At last, Francisco was forced to intervene.

“Gentlemen,” he said, raising his voice just enough to halt them, “might we first return to the matter at hand? What is to be done with the indigenous?”

Both men fell silent.

“I require a system,” Francisco continued, more steadily now, “one that grants them sufficient rights to accept a new government, yet preserves the limited autonomy they desire. At the same time, my father must retain the legal authority to exploit the resources within their lands, should such resources exist. Do you have any proposal that might reconcile these demands?”

Heyne and Blumenbach exchanged a glance. The shift in the room was immediate. What had moments before been a heated academic dispute settled into something heavier—more deliberate. The air took on the stillness of calculation.

They were no longer debating Sparta or Athens.

They were considering the design of a future.

Blumenbach spoke first, his voice now stripped of its earlier sharpness, replaced by a colder, more contemplative tone.

“You ask for something nearly impossible, Francisco,” he said, pacing slowly toward a map of the Roman frontier. “You seek to place predator and prey within the same forest, yet expect neither to alter its nature.”

He paused, studying the map.

“Still… history offers a precedent. What you describe resembles, in part, the foederati system of the late Roman Empire.”

He turned slightly.

“The Romans did not always conquer outright. When they encountered tribes too formidable—or too valuable—to destroy, they formed treaties. A foedus. These peoples remained upon Roman lands, governed by their own kings, obeying their own laws. They were not subjects, but allies—socii.”

Francisco leaned forward slightly.

“And the matter of resources?” he asked.

Heyne answered this time, his expression sharpening with interest.

“That is where our own Germanic traditions may offer guidance,” he said. “Within the Holy Roman Empire, there exists the principle of the Bergregal—the ‘right of the mountain.’ The surface belongs to the cultivator, yet the wealth beneath it—metals, minerals—belongs to the sovereign, or to those granted authority to extract it.”

Francisco considered this, though his brow remained furrowed.

“Then the danger,” he said slowly, “is that such a system does not truly annex these tribes. If I follow the Roman model, they would remain distinct—separate. In time… they would still be their own people.”

Blumenbach leaned forward, his eyes alight with a colder, strategic interest.

“Precisely. That is the inherent friction—biological as well as political. If you do not dissolve their identity into yours—what we call assimilation—you create, in effect, a second nation within your borders.”

He tapped the map lightly.

“The Romans called them allies… until the Goths decided they were strong enough to become conquerors.”

Heyne, however, drew a chair closer, his manner more measured. Taking a sheet of parchment, he began to sketch a series of interlocking circles.

Francisco remained silent, though his thoughts moved quickly. Of all the options presented, this seemed—at least for now—the most viable. In the worst case, he might persuade his father to delay any deeper integration until the Spanish were expelled. After that… a stronger form of annexation could be considered.

Heyne finished his sketch and looked up.

“There is another path,” he said, interrupting Francisco’s thoughts. “Not a Roman foedus, but something subtler—a form of commercial integration.”

He tapped the parchment lightly.

“You do not annex their tribes, Francisco. You annex their interests.”

His gaze sharpened slightly.

“As the son of a merchant, you must understand this well: the surest way to bind men together—especially when they share little else—is through what touches their wealth.”

Francisco considered this before responding.

“We understand the principle,” he said, “but the difficulty lies in finding something these tribes truly desire. Gold, for instance, holds little value among them as a medium of exchange.”

Heyne gave a faint chuckle before replying.

“Has your father not already provided the answer?” he asked. “You mentioned that the Chimila seek a monopoly over salt. That alone is sufficient. Salt may serve as the foundation of dependency—provided you ensure they cannot easily obtain it elsewhere.”

Francisco’s eyes lit up at once. The logic was clear.

Yet, almost immediately, another thought intruded—one drawn from the distant future he alone remembered. A world where salt was so abundant it had lost much of its value. The system, then, would not endure indefinitely.

Still… for now, it would suffice.

His father did not need a solution for centuries—only for the present. What came three hundred years hence could be left to those who lived to face it.

