El Problema Domestico (Southern Italy, Spain)

[Spain]

Iron hand in the velvet glove.
- Charles V

[/size]

25 June 1647, A couple weeks before the Neapolitan Revolt[/i]

The trip back home was a long, taxing journey for Antonio Fernández Carriedo. The weight of the battle-axe felt heavy on his left shoulder, resting chipped from the years at war with the Dutch, the Portuguese and the French, for he did not have the time to sharpen it while he was away. It did not help that Portugal and Catalonia both decided that it would be the ideal time to cause havoc in his household and revolt. Fighting with them caused his muscles to feel sore, his body protesting about the four-day ride on bumpy roads. However, despite the dust in his silk doublet and breeches, worn from days spent in rough conditions, the Spaniard tried to tell himself that things would get better though it had been years since he had been able to live peacefully at home.

Heaving a sigh, Antonio wiped the sweat off his brow as he traveled with his companions, smiling in the presence of the Iberian sun despite the circumstances. How many years had he been away from home? As far as he could tell, long enough that the feel of the rocking ship deck, the smell of gunpowder and the smell of air in the foreign land felt more familiar than the cheery, sunny plains and mountains surrounding it. The thought saddened him, though he did his best to push it out of the way, telling himself that he would make up for it by taking a decent break before heading back to Münster for negotiations. It had been over half a century since he had been fighting the war, struggling to keep the seams of his empire from ripping apart. Thus it felt surreal when he received the message from Felipe, informing him that it was best to sit down and have peace talks with the opposing side.

Antonio had resisted the urge to protest as His Majesty made the decision, knowing that it would eventually be for the best. Though he liked the idea of having a large family, the discontent that the Dutch had bluntly expressed along with the physical lashing was enough for him to concede. Plus, that man could sure punch. Never in the years they lived together had Antonio ever expected to get decked hard enough for the bruise to last so long.

He knew that he and Países Bajos españoles had their differences, but he never expected that he would actually leave. Then again, he had never expected the Ingraterra and Francia to jump into the war and team up against him either. Well, maybe he expected it from Arthur. The Spaniard could still remember the bitterness in the Dutch’s departure, the anger and ill intent the man had as he spat his declaration of independence. He could still remember the moment Arthur and Francis forced him to his knees, head pressed into the dirt, while dust blew into his eyes. They made him recognize that Países Bajos españoles was now Republiek der Zeven Verenigde Nederlanden and no longer a member of the Spanish household. It was a bitter defeat, but something that had become inevitable at that point.

But he had never grinded his teeth so hard.

In hindsight though, the war would not have been as bad if it did not been part of an even larger war. The amount of traveling and sleepless nights had driven him to feel sick at times, running a fever bad enough that he found it hard to smile. However, with the end of the fighting four years ago, Antonio found himself in better health, though not quite how he felt before the conflict broke out. Perhaps he had been stretched thin over so many assignments lately, but the Spaniard could not help but feel a sense of fatigue riding heavily on his back.


“I’m so tired,” he finally muttered to himself, allowing his horse to slow down into a trot as he traveled on the road. Battle weary and hungry, the Spaniard could not wait to get to his home located in the outskirts to the ever-developing Barcelona, a place that he had not really seen in years. He had been riding hard lately, d etermination coloring his olive green eyes as the wind tossed his thick brown locks back, kicking up a cloud of dust. He had merely been traveling for days, though the journey felt like years.

Nevertheless, the Spaniard was excited to be able to come back, to be able to sleep in his own bed and run through his own fields under the warm sun. That and he had been looking forward to seeing how things had changed. I hope that they have been taking care of the land. If the crops grow well, we will have to celebrate!

Soon, the Spaniard sighted the familiar scene of sloping farmland, framed beautifully by the protective barrier of the Pirineos in the distance. Excitement overwhelmed fatigue as he leaned on his haunches, his horse breaking into a gallop as it sensed the enthusiasm in its rider. The familiar view of the line of trees that he use to climb for fun rushed past him, waving with the wind as he rode past. He would be able to finally return home to see how his tomatoes had grown, to see how beautiful his country had become and what his household had become!

When he finally reached his home, Antonio slowed the horse down to a halt, quickly dismounting his steed before bolting for the entrance with a huge grin on his face. The leaves of the surrounding shrubbery rustled, disturbed by his full sprint to the door. To him, this had been one of the few places where he could keep his guard down, mutter his concerns before pushing them back into some dusty corner of his mind. And for him, there was no place sweeter than being home.

“Hola, everyone!” the Spaniard shouted as he made his way through the entrance, lightly brushing the dust on his clothes, a fruitless attempt at trying to make himself appear tidy. The maid appeared at the entrance, taking his dusty cloak and quickly withdrawing from the room, leaving Antonio to look around the house. A couple of the servants talked in and greeted him, one of them leaving to take care of the horse while the other took his ace from him. For some reason, it seemed as though his house was larger than usual and perhaps emptier? He had purposely sent Bélgica to her home so that she could take care of things pending the treaty and had allowed some of the more mature colonies to return to their home, but it could not make this big of a difference.

