So, this chapter was kind of a headache, not gonna lie. Kinda glad to be done with Spain for a bit! I considered several, several different options for this chapter, but the ending may surprise some. Regardless, it is a different ending for Spain, even if it doesn't seem like it. It lays the groundwork for some serious political changes, which I find really, really interesting. I was definitely influenced by some comments from Blueflowwer, so I hope you enjoy.
The future of Spain shall be... interesting.
Chapter 10. The Revolution of the Communities
1520-1522 – Spain & Portugal.
“We, oh desperate and sad Castilians, embrace this cause in hopes that the king might see the error of his ways.”
– Anonymous
Musical Accompaniment: Pabanea
Rebel Movement in Spain, c. 1520. Rebel cities in Purple, Royalist in Green. Split are half and half.
The Cortes at La Coroña had not ended on satisfactory terms, but all the same, the King of Spain had received what he had desired—further funds to pay for his trip to Germany for his coronation, and to ensure the continuous collection of taxes in his absence. The royal coterie—comprised of the king, the queen, and several of the king’s most important advisors, such as the Lord of Chièvres and Chancellor Gattinara, departed shortly thereafter. Adrian of Utrecht, the Bishop of Tortosa and one of the king’s closest advisors—would remain behind, as Regent of Spain—who took up his residence at Valladolid. Prince Ferdinand, the king’s brother, also remained behind, a representative of the royal house, but in some ways a hostage—his domicile in Spain having been ardently demanded by the deputies of the Cortes if their sovereign was to truly leave. Ferdinand was granted guardianship of his nephew, the young Prince Philip; the pair of them retired soon after the king’s departure to the Royal Alcázar of Madrid—watched after by parts of the royal household that had remained in Spain.
Despite the king’s departure, the situation in Castile remained dangerously volatile. Sparks began to fly firstly in Toledo—a city that had already long been on edge, having decried the imperial ambitions of their sovereign. One of Adrian’s first acts as regent was to attempt to deal with the unstable situation in Toledo by recalling the city counsellor of that city to put more pliable replacements in their place. Rioters drove out the royal administrators, and a citizen’s committee was formed—headed by Juan López de Pedilla, the Captain General of Toledo and Pedro Laso de la Vega. They formed the first
Comunidad within Castile—and within days they seized complete control of Toledo, with the remaining royal administrators being driven from the fortifications of the Alcázar of Toledo.
Revolt spread quickly throughout central Castile in the short period after the king’s departure, with riots breaking out in several cities—most especially in cities where their deputies had voted in agreement for an extension of the king’s subsidy. Cities such as Segovia, Burgos, and Guadalajara suffered extreme unrest—in Segovia, woolworkers murdered the city’s royal administrators and deputy to the Cortes. Other cities, such as Ávila, Léon, and Zamora saw more minor altercations, where property was ransacked, and the royal administrators pelted with stones and rotten vegetables. Adrian’s regency seemed almost powerless in the increasing unrest throughout the country, and momentum was soon given over to the growing revolt. In Madrid, the unrest spread relatively quickly, and the Comunidad which was formed was easily able to overpower the token garrison that was in defense of the Royal Alcázar of Madrid. In a short time, both Prince Ferdinand and Prince Philip fell into the clutches of the rebels, who nevertheless treated both princes well and with due deference. Despite this, it was an embarrassment to the increasingly impotent royal council.
In the growing power vacuum, Toledo’s council acted decisively in suggesting that those cities which held votes within the Cortes should be summoned to hold an emergency meeting—an unprecedented suggestion, given that the Cortes were typically summoned by the king and held in his presence. Toledo’s council offered a program of political reform, with five central goals in mind—to cancel the taxes that had been voted at La Coroña, a return to locally controlled taxation that was dictated per head, reserving official positions and church benefices for Castilians, a ban on money leaving the kingdom to fund foreign affairs, and finally to designate a Castilian to lead the kingdom in the king’s absence. Though the program on a whole was not a revolutionary one, word of the council’s plans began to spread like wildfire amongst the populace—and it was not long before those ideas began to turn to ideas that involved the replacement of the king. After all, their king was no true Spaniard—and had ambitions far outside the kingdom. Did the kingdom truly have to suffer under the imperial yoke, no better than a mere province?
