The Tax and the Terror

The Netherlands were the richest seventeen provinces in Europe and the most awkward to govern: a patchwork of chartered cities and ancient privileges, Catholic and increasingly Calvinist, that had grown wealthy on trade and had a firm view about being taxed by people who had not asked. Philip II ruled them from Madrid, had not visited since 1559, and did not speak their languages. His grievances were the Inquisition, the bishoprics, and heresy; theirs were taxes, autonomy, and Spanish troops.

In 1566 Calvinist crowds went through the churches smashing the images — the Beeldenstorm — and Philip's answer was the Duke of Alba, the finest soldier in Europe, with 10,000 veterans and orders to end the disorder. Alba did exactly that, with total competence. His Council of Troubles, which the Dutch renamed the Council of Blood, condemned thousands; the popular Catholic counts Egmont and Horn were beheaded in the Grand Place in Brussels to make the point that rank was no protection.

William of Orange's brothers won the first battle at Heiligerlee in May 1568 and the revolt looked like it might catch. Two months later Alba caught Louis of Nassau's army pinned against the Ems at Jemmingen and destroyed it — 7,000 dead against almost no Spanish loss, less a battle than a drowning. William's armies dissolved, his estates were confiscated, and he went into exile. By the end of 1568 the rebellion was over and Alba had won.

Then he introduced the Tenth Penny — a permanent ten percent tax on every sale, in the most commercially sophisticated society on earth. It did what no rebel army had managed: it united Calvinist preachers, Catholic magistrates, and merchants who cared nothing for either into a single mass of opposition. Alba had beaten the revolt with an army and then revived it with a tax.