1795
How monstrous. How vile. How indecent and ungrateful.
Spain was willing to remain neutral about France's issue. Although he didn't like that anti-Catholic trend at all, he was willing to give the Republic a chance to prove its good qualities. After all, they were technically married, and had to give him his support. Not that he felt strong enough to fight France at that moment. But when the king and queen's heads rolled, Spain understood Charles' anger and terror. Louis XVI was his family, after all. Like many other nations, he thought of teaching France to respect monarchy. He even decided to put his differences with England aside and join in order to defend each other and their respective royal families from this atrocity. Portugal joined them.
However, France's own people, seeing him corrupted with the vices of the old power, thought there was no use in trying to shape him into the ideal they had and decided it would be better to make him meet the guillotine too and create a new nation.
That new nation didn't seem to come and although France lost his head, he was still alive (apparently it was just sewn together after some time, for it was a very unpleasant sight) and Spain hoped that served to humble him. It turned out he was wrong. It seemed France had lost his head metaphorically too and decided that the new model of his government was desirable for the whole world, and, since he couldn't convince with arguments, he used force.
Nations did not deserve to be a king's property anymore, but only had to be held accountable to the people who had given them life, he claimed.
And so he stole Belgium from Austria and declared war to England and Holland. Since Spain was an ally that would give England very useful help and advantages, he declared war on him too, forgetting their vows...forgetting everything!
Once again, he stole Catalonia and did the same to Basque Country.
He would make them his satellites, underlings, pawns. Spain could not allow that, and fought.
"Have you made a decision, sir?"
The fight to come would be the perfect moment to use the new flag. The old one, with the Cross of Burgundy, could be mistaken in the battle. He needed something brighter. Something unmistakable.
Spain frowned in thought and finally pointed at the design in front of him. "This one."
He had tried many colors and compositions, but he liked that one the best. A red stripe, followed by a yellow one, double its thickness, and another red one.
Yellow like energy, gold, Christianity, the sunlight. Red like the blood he and his people had shed in so many battles.
...And all blood he was about to lose in vain. For he was not ready to fight France with what he had, and Basque Country seemed more than willing to join the invader without any kind of resistance...His brother...Flesh and blood...Spain had no choice but to surrender and make peace with France.
"It will be for your own good. You are too dominated by priests who are always tormenting you with the idea of Hell." France told him, placing his hands on his arms to look at him to the eyes, determined as one could be. "These are new times and you can't keep living in the past."
Spain looked at the scar around his neck, properly hidden under a kerchief, and thought that maybe the problem was that France didn't want to look back.
1805
Being France's ally meant he had to be there for him anytime, anywhere, no matter what.
A cannon shot destroyed the mast of the ship.
"Sir, we've got to get out of here NOW!" A captain told Spain.
Spain wanted to say that they had to keep fighting till the end—but this was the end.
He could see England's figure in the distance, in his ship. Water was his element. If he had learned something from all the experience they had fighting each other, it was that England was always on a winning streak when they met at sea. And Admiral Nelson's death had only served to fuel his anger and double his efforts to crush them.
"Everyone leave the ship!" The captain yelled, not waiting for Spain's return.
"Let's go, let's go!"
"Hurry up!"
"Wait! The wounded!" Spain exclaimed.
"We have to go now, sir!" A sailor told him, grabbing his arm.
Spain resisted. They had to drag him to the boat. He could hear them—maybe they couldn't but he did, how they screamed for help, because they couldn't get out on their own, they couldn't move or were barely conscious. How they hit the hatch and howled, begging to be taken with them.
No one had time to waste, and they were left there, for the waters of Cape Trafalgar to swallow them along with the ship.
Spain cried, knowing that the survivors around them couldn't hear and feel their desperate pleas, the prayers once they saw that their mortal life ended there, the last rattling before everything was over and they rested forever in their watery grave.
England seemed determined to punish Spain for the deal broken and give him the same treatment France deserved. His attacks on his South American family intensified, becoming a harassment they could barely stop and forced Spain to give his children the weapons and instruction he had always denied them. Spain himself suffered his attacks, Cádiz being invaded.