Antonio could not help but feel that there was something very wrong.

Strolling through the hallway, the Spaniard looked about the surroundings, eyes searching for the familiar chatter and figures of those he knew that lived here. Where could they be?

Then suddenly, the realization hit him, causing the man to turn and hurry up the stairs. How could he have missed it? They had argued the last time they saw each other, so he had not expected reconciliation to occur immediately. Nevertheless, steps became shuffles, which developed into a brisk jog down the hall until he reached the room on the far right and proceeded to knock on the door. Knuckles rapped on the door lightly as he cooed against the mahogany wood, hoping that his voice would help sooth the angry occupant.

“Hey,” he cooed against the wood as a grin on his face slowly formed. “Lovino, are you there?”

Silence answered back, the prolonged response causing Antonio to shift uncomfortably on his feet as he waited for the youth to answer the door. The seconds he spent waiting turned into a few torturous minutes before the Spaniard’s patience wore thin. Rapping his knuckles more forcefully on the door a second time, he sighed and repeated his question again. “Lovino, this is Antonio. Are you inside?”

He was met with the same response.

Frowning as he looked at the grains on the door, studying it as he waited for a little longer, Antonio finally placed his hand on the doorknob and knocked again. “Lovino,” he said, the tone in his voice darkening significantly, “I’m coming in.”

With that, the Spaniard turned the knob and threw the door open, half expecting the Italian to be lounging around and reading, half expecting the youth to throw a flurry of curse words at him. Instead, he found himself in an empty room, remnants of a disaster still apparent in the room. Clothes tossed around in the room like a hurricane as if its owner had left in a hurry, Antonio resisted the urge to rummage through the room to see if the Italian was hiding. Lovino had always had a rebellious streak in him but nothing that could not be handled, such as the incident in Palermo last month. Antonio could not help but notice that the Italian had entered into a difficult age, as their arguments began to escalate over time. However, the Spaniard had always made a point to quickly put his foot down and squandered any possibility creating a long-term conflict.

Solemnly walking over to the bed, Antonio sat down, feeling the mattress sink under his weight as he tried took in all that had happened. It was like any other dispute that they had in the past, he was sure of it. It was typical for Lovino became livid and threw a string of curses at him, to even physically lash out at him if he was riled up enough. Yet, none of the arguments was ever worth making the point of leaving the house in fury.

Yet the Spaniard found himself running his hand through his hair, confusion clearly written in his olive green eyes as he tried to decide what to do. He had seen many of the children leave over the years, though most of them were taken with Portugal, but he could not just let the Italian leave. After all, he still needed Lovino around to help him carry out his plans.

Violently shoving the plans out of his mind, Antonio brood as he sat in the Italian's room. The way things were could prove to be problematic as it stands, not to mention unproductive. He could venture a guess to where Lovino could have gone, there were only a few places he would be willing to go. The Spaniard frowned, falling back on the bed in as exhaustion suddenly fought back, his eyes narrowing as everything sunk in.

As things stood, he could not accept Lovino's behavior. He will need to go to Italy and drag him back, kicking if need be.

---

Note:
- Países Bajos españoles = Spanish Netherlands
- Republiek der Zeven Verenigde Nederlanden = Dutch Republic
- Los Pirineos = Pyrenees Moutains
- I hope this post is okay. orz

[muffin]

Lovino looked over the railing, admiring the vast blue sea surrounding the ship. It has been several days since it had left the harbor. Finally Romano felt safe – safe and far enough away from Spain’s home.

I wonder if he is back home by now…

He had left in secret. If anyone had known about his plans they would have tried to keep him there, maybe even locked him in his room. So one night, he had snuck outside with everything he needed: some provisions, clothes, and money, and went to the stables. There he had taken one of Antonio’s beautiful Andalusian horses and left his caretaker’s property for his own home. He had never liked riding that much, but a horse helped him to get to his destination much faster than his feet could ever take him.

It had been a few days before Spain had left for one of his journeys that they had a big fight. He couldn’t even remember what they had argued over… the two of them fought so much that it was really hard to keep track of all the reasons for it – not that he cared or anything. Spain was an idiot and Lovino hated him so he was happy whenever he got a chance to make the Spaniard’s life hell. It wasn’t as if Antonio wasn’t nice to him, no, he had a good life at his house but the problem was that he never wanted to live there in the first place! No one had asked him if he’d wanted to live with the older nation, he was forcefully taken from his own home and put under Antonio’s care, something he could never forgive. He knew life wasn’t always easy and it definitely wasn’t fair, but was it really too much for him to wish to be free, to have an Italian ruling over his lands? As their nation, he was the one who had to take care of the people living in South Italy, right?

