The Andes Dream-Chapter 217: Manuel Godoy y Álvarez de Faria

King Carlos IV remained motionless for a long moment, his fingers resting on the carved arm of a chair beside his writing desk, as though the weight of the empire itself pressed upon them. The royal office was wrapped in a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackle of a dying fire and the distant murmur of guards beyond the closed doors.

At last, he spoke.

"What say you, Godoy? How shall we answer the insolence of the Church?"

The question did not sound like anger alone.It carried fatigue... and something far more dangerous—fear.

Standing across the desk, Manuel Godoy inclined his head slightly before stepping forward with measured confidence. His boots sounded softly against the polished floor, the only movement within the quiet room. His eyes shone not with devotion, but with calculation sharpened by crisis.

"Your Majesty," he began softly, "Europe itself has already shown us the path. In Prussia, Frederick the Great placed the Church beneath the authority of the state and seized its idle wealth for the strength of the crown. Through that act, he forged armies, secured borders, and bent destiny to discipline."

Godoy allowed a measured pause before continuing.

"If Spain were to follow such an example, the Crown would gain silver enough to rebuild its armies—armies not only to resist France, but to reclaim obedience in New Granada. With strength restored there, the rest of the colonies would remember where true authority resides."

The words settled heavily in the air.

Carlos IV felt their temptation like warmth in winter.For months, the world had seemed to close around him.

Victories had turned to humiliations.Frontiers once secure now trembled.Reports from New Granada spoke of drowned soldiers, starving detachments, and towns slipping beyond royal command. Even the steady river of gold that had long fed Madrid’s coffers was thinning into a trickle.

Beyond the Atlantic, unrest stirred in Cuba under the uneasy governance of Luis de las Casas. Within Europe, revolution had already devoured one crown—and the memory of Louis XVI lingered like a ghost at every royal table.

To raise taxes in Spain risked rebellion.To raise them in the colonies risked independence.To do nothing risked collapse.

Yet still the king hesitated.

"What you suggest," Carlos said slowly, "is war not only against rebels... but against God’s own servants. If France sees weakness while we tear at the Church, they will cross the Pyrenees without resistance. I would lose altar and throne in a single stroke."

Godoy inclined his head, as if expecting the objection.

"Then we do not begin in Spain, Sire."

The chamber seemed to lean closer.

"We begin in New Spain—where the Church’s wealth is vast, its lands fertile, and its distance from Europe a shield against immediate consequence. There, confiscation becomes reform... and reform becomes revenue."

Carlos’s expression darkened.

"And you would place those lands into whose hands? The criollos? Have you learned nothing from the ambitions already rising in New Granada?"

A faint, cold smile touched Godoy’s lips.

"We divide power before power can unite.Sell not only to criollos—but elevate chosen mestizo and Indigenous leaders beside them. Rivalry will guard loyalty better than soldiers ever could. Promise the traitor’s lands to whoever first denounces him, and ambition will devour rebellion before it matures."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"And we let the colonies hear of France... of Maximilien Robespierre, of confiscations, executions, and terror in the name of liberty. Fear will bind them to the Crown more tightly than faith ever did."

Silence followed.

Not the quiet of peace—but the stillness before decision.

Carlos IV closed his eyes briefly.He saw empty coffers.Burning frontiers.A cousin’s severed head beneath a revolutionary blade.

When he opened them again, something in his hesitation had hardened into resolve.

"Very well," the king said at last."Begin in New Spain. I want results—not promises. You will go personally to ensure these decrees are executed with precision."

His gaze sharpened.

"Take troops if necessary.But see that reform does not become rebellion."

Godoy bowed deeply, satisfaction carefully hidden behind perfect obedience.

Godoy felt something close to ecstasy.

The blood-soaked chaos in New Granada, the simmering unrest in Cuba, and the terrifying upheaval in France had opened the very breach he had long awaited—the chance to dismantle the decaying machinery of old Spain and forge a stronger kingdom shaped by discipline, reason, and power.

Yet even a man who possessed the ear of Carlos IV was no god.Two heavy chains still bound his hands, restraining the full birth of his "Prussian" vision.

His gaze drifted, almost instinctively, toward the distant wing of the palace where the Queen resided—María Luisa of Parma, the woman who had raised him high... and who could just as easily cast him down.Without her favor, he would be nothing.Because of her caution, many of his reforms had never breathed.

