Chapter 247: The Maracaibo Campaign: First Movements

“I did not learn of her death until much later, and I was… quite heartbroken. That is, in part, why I accepted leaving for New Granada. There was nothing left for me in Europe.”

Carlos spoke quietly, the weight of the memory still evident in his expression.

Krugger studied him for a moment before asking, “Are you truly certain she was not murdered? From what you describe, it sounds very much like a deliberate effort to destroy your family… to force you away.”

Carlos gave a small shrug, though his gaze drifted elsewhere.

“I am fairly certain they had something to do with it. Though I doubt it was murder. She did, in truth, fall into a deep depression. I saw her from time to time… and she grew worse with each visit.”

He paused, his jaw tightening slightly.

“My relationship with my father was never a good one. Yet, in the end, I find myself somewhat grateful. The knowledge he gave me has allowed me to live well in this place.”

A faint, bitter smile crossed his face.

“Still, I cannot help but resent the ruthlessness of the duke’s household. Even its leader may be removed without hesitation… all for fear of losing power.”

Krugger returned the smile, though his carried a knowing edge. Without another word, he reached for a bottle—and then another.

What began as quiet reflection soon dissolved into excess.

They drank heavily, each attempting, in his own way, to drown what could not be spoken aloud. One bottle followed the next, until thought gave way to laughter, and laughter to something far less controlled.

By the time exhaustion overcame them, both men had collapsed onto the floor, caught somewhere between drunken amusement and grief.

Grandmother María arrived not long after.

She paused at the entrance, taking in the scene: two grown men sprawled across the ground, laughing and cursing, yet with tears still clinging to their faces. For a brief moment, she said nothing.

Then she turned to the soldiers behind her.

“You two—help these drunkards to the latrines. They will be sick soon enough. And you—go fetch those herbs and put water to boil. We will need it.”

She shook her head with visible irritation.

“At my age, and I am still made to look after children. These two do nothing but give me reason to worry.”

With surprising strength, she seized both Carlos and Krugger by the collar, dragging them forward as the soldiers hurried to assist. Together, they forced the two men toward the latrines.

That night was not a quiet one.

The sounds of retching, groans, and bitter complaints echoed through the area as the harsh medicine did its work. Sleep was scarce for anyone nearby.

By morning, rumors had already begun to spread from Medellín.

Some claimed Carlos had captured spies and was extracting information from them. Others insisted a traitor had been uncovered within the army. A few went further still, whispering that Carlos himself had been the traitor, captured by Krugger before he could act on dangerous impulses.

When the men were seen the following day—pale, exhausted, and visibly unwell—the stories only grew.

Carlos condition, in particular, drew attention, and many began to look upon Krugger with a new measure of respect… and perhaps fear. After all, if even Carlos could be brought low, few would dare oppose him.

Setting aside rumor and speculation, Antioquia began its preparations in earnest.

Carlos had made his decision.

Maracaibo would be taken.

This time, his objective was clear: to conquer the city and secure a direct outlet to the sea. Yet before any such campaign could begin, two key positions needed to be secured, and the region’s defenses strengthened.

“So,” Krugger said, frowning slightly as he studied the map, “you intend to take Puerto Berrío and El Banco?”

“That is correct,” Carlos replied.

“We must ensure that Ezpeleta—or whatever viceroy may replace him in New Granada—cannot strike us from the rear while we advance toward Bucaramanga and Pamplona.”

He leaned slightly over the table, his tone measured.

“Those regions are wealthy… but more importantly, they carry deep resentment. My concern is not their strength alone, but their perception of us.”

Krugger said nothing, allowing him to continue.

“If they come to see us as no different from the Crown, they will resist us just as fiercely. After all, that is where the Rebellion of the Comuneros was born.”

A brief silence followed.

“And if they see us as enemies,” Carlos concluded, his voice steady, “then we will not only struggle to take those lands… we will struggle even more to hold and govern them.”

“Indeed,” Krugger said slowly, his gaze fixed on the map, now seeing the situation in Bucaramanga from a different angle. “They could even use us to contain the Spanish. And once both sides are weakened… they would move to break us apart and claim autonomy for themselves.”

