Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 614 Difficult Negotiations (Part 1)

January 1644, 11, Mexico City, Viceroyalty.

The morning in Mexico City carries a touch of the chill unique to the highlands.

Inside the governor's mansion, the heavy velvet curtains failed to completely block the sunlight, and beams of golden light pierced into the dim room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

The firewood in the fireplace crackled, trying to dispel the slight chill from the heart of New Spain, but also filling the room with a restless and uneasy atmosphere.

The Spanish Kingdom's special envoy, chief negotiator, and the esteemed Marquis of Villarreal, Don Francisco de Sandoval y Mendoza, was enjoying his breakfast with an almost ritualistic slowness, elegant and leisurely.

Gilded silver cutlery gleamed on a table covered with an exquisite Flemish lace tablecloth, while honey-drizzled pancakes sat on delicate porcelain plates from Zacatecas, next to a steaming cup of chocolate—a luxurious habit learned from the colonies of New Spain, now popular in Madrid's high society.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and his private secretary led in the travel-worn negotiator, Alonso Pablo Garza.

Garza's boots were still splattered with mud, and his face showed the weariness of a long journey and a hint of unease that he could not hide.

“Your Excellency Marquis,” Garza bowed, his voice slightly hoarse, “I have returned from the north.”

Mendoza didn't turn around, remaining with his back to him, slowly sipping a mouthful of rich cocoa, his tone carrying his usual reserve and unquestionable authority: "Hmm, thank you for your hard work, Garza. Tell me, about those 'new Chinese'..."

He uttered the word with a deliberately drawn-out tone, revealing an obvious contempt, as if he were talking about some uncivilized tribe. "When will they arrive in Mexico City? I hope they are not intimidated by the grandeur of this new Spanish capital. Let them see what true civilization and power are; this will be of great benefit to guiding the negotiations from here on out."

Garza swallowed hard and said with difficulty, "Your Excellency... they... they did not agree to come to Mexico City."

Mendoza paused, his hand holding the cup still.

He slowly turned around, his sharp, commanding eyes fixed on Garza, his gaze filled with scrutiny and disbelief: "...What do you mean?"

“The representatives of the new Chinese said…” Garza felt his throat tighten, “They requested that the negotiation location be set in… Nanping, oh, the San Diego mission station we previously established.”

San Diego?!

With a loud crash, the exquisite oriental porcelain teacup was slammed onto the floor covered with a magnificent Persian carpet, splashing dark brown cocoa liquid like a jarring stain on a map.

Mendoza's composure and arrogance were instantly replaced by rage, and blood rushed to his cheeks and neck, making him look like a Spanish bull enraged by a scarlet veil.

"San Diego?! How dare they... how dare they make such an impudent and presumptuous request!"

His voice echoed in the spacious room, making the candlesticks on the fireplace seem to tremble, “Let me, the Marquis of Villarta, the plenipotentiary envoy personally appointed by His Majesty the King of Spain, condescend to go to that…that humble Pacific outpost that they just seized by piracy?”

“Do you know what this means?... God, it means we walked into their cage willingly, it means we've acknowledged their illegal occupation of Spanish territory without even starting negotiations!”

"Oh, by the way, before the war, San Diego didn't even deserve to be called a city; it was just a pitiful missionary point and an occasional supply depot for wrecked ships!"

"This is an insult, a trampling on the dignity of the Kingdom of Spain!"

He abruptly stood up from his seat, strode over to the huge map of New Spain hanging on the wall, and jabbed his finger at the small dot representing San Diego, as if he wanted to pry it off the map.

“Look, look here!” His finger slashed sharply at the prominent sign representing Mexico City. “...Look here again! Mexico City! This is the heart of New Spain, the location of the Viceroyal Palace, the capital with its seminaries, churches, and tens of thousands of faithful Catholic citizens!”

"It is only right and proper for them to negotiate here. They should come to us with reverence and pray for the magnanimous peace of our Kingdom of Spain. Instead, I should be made to trek hundreds of leagues like a clumsy llama being led by the nose by the natives to that defiled, barbaric place!"