Now chaos changed the balance.If he delivered victory, she would not dare oppose him.But if reform in New Spain failed, she would not wait for France or the Church to destroy him.She herself would demand his head.

Godoy turned back toward the King.

Though the royal order had already been spoken, hesitation still clung to the monarch’s movements as he finished writing the decree. Godoy understood the truth clearly: the King did not fear the Church.

He feared God.

To Godoy, the difference was absolute.The Church was an institution of men; God was destiny.And surely—he believed—strengthening Spain must matter more to Heaven than preserving the wealth of bishops.But such words could never be spoken aloud.The King’s devotion was too deep... and too fragile.

When the decree was finally complete, silence filled the office.

Carlos IV stared at the parchment as though it were a sentence already written against his soul. Somewhere in the depths of his conscience lived the terror that this act might condemn him to eternal fire.Yet defeat in New Granada had already shown something worse: the growing ambition of the Church.If he did not bend it now, it would one day break the Crown itself.

Anger became his refuge.

"Recall that bastard Ezpeleta," the King said hoarsely. "Let him answer for losing a province to fanatics."

Godoy allowed a brief silence before replying with careful calm.

"Before that, Majesty... we must choose who will help you in my absence. In these times of tension with the Church, I propose Saavedra. Whatever his faults, his loyalty to Your Majesty is iron. He will not bend to clerical gold... nor to the liberal fantasies you so rightly distrust."

The King frowned, displeased that Godoy presumed to shape even this decision.But Spain trembled on the edge of fracture, and stability mattered more than pride.

So Carlos IV swallowed the bitterness—even the bitterness of sharing power with the man who stood too close to the Queen—because an empire in crisis could not afford another enemy within its own palace.

"Send him in," the King said at last, exhaustion thick in his voice."And go to the Queen. I do not wish to hear her call me heartless for sending you to New Spain. You know how to calm her... I have always hated conflict."

Godoy raised an eyebrow, immediately understanding the burden hidden inside the order.If he did not speak personally with the Queen—María Luisa of Parma—the King would soon suffer her anger.Yet he also knew something deeper: he wanted to go to New Spain himself.Not only out of obedience... but ambition.

Only by overseeing the reform with his own hands could he ensure its success.Delegating such a transformation to another man felt, to him, like surrendering destiny.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I will speak with the Queen."

He bowed and withdrew from the office, already summoning Saavedra as he crossed the corridor, before continuing toward the royal chambers where persuasion—far more delicate than politics—awaited him.

Saavedra arrived moments later, still surprised by the sudden summons yet too disciplined to show hesitation.He entered, bowed deeply before Carlos IV, and only took his seat after receiving permission.

The King studied him in silence.

"Our loyal Saavedra... Godoy sails for New Spain on a mission vital to the survival of this Empire. In his absence, I require a counselor with a mind of iron.Manuel himself praised your service—and I have read your reports.You understand the machinery of Spain better than most men who claim to rule it."

Carlos leaned forward slightly, searching Saavedra’s face for ambition... or fear.

Outside these walls, the world trembled.France had become a graveyard of kings, while New Granada bled beneath rebellion, fanaticism, and whispers that Bourbon blood itself was cursed.

Before entrusting power, the King needed certainty.

"Tell me plainly, Don Francisco...When chaos comes—and it will—to whom does your ultimate loyalty belong?"

Saavedra’s reply came without a heartbeat of delay, his tone firm, cold, and perfectly measured.

"To the Crown, and to Your Majesty alone, Sire.A Knight of Santiago serves the sword to which he has sworn himself.My loyalty is not to factions... nor to the miters of the Church... but to the Throne.Where Your Majesty’s shadow falls, there stands my duty."

For the first time that night, genuine surprise crossed the King’s face.

There had been no hesitation.No calculation.Only certainty.

In that instant, Carlos understood Godoy’s choice.By naming a man neither openly ambitious nor blindly loyal to himself, Godoy had avoided the appearance of grasping for absolute control.It was a gesture of political tact—one that restored, subtly but effectively, the King’s confidence in him.

A faint breath escaped Carlos’s lips.

"Good," he said quietly."Then we must decide what is to be done about New Granada...and who shall be sent to reclaim that chaotic colony for Spain."

The real struggle, it seemed, was only beginning.