Some rebels suggested that Castile''s cities ought to
adopt governments similar to the Italian Republics, such as Genoa.
Toledo’s council floated the idea of turning Castile into a union of free cities, not unlike Genoa or the various other Italian republics. Other competing ideas favored retaining the monarchy, but dethroning Charles—replacing him with his mother, Queen Joanna—who after all, was still their queen, and had been wrongfully deprived of her powers. Others suggested that Charles should be replaced by young son, Prince Philip, with Ferdinand named as regent; others yet believed that Charles and his odious line should be deprived of all rights to the Crown of Castile, and Ferdinand named king in his stead. The discontent in Castile began to shift from a taxation protest and more into a revolution—seeking to desecrate the existing order and replace it with something new—and in the eyes of the rebels, something better.
The terrible situation began to move quickly towards an armed conflict in June of 1520, when the royal council dispatched Rodrigo Ronquillo to investigate the murder of Segovia’s deputy, but also to check the situation at Madrid, where Prince Ferdinand was being held. At Segovia, Ronquillo was refused entrance. Putting aside his orders to head whence to Madrid, Ronquillo set to place Segovia under blockade, having only a small force and being unable to besiege the city. Ronquillo’s actions only served to galvanize the people of Segovia, who rallied around their Comunidad. Segovia soon requested support from both Toledo and Madrid—and both cities dispatched their militias. The communal militias, under command of Juan López de Pedilla and Juan de Zapata soon made quick work of Ronquillo’s small detachment of troops, giving the rebels an early victory over the royalist forces.
The defeat of Ronquillo’s troops put Adrian of Utrecht’s regency in a seriously weakened position. Though the Bishop of Tortosa was widely trusted by the king, he was not a man of strong ardour or courage; nor did he have the convictions of the Cardinal de Cisneros, who had led the kingdom previously.
“The situation in the kingdom since your departure has greatly deteriorated, your majesty,” The Bishop of Tortosa wrote to the king—in one of his final letters.
“My health and nerves have been ruined by the terrible situation here, and I feel that I have greatly failed you, sire. You’ve asked me to uphold your crown, and I am allowing it to be shattered at the very altar upon which it was placed. I beg you to settle affairs abroad as soon as you possibly can; only your very person can offer a solution to these present troubles. I ask that you send whatever funds you can offer us from Flanders; pike, shot, and men are desperately needed, too. I remain, forever, your devoted servant.” By time the Bishop of Tortosa’s letter reached Charles V, the Bishop had already suffered a nervous collapse, resulting in a stroke—by July, he was dead—leaving the government of the crown rudderless.
Adrian of Utrecht, the Bishop of Tortosa.
The death of Adrian of Utrecht effectively paralyzed the royal government, depriving it of its head. As the royal council devolved into petty squabbles, other cities began to follow in the lead of Toledo and Segovia, and they too deposed their governments. A new Cortes was called by the rebelling cities, called the
Santa Junta de las Comuniades, or Holy Council of the Communities. The new Cortes held its first session in Ávila, where they declared themselves to be the legitimate authority of the crown—in effect suspending the regency and deposing the royal council. Padilla was named Captain-General, and an order was sent out to raise troops for the Cortes. Though only four cities initially attended the first Cortes meeting, its ranks began to grow. The royal government, effectively paralyzed, lost further momentum: when the council finally decided that force should be used against the rebels and ordered for a local commander to use the artillery stationed at Medina del Campo against Segovia, it was too late—the rebels had already seized the artillery and munitions stores and moved them into safer ground. Even somewhat loyalist cities, such as Valladolid began to establish their own communes. The royal council, effectively disbanded, was forced to retreat to Medina de Rioseco, under the protection of the Admiral of Castile, Fadrique Fernández. The royal army, its pay in arrears, also began to dissolve—many troops going over to the rebels.