“That is precisely the danger,” Carlos replied.

He straightened slightly, his earlier melancholy now replaced with a clearer sense of purpose.

“That is why we must secure the Magdalena entrance. Once we establish a series of forts in Puerto Berrío, even if the viceroy sends troops, his ability to act will be severely limited.”

Krugger remained silent for a moment, then spoke again, more cautiously.

“But such a move would sever our ties with Spain entirely.”

He hesitated.

“Once we take that step, the Crown will block us completely. Cartagena will no longer serve as an outlet for trade. Until Maracaibo is secured, we may find ourselves unable to sell beyond these lands.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Do you know where you will obtain the funds to keep both the soldiers… and the elites satisfied?”

The last word carried a particular weight.

Both men understood the problem well. Soldiers could be sustained on promises—on the hope of future reward, or the immediate incentive of plunder. But the elites were another matter entirely.

They owned vast lands, and their wealth depended on exporting raw materials to Europe. Once the conflict deepened, they would be among the first to suffer restrictions.

And when that happened, they would not remain silent.

They would turn to Carlos—and demand answers.

Carlos gave a small, dismissive shrug.

“As for food, we will purchase what we need. The rest…” He paused briefly. “Is no longer our concern.”

There was a quiet shift in his tone.

“I have grown weary of appeasing them, especially when they may betray us at any moment. This presents an opportunity to deal with those families… once and for all.”

Krugger’s expression sharpened.

“The more pragmatic among them will adapt,” Carlos continued. “Those who accept their losses and begin cultivating food for the coming year may yet find a place under us.”

He leaned slightly forward.

“As for the rest—we have alternatives. The slavers, for instance. From what I have seen after our last dealings, many have already abandoned that trade. It seems they find greater profit working with us.”

A faint trace of satisfaction crossed his face.

“There is even talk of them changing their names… their professions. At least those established in Medellín and Río Negro.”

Krugger’s eyes lit with a restrained intensity.

For a long time, Carlos had been the one restraint upon him. The existence of those powerful families had always been a matter left unresolved—not for lack of will, but for lack of permission.

Now, that hesitation seemed to be fading.

At last, there would be no need to hold back.

Carlos noticed the shift immediately and felt a quiet unease.

For Krugger, solutions often came in only one form: destruction, followed by conquest. It was a simplicity Carlos found both effective… and dangerously short-sighted.

Perhaps, he thought, that was simply the way of certain European courts—where words held value only until blood could settle the matter more definitively.

“Very well,” Carlos said at last, his tone firm. “But you will go to the front.”

Krugger looked up.

“I will need you to leave someone behind—someone you trust completely. Preferably a man who speaks German, and who has family in Medellín… as a precaution.”

The meaning was clear.

Krugger was capable in matters of intrigue, but his true strength lay in war. To assign him the handling of a few elite families would be… excessive.

Better to have him face the Spanish forces directly. Though weakened, they remained a European army—and not one to be underestimated.

Krugger frowned slightly, though more in reluctance than disagreement.

Still, he understood. There was little honor—and less challenge—in dealing with merchants and landowners.

“I have someone in mind,” he said after a moment. “One of the younger men. I will prepare him for the task in time.”

He turned his attention back to the map.

“For now, we should focus on the immediate objective.”

His finger traced the terrain.

“Puerto Berrío will be simple enough. It lies close, and we can take it by surprise. To them, we are still loyal to the Crown.”

He shifted slightly.

“But El Banco…” His expression grew more serious. “That is another matter. It lies near Mompox, which already falls under Cartagena’s authority.”

He paused briefly, his gaze steady upon the map.

“We must secure both positions. But once we move on El Banco, Mompox will respond swiftly. And given that we would be pressing upon the very core of the Crown’s power in the region…” He exhaled lightly. “I am certain we will face constant attacks—at least until we establish defenses strong enough to repel them.”

A brief silence followed, the weight of the decision settling between them.

“So the plan,” Krugger concluded at last, his voice measured and firm, “must be executed with great care.”

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