His chances of fixing his relationship with him and Portugal were over. There was a moment when Spain really thought he and Portugal could be one once again. He was willing to forgive him for leaving him. He wanted his brother, his loved one, back. Having a common enemy meant spending more time together, working together, talking. Portugal was probably scared that whatever he did in Spain's territory spread to his own, but Spain had faith in their old friendship and the blood ties he was convinced they had. He refused to believe he had forgotten about the good times—he hadn't, despite everything. This time he was determined to mend his past mistakes, the mistakes which made Portugal leave. He would be a better husband, a better friend.
But that minister, Manuel Godoy, had to ruin everything.
Of course, him licking France's ass and making him obey him and even kiss the tiles he walked on was not entirely his fault. It was their masters' task to censor him and take Spain to the right path. But did they do it? Oh, no. It seemed it was more important to hunt and engage in frivolous entertainments. They named him Prince of Peace. Godoy became the ruler in the background, just like Olivares and Lerma were back in the day.
Life is certainly pretty when you are the queen's lover...Spain would often hear prince Ferdinand curse that man and couldn't reproach it to him. That governor of France, Bonaparte, was a tyrant and gave France the self-confidence and push he needed to meddle in everyone's lives. France would surely tear all monarchies down and crown Bonaparte emperor of them all!
Things didn't work the way he had planned, in sum, but at least Portugal accepted closing his ports to England. That should have been enough to please France.
It wasn't. Portugal had to be punished for even thinking of being friends with that English dog. So France, with Godoy and the royal family's consent, sent his troops to invade Portugal and teach him who was the boss.
And he and his soldiers started creating chaos wherever they went.
Spain could feel it. He didn't need to read the letters he got or hear the news.
"I have heard that the French soldiers have killed a dozen of men to rape their women."
"They have profaned Burgos' cathedral and desecrated the Cid's remains!"
"They are stealing everything they can...Paintings, works of art, money, weapons...Even the recipe for Mahón's sauce!"
Spain could feel his people's worry and suffering day and night...His royal family told him those were just rumors spread by the anti-French. France was their friend and he wouldn't allow such things to happen, of course not! Still, those sensations were too strong and disheartening to simply ignore them...
1808
"I have heard you escaped from palace last night, Antonio, to have fun." Charles IV ended the silence at the table, and surprised Spain sincerely. Since he had some seconds while he drank from his cup, he quickly invented an excuse.
"I didn't leave the palace. Ask Mr. Francisco, he was painting me a portrait."
"You don't need to lie to me or involve Mr. Goya in all this, Antonio." Charles smirked. "Just admit you dressed like a peasant and went to dance and drink at a tavern."
"That's not true!" Spain mumbled.
"Antonio, my guards followed you and saw you."
"...Oh...Well..."
His gaze met Ferdinand, who was snickering, covering his mouth with his napkin, and that brought a smile to his face.
"Mingling with the villains, as if you were one of them…" Maria Luisa complained, looking at the tuna in her fork with a smug expression.
If it wasn't for the rules of courtesy, Spain would have said a couple of things to that old hag, something about mingling with ministers in bed—ministers who were married and even had more than one lover, thank you.
"Well, there's nothing bad about it, is it? I mean, after all, I am the nation...Villains are as part of me as the crown and nobility..." He did declare.
"But Spain, you shouldn't go outside without your bodyguards. You shouldn't go out drinking and gambling and dancing like a commoner. You are too important." Carlos María said.
"Everyone needs a little moment of relax, don't you think? Sometimes it is so tiring, being important…" He replied, playing with his food.
"I know, but it is a sacrifice you should be happy to make."
Spain always knew that Carlos María was a very traditional young man, just like his mother. He did not call him Antonio, like his father and brother did. It was not that his mother insisted that it was not appropriate. He just...had him on a pedestal and thought it was not right to give him a human name that distracted him from the big entity he was, Spain supposed.
A servant approached. Spain hoped it was the second dish, but no. All he carried with him was an envelope. He went straight to the king and muttered some things into his ear.
Whatever it was, it was something really important, so shocking that the king stood up and dashed away.
"Father?" Carlos asked.
"Your Highness, what is the matter?" Spain asked him.
Spain followed him all through the palace, to Ferdinand's room. There, he found the king opening every drawer, even moving the mattress, cutting the pillow open to see its insides.
"What are you doing?"