Those beliefs caused him join his people in Palermo when they protested and caused him to even fight against their Spanish rulers. But the rebellion hadn’t lasted long and Spain had made sure to show him what he thought about revolts like that, which had only increased his anger. Romano had used every chance he got to talk back to Antonio, to protest and rebel, and noticed with satisfaction how much it had annoyed him. But he had calmed down much too soon for his liking. The rage Romano had felt was soon replaced by a deep longing for his country.

He felt homesick.

After their last fight he had locked himself into his room to beat his pillows out of rage and later, to dwell in his own misery.

I hate him! I hate him! I hate him…

He repeated the words like a mantra over and over in his head but he knew that it wouldn’t change anything for him – he was stuck here.

However, Romano didn’t see Antonio afterwards – the Spaniard went on his journey and he was left brooding in his room.

It had been so long after Spain had left – though he was sure not how long exactly, had it been month or even years? – that he thought about running away. It was a simple and maybe stupid idea that popped up in his head. His homesickness had been getting worse lately and the beautiful Spanish summer reminded him of his home. Summer had always been his favorite season with all those festivals and the oppressive heat his country was known for.

Festivals. It was June; it would be the Festa della Madonna Del Carmine and the Festa di S. Maria delle Grazie in the coming month. He loved those festivals, loved to walk through the streets of his beloved Naples on those days, to celebrate with his people and watch the mock battle between the ‘people’ and ‘Turkish invaders’. What wouldn't he give to be able to see it again! Recalling the festivals was when he first thought about running away and with Spain gone; it would be a simple task to sneak out of the house and run back home. It had still taken him another few days to plan everything out, pack his things and steal the money so he would get all the way to his home.

It would have been easy to get to the harbor, but he thought it would be safer to get as far away from Barcelona as possible before he booked a passage on a small merchants ship heading all the way to southern Italy. He’d always hated that Antonio had forced him to learn Spanish, but for once he had been glad because without it he wouldn’t had been able to get the passage in the first place and the journey over land would have taken too long. On the ride to the port town, Lovino always feared that one of Spain’s men or Antonio himself would appear to take him back but nothing had happened. Now he was standing on the deck of the ship, leaving the land nowhere in sight.

The south Italian nation was sure that Spain would come after him once he returned from his journey. Romano wasn’t sure how much longer he would be away but he hoped it was long enough for him to reach his home and that Antonio wouldn’t know where exactly he was going – after all, his land was far and wide and there many places he could go.

Romano wasn’t sure what he would find once he returned home. His people had always been poor and the taxes were high, but he hoped they were fine. He couldn’t wait to run through the busy streets of Naples and hear the wonderful sound of his own language again. There was a small smile on his lips while he thought about his home and he leaned his head on his arms, watching the waves gently brushing against the ship and listened to the sounds of the seagulls above.

"I hope I will be home soon …"

---

Note:
- Festa della Madonna Del Carmine - Feast of the Madonna of the Carmine. July 16th celebrates in Naples, the feast of "Madonna del Carmine" which is one of the most cherished figures in the Neapolitan pantheon.

- Festa di S. Maria delle Grazie - A festival celebrated on july 7th. St Mary of Graces is a devotion to the Virgin Mary in the Roman Catholic Church. Festivals to her are celebrated in many places. In Italy one of the most famous is at Catenanuova.

[Spain]

28 June 1647

It was another day spent sitting in the presence of the council, listening to the reports of each corner of the Spanish Empire. Meetings like this bored Antonio, he would much rather travel to the house of his protectorates to see how they were than to listen to these progress reports. Ungloved fingers running over the smooth surface of the mahogany table, the Spaniard did his best to attempt to look somewhat engaged in the discussion. For one, he could care less about Países Bajos españoles. That man had been such a thorn in his side since as long as he could remember and with the way things were, he doubted the situation would change any time soon. He could not deny the fact that he was displeased about how his war with him went, but with the way things were, he’d have to resign to the outcome.

Then there was the issue with the sudden rebellions that have taken place all over the Empire, but the discussion was always the same: who would be sent there and who would fund the expedition. The answer was simple, it would be whatever number of men they had already located there who would put out the revolts, funded by the revenue that they generated by levying taxes on the protectorates.

Levying taxes.

Suddenly, Antonio’s eyes brightened as the topic turned to the discussion on funding. It was no secret to the officials that their war chest had been running low, a direct effect of the number of wars that the kingdom had been engaged in recently. The Spaniard mentally sighed as they went through the usual list of potential revenue sources.

“México… perhaps Naples?” one of the representatives from one of the colonies in the New World said. The suggestion caused Antonio to tilt his head in deep thought,

The name of the Italian state caused the man to turn his head, olive eyes fixed upon the man who brought up the suggestion. Naples?

