Spain tried his best to endure the outrage he suffered with stoicism. He had to carry his own cross, just like Jesus Christ did. He had to be thankful that he had someone to assist him, a tiny ray of light in the dark.

He found out the night when one of the jailers approached.

"Oh, God, Antoñete...I hoped it wasn't true..."

When Spain raised his head, recognizing a familiar voice, finding a familiar face as well made him stand up and ran to the bars.

"Domingo? Domingo Carriedo? What on earth are you doing here?" He exclaimed.

"Crops have been failing these last years and I've got so many mouths to feed, as you know, so much I decided to give Madrid a try. I was lucky and found this job. A very ungrateful one, but at least I'm not going hungry." Carriedo explained. "So it is true...I had heard that we were having a very important prisoner, someone very big, and heard the other guards whispering...I hoped it was not true that our king would do such thing...But I see he did..."

"After everything we have done to bring him back!" Spain lamented. "Do you know anything about the others?"

"I just kept in touch with a few of our old guerrilla. They are keeping a low profile. It is not safe to proclaim that we were once in favor of the Constitution. I think some have fled to Portugal or the Americas. The others...I have witnessed so many executions for alleged treason that I am not sure of anything!"

Carriedo didn't offer just a sympathetic conversation. While Ferdinand tried to undermine his spirits starving him, Carriedo sneaked food in, made by his own wife. He did everything possible to relief the cold and humidity of the cell bringing him blankets, even his own coat when it was not possible to get one.

"As long as I'm alive, I won't let anything bad happen to you." He told him on one occasion.

He was the reason why Spain believed God was good. Spain included him in his prayers every night, and all those who had sacrificed their lives for his freedom. For Phillip, for Charles, Isabella and Ferdinand, Reccared, Mother, Father, my little siblings, eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord. Please bless all people who are now suffering, do not let anything bad happen to Domingo. And make Ferdinand understand his mistake...

Carriedo was a good man indeed, but Spain couldn't say the same about Ferdinand. Ever since he recovered the throne, he dedicated his life to luxury, while his subjects and nation were still recovering from the war, and persecuted liberals or anybody who didn't want things to go back to the way they used to be before France came along. From time to time he released Spain from jail, dragged him to the throne room, where he received him, arrogant, and asked him always the same question:

"Will you obey me?"

Spain's answer didn't change either: he never moved his lips, just stood up tall and raised his chin. After that refusal, he was sent back to the cell for an increasing period of time.

Carriedo was so kind as to bring him newspapers. It was the only way he could know about what happened in the outside world—even though the feelings of the Spanish population were his feelings. The fear, the disappointment...Those spoke louder than screams. But thanks to those papers Spain found out what his children in America were doing.

"Is everything alright, Antonio?" Carriedo approached the bars one day.

Spain handed him the newspaper with a distressed expression.

"Argentina has proclaimed herself independent too..."

"Did she?" It was useless for Carriedo to try to read what it said: he had never been able to learn.

"She knows I love her with every fiber in my being and I thought she looked up to me...Why is she doing this? Her siblings must have influenced her...Filled her head with those ideas about me...It had to be so, because if it's not...I just don't understand..."

"Ah! Kids! So ungrateful! I know what I'm talking about: I've got three. It seems Pepe Botella didn't manage the problem with them very well in your absence and our king is not the kind of king they are willing to obey, either...Maybe if you talked to them..."

"I wish I could, but I don't think I'll be getting out of here soon."

"Then write them a letter."

"I can't send any letters."

"I'll help you. I'll find you paper and ink too."

"Oh, but Domingo, if they catch you..."

"You are something bigger than I am. Gotta take good care of you." Carriedo smiled at him, winking, and centuries later Spain would find himself assaulted by that smile in his dreams, walking around the streets, in the faces of modern people, at work...

So thanks to Carriedo Spain got the chance to communicate with his colonies. So many letters to send, all different, because some were loyal, like Cuba, others hesitated, like Panama, and others were heated by the idea of revolution, like Venezuela, Colombia and now Argentina.

He wrote to them more like a father than a big brother: sweet, understanding, but severe. He was not in the mood for absurd games. When he was released from jail, he would have a serious talk to them.