"My own son...My own child!" Charles exclaimed, showing Spain a bunch of papers he picked up from the floor, practically throwing them to his face.
Spain grabbed one of them and read them.
He couldn't believe what they contained.
"Guards! Guards!" Charles exclaimed.
Ferdinand came into the room and looked at his father with eyes wide open. He was about to ask what was happening when the guards appeared at the king's orders.
"Apprehend the prince!" Charles ordered.
"What?!" Spain exclaimed.
Ferdinand's face lost its color when he saw those men grab him. His eyes, full of bewilderment, turned to Spain.
"Antonio!" He exclaimed faintly, as he was dragged away.
"What do you think you are doing, Charles?!" Spain faced the monarch.
He sighed pathetically. "Read those papers! It is all in there! My own son has been plotting to overthrown me and poison his own mother!"
Spain didn't want to believe it. He refused to believe Ferdinand would do something like that. But that seemed like his handwriting. And days later Ferdinand, in jail, confessed. He gave the names of those who had participated. He admitted he had been corresponding with Bonaparte and his nation. Spain asked for permission to visit him but he was denied that request. Each day passing he feared more for his prince.
"What will you do to him, my Lord?" He asked Charles.
The room was silent, the fire crackled inside of the fireplace. Near it, Charles stood with his head low.
"...I will do what I have to do." He replied in a whisper.
"Will you behead your own son?"
Charles didn't reply. Spain approached him and forced him to look at him, staring at him with fierce eyes.
"Because if you do that, our relationship is over." He threatened him.
"Spain..."
"No. I find this too weird to be true. How don't we know Godoy doesn't have anything to do with this?"
"Because Godoy can be trusted, and we don't know-!"
"If Bonaparte and France are involved, I can only picture the worst. Ferdinand..."
"He confessed, Spain, don't forget it."
"Maybe...If he did this...I am sure it is because he has been mislead. You listen to Godoy too much, and too little to your own son. He wants things to go well, and since you having been listening to him maybe he thought all he could do was…"
Charles sighed loudly through his nose.
"...I promise I will think of it." He finally surrendered.
"...Thank you, Charles."
The king kept his promise. Days later, Ferdinand was officially forgiven by the king and queen and set free. The first thing he did was to embrace Spain.
"I had nothing to do with it. It was your father. It is him you must be thankful to." Spain replied.
Spain was glad Ferdinand was alright and Godoy, who surely benefited from the prince's tribulation, was publicly accused for his machination.
Spain was ready to forget the whole matter but in the matter of months it became clear he was not going to rest.
It became more evident as time passed that what France was doing was an invasion. The French soldiers did as they pleased in every city they passed. The citizens were scared. They were already suffering an economic depression, they didn't need those foreigners to come to their country and make a scene! Spain felt restless...And then the whole royal family was summoned in Aranjuez. Spain didn't need to come—even encouraged him not to.
"Why Aranjuez? ...Are you going somewhere?" Spain faced the king.
Charles didn't reply, and that was enough answer for Spain.
He stayed in Madrid, but knew everything going on. He was informed that the palace was assaulted by a mob. Godoy himself had to hide in his own home wrapped up in a carpet to hide himself from the villains who surely wanted to kill him. Charles IV declared he abdicated in favor of Ferdinand.
Spain should have been glad Ferdinand got to be king. He was going to be a good one, he had no doubt about it. But...
Yes, France's coming to Madrid didn't make things any better.
"What does Bonaparte have to speak with Charles and Ferdinand in Bayonne?"
France kept smiling, not looking at him, with a glass of wine in his hand. It was a bit early for Spain's taste to be drinking but the guy really loved wine, and he was no one to complain about his quirks.
"Let us just say the emperor wants to be a mediator in their conflict." France said.
"Your emperor sounds like a very selfless man…"
"Indeed…"
Spain couldn't help gazing at the mark in France's neck. The scar of a head which was still stitched to the rest of the body.
"...He rescued me. He put order in the chaos. He is going to make things better. You shall see. We are family, after all. All these improvements will be for you too."
Spain's eyes met France's and there was something he didn't like about the way he looked at him as he said those words. Perhaps it was his mind, making him crazy, but he was restless, so, so uneasy, and he had the feeling that he couldn't ignore it.