He turned sharply to Garza, his eyes blazing: "This is a blatant provocation and insult to the dignity of our Kingdom of Spain! Do they want to become a laughingstock for all of Europe? To see the Spanish royal family and nobles, like defeated bastards, slinking off to enemy-occupied lands to beg for peace?"

"...Absolutely impossible!"

Mendoza's chest heaved violently. He felt that his authority, noble dignity, and even the glory of the entire Spanish kingdom were being trampled upon in an unprecedented and blatant manner in the face of this absurd demand.

In his mind, negotiations should take place on the territory of the strong, and Mexico City undoubtedly represented Spain's undisputed dominant position in the New World.

Go to San Diego?

Wouldn't that be cowardice before the battle even begins, and an admission of inferiority?
"Give them a reply!" Mendoza commanded decisively, his finger slamming heavily on the Mexico City location. "The negotiation venue can only be Mexico City, that's the bottom line! If they refuse, then let the war continue!"

"I want to see how long these pirates from the far north, these lucky nouveau riche, can hold out on this land that belongs to Spain and God. Can they really shake the foundations of our American empire that we've built up over a hundred years?"

Just then, the door on the other side of the study leading to the small chapel was silently pushed open, and a figure walked in quietly. It was Baron Don Diego Cruz, the deputy representative for this negotiation.

In contrast to Mendoza's flamboyant style, Baron Cruz wore simple, dark clothing and had a pragmatic and cautious expression on his face.

He had clearly heard the commotion inside from outside the door.

“Your Excellency Marquis…” Baron Cruz’s voice was calm and reassuring, “Please calm down. Perhaps we should weigh this demand from the new Chinese with more caution.”

“A cautious attitude?” Mendoza scoffed, his anger still simmering. “Cruz, listen to the arrogant demands of these new Chinese. This isn’t negotiation; this is humiliation! They’re trying to force their victory onto our foreheads!” Baron Cruz didn’t directly refute him. He walked to Mendoza’s side, looked at the map hanging on the wall, his gaze sweeping across the vast Pacific coast before finally settling on the direction of Peru.

He sighed softly, his tone still gentle, but his words carried an unavoidable warning of reality.

“Your Excellency, I fully understand your anger. Any nobleman who cherishes the glory of the kingdom would feel the same humiliation.” He expressed his admiration softly, but then changed the subject, “However, Your Excellency, have we calmly assessed the…real cost of refusing the demands of the new Chinese?”

“Just two days ago, we received an urgent document from the Cádiz Chamber of Commerce, forwarded from the port of Veracruz. They were again inquiring about when the Peruvian treasure ship would be able to resume operations.”

"Your Excellency, as you know, the gold and silver collected by the Lima authorities have been piling up in the royal warehouses of Callao for nearly two years. Last year, due to the blockade of Callao port by the Xinhua Navy and their rampage on the Isthmus of Panama, the entire treasure fleet was forced to postpone its departure indefinitely."

"This has directly led to the kingdom's finances, which have been struggling on the verge of bankruptcy for far too long. The Madrid court is strapped for cash, and European bankers are pressing for repayment... You know the severity of all this better than I do."

Mendoza frowned deeply, but did not interrupt Cruz.

Baron Cruz continued in his calm yet somber tone, “His Majesty the King places high hopes on these peace talks, not because we believe the Chinese are so ‘powerful’ or so ‘invincible,’ but because… we cannot afford to drag this out any longer.”

"Time is a drain on their side, but a burning fuse on our side. Every day that the agreement is delayed and the transport of Peruvian silver cannot be restored, the kingdom's finances will bleed even more."

"The endless wars in the Dutch Lowlands, the increasingly rampant Portuguese rebellions, the unsettling centrifugal tendencies in Catalonia, and the watchful eyes of the French and Swedes on the European continent... none of these can be kept without a constant supply of American silver to fill the bottomless abyss of war and maintain the dignity of the empire?"

He paused deliberately, allowing these cold, hard realities to seep into Mendoza's furiously heated mind.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace.

“Furthermore, Your Excellency…” Baron Cruz lowered his voice even further, “we also need to be extremely vigilant about the upcoming military movements of the New Chinese. Based on the evolution of the war in the Americas over the past two years, these New Chinese are very adept at choosing the cool autumn and winter seasons to launch large-scale offensives.”

"Two years later, they captured Acapulco, then went inland and looted the silver mines of Taxco. Last January, they raided Panama, occupied Porto Bello, and completely severed the connection between our two oceans."

"Your Excellency, please imagine if we become stalemate with them over the issue of the negotiation location, or even cause the peace talks to break down... Where do you think their next target will be? Guayaquil, or will they gather all their forces... and directly attack Callao?"

"Kayao..." Mendoza swayed almost imperceptibly upon hearing this, and the anger on his face was gradually replaced by a gloomy expression.

Callao is the lifeline for Peruvian silver exports; its loss would have unimaginable consequences.

If those silver ships, laden with the hopes of the king and nobles, were to sink to the bottom of the sea under the cannon fire of the Xinhua warships, or become spoils of war for them to flaunt their military might, it would be nothing short of a huge disaster for the Kingdom of Spain.

"Do they... dare?" Mendoza murmured, his voice slightly hoarse, having lost its previous fervor.

"Your Excellency, judging from their decisiveness and fighting prowess in Acapulco and Panama, they are not only bold, but also very adept at choosing the right time and target to strike our vitals with precision."

Baron Cruz replied calmly, his words devoid of any exaggeration, yet all the more believable: "We cannot take that risk, Your Excellency. Dignity and face are important, but the foundation of the kingdom's survival and His Majesty's financial crisis are clearly more urgent and realistic."

“If we negotiate in San Diego, we may lose some face temporarily, but if we refuse to negotiate, we may lose the lifeblood that keeps the empire running, and even Spain’s position in the European continent.”

A long silence fell over the room.

He walked dejectedly to the window and abruptly pulled back the heavy curtains.

The plaza in the center of Mexico City was bathed in dazzling sunlight, and the cathedral bells rang at just the right time, melodious and solemn. In the distance, the figures of indigenous people and mixed-race residents were bustling about like ants.

The city appears to remain under their control, a symbol of Spain's glory and authority.

However, behind this glory lies the suffocating feeling of having its financial lifeline strangled in Peru, the desperately needy war machine in Europe, and the ever-present threat and challenge posed by that emerging, unconventional maritime power.

His pride, his arrogance stemming from his bloodline and status, appeared so pale and powerless in the face of the stark realities of "the kingdom's impending financial bankruptcy" and "the cessation of Peruvian silver flow."

He could uphold his dignity, but the price could be the collapse of the entire Spanish kingdom.

This responsibility is one that he, the Marquis of Villaltha, cannot bear.

After a long while, he slowly turned around, his originally straight back seemed to hunch slightly, and the anger in his eyes was replaced by a deep weariness and helplessness.

“Cruz…” His voice was hoarse, lacking its previous strength and vigor, “You’re right… For the King, for Spain…”

He paused, as if the next words were difficult to utter, but finally he said with difficulty: "Go and prepare. In three days, we will set off for Acapulco, and then... San Diego."

He walked toward the desk, his steps a little unsteady, and waved to Garza, who was still bowing and waiting, signaling him to step back.

Baron Cruz bowed slightly. "Yes, Your Excellency. I will arrange the guards and itinerary immediately. May God bless this negotiation to go smoothly and bring us the peace we desperately need."

Mendoza did not respond; he simply sat back down in his high-backed chair.

The autumn sun was still shining brightly, but in this room that symbolized Spanish American power, an indescribable sense of frustration and uncertainty about the future had already permeated the air, so heavy that it was almost suffocating.
-
(End of this chapter)