The situation in Madrid was difficult for Prince Ferdinand—still in possession of his young nephew. Though the rebels gave Ferdinand the respect he deserved, given that he might be hoisted to the throne, he was kept under guard; the royal household was dismissed, and Ferdinand and his nephew were served by servants appointed by the commune of Madrid. Little Philip suffered from several maladies during their imprisonment—fevers, teething, and even a bout of malaria.
“The prince does not fare well,” Ferdinand wrote in a letter that was smuggled to his sister, Eleanor, the Crown Princess of Portugal.
“He is sick, wailing constantly; though he thrived in these first years, he is not well now. He cannot stomach more than a few sips of gruel—not that we have much else. I must leave this note brief, so I apologize—there is not much more to say. I will be going soon to see mother; and I hope the air will suit Philip better. Please send our brother my regards. Let him know that I remain always forever his devoted servant. All that I do is for his cause.” The letter bore obvious marks of nervous energy; one can see upon the parchment where Ferdinand etched out certain words, perhaps to hide them from prying censors—but not so marked that they could not be deciphered.
True to Ferdinand’s word, he was soon transferred from Madrid to Torsedillas—perhaps to ensure that those members of the royal family who remained in Spain would be close together. Prince Philip was not moved from Madrid, owing to his delicate health. By August, members of the Cortes met with both Queen Joanna and Prince Ferdinand—with the deputies of the Junta explaining the situation to which Castile had deteriorated.
“The prior reign has done much harm to Castile, Majesty—” One of the deputies said in a florid speech to Queen Joanna.
“What the kingdom needs is stability; and you are the only one who can provide it. The Cortes places itself at your mercy; we will follow your command.” Despite the queen’s mental state, she was lucid for this meeting with the deputies.
“Milords, I understand the grave troubles that you bring me, and have placed at my meet. Of course, this is no fit state for our great kingdom—I ask that the Cortes be assembled here at Torsedillas and those cities that have not yet attended be invited to do so.” The Cortes at Ávila would soon shift towards Torsedillas, with over fourteen Castilian cities electing to send deputies. Only the heavily (still) royalist cities in the southern part of Castile: Seville, Granada, Cordóba, and Jaén, held out from sending deputies. Within a month, representatives from the Cortes pledged to use force of arms to hold up their position, if necessary—they proclaimed themselves the legitimate government of Castile, and denounced Charles’ royal council as illegitimate. The various cities, now united in revolt, took oaths of mutual protection.
Painting of the Trastámara Royal Family.
Given Joanna’s mental state, many of the rebels thought that the safest option would be to place Ferdinand into a position of power beside her. Their initial draft did not include the idea of Ferdinand as co-king, as Charles had been, but rather possessing a more anomalous title, such as Governor. When the proposals were presented to the queen, she demurred from signing them.
“Milords, as you have proclaimed my sovereignty, I do not feel it fair—or right, for it to be signed away,” Joanna stated wildly in a meeting with the deputies.
“My son is young. Must he already grow to such heights?” At this, the deputies put subtle threats before the queen: she could either agree to the proposals, or the Cortes would depose her in favor of Ferdinand. Did she wish to live freely, or did she wish to live as she had in the prior reigns? Ferdinand looked on. There was a standoff—but eventually, Joanna signed the documents naming Ferdinand as
Governor of the Kingdom—and as her heir. The Kingdom had effectively been stripped from Charles, right under his nose.
At the beginning, Charles did not grasp the seriousness of the situation in Castile; he continued to demand payments from Castile and Spain, even as the payments slowly dried up and lines of credit became impossible to obtain. When Adrian of Utrecht passed, Charles refrained from appointing a successor—merely giving a decree to give the royal council more authority and latitude to deal with the present issues. It was only as the revolt spiraled—and Charles learned that his brother was being hoisted above him, that Charles decided to act. It was brother against brother—even if one brother said he was unwilling. Charles appointed Fadrique Fernández, as well as the Constable of Castile, Íñigo Fernández as his new regents. Charles authorized them with three important jobs—to win the nobility back over to the crown of Castile, take control of the person of the king’s son, Prince Philip—and to contain the rebellion and crush it. The king was also prepared to make further concessions—he cancelled the taxes ratified at La Coroña, this removed two of the rebels most important complaints—and though the royal army remained in ruins, the great nobles still maintained their own private armies.