He actually had to walk around the room to calm himself down. He opened the window, opened it to get some fresh air and took a look outside. At the blue morning sky, the birds flying...The bells of Almudena cathedral were ringing.
But...wait a second...
"I must bring you a bottle of these." France commented, staring at his cup. "I am not saying your wine is not good but…"
There was something wrong outside...There was a crowd at the fences of the palace. They were looking at a carriage at the courtyard. He recognized it, it was the royal family's carriage. And the people who were getting in...
Weren't those the infantes?
"Where are they going?" Spain asked, pointing at the carriage.
"Hm?" France turned his head to him.
"The family. Where are they taking them?"
France took a quick glance, seemingly uninterested.
"Oh, well...You see your king gave me permission to…"
"What is your man doing?" Spain asked, pointing at a the French commander, who approached to see the disturbance and was delivering orders to the soldiers around him.
"Murat? He is just making sure they have a good journey."
"Where to?!"
Spain turned to France.
"France! What is happening?!"
"Didn't they tell you? Joseph Bonaparte is your new king."
"...No..."
"Yes. Your kings renounced to the crown in Napoleon's favor and he gave it to his brother."
"It can't be..."
"Don't you worry. Joseph has his brother's support and everything will be-"
Outside, the crowd started to scream and shake the fence. Spain looked out once more, and saw all those men and women insulting the French soldiers, demanding them to release the infants. Like him, they wanted to know where they were taking them.
They were starting to make a fuss, so Murat gave orders to shoot at them. Spain heard it clearly. He gasped after the first shot, placing a hand on his chest while drawing back, as if he had been the one shot.
Wasn't he, after all?
"What is he doing?!" He exclaimed.
"It seems your people need to calm down..." France was calm indeed while he approached the balcony.
Spain glared at him with eyes filled with fury.
"I want that man dead!" He demanded.
"Come on now, Spain…" France chuckled, like he was dealing with a child who was having a tantrum.
"He is shooting at my people!"
"Maybe they will calm down if you go down and tell them there's nothing to worry about."
"You are taking the royal family away!"
"Don't shout at me." France's expression changed completely, turning ice cold. "Go down there and tell them it is alright."
"It is not alright! You..." Spain turned his back on France and walked around the room, nervous. "I should have known...Now I see it clearly...That's why I was having those unpleasant feelings...This is indeed an invasion! You are like plague...You infect people and kill them from inside...You didn't change...You never wanted to share progress with me...You wanted to dominate me!"
"If we weren't lifelong friends, I'd gut you here and now...But my patience is wearing thin. Go down there and tell your people to obey my soldiers!"
"They...We won't take orders from you!" Spain exclaimed.
And he punched France in the nose, dashing out of palace after that.
France stumbled after him.
"Monsieur? What-?" Some of his men quickly approached, seeing him filled with blood.
"GET HIM!" He roared, his hand on his broken nose. "AND EXECUTE EVERYONE WHO COMES BETWEEN HIM AND ME! I DON'T CARE IF THEY ARE MEN, WOMEN OR CHILDREN! I WANT THEM DEAD! DON'T TOUCH SPAIN! I WANT TO SKIN HIM MYSELF!"
When Spain reached the street, he felt like he had just entered Hell. Men and women were fighting against the French soldiers. It wasn't a fair fight. The French had weapons. Those peasants only had their knives, scissors, tools, whatever was in their hands.
But they would be ready.
"MY PEOPLE!" Spain drew everyone's attention, his face red, his eyes looking greener than ever, his teeth gritted. "FRANCE HAS SHOWN HIS TRUE COLORS! GRAB YOUR GUNS, YOUR CANNONS! EVERYTHING YOU HAVE! WE HAVE BEEN HUMILLIATED LONG ENOUGH! DEATH TO THE FRENCH!"
The crowd roared, inflamed by Spain's determination.
That morning, the blue sky was dyed with blood red.
"Criminals! Sons of bitches!" The Spaniards insulted the horsemen who were on their way to aid the soldiers at palace.
An old lady threw them a clay bowl, missing a rider's head by little.
They were too many and some were carrying weapons. France deployed the Mamelukes to contain them. When they saw those curved blades coming towards them, many ran away, screaming. The French soldiers cut the escape, firing their arquebuses. There was only one thing they could do: fight, since they were dead already. A man got to knock a Mameluke off his horse and stabbed him in the chest. The head of a woman was split in half by one of the horsemen. Someone who managed to find a blunderbuss shot at one of them.