For Phillip, for Charles, Isabella and Ferdinand, Reccared, Mother, Father, my little siblings, eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord. Please bless all people who are now suffering, do not let anything bad happen to Domingo. And make Ferdinand and my children understand their mistake...

God, in his infinite mercy, listened, and acted through a commandant called Rafael de Riego.

1820

He showed up in prison, surrounded by other military men. He uncovered himself and bowed to him; his men imitated him. Carriedo hurriedly opened the door of his cell but Spain remained inside, not knowing what was going on.

"Your Greatness." Riego said to him with a gentle smile. "Your presence is required in the oath to our Constitution by King Ferdinand VII."

Spain thought he was still dreaming, had to pinch himself in the arm to convince himself that he was wide awake. He couldn't believe it, when he was taken to palace to wash and groom himself, when he was taken to that large room, with Ferdinand in an extreme, with a book presented before him. When he crossed that room filled with eyes looking at him with admiration, when he found himself face to face with the king.

Their eyes met for a second, then Ferdinand, taking deep air, placed a hand on the document.

"I have heard your vows and like the tender father I have acquiesced to what my children judge conductive to their happiness. I have pledged allegiance to that Constitution you yearned for and I will always be its firmest support. I have already taken opportune measures for the coming summoning of the Parliament. There, reunited with your Representatives, I shall enjoy concurring in the great work of national prosperity."

Turning towards the nation, he continued.

"Spain: your glory is the only one my heart ambitions. My soul wants nothing but to see you united, pacific and happy at my throne. Trust, then, in your king, who talks to you with the sincere effusion which inspire the circumstances you are in and the intimate feeling of the highest duties Providence imposed onto him. Let us walk frankly, and me the first, the constitutional path; and showing Europe a model of wisdom, order and perfect moderation in a crisis which in other nation was accompanied by tears and disgrace, let us make the Spanish name be admired and venerated, while we build our happiness and glory for centuries."

Applause filled the room. Spain, after a second of hesitation, clapped too, his lips curving into a smile. Ferdinand bowed his head to him, corresponding his gesture.

"I..." The king said when the solemnity of the act allowed them to have a private moment, "made a mistake, Spain. I am so sorry. I...was convinced you were forced to accept that Constitution due to the circumstances, influenced by bad friends..."

Spain sighed and offered him his hand to shake.

"You're forgiven." He said, smiling at him.

Spain was really willing to start over. Ferdinand had been a very loved friend of his. He deserved a chance.

"I've heard what is happening in America. I..." He said.

"I understand. Do what you must. Take as many men as you need with you." Ferdinand told him.

"It won't take long..."

If he was so sure about that, why was he so restless?...

1821

If it wasn't for one man, apparently with some influence, who recognized Spain and ceased the fire, they would have been dead the very second they set foot on New Spain. They were taken to his sister, and on the way Spain noticed how he and his men were looked at. His apparition took them by surprise, yes, but they looked at him in a...challenging way. Yes, they were intimidated but still held guns in their hands and would not hesitate to use them.

Somebody needed a correcting slap, Spain thought. This was no way to greet a brother.

But when he was opened the doors of the villa and taken to New Spain...

"...You came..."

For a second, Spain could not believe the person in front of him was New Spain. His little girl New Spain. She was not little anymore. She was a woman now. And what a woman. Spain felt his heart bouncing. Her voluminous hair, which her sister Nicaragua liked to comb when they were little, was in a braid. She was wearing military clothes, more fitting a man than a lady, which highlighted the curves of an adult, voluptuous body. Spain gazed at her birth marks scattered all over her face, her full lips, her tan skin, but, mostly, those golden eyes.

New Spain was not a child anymore. She was a woman. A woman with a rifle in her hands. Realization made Spain have difficulty talking.

"...What's all of this about?" He was finally able to utter.

"It seems we needed to grab guns to get your attention. Didn't you read our letters?"

"I did. And I don't understand what this is all about."

"What this is all about? You have not really read them, it seems. Alright, let me make you a summary: we are no longer taking your abuse."