Through the end of 1520, the fires of the revolt began to spread beyond the moderate rebels, taking on an anti-aristocratic tone—this placed the Cortes in a difficult position; should they defend those rebelling against their rightful lords and destroying property? Or should they side with the very men who had made this revolt against the crown so successful? Anti-feudal revolts rocked Castile through the fall and winter, which served to alienate the large landowners and the merchant class. Yes, they were unhappy with their present king—but the present situation would not do, either. They longed for peace, prosperity, and plenty—not chaos and famine. Though the Admiral of Castile was open to negotiations with the rebels, both sides had armies, which precluded any useful discussions—both sides were intent on the destruction of the other. The moderate rebels began to lose power to more radical leaders, who were demanding more out of the revolt than the initial leaders.
Royalist forces struck a mighty blow in December when they managed to take back control of Tordesillas—depriving the rebels of Queen Joanna and Prince Ferdinand. The emperor, still in Germany, announced the Edict of Worms, naming certain rebel lords and other men as traitors. Secular rebels were condemned to death, while clergymen were to be turned over to church authorities. One curious name was at the very top of the list—Prince Ferdinand.
“As my own brother has seen fit to seize the title of ‘Governor’ he is no better than the lowest traitor…” The edict spoke.
“We condemn him as we would any other subject; he shall be held in strict confinement until a suitable judgement can be decided.” In reality—the condemnation was a farce, merely given to spook the rebels. Following Ferdinand’s liberation, he was allowed to join the royalist forces in the north of the kingdom—though his health was marred by his confinement at Torsedillas by the rebel forces. Madrid fell soon after—but young Prince Philip was nowhere to be found; and no firm answers could be given. His wetnurse stated that he had died of a sickness; other servants spoke that he had been smothered with a pillow. Others whispered that he had been whisked away. Regardless, there was no clear answer—but curiously enough, the expense accounts for the young Prince ceased a short time after Ferdinand was moved to Torsedillas—leading many to believe that the young prince had succumbed to natural causes, and the
Comuniade was simply too embarrassed to announce the death of a royal prince under their care.
Meeting of the Royalists and Rebels, c. 1521.
1521 began much as the year before—the country remained divided between the rebel and royalist camps, with the rebel camp divided between moderate and radical reformers. With the radical reformers beginning to gain the upper hand, many of the moderate rebels began to look more clearly towards the royalist forces; if a compromise could be found, perhaps the endless suffering could be dealt with. Both sides had armed forces; while the rebel army had some success raiding the north of Castile and were able to consolidate their forces in Toledo following the death of the foreign Archbishop there, William de Croÿ. Despite this, the royalist forces were beginning to grow in strength—in both the north and the south, putting pressure on the center of Castile, the heart of the rebellion. At Villalar, the royalist and rebel forces clashed in April of 1521—an indecisive battle that gave neither side the momentum they needed. With rumors of the King of Navarre preparing to invade Upper Navarre, there was an absolute need to conclude peace—either diplomatically or militarily.
Pedilla signaled his openness to reopen negotiations with the Admiral and Constable of Castile. Though his influence was dwindling compared to the radicals, he was open to aiding the royalists in putting down the more radical rebels—if his demands could be met. The moderate nobles that still sided with the communes had three simple demands at this point—they wished for the Cortes to be summoned on a regular basis—with the king or his appointed representative present; secondly, they wished for the Cortes to have the ability to submit their petitions to the king at any point—and the king could not deny them. In the question of taxation, the Cortes desired more say, and asked to be included in such deliberations for the king. This represented a large shift in Castile—away from a more authoritative regime, and towards a deliberative one.
With the kingdom in chaos, Charles gave approval for his regents to negotiate with the moderate nobles—now termed as the
Comuneros against the more radical enemies of the crown. In the spring of 1522, the royalist and
Comuniades signed the
Treaty of Segovia, outlining the Cortes demands—while acknowledging than
King Charles and his line… are the legitimate heirs of the crown.
