The castle Angulo y Sandoval designed was square, with bastions protruding from each corner -- the geometric signature of the trace italienne, or star fort, style that dominated European military architecture in the 17th century. But the governor introduced a peculiarity. Unlike standard bastioned fortifications, where defensive walls maintain a consistent slope, he designed the walls in two sections: the lower portion stands perfectly vertical, while the upper portion, above the string course, tilts inward. This split design is unique among Venezuelan fortifications. The result was a castle of modest size but distinctive character, housing a garrison of 250 soldiers and serving as both military stronghold and seat of government for the Province of Cumana. It sat on a small hill near St. Agnes Church, about 400 meters from the older San Antonio castle it was meant to replace.

The earth did not respect the governor's engineering. On May 4, 1684 -- just sixteen years after construction began -- an earthquake devastated Cumana and severely damaged the Santa Maria castle. Repairs followed, as they always did in this seismically active city, but the castle would never fully escape the cycle of destruction and restoration. After another earthquake in 1853, a reliquary containing an image of Nuestra Senora del Carmen was moved from the damaged Mount Carmel chapel to the castle grounds. Santos Berrizbeitia built a new chapel within the fortress walls in 1912 to house the sacred image, though it was later transferred to St. Agnes Church. The castle's moat was filled in to accommodate the chapel construction, and deteriorated parapets were demolished. Berrizbeitia himself was eventually buried in the castle chapel -- his remains exhumed from the Holy Trinity Cemetery he had built and moved there five years after his death.

Between the late 18th and early 19th centuries, Cumana's population grew, and the city pressed inward against its own fortifications. New buildings rose against the castle walls, closing off the perimeter entirely and making direct access impossible. The fortress that Angulo y Sandoval had placed at the city's center for strategic advantage found itself imprisoned by the city it was meant to protect. The provincial government offices were relocated, and the castle was abandoned. For decades it stood as an oddity -- a military structure embedded in a civilian neighborhood, its bastions jutting into streets and courtyards, its defensive purpose made absurd by the houses that leaned against its walls.

The 1929 Cumana earthquake delivered the final blow, leaving the castle in ruins. For the better part of a century, the remains sat largely neglected, a crumbling reminder of colonial ambition and seismic indifference. In May 2005, the state Cultural Assets Institute declared the Santa Maria de la Cabeza castle a Cultural and Municipal Asset, formally recognizing what the city's residents had always understood informally: that even in ruin, the castle tells a story worth preserving. A 1737 map by Diaz Fajardo shows the original slopes and terraces that once surrounded the structure -- features long since buried under centuries of construction and earthquake debris. Agustin Crame, proposing the city's defense in 1777, mentioned a road between the Santa Maria and San Antonio castles, though he opposed building it. The castle's story is recorded in documents scattered across three centuries, a paper trail that maps not just a building but a city's relationship with its own vulnerability.