At four o'clock in the morning Francisco was awakened by a servant.
"Young master, the master told me to wake you and say you have twenty minutes to bathe and dress. He is waiting for you in the fields."
With groggy eyes Francisco asked, "Do you know why so early?"
The servant chuckled. "He said because a certain boy was being mischievous, he has to learn discipline. Some kind of punishment."
Francisco had no choice; he knew he had been in the wrong. With effort he bathed in cold water and dressed quickly. Usually, for a hot bath, he had to ask Grandma María to heat the water and the servants to carry it, which took thirty or forty minutes. But it was clear his father would not wait for him to enjoy such comfort.
When he reached the entrance of the estate he saw his father already drinking coffee, another cup set aside for him.
"Here, drink it. You're going to need it," Carlos said.
"Ishh… it's bitter," Francisco complained. He had only drunk coffee with milk and sugar before, and almost didn't recognize the flavor.
"It's better this way — more energy. Come, today I'll teach you how the estate works, what I've been doing since we came to Bogotá. The horses are ready."
They mounted and rode into the dawn.
"Every morning," Carlos explained, "I travel across the lands to see if there are animals or anything that could damage the plantations. Sometimes even the fence — big animals can break through, searching for leaves to eat."
"Really?" Francisco asked incredulously. "Can animals eat tobacco or añil?" He had thought such crops were safe from herbivores.
"That's right. White-tailed deer love tobacco leaves. There's also the tapir, the cuy… plenty of animals that would eat these plants. That's why we build fences — not perfect, but at least we can tell where they pass and be ready next time. Look here."
Carlos dismounted and pointed at a cracked section of fence. "You see? They cross here. Tonight leave a guard dog so it can scare them off," he told a servant. The man nodded, whispering to another to remember.
A little farther, Carlos bent over a plant. "Look — bite marks. Small animals are eating here. We'll set traps in this area." His movements were sure; clearly, he had done this often.
They circled the estate until the sun rose high, then returned for breakfast.
Isabella, rubbing her sleepy eyes, looked up in surprise. "Brother, you're dressed already?"
Laughter broke around the table. Francisco blushed; he was used to waking at eight, having breakfast while the bathwater warmed, resting, then bathing. At that hour he would usually still be in sleep clothes.
"That's right," Carlos said with a smile. "Because our little boy was reckless last night, he will now work with me in the mornings."
Isabella's eyes lit up. "Good, good! Brother Francisco and sister Catalina tickled me last night, so they deserve it." She pouted.
Francisco and Catalina turned to glare at her as if at a sworn enemy, but Isabella, oblivious, kept talking. "They should also be punished more… like cleaning the plates, or sweeping the floors…" She bit into her arepa, but her voice trailed away as she noticed her siblings' threatening stares.
Carlos chuckled. "That's a good idea, little Isabella. Did you hear, Grandma María? Today Francisco will clean the plates and sweep the floor."
Francisco rolled his eyes and answered through clenched teeth, "Yes, father."
After breakfast he reluctantly washed the dishes, swept the floors, and then went with Catalina to the bookshelf to continue studying German.
Meanwhile, in another house with the same surname, things were turning grim.
"So you mean three of the servants who were watching the inn disappeared and no one knows anything about them?" asked Don Aurelio Gómez de Castro, the patriarch of the family, a man of fifty years. His family had always been close to the Church, which had helped them secure mines. They were criollos, like many hacendados of the time.
"Yes, sir," a servant answered nervously.
Aurelio frowned. "And the innkeeper?"
The men glanced at each other. "We are not sure. When the young master and the priest entered, they didn't see anyone. They began talking… about certain things. We believe the innkeeper may have overheard, and, afraid of being killed, slipped out the back. Our men followed, but we don't know what happened after. We asked around, but it was late — few people were outside. Some say they saw him, some not. It's difficult to know."