“I would agree that the nobility in Naples have continued to generously fund our endeavors,” one man said. Antonio could not help but notice how his features had reminded him of his Habsburg masters, especially with the long chin and narrow face. Perhaps he was a long lost relative. Now come to think of it, I think his name is Hernández, Antonio thought, he refrained from a yawn that was threatening to escape.

One of the men there cleared his throat, thinly disguising his disagreement with the suggestion. “It is no secret that we are all falling into hard times,” he pointed out, “do we want to put even more of a burden on southern Italy who has supported our Empire all this time? We’ve already experienced several revolts in the region.”

Silence ensued in the chamber as the men all fell silent; some were in deep contemplation while others were in agreement. Antonio could not decide which side he was on, though he could not deny the fact that the man had brought up a valid point. Yet at the same time, the kingdom was in desperate need of funding to help itself recover from the wars that it was drawn into. The thought caused Antonio to frown in contemplation, trying to remember what the viceroy from Naples had said about the region’s financial condition.

“Don Rodrigo Ponce de León said that everything was going well in Naples,” the Habsburg look-alike said. A couple men looked shocked at the report, but remained quiet, exhibiting the self-control that the court was known for in all of Christendom. However, the man did not notice as he continued, “He had said that the subjects of the Viceroyalty of Naples would be more than willing to serve el Reino de España.”

The comment was more than enough to convince most of the people who were at the meeting as some of them began to enthusiastically talk. When the Spaniard realized that the men were discussing new ways to levy taxes on the protectorate, Antonio could not help but wonder how Lovino had gotten by. That day, after he had finally calmed down, the Spaniard decided that it was probably one of Lovino’s whims, a sudden desire to run home for a while. After all, three days to sail to Naples and another three, so it would take longer than a week for him to be back.

Yet for some reason, Antonio could not help but let his mind wander back to the youth. Was he eating right? Was he sleeping well? Could he even cook a proper meal without him? Does he know where his tomato fields were back at his home, did he even know how to pick one? Even his optimism could not successfully conceal the fact that the Italian was possibly suffering back at home.

“The fruit is in season during this time of the year. If we tax a small portion of the sales the merchants make, we should be able to get enough funds. It’s only a small portion, they would not even notice,” one of the officials added to the conversation, confidence in the idea oozed from his words. The idea appeared to garner the support of everyone else around the table and even Antonio found himself nodding. His objection would be fruitless, for the lack of a better word, when the king was not in the room since the Spaniard’s authority waned drastically in the presence of the Grandées. Since his origins had been a guarded secret amongst the monarchy, the nobility regarded him as something of humble birth and more suited to carry out messenger duties as oppose to being placed in a governing position. Having a youthful appearance like he did never quite helped his case either whenever he tried to voice his opinion in meetings such as this one.

“Señor Fernández, we understand that you are very familiar with the Viceroy of Naples,” Hernández said.

“Sí, Señor Hernández,” Antonio replied, smiling slightly to hide his slight displeasure at the fact that he could see where this was going, “if you would like, I could begin preparations and deliver the message to Don Ponce de León in Naples by the end of this week.” After all, this would give him an excuse to go and check on Lovino anyway.

Once the men had given their approval, the meeting was adjourned. However, that hardly ever meant that the politicking ever ended. Despite the fact that they all served the king, it was no secret to anyone that Carlos was incapable of producing an heir, sparking the Grandées to immediately start casting their lots and forging new alliances to potential successors. But the Spaniard resolved to stay out of such things, after all, he would potentially serve either person anyway.

After a few polite exchanges with the people there, Antonio excused himself to make preparations for the trip. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had a feeling that something was brewing, though he did not put too much effort into figuring out what.

---

Notes:
- So... yes, we are taxing your fruit. /shot

[muffin]

It was wonderful to be back at home! Romano had been surprised at how different everything looked once he had arrived and so he had spent the first few days strolling through the streets of Naples to look how everything had changed over the years. He had not been home in so long so he was just as surprised to see his old little home still standing. It wasn’t much, just a small house in one of the calmer parts of the town but with all the changes that had occurred he wouldn’t have been surprised to see his little home gone.

It feels good to be home!

It was rare to see the South Italian smiling but ever since he had stepped from the boat it was as if he couldn’t stop himself from doing it – he wasn’t used to smiling so much, it felt weird, but he was truly happy to be back at home. His lands were was big and wide but Naples had always been his favorite place, it was beautiful and lively and he hadn’t felt so much at home in a long home. Nothing else compared to this feeling.

Of all the changes in his beloved city, there was one thing that above all attracted his attention. It was the people that had changed the most. At first he hadn’t really noticed a difference but the longer he had stayed in the city the more he could see how they looked poorer, skinnier or more ragged. He also noticed how expensive everything was now – had it always been like that or had the prices raised so much? Lovino hated how poor his people looked but he ignored the prices for now - seeing how bread, fruits and vegetables were still affordable.