Spain furrowed his eyebrows. "Abuse?"

"Yes...You think we are a bunch of idiots, don't you? You think you can control us eternally. Your European friends, even that Romano guy, left you, but you thought we are the fools who will always be doing what you say."

"If you are talking about taxes and production, in any family in this world all members have to contribute to-"

"To what? Your glory?" New Spain chuckled sourly. "We are not your family. I used to have a family. A mother. And you killed her, stole her riches, stole me. You did it to all of us."

"That's not true, New Spain."

"No!" She abruptly said. "I no longer go by that name. I want to be myself—not just a copy of you, or what you want me to be. I have chosen a new name. Mexico."

Mexico?!

Spain felt that his soul dropped at his feet.

Mexico...

"...So you prefer to have your mother, that child-eater, treacherous snake, as a referent, instead of me, who brought you a language, the Gospel, hospitals, universities...?" Spain exclaimed.

"You are not that different from each other." Mexico said, crossing her arms.

"Are you kidding me?!"

"Are you denying what you did to gain control over all of this, Spain?"

"I..."

Spain paused, pressing his lips.

"I only did what I had to do..." He muttered.

"What you had to do...Conquer...Steal...Kill...In the name of God...No...Using God was an excuse, right? You did it for yourself..."

"I never wanted to harm you!" Spain exclaimed. "It's true that sometimes I've had to correct you, and maybe put pressure on you, but I did it because...because I had done enough sacrifices myself! I needed help! I was only severe at times because I wanted to keep you away from the bad path. Parents slap and hit their children with the belt to teach them lessons, because they love them! Do you think I would have ever hurt my own-" He interrupted himself, and swallowed. "My little siblings...You...I'm sorry I left you alone for so long...I..."

Mexico glared at him with the eyes of a tigress.

"You had so much to take care of, right?" She said. "So many people to subject. So much to steal. Why would you care for any of us? Why would you care for me? All you had to do was sent your goons to get the power, administrate it all, get rich with everything which rightfully belonged to me."

"New Spain..."

"It's not New Spain! It's Mexico!" Mexico shouted. "You killed my mother Mexica...You killed her and made me your slave, claiming that you were my big brother. But you were never there when I needed a big brother. I grew up alone. You were not there to say good night to me, to hug me when I was scared. You came to watch your commercial interests then left, with the promise that if I produced more, you'd give me free time to act like a brother, expensive gifts...What if I stop producing for you? If I can't work any more? Have you thought of what would happen the day I was useless? And what will you do to me if I order my men here to go home? Just you and I...alone..."

"New-Mexico...I'll give you anything you want...But please..." Spain muttered, joining his hands.

"There is just one thing I want, Spain. Your head on a pike. And I am being generous. You are filth that should be cleansed from the face of humanity. Vermin like you should be incinerated and its ashes thrown to the sea so they won't contaminate the soil."

Mexico approached. The tip of her weapon touched Spain's stomach.

"Go away, Spain. I think we have made ourselves very clear. Nobody here wants you."

"...No, I...!"

The soldiers around them aimed at him with their weapons.

"Go away." Mexico replied, this time slower. "And never come back."

1823

"Calm down, will you?"

Spain was free, so that meant he could spend time with Carriedo off duty like friends, drink beer together, talk freely about anything they wanted. Carriedo's wife, a charming woman, and his two daughters were very discreet and never intervened in their talks or let what they said leave the room.

"No, I can't calm down." Spain replied, expelling the smoke from his cigarette. "They are making a mistake...I...France and England are lurking...They will do harm to them, make them their slaves, I am sure...This is the chance they have been waiting for for centuries...After Mexico came Panama and Costa Rica...They didn't listen to me...Even my dear Argentina has declared herself independent. Venezuela, Chile, Colombia, Ecuador...Only Cuba and Puerto Rico have written to me saying they don't agree with their siblings, but they are not saying the truth...I can feel it...And Philippines...I must go talk to him...I don't want him to feel lonely too and..."

"Lolita, serve Antonio another glass of anisette." Carriedo told his wife.

"No, I don't want anisette, I want my babies back!" He whined.

"Dear God, you complain like a woman! Pull yourself together! You are the nation, damn it!"

"But I got feelings too, you know?!" Spain complained, whining like a child. "Mexico...She dropped my name and adopted that witch's! It's like your kids decided they want to be—I don't know, Sánchez, instead of Carriedo!"

"They want to be independent? Alright. Let them. Just a couple of years living on their own and you'll have them back at your door begging for Big Brother Spain to help them. Just like my Pepito, the useless pig..."

"...You think so?"

"Romano came back to you after all that Kingdom of Naples fuss, right?"

"Right..."

"Don't worry, then. They'll be back."

"...Well...We'll have to wait and see, right?"

"Yes. You are just nervous about these news. It's making your mind go crazy and play tricks on you. I suggest you go see your boy Philippines. Being away from here will do good to you. You'll also be safe in case..."

Carriedo didn't finish and Spain gazed at him.

"...So it is true. France is coming back."

"..."

Someone knocked at the door. Everybody remained right where they were. It was late at night. They didn't expect visitors. They knocked again, this time harder.

"Who's there?" Carriedo spoke aloud.

But nobody answered. They just tore the door down.

"I said 'knock knock'!" A voice claimed.

One of Carriedo's daughters screamed. She, her sister and mother ran to seek protection into Carriedo's arms.

Spain had seen that man before. White hair, red eyes. Prussia. He had fought against him in the past, not too long before. And the big guy who walked in behind him...That was Russia. They were at war for just a year. It was nothing, just a misunderstanding. Nobody resulted harmed except Spain, who drank too much vodka and got involved in a a quarrel with the Russian police. Russia found it so funny he declared the war was over.

Behind him another visitor appeared. France. His long, golden hair was back, but this time he was not smiling, like someone who finally got his revenge would have done. And along with him—and this was the most surprising—, Austria.

"...What the hell...?" Spain muttered.

"Ferdinand's spies told us you'd be here." Austria explained, looking at him severely.

"Spies? What...?"

Spain glared at France.

"You didn't have enough, did you..." He growled, approaching him to punch him in the face, but was stopped by Prussia.

"Hey, don't blame Frenchie here." He said. "He just answered to your king's call for help. We are the Holy Alliance. And we came to stop your bullshit."

"What Prussia here is trying to explain" Austria reprimanded Prussia's filthy mouth with a glare before turning to Spain, "is that we came here to restore the precepts of justice, charity and peace."

"That is" Russia explained with a childish smile, "give your king his powers back."

"You have no choice, Spain." Austria explained. "Ferdinand has made a deal with France. Cádiz is surrendered."

"So you've got nothing better to do that meddle in my way of doing things?" Spain asked.

Austria looked at him with an eyebrow raised behind his glasses.

"You didn't seem so concerned about people's privacy in the past." He said.

"I was different back then. I-" Spain wanted to reply.

"Come here." Russia interrupted him, attracting him with a gesture of his hand.

Spain didn't really want to approach that man, but Russia insisted. Prussia pushed him towards him and Spain was forced to obey. Russia then placed a hand on Spain's shoulder and made him look out of the door.

Outside, the streets were crowded with French soldiers, subduing those who had not ran to hide inside of their houses, in every corner, everywhere Spain looked. Too many soldiers to count—ten thousand, was the number Spain calculated in the next days—, and all of them armed and ready to shoot.

"So." Russia said. "Are you going to be a good boy?"

"Look."

Ferdinand grabbed Spain's chin and forced him to turn his head.

"I said look."

He could have stopped it, Spain thought. He could have stood up and put an end to this...But why didn't his body respond? Why couldn't he get up from his chair, hit Ferdinand in the face and save commander Riego?

Why couldn't he...?

Riego was dragged to the place of the execution in a basket on a donkey's back, mocked by the crowd. Riego was not going to be given a honorable death: crying like a child, he did nothing but kiss the religious card he held in his hands. Spain would find out later that the absolutists, taking advance of his deplorable state, made him believe that if he asked for forgiveness in a letter, the capital punishment would be commuted. Ferdinand played with him in a very indecent and cruel way, like a cat with a mouse.

