep aside the refuse at our convenience in the future. And I agree with you - it is better to fight the enemy you know than to act foolishly and create new ones.” Pontevedra maintained a demure expression as he replied to the King. The Count, for all his bluster and argumentation during the meeting between the liberals and the Crown, had found the solution proposed by the King to be eminently reasonable; indeed, his bluster had been to some extent a ploy to draw the revolutionaries in. Now, as it seemed the liberals were now playing ball, so to speak, they would be easily contained.
“Take the necessary measures to find him. He is a hothead even in when he is normal - and if something indeed has happened to his mental health…” - the King shrugged. He remembered the unstable stepmother their father has brought into the family. There was no blood ties between them - and yet somehow the Sovereign could not help thinking about her. It is not good if his rash brother would get into some scandal. Then he nodded, as the Count spoke. This man understood him - and always served him well. He had both mind and spine - not something you would find too often these days. “Louis XVI was sentimental - and he made wrong decisions. My father was sentimental as well. I cannot afford myself this luxury.” If Felipe has been taught something by the events of the latter days - in order to fulfill the duty before God and preserve the Spanish realm, he should, first of all, appeal to his mind, not his heart. Even if sometimes the emotions overcome you - they should be your servants, not masters. How can a King rule the realm, if he does not even rule himself? Sadly, many of the royals, like his brother Fernando, did not understand that, driven by their passions. “The War Office is vacant now - and it would not be easy to find an appropriate replacement. I know you have much on your platter, but perhaps, until the new Secretary is chosen, you could assist me to oversee the pending affairs of the department, regarding the reforms of Infante Pelayo and so on? ”
“I may not be a military man, Your Grace, but I believe that I can suitably oversee the reforms proposed by your royal brother; I doubt my time will be tested too greatly by this additional set of duties. As for finding Infante Fernando, I can make no guarantees, though I shall take every effort possible to retrieve him.” The King seemed deep in thought, perhaps over the matter of his brother, or possibly considering the actions of his late father; Pontevedra had his own thoughts on those matters, but he had little desire to speak so freely about the King’s family unless asked specifically on just that. “I do believe you’re right in reining in your emotions, and if I may be so bold, it marks a strong divorce from the policies of your royal father; he had a tendency, as I believe he said himself, to sweep aside issues out of sight, allowing the present situation to fester. I can say safely that your actions thus far have greatly relieved me; so long as we remain on the present course, I believe these threats shall be safely contained.” The Count said with his usual pleasantness, his voice neutral and soft.
“Some of the consequences of the past decade are indeed unpleasant. Remember how during the disorders some members of the Royal Audiencia and even two Viceroys supported the riots? And all of these people were appointed or confirmed by the Crown! We need to review the lists of the local appointed officials and make necessary changes - and in the future be more careful in such cases. The government has been too careless - and when one is careless, it quickly becomes weak and vulnerable” - the King finally stopped walking from one beach to the other. Many of his courtiers, who were much older and not so strong, were already relaxing and sitting on the golden sand. While the King was privately conversing with the Minister, they talked as well - whispering, gossiping and exchanging news. The Sovereign made a sign to his aide, indicating they would be returning to the carriages. As the procession started moving again, the King looked at Pontevedra. “I truly value your exemplary service, Count, and want you to know that. If you would need to inform me of something important - you can come to me personally at any time, without any formalities and lingering.” As the Monarch and his men were striding away from the sea, the roar of the waves and the hoarse cries of the seagulls became more and more distant. And yet the salty aroma was still tickling the nostrils of Felipe - and did not fade until they reached the city.
The Count listened to the King placidly, much like how the ocean had bowed to him before the stormclouds came into view. He agreed with His Majesty, fully of course, though that needn’t be said - it was obvious. He watched as the retinue began to gather at the King’s command - his small brown eyes scanned over each and every one of them, cold and cautious. Not one of them struck Pontevedra as a man of worth; they lacked the courage of conviction and the strength of will, or the sense of being, to be effective tools of the King. If push came to shove, he had little doubt that they would step aside at the moment most convenient - that or rush foolishly ahead and merely get slaughtered. His mind soon turned away from the retainers - they had occupied a scarce amount of it to start with - and instead he began to consider what his next steps should be. He fully expected the liberals to be stymied; they lacked the guile to challenge the Crown. But he doubted that even if Aldecanta fell, or even if a hundred of them, or a thousand, along with him, that the liberals would be stopped. Perhaps he was only plugging up the dam, and the flood was just crack away from breaking through. Fortunately, Spain was in the hands of a competent mason, at least for the nonce. Pontevedra followed the king back to the city, the same demure coldness across his heavy face.
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