7th July 1647

Today, Lovino had been up earlier than usual. It was the day of the Festa di S. Maria delle Grazie and there was no way he would miss any of it! It wasn’t that he only loved festivals, no, he was Catholic after all and took his religion and its festivals quite seriously. The South Italian didn't always act like a good Catholic, hell; he swore a lot and didn’t always go to church. However, he believed in his God and that He was watching over them, judging their doings and punishing them if they did wrong.

The streets were already filled with people once he left his house. It was still early but no one wanted to miss anything at the festival. Children were running around and the closer he came to the marketplace, the more people were there watching the various traveling actors performing or looking at the different stalls that were lined at the sides of the street.

Lovino ignored most of it and walked further down the street - after all, he was on his way to the Piazza Mercato where the main part of the festival took place. There they were holding a mock battle in remembrance of the “Battle of Lepanto” where they had defeated the Ottoman Empire. He liked to watch these mock battles, liked to see how they were victorious against the Ottomans. Not that he or his people needed those battles as a reminder of their victory; the many Saracen towers set up around the city and the entire coastline were a constant reminder of the recent past. But Romano enjoyed watching those shows and seeing his people so happy. The Ottomans had always been a threatening danger to his land and people; he was glad that they wouldn’t have to fear them for a while.

He had never liked the personification of the Ottoman Empire, which may be another reason why he liked to watch the battles. The guy was creepy and just plain weird – especially the way he dressed; it was one of the strangest things he had ever seen! The South Italian shuddered at the mere thought of the much older Nation. When Lovino thought about it, this must have been one of the few times where he had been thankful towards Antonio. He had never been happy about living with the Spaniard but he imagined that it would be much worse to live with someone like Sadiq – if he remembered the name correctly – so if he had to live with one of those two, he preferred Spain. But why was he even thinking about this? He was here to have fun, to enjoy being home and not to think about that bastard!

He came closer to the Piazza and saw people dancing on the street, more and more stalls selling various goods and food. But he also saw more and more guards standing along the walls and the sides of the street as well as several tax collecting stalls. Romano frowned when he caught sight of them but did not spare them a second glance.

For the next few hours the South Italian just enjoyed the different shows, not caring about anything besides the festival until it was around noon and he felt hungry - though with the many food stalls around it wasn’t much of a problem. He looked around and decided on a small stall selling fruits – he didn’t have that much money with him so he couldn’t buy much else but then again, it wasn’t as if he really cared because fruit tasted good. Who cared if it was peasant’s food as long as it was good? He didn’t that much was for sure! He’d never been a rich nation so he was used to eat whatever he could get anyway.

Romano walked over to the stall and picket up one of the oranges lying on display and dug in his pocket for money. He only looked up when the merchant told him the price for the fruit.
“What?” he asked, sounding surprised and thinking he just hadn’t understood the other man correctly because a simple fruit couldn’t cost that much right? But once the other had repeated himself he couldn’t do anything else but stare at the guy. Why did it cost that much? When did the prices go up that much? He had noticed the raised prices before but it hadn’t affected fruits back then, so why were they so expensive now?

“That is too much for a stupid orange!” he complained, glaring at the merchant who only shrugged, not caring about the angry boy standing in front of his stall.

“It’s not my problem if it’s too much for you boy. They raised the taxes on fruits so I had to raise the prices. Are you going to buy it or not?” the merchant asked but Lovino wasn’t really listening to him anymore. They raised the tax on fruit? There was no need to ask who had decided this – he knew quite well whose decision this was just so they could funds their idiotic wars and adventures to far away countries. But why did they always have to raise the taxes for his people? Why did they have to take everything from South Italy instead of one of their other colonies?

He clenched his fists, squashing the orange in his hands and feeling how juice dripped from his hand. Romano didn’t care about the sticky juice just like he didn't care that the merchant told him that he had to pay for it now. None of that was important as he whirled around to stare angrily at one of the tax collecting stalls standing close to the little fruit stall.

“Fucking son of a…” he thought about Antonio as he threw the squashed fruit he was still holding in his hands right at the face of the nearest tax collector. However, no one knew who he was thinking of so it looked as if he was targeting the man with the face full of a sticky citrus fruit – not that it made much of a difference because the tax collector was just as much of a bastard as the Spanish country was! Romano could see some of the guards coming closer, probably to see what was going on but they did not have a chance to reach him because it seemed as if his outburst had triggered something in the crowd that had gathered to see what was going on. He could hear people complaining about the taxes, screaming that the government was trying to take everything they had and that it had to stop.

In all the days he had been staying in Naples already, he hadn’t noticed how angry his people were, how much they wanted things to change. It did not take much for all the anger to rise to the surface. Lovino was shocked when the people around him grabbed various fruits and started throwing them at the tax collectors and the guards who tried to break the crowd and restore order.

“Viva il Re, abbasso lo malgoverno!”Someone behind him screamed and when the South Italian turned around he could see a young man raising his fist to the sky when people started to join in, repeating what would be their battle cry over and over again. All they had were their fists, some wooden clubs and weapons from the mock battles so they started stealing off the guards, trying to get a hold of their weapons and ripping them out of their hands.

It seemed to Romano as if in this short moment all hell broke loose and he didn’t know what to do. He had been angry, but this wasn’t what he had wanted! What should he do? Those were his people fighting against each other and fighting against the way they were treated by their Spanish rulers. What was it that he wanted to do? All he knew was that he had to help his people! He was their country and this might be his chance to show Spain that he couldn’t do whatever he wanted with him and his people!

The South Italian wasn’t thinking about the consequences when he whirled around and ran after the angry mob, led by a young, charismatic fisherman called Tommaso Anielo who would soon be known as Masaniello. While the angry people wrecked the tax stalls and kept moving forward, further down the streets of Naples all Lovino could do was asking God to stand them by, to help them with whatever would come out of this.

By now the mob had reached the home of Girolamo Letizia who was a well known tax collector in town. While some of the people broke into his house, others forced their way into the palace of the hated Count d'Arcos, demanding the repeal of unjust taxes and the reinstitution of some of the early reforms made by Charles V, the founder of the Spanish Empire, in the previous century.

---

Notes:

Festa di S. Maria delle Grazie: Already mentioned in my first post. A catholic festival celebrated on july 7th. St Mary of Graces is a devotion to the Virgin Mary in the Roman Catholic Church.
Piazza Mercato: The big market place in Naples.
Battle of Lepanto: Sea battle in 1571 when the Holy League finally defeated the Ottoman Empire.
Oranges: Ok I’m not sure which fruits were popular and widely planted during the 17th century but they started growing citrus fruits in South Italy during the 9th to 10th century so it should be fine.
Viva il Re, abbasso lo malgoverno: It’s said that this was the battle cry of Masaniello’s revolt, meaning "Long live the King! Down with bad government!”
Tommaso Anielo: Tommaso Anielo (nicknamed “Masaniello”) was a fisher who was elected Captain of the People. He led the revolt but it’s said that he was not the brains behind it.
Girolamo Letizia: An infamous tax collector who was killed during the revolt when his house was burned down.
Count d'Arcos: A hated Count who was able to flee to the castle outside of town when the mob forced its way into his palace.

[Spain]

“Would you look at that!” the Spaniard chirped happily as he watched the hustle and bustle going on in the streets below. The festival unfolded before him as he perched by the window, distracting him from casual conversation with Count d'Arco. Though he had not forgotten the reason the council sent him to Naples, it did not mean that Antonio had no intention of celebrating the festivals that were going on in Naples. After all, it was purely consolation for the fact that he had to miss the fiestas that were going on back home in order to straighten out the issues here. Grinning from ear to ear as he watched the cheerful crowds move along the streets, headed for the main event in the square as he pushed the administrative problems into the back of his mind.

Considering the fact that the hardest part of implementing the new laws and tax raises, it was only reasonable for him to take it easy.

A middle-aged man sat in the middle of the room, reclining in the chair as he looked back at the Spaniard with his hazel eyes. “Indeed,” the count replied in agreement, “this has to be one of the finest festivals that we have in Naples. You came at a very good time! You should make sure to go down and join the festival, you can see the mock battle in the town's square, everyone loves it.” The comment caused Antonio's lips to turn upward, his eyes smiling as he turned to look at the man briefly. The noble clearly had no idea that he had seen the festival numerous times in the past, let alone the very first one that took place after they had successfully driven the Turks away from their end of the Mediterranean Sea. He could not deny the satisfaction he felt in driving away invaders and the verbal uttering of gratefulness from Romano after each battle (or so he tells himself that it happened).

Suddenly, a toddler teetered into the room, making a beeline for his father as the nurse chased after him. Antonio turned to the sound of pattering feet in awareness, relaxing when he saw the young culprit. “Young master!” she called out after him as she scurried into the room, a look of panic in her expression as she realized where they had wandered into and immediately began to apologize. “I am so sorry!” she exclaimed, “I just set him down for a moment and he sprinted out of his chambers.” The woman then picked up her skirts and proceeded to run, trying to close the distance and waltz the child out of the room before he disrupted the meeting too much.