Heyne continued, his tone growing more deliberate.

“The essential point is that the exchange must be mutual. You cannot simply provide salt and expect loyalty in return. They must come to depend upon you just as you depend upon them.”

He gestured lightly, as if arranging pieces upon a board.

“Consider this: if your father possesses a steel mill, and the tribes possess iron, then salt may be exchanged for iron. In order to sustain that exchange, the tribes must reorganize themselves. They must assign men to the mines, oversee their labor, and ensure its continuity.”

He paused briefly.

“And those men, in turn, will gain status. Their position—derived from this new economy—will grant them influence. Should their chieftain ever seek to sever ties with you, these same men would resist him. Their power would depend upon the continuation of that relationship.”

Francisco hesitated.

“At present,” he said, “the indigenous often use gold to purchase our goods.”

Both Heyne and Blumenbach looked at him with sudden intensity.

“Gold?” Blumenbach repeated.

“For salt?” Heyne added, his brows lifting.

A faint, almost bitter smile crossed Heyne’s face.

“Then I begin to understand Spain’s wealth more clearly. It seems the reports are true—the indigenous do not value gold as we do.” He shook his head slightly. “But you must not rely upon it.”

Francisco frowned.

“Why not?” he asked.

Heyne answered without hesitation.

“Because those who mine the gold already hold a necessary role within their society. They form an established group of interests—one that does not depend upon you.”

He leaned forward slightly, his tone sharpening.

“If you accept gold, you create nothing new. You fail to establish a class whose position is tied directly to your father’s system. And without such a class, there is no internal force to sustain your influence.”

He allowed a brief pause before continuing.

“If you wish to bind these tribes to your father’s vision, you must alter their internal structure. Demand iron ore. Demand coal. Resources that require new forms of organization.”

His gaze remained fixed on Francisco.

“To extract such materials, they must appoint miners, overseers, carriers—men whose entire standing depends upon the fact that you are willing to purchase what they produce. These new interests will seek greater influence. They may even generate internal tensions.”

He straightened slightly.

“And in time… such tensions may render annexation far easier than any direct conquest.”

Francisco swallowed, a cold sensation creeping down his spine. He looked at the two men—one a master of history, the other of the physical world—and understood, perhaps for the first time, that the pursuit of truth was a blade with two edges.

Truly, he thought, those who study history know too many ways to create disorder. It is not wise to stand against them lightly.

Yet, as the thought settled, he could not deny the clarity of what they had shown him.

If he considered it carefully, the reasoning was sound. Loyalty, in the end, was rarely born of sentiment alone—it was forged through interest. Nations endured not because their people shared a single vision, but because their interests converged upon one.

Men followed a king, a president, or whatever form of authority governed them, not merely out of duty, but because that authority represented the balance of their needs, ambitions, and survival.

The difficulty, then, was not the principle—but its application.

Geography would decide much. What could truly be obtained from trade with the indigenous? Not all tribes possessed resources worth exchanging, and even where they did, uncovering such value would require time, patience, and knowledge.

Still… that responsibility would fall to his father.

Francisco lifted his gaze toward his mentors.

“Thank you,” he said. “With this, I believe my father will be able to manage them more effectively.”

He gathered himself, preparing to take his leave.

But before he could step away, Heyne and Blumenbach stopped him.

“And what system will you choose?” Heyne asked, his voice steady but insistent. “Your father has already begun his expansion. If you delay too long, the structure may collapse from within before the Spanish are even driven out.”

Blumenbach nodded in agreement.

“To govern as a minor lord may suffice for now,” he added, “but once control extends over a greater territory, such improvisation will no longer hold. A system will become inevitable.”

Francisco exhaled slowly.

“Sir… it is difficult,” he admitted. “Like any man, I would wish for a system that ensures strength for centuries—one that allows the nation we build to endure, and to remain fair.”

He paused, his expression tightening slightly.

“But the truth is… I do not yet know how to achieve it.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep