Money he must have, and, certainly without Philip’s consent, he took the fatal step that at last aroused the slumbering people. The various provincial assemblies were terrorised into voting a tax of one per cent on all property, five per cent on sales of land, and, above all, ten per cent on sales of all other property. Utrecht refused to accept the impossible tax, and the tribunal of blood condemned the whole property of the citizens to confiscation. A tax of ten per cent upon commodities every time they changed hands was proved to be absurd. Alba’s most faithful henchmen, and even his confessor, pointed this out to him, but to no purpose. Business was suspended, factories closed. Their proprietors were threatened with heavy fines if trade was not carried on as usual. It was obviously impossible, but still the duke would not give way. Philip’s council were indignant at such a measure, and Alba wrote to Madrid, “Let the tax be reduced as much as may be necessary, but the king cannot have an idea of the obstacles I encounter here. Neither the heads smitten off nor the privileges abolished have aroused so much resistance as this.” Nearly all the great bankers upon whom Philip had depended for loans became insolvent, and appeals against the unwise tax reached Philip by every post. He knew money must be obtained somehow, and hesitated to condemn Alba unheard, but he ordered an inquiry to be made, and the protests grew louder and deeper. Bishops, councillors, loyal servants of the Spaniards, joined in condemnation. “Everybody turns against me,” wrote the duke, and for once he was right.