Regardless of what the woman had to say, Antonio bent down and picked up the child when he ran over to the Spaniard out of curiosity and swung the child around. “Hello,” he cooed as he smiled at the child, “You just came here to help your father, didn't you? Wanna know what it's like to run a province so you can succeed him, yeah? Yep, you are!” Then with that, he rested the child on his left arm, holding him securely as he looked out over the city. At this point, the crowds had only gotten bigger as the mock battle started to take place. Seeing the display, he turned and looked at the count, “It's nice to see them portraying the battle against those Turks, a good reminder to the Italians of what we had done for them, no?”

The child merely smiled widely and pointed at the crowd, cheerfully muttering incoherently. The Spaniard followed his finger, trying to figure out what caught the child's attention when he stopped. If there was any moment in time in the entire day where things would go wrong and destroy the tranquility and overall lightness in the atmosphere, it happened in the next couple of minutes. From his view, Antonio could see a couple young men stalking towards one of the stalls before they hurl something violently. For a moment olive green eyes fixated themselves on the figure of a young man, hurling something that he had gotten from one of the stands. Frowning, he handed the child to the nurse before turning his attention back to the stands and squinting. If memory served him correctly, it was the general direction of all the food that would be at the festival.

“Dios Mio,” Antonio muttered as he watched people filter into the square, armed with whatever they could find. His frown increased greatly as he watched the crowd gang up on the patrolling guards, using strength in numbers to take away their weapons. His hand tightened on the pommel of his sword as he looked on, realizing that the situation had gone unbearably out of control. He could hardly believe that the people had thrown a huge fit over the tax on fruit. Surely the council had decided to raise taxes, but it could not have been anything big enough to start a riot over, after all, it was not as if they doubled the price of fruit. In fact, Antonio should have been grateful that they did not levy heavy taxes on everything (though some would argue that they pretty much taxed everything).

Regardless of which, something had to be done. Even from afar, the Spaniard could see the crowds as it steadily flowed out of the square, making its way down the streets. The angry protests of the people echoed in the warm summer air while the distant sound of metal clanged, signs of in-fighting. “It may be best for you to go somewhere safe, Señor,” he said when he stopped and turned to the count, “I'll send out an order for the guards to watch over the entrance, once we get everything under control, I'm sure that everything will be all right. I'll be right back!”

The comment was the greatest understatement made that day, but Antonio had felt that it would have been silly to mobilize the royal guards that were with him if using the count's guards were enough. Walking through the door, the Spaniard unsheathed his sword as he walked purposefully down the hallway, ignoring the heavy-footed steps he took. Though he was not a fan of dealing tough punishment, even dealing it to those who deserved it, part of him cursed for not disciplining Lovino enough when he was a child. After all, it would have saved him all the pain and ulcers that he would have received during the years spent raising him.

However, there was nothing that could be done now, instead, Antonio rushed for the entrance, determined to put Neapolitans in their place.

---

- Sorry it's been a while since posted. Anyway, so expect re-writes -- a LOT of them. Hahah.
- By the way, I figured that Romano and Spain would have run into each other during the riots since Spain is staying with the count. Let me know if you have questions or disagreements. I'll probably come back and reedit the post.

[muffin]

Lovino was pushed along with the crowd, still shocked from all the chaos happening around him. But he had presence of mind to grab the sword of one of the fallen guards – it wouldn’t do him any good if he wasn’t holding a proper weapon even though he hated the thought of killing anyone – especially his own countrymen. But he had to be prepared because as much as he hated killing humans, he didn’t want to get killed himself.

With the sword in one hand he followed the masses down the streets, coming closer and closer to the palace of Count d'Arcos. The people were still screaming for the repeal of the more than unjust taxes and demanding that the Spanish troops left the town – something he wanted himself. It wasn’t fair to raise the taxes for his already poor people and why had Spain to control his lands anyway? He wanted to take care of his people himself – he knew he would do it better than that bastard!

It was time his people did something against the injustices happening to them. It was weird that it needed him, a boy to do something for them to stand up for themselves but then again, he was their country so maybe it had something to with it? Maybe if he decided to fight his people would feel the same?

He was still too young of a country to know about all the ways he and his people connected but it seemed like a good explanation to him.

Romano shook his head; this wasn’t the time to think about these things. He had to concentrate on what was happening around him. He didn’t want to get run over by the crowd, nor did he want to get attacked by the guards while he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings.

When Lovino looked over to the Count’s palace he noticed Guards flooding out of the open doors as the angry crowd filled the square. To his surprise the neither the guards, nor the angry mob started fighting. The young man, that had taken the lead earlier, stepped forward and demanded to speak to the count and also repeated their demands; repeal of the taxes and the reinstitution of the early reforms, he also added something the crowd hadn’t demanded before: reordering of society, where all classes would be declared "equal".

The young Nation pushed his way through the crowd, he wanted to see what happened, to see if someone would come out of the palace and listen to their demands. He doubted it but he wanted to, no had to witness whatever would happen now.

It took him some effort but after a few minutes he stood in the front of the crowd and had a perfect view of the palace. He looked around, looked at the guards, his own people and the young man that stood there in front of them all and waited.