And weeping was still Riego when the noose strangled him. After that, before Spain's eyes, the executioner cut his head off and exhibited it to the human mass which crowded the streets. Ferdinand smiled satisfied, then turned to a trembling, pale Spain.

"Did you like it? Because there is more. As you will see, this is a long program."

At his orders, another prisoner was taken to the gallows. Spain stood up, following an impulse.

"D-Domingo!"

His friend, looking dirty and mistreated like all prisoners, turned his head, recognizing his voice, saw him in the place of honor, by his king.

Spain looked at Ferdinand with watery eyes.

"Please..."

Ferdinand looked at his own nails instead.

"Please, no..."

"My dear Antonio...A lesson must be learnt." Was the king's response.

Carriedo had never been a political man. He didn't care if this one or that one was king. He just joined the war because France was mistreating his nation and putting his ancestors' land in danger. He wasn't a liberal. He was nothing but a common man. The edict punished him for hiding Spain in his house and showing the Holy Alliance resistance—but Spain knew the one who was being punished was him.

He wanted to run there, save him, do something!, but again terror and impotence had him paralyzed...

Ferdinand grabbed him by the wrist and forced him to sit back.

"Sit back, get comfortable."

If only they had met a lot earlier, in other circumstances...Or if Carriedo had got to live hundreds of years, so Spain would have enjoyed his company and heard his practical advice...

Carriedo gazed at Spain while the noose was tied around his double chin. He was terrified, even if he tried to remain serene. His face had lost all color, he was soaked in sweat. He moved his lips, praying for his wife and children and for God to have mercy on his soul. He interrupted himself to smile faintly at his nation, his friend.

'Everything will be alright, Antoñito.' Spain thought his lips muttered. And the trapdoor opened and his chubby body fell.

Tears ran down Spain's cheeks while Carriedo's body suffered a few spasms before it balanced lifeless.

Ferdinand stood up.

"Now it is your decision: to go back to the cell, or join me in palace. Note that I am being generous letting you choose." He waited patiently for an answer that never came. "Hm? No answer? Alright. I take that as a formal request to go back to jail."

1824

They had set everything up so that Spain could watch it all from the window of his cell. Not just could—he was forced to by a jailer who was not as friendly as Carriedo was.

The Empecinado had been wise enough to escape to Portugal when things started to get ugly. Before the Hundred Thousand Sons of Saint Louis invaded Spain at the orders of the Holy Alliance, he wrote to a Ferdinand VII who seemed generous at that time, asking him for permission to return. Ferdinand accepted—then betrayed his own decrees pardoning the fugitives, ordering to capture him.

The Empecinado was a brave man till the end. He broke the handcuffs and grabbed a guard's sword. A moment of great confusion followed. Spain honestly thought he would get to escape. But the men in charge of taking him to the gallows were efficient. They dragged him to the gibbet, forced the noose onto him and was hanged so violently one of his shoes flew meters away and his face turned black.

Spain let his body slip to the floor and curled up against himself.

All of his heroes...Innocent people...They were being executed, imprisoned, or had to flee, like Mr. Goya did...

Why was this happening? He...He never wanted any of this to happen...

"That is the price of being an empire."

Spain felt his heart skip a beat. He looked up to see no other than the Roman Empire through the tears, standing in the middle of the cell, watching him with a sad smile.

"Sooner or later, everything crumbles around you—on you." He heard him say, with that paternal voice he had, that voice Spain thought he had forgotten.

When Spain wiped the tear away, he saw he was alone. Of course. Of course he was seeing ghosts. No living creature seemed to care about him anymore.

America was a grown-up now. It was incredible, how big he had gotten. Spain still remembered those times, not so remote, when he was just a tiny child and he humored him riding horses with him, teaching him to tame bulls and horses.

Look at him now. Just as big as Mexico was. No less armed.

Spain was on his knees. He couldn't get up, as much as he tried...

"You remind me of someone right now..." America smirked, showing his teeth.

Paraguay, Chile, Peru, Mexico, Argentina, Colombia, Bolivia...They were standing there, armed...Wounded...But they also had splatters of Spain's blood on them...If they felt pity about his pathetic state, they didn't show it. They couldn't. They had gone this far to get independence. They couldn't show weakness now.

