The soothing sound of the chalk stick against the blockboard was all that could be heard in the conference room. We watched Vicente write on the board what was written on the piece of paper I had handed him beforehand. He had neat handwriting—plain and utilitarian, as if he had trained himself to conserve ink with every letter.
He moved quickly, and soon enough, the last title and its accompanying colon had been written at the bottom of the board.
I shifted my gaze from the chalkboard to the people seated at the table. Present were the principales of Boac—those who had bent the knee. And they were about to be rewarded.
With my authority established, it was ti for a transition. It was ti to smoothen the operation of the province under Martial Law. Roles had to be defined. It would be impractical to burden every task on and my small cabal of officers. The civilians had to do their part.
"I have failed to inform you... that the gobernadorcillo has been dismissed from his post," I opened the eting, clasping my hands in front of my lips. "Thus... his post is vacant."
I pointed at the board and to what was written on it. "And so are these posts, which will be necessary in directing the entire province for the war effort."
They shifted in their seats. So cleared their throats. A few whispered to their seatmates.
"Señor Augustin Nepomuceno... I will appoint you as the new gobernadorcillo de Boac," I announced. "You shall see to its daily affairs and serve as an interdiary between the public and the military."
It was silent at first—perhaps because they had not expected it to be so unceremonious, or maybe they had expected an election. But eventually, Señor Nepomuceno—father of officer cadet Mario Nepomuceno and one of my most enthusiastic supporters—stood up.
He bowed slightly in my direction, then to his colleagues, who exploded into applause.
His appointnt was not solely due to his loyalty, although that was a large part of it. He was also known to be a friend to all—sociable, unthreatening, and never intimidating. No one would feel uneasy about his promotion. He didn’t need charisma; the post would be largely symbolic.
I simply needed a friendly face to soften the rigidity of military rule.
"I’m afraid, however, that the quarters for the gobernadorcillo in the Casa Real will no longer be available," I inford him. "But you will be given a personal guard."
"Heneral... This is a great honor," he bead.
I knew it wouldn’t be a deal breaker. In most towns, the gobernador had the Casa Real to himself, while the gobernadorcillo lived in a private residence and only had an office in the building. In Marinduque, the gobernadorcillo had lived in the Casa Real because of a now-obsolete reason:
Until the revolt, Marinduque had been a sub-province of Tayabas, without its own governor. The Tayabas governor rarely visited, and the gobernadorcillo had often acted as the island’s highest authority. Thus, his presence in the Casa Real had once been necessary.
The promise of a personal guard would suffice. After all, gobernadorcillos typically did not have professional escorts. I planned to assign him two escolta guards—both to ensure his safety and act as my eyes and ears.
"Señor Jorge Grimaldo..." I called out the man who, just a few weeks ago, had been on the other side. "You will be the Supply Commissioner."
Señor Grimaldo raised his eyebrows, curved his lips, and nodded. Ever prideful, he only lifted his rear a few inches from the chair and gave the subtlest of bows before sitting back down. The applause that followed eventually forced a smile onto his face.
Oddly enough, since our confrontation, he had grown increasingly supportive. Days after I had confiscated the rice he tried to export, he brought more to the Casa Real—this ti, voluntarily.
I think he was one of those n who resisted authority until you proved yourself worthy of it. Once you did, they respected you.
As one of the largest hacenderos, he had ties to other landowning families and would know where the resources were and who to get them from. His infamous temper also gave him a fearso reputation—sothing I hoped would help smoothen the requisition process.
"Our Transport and Storehouse Manager will be Señor Dante Madrigal," I continued, referring to the father of the Madrigal cadets. "It will be your job to oversee the movent of goods and the managent of our storages in the province."
The Madrigal patriarch was perhaps the most loyal to the cause. I needed soone trustworthy to entrust the supplies to.
Not to ntion, Dante was one of the few rancheros in the mostly rugged and mountainous province. He had a large herd of carabaos I had been aning to requisition for logistics. I hoped the new post would give him the hint.
"Don Crisostomo delos Santos... you will be our Construction Foreman," I announced next. "You shall be in charge of construction, repairs, and infrastructure needed by the military."
You didn’t need legal training to be a juez de paz. Don delos Santos, in fact, was known to have graduated from the Escuela de Artes y Oficios, an engineering school in Manila. But upon returning to Marinduque, he had found few opportunities—this island wasn’t exactly a hotbed for public works.
Now, there would be great need for his expertise. The coastal road needed improvents, large depots had to be built in Boac, and camp and training facilities in Santa Cruz had to be constructed.
He was shocked at first, then huffed in delight. Clumsily, he stood and gave a deep bow. "I will do my best... Heneral."
I took another look at the blackboard. We had filled half the posts. After the next one, the rest would be minor positions to be given to the less influential mbers of the principalia.
I scanned the faces before at the long table. Almost all of them were anticipating my next announcent—except for one, who had good reason. Perhaps he expected to be given a minor role, like postal delegate or recruitnt officer.
"Don Contreras..." I muttered. The table stirred at once. The controversy was still fresh in everyone’s minds. "You will be the Public Order Commissioner. You will be in charge of enforcing curfews and other laws in the province."
Don Contreras’ strong will, persuasive nature, and desire to protect those he cared for made him a good fit for the role.
I didn’t know if he had fully switched sides. But the posts, although important, was not as powerful as it sounded.
He wouldn’t actually command soldiers or get hold of any firearms. His assistants would be ard only with clubs and torches and he would still answer to the military. And because the post requires him and his n to be out and about, any odd moves would be easily observed.
Still, there were risks.
But if I could win his loyalty, which what I was trying to do by giving him the post, he would be a great asset. The sooner I did that, the smoother things would run. I could benefit greatly from his province-wide influence.
Don Contreras didn’t look thrilled, nor did he look annoyed. He slowly stood and gave a curt nod.
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