Would someone come out, or where they just wasting their time?

---

Sorry for the short and fail post. I’m kinda out of it, but I wanted to get this done now that I have the time (and electricity) to do it.
I promise that my next post will be better and longer again …

Not proofread or edited yet!
I will do that later >.<

[Spain]

As Antonio ran towards the front of the complex, he could hear the shouting in the streets, cutting through the usual peacefulness that characterized Naples. The grip on his sword tightened as he ran, a sense of urgency, of anticipation slowly caused adrenaline to pump through his veins. The inner annoyance at the fact that it would come to this of all times, when he had finally convinced himself to let his guard down because of the festival. Granted, the main reason why he was even here was not really as much to participate in the festivities, but to sniff out Lovino, he figured would be at this particular event. Though the Italian youth often complained about how he did not understand sometimes or acted insensitive to the situation, it did not always mean that he did not care about what was going on (or at least that was what he liked to think). It was just that sometimes, Antonio found it hard to juggle the different affairs that he had to attend to when he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Somewhere behind him the cries of the count, telling the Spaniard to stop and let the guards deal with the mess, went unanswered as Antonio walked further and further away from the chamber, his mind clearly focused on the source of all the discontented cries. It was natural that he would be curious, plus, it was disturbing the peaceful late morning for him.

When he finally made his way through the main entrance, Antonio stopped, taking deep breaths as his eyes fell upon the crowd of people who had gathered outside. Tugging uncomfortably at his collar with his right hand while the left held onto the sword by the scabbard, his olive green eyes searched through the crowd. Despite his prejudices, his expectations of seeing a group primarily made up of people of the lower class and those who are not as well off, he was surprised to see that it was not the case. He had expected to see people of dress that had holes and patches, but found some of them wearing richer fabrics and the current trends. He could see that there were people who were of various disciplines, both men and women, united by one common thing: their hate for the Spanish and their discontent for the amount of taxes that had been levied.

The realization hit Antonio like a brick dropped out of the fourth story window, first characterized by the numb observation, which was slowly replaced by the gradual spread of pain as he processed the situation. Was he really that disliked here, after all the time that he had worked hard to defend Southern Italy from the Ottoman Empire and emptied out his pockets to keep Lovino safe? How many times had it been that the youth shunned him after the rescue, only to come back with a shy muttering of “thanks,” only to go off again about how horrible it was to live as part of the Spanish Empire? Though he had lost count, it was rare that it would hit him particularly hard this time. After all, it would not be the first time that a nation and its people had told Antonio that they had not enjoyed his company and threw him out promptly, however, none of them was one that he was so deeply emotionally attached to.

Seeing that only caused him to burn inside more.

Walking out onto the steps of the building, feeling as his feet made contact with the stone step, Antonio kept his right hand on his scabbard, a look of sincerity with an edge of severity lingered on his face. He had found it much harder to attempt to look cheerful, much harder to be willing to turn a blind eye to the antics.

And then he stopped.

Before him, in the midst of discontented Neapolitans, was young Lovino, whose eyes burned with as much passionate anger as his people. Antonio found himself staring at the youth, taking in his slight frame, his down-turned lips and his deep hazel eyes, dumbfounded by the transformation. Though it was true that Antonio rarely took Lovino seriously (when did he ever take anyone seriously), it never occurred to him that there would be a time when he would have to do so. In truth, Lovino had grown over the years, even Antonio noticed when he came home (though he liked it when he was short, he looked cuter when he was pudgy), but had he always grown this much?

Then suddenly, the realization struck him that with such physical growth also came a country's desire for independence. Antonio immediately felt a sense of denial arising in him as he suppressed the desire to run out, grab the youth and drag him into the count's house. He fought against the desire to call out to him, to order him to come over despite knowing that such an action would only cause Lovino to become more riled up, or even worse, cause the crowd to act up.

But no, not at this time, he's not ready yet.

“What is going on here?” a voice behind Antonio caused the Spaniard to turn in response, only to look in surprise as the Count walked out of the building, joining him. Smiling back in response, Antonio kept his hand on his sword as he gestured out at the crowd.

“They're upset about taxes, said that it's too high... oh and they said down with the Spanish government.”

The casual tone in Antonio's voice only seemed to cause the count to look even more displeased. “Tell the guards to be weary of when the people start to act up,” the man said tiredly, but then as he looked around the crowd with his sharp, dark eyes, he held up his hands as if to tell the people to quiet down for a moment. “What is this!” he demanded, his voice booming as he shouted, “what madness that happened today that would cause you all to be so malcontent? Why would the lot of you chose such a day to get riled up when you should all be celebrating!”

---

Note:
- Sorry for such a vague post, I wasn't sure what you wanted to do with this scene, but I hope that this helps you push it along~