And, of course, America, being England's pupil, learned to seize all opportunities presented to him. He got a bit closer, his hands on his hips, to talk to an exhausted and defeated Spain.

"Perhaps it is true what they say. There are old and useless nations and better, fresh, prosperous ones. Go back to the Old Continent, with the relics from the past. The New World belongs to the new blood."

1833

All of those years Spain had been more like a captive than a member of the royal family. Queen Maria Christina, niece and wife of Ferdinand, barely knew him, him being no more than a shadow in the corridors, a spirit in the house, a ghost in the attic, a legend. It wasn't until he received the news that the king was very sick that she formally met him as the nation. She was cowed, but in spite of his mysterious looks and attitude, he was a gentleman to her. The circumstances were not an excuse for him to lose his manners. The only thing she had to reproach him was an unfortunate comment about her marrying her own uncle, twenty years older, and engendering his children ("I have witnessed enough to know that incest is never a good idea, Your Highness."). Also, there was a certain gleam in his eyes, when he saw the king in bed, about to meet his death.

"He named me regent. To make sure..."

"Mhm."

"...The Salic system has been abolished and a Pragmatic Sanction promulgated instead, so Isabella can be queen."

She gazed at him, waiting for a reaction. Spain's face seemed made of stone.

"...Since there are no male heirs," She continued, "the crown should be his brother's. That is the tradition. But my husband, our king, judged the power would better stay in our family..."

"...Do you accept my opinion, your Majesty?" Spain asked.

"...Yes." Maria Christina replied.

"I don't you don't need it..."

"I want to hear it anyway."

"My opinion is..." Spain replied, crossing his arms. "I have already had queens. Another Isabella I once knew did a great job managing my business. She made me great. And I fought one woman in England who made me sweat. No, I've got nothing against women, and I will obey the law."

"So, you do not support the pretensions of infante Carlos."

Spain looked away.

"...I never said that."

"So, is my daughter going to reign against your wishes?"

"It is complicated, your Majesty."

"I understand. Being a nation must not be easy."

"No. It is not..."

Maria Christina sighed.

"Ferdinand is...Well...He has already been given the last rites...The doctors say he won't survive the night...I'm staying with him...Perhaps you want to...?"

Spain shook his head.

"...Very well..." Maria Christina muttered. "I will...tell you all news we have..."

While she went to Ferdinand's bedroom, Spain visited the little princess and her baby sister at the nursery, where a governess was taking care of them. As soon as the woman saw him, she gasped and quickly bowed to him. Spain smiled at her and told her it was alright with a gesture. Then, he walked to the three year-old who was playing on the carpet with a doll. The child stopped her chattering and gazed at the man with eyes wide open, bringing the doll close to her chest, as if she wanted to protect her from him.

"Hello, Isabella. It's alright. My name is Spain. I am your friend."

The girl kept staring at him in silence, unconvinced.

"What's her name?" Spain asked, pointing at the doll.

He had to insist for a long time until Isabella uttered a shy response.

"Cecilia."

"She's so pretty..."

She was still intimidated, so Spain placed his hand on her cheek.

Then, Isabella started feeling something. Something, being so little, she couldn't understand or try to explain. It was a familiar feeling. Like visiting a place she knew, even if she was so small and just started to live, with no experience, no knowledge. Her mouth was filled with tastes, music echoed in her ears, her skin felt things which were not there.

She gazed at Spain and he smiled at her.

"See? I am a friend."

"Cecilia has a sister." Isabella said then.

"Does she?"

"Yes. Her name is Rosita." And she ran to get her from the toy box to show her to Spain.

"Oh, they are both so beautiful! I used to have many beautiful sisters myself, you know?"

While her father Ferdinand VII of Spain, once the Desired, now the Felon, agonized in his room, Isabella met Spain for the first time—unaware of the effort he was doing to look at her and treat her well, when a part of him, a little but loud voice inside his head, which knew she was going to inherit a crown against traditions, wanted her to step aside or, even better, disappear.