Aurelio slammed the table with his fist. "So you are telling me someone might know our plans because a foolish boy and a priest couldn't keep quiet?" His fury made the servant pale. "Bring me that child. And send a letter to the bishop — tell him what happened, warn him to be careful. I hope we're overthinking, that the innkeeper is dead with the servants. But we cannot risk it."
The boy, Ezequiel, was dragged before him.
"Can you tell me," Aurelio thundered, "why the hell you thought it was a good idea to talk about the Church's plan in an inn?"
Ezequiel shrank. "Grandfather… Priest Antonio asked me out to talk. I didn't see the harm."
"Priest Antonio? That fanatic bastard? How many times have I told you not to join that group of zealots? They still dream of a theocracy. Foolish! Don't they know the world is secular now? Even if you founded such a nation, the world would not accept it. Maybe three hundred years ago — not today. Sooner or later, the nations would crush it."
Ezequiel looked down, guilty. "But then… if we are not founding a theocracy, why are we working with the Church to defeat the liberals and the crown?"
"That's why you are foolish," answered Armando, his younger brother. "The real plan is to wait until both sides are weakened. Then the Church enters as savior. When the new nation forms, they will have influence — not ruling, but enough to control part of it."
"But if we form a theocracy," Ezequiel protested with burning eyes, "we could become a saintly family. Our name remembered like Cornelius or the Flavios, who hid the apostles in Rome, or Saint Priscilla and Saint Aquila—"
Aurelio sighed; Armando sneered. "Again, no country today would allow a religious state. Even if we managed it, the world would unite to destroy it. Nations may accept the Church's influence, but not its rule."
"That's right," Aurelio agreed. "Even the bishop knows theocracy is a fantasy. He never thought of replacing the Vatican. He only wants influence, and to drive out the crown from New Granada. Good job, Armando. Now, Ezequiel — tell me exactly what happened that day."
Still glaring at his brother, Ezequiel muttered, "We and Priest Antonio went to the inn to drink and talk. He wanted to know about our part of the plan. I didn't mind, so I went. Just as we entered, that Gómez kid, Francisco, was leaving. We argued a little, then he went his way."
"You saw the Gómez boy?" Aurelio asked sharply.
"Yes, grandfather. Hateful kid — he almost made me say bad things about the crown. If not for Priest Antonio, I might have ended up marked as a traitor."
Aurelio and Armando exchanged glances.
"What exactly did he say?" Aurelio pressed.
Ezequiel recounted everything.
"Smart," Armando murmured, eyes glittering. He usually despised boys his age, finding them childish. Adults never took him seriously as a rival. But maybe this Gómez kid was different.
"He didn't rise to your provocations," Aurelio noted, "but toyed with you like a child. And when Priest Antonio defended you, he knew when to step back. Most boys, feeling ahead, would have foolishly insulted the Church and lost everything. He was smart — he retreated, making Antonio owe a favor to his family."
"Even so," Armando said, "Antonio may never repay."
"Perhaps. But the boy lost nothing, and Antonio will find it hard to target him now."
"Do you think he hid the innkeeper?" Armando asked.
"Doubtful. The servants saw him head to his sister, then later his father took him to the slave quarters. Carlos has his own men — hard to follow. Still, we should stay alert."
"Our men can't fight theirs," Armando admitted. "They're trained in Spanish military methods. Not the strongest, but they'd crush us."
"Of course. But we can still watch the roads, see who goes to their estate. Pay slave traders to spy when they visit. Things like that," Aurelio said.
"Understood. I'll begin right away," Armando said, leaving with a sneer aimed at Ezequiel.
Ezequiel clenched his teeth but kept silent.
"You," Aurelio barked, "are punished. Two months confined at home. Read books, see if they make you less foolish. Now go."
"Yes, grandfather," Ezequiel muttered, leaving unwillingly.
Aurelio sighed, gazing toward the mountains. "I hope the worst case does not happen… but I have a feeling things will not go well after this."