"We have to get artillery! And soldiers!" Spain said. They were too many, and his people were dropping like flies! They were common people after all.
They wouldn't join them...The Army was under Bonaparte's orders...They would have to manage on their own...
But Heaven sent him captains Luis Daoiz and Pedro Velarde.
"We have always fought for you and we won't let you down now, Your Greatness!" They told him.
Had he been in a more calm situation, Spain would have hugged them both.
Along with them, Spain freed Monteleón's Artillery Park. Daoíz and Velarde left him there to put their plan into action: get Spanish soldiers and convince the French that they were going to help them against the mob. While they did so, Spain gave a quick lesson to all the people around him, even women, about firing cannons and guns.
"They are coming! We cannot miss!" Spain shouted.
The French had them surrounded. When the first tore the gates of the Park down, they were met by a discharge. Many soldiers ran away, which made the people celebrate.
"Long live Ferdinand!" Spain cheered.
But they came back, and they brought their artillery too.
"Go to hell!" One woman shouted while firing a cannon. Her name, Spain would never forget it: Clara del Rey. Her husband and children were there, they were either wounded or dead, and she defended them and her city with everything she had. Like her, many fierce women could be seen fighting that day. Her life ended abruptly when shrapnel got her in the forehead.
The French kept coming closer, ammunition was becoming scarce. Some of the soldiers prepared their bayonets to kill them all. One officer stepped forward, waving a white flag.
"Please! Truce! Truce!"
The fight stopped.
"What is he doing?!" Velarde ran towards him.
"I come in the name of the Central Council! You must surrender to them!" The man explained.
The French kept approaching, cautiously. Just like Spain suspected, France and his people did not respect the war code...
...Just as he had planned.
"LONG LIVE FERDINAND THE SEVENTH!" He shouted then.
And his people unexpectedly fired, killing many enemies.
It seemed that their plan had worked perfectly! The French retreated. It was time to report the damage. The dead around them was indicator enough that things were not going well.
"Only ten artillerymen and no ammunition...This is looking grim..." Daoiz admitted. He turned his head to Spain and looked at him with determination. "But we will resist, no matter what. We will use rocks as shrapnel if we need."
"Till the end." Spain nodded, sighing.
"Sir! France has taken over all of Madrid! This is our last bastion, sir!" A young man approached to inform.
"We are completely surrounded!" Another one said.
Daoiz and Velarde looked at each other and walked away to talk privately. They soon returned to Spain.
"You must go." Daoiz told Spain.
"I am not leaving you. I'm staying here. I've let you down enough." Spain immediately replied.
"You haven't. Here you are, with us. We love you. If you stay, France will capture you for sure, and you must have a chance."
Spain swallowed.
"...Everything for you, Your Greatness." Velarde said, looking at him with pride, giving him the military salute.
To which Spain replied with no less pride.
"France is here!" A watchman approached.
There he was. He had finally found Spain and he was going to get him out of there at all costs. Not a high cost, actually: victory was at hand.
"Stop hiding like a rat and come here! You and I!" He shouted so Spain could hear him.
No reply. France started to approach along with some men. Suddenly, something burst out from the Park and they had to duck quickly. Before they knew it, a carriage pulled by two horses was turning the street at high speed.
"Get him!" France shouted.
Daoiz and Velarde did not go down without a fight. Daoiz fought until he was stabbed in the back with a bayonet and then badgered with a blade. Velarde resisted until a French soldier shot him in the heart.
"Where to, sir?" The old man with a long beard that drove the carriage asked.
"To Andalusia!" Spain replied.
He could get help from there...
Help came too late for many of his people. Between that day and the next, forty-three people were taken in chains to the hill of Príncipe Pío. Friar Antonio, who encouraged the Madrilenians to fight the French demons. Peasants, farmers. Fifteen-year-old Manuela Malasaña, whose only crime was to carry her work tool with her: sewing scissors. Spain had to feel their fear, their anxiety, their silent prayers, their sad resignation, their anger, hear the shots of the firing squad and their bodies hitting the floor.
This was apparently the Enlightenment France brought to his house.