WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

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◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 23: The Excommunication Decree (3)

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Rome, an office in the Lateran Palace.

"...What did you say?"

The Pope of Rome froze like a statue as he listened to the cardinal's report. The wineglass in his hand trembled dangerously.

"Say that again. What happened to Bohemia's tithes...?"

"Th-that is... Ulrich von Sternberg, the King of Bohemia, confiscated all the property belonging to monasteries and churches."

"Confiscated?"

"Yes. Gold, silver, holy relics, even land deeds... They say he took every last thing."

The moment the cardinal finished his report.

Crash!

The Pope's prized Venetian crystal glass struck the wall and shattered. Red wine streamed down the wall like blood.

"That... that wretch deserves to be struck dead by lightning!!"

The Pope's roar echoed through the palace corridors.

Pope Martin V.

His secular name was Odo Colonna (Oddone Colonna).

Later historians and theologians would remember him as the great Pope who ended the Western Schism.

Reality was a little different.

He was less a clergyman than an exceptional political thug and ruthless businessman.

He was the capable man who had forced the European Church, nearly torn apart by three rival popes, back into one body at the Council of Constance.

He was also a relentless administrator who personally checked the ledgers for every brick and nail needed to rebuild Rome, which had been left in ruins by the Avignon Papacy.

To him, the Church was not simply God's sanctuary. It was a vast enterprise he had to rebuild.

And rebuilding Rome required money.

An enormous, astronomical amount of money.

Yet some nobody from that prime piece of land called Bohemia had emptied his treasury from top to bottom.

"I! To gather that money! I humored those French bastards and grovelled before the Germans! Rome's roofs are leaking and its walls are crumbling, yet he dares? He takes my money? My money and runs off with it?!"

He wasn't furious simply because a heretic had appeared.

His anger was far more primal, far more capitalist than that.

"1.3 million groschen? With that money, I could repair Castel Sant'Angelo and still have plenty left over! I could build two more bridges across the Tiber River! Aaargh!"

Odo clutched the back of his neck and staggered. His blood pressure had shot straight to the top of his head.

"That man is no Christian! He is Satan! No, even Satan wouldn't steal my money! He's worse than Satan!"

"Y-Your Holiness! Please preserve your health!"

"Excommunicate him! Write the Papal Bull at once! Write it not with ink, but with curses! May the Lord's curse fall upon the name Ulrich von Sternberg!"

The next day, a Papal Bull in the name of Pope Martin V was distributed across Europe.

It was an edict of excommunication directed at Ulrich von Sternberg, the Heretic King of Bohemia.

* * *

Exactly one week after I had filled my stomach by raiding the monastery treasuries, the guest I expected arrived with the gift I expected.

"...Your Majesty."

János Hunyadi entered my office holding a tray. His expression was strange.

He looked frightened, yet there was also that familiar cynical curiosity in his eyes, as though he found it thrilling to see how the situation would unfold.

A scroll lay on the tray.

Parchment tied with a red silk cord, with a heavy piece of lead hanging from it.

Lead. In Latin, bulla.

This was that infamous Papal Bull.

"It's here."

I closed the document I had been reading and picked up the Papal Bull. It was heavy. The lead seal bore the faces of the Apostles Peter and Paul, while the reigning Pope's name was clearly embossed on the reverse.

MARTINUS PP. V

"My lord, are you... going to open that?"

János asked, edging back a little.

"Why? Are you worried lightning will strike if I open it?"

"To be honest, it's a little frightening. A Pope's curse, you know. Doesn't it feel like it'd bring terrible luck?"

"I didn't have any luck to begin with."

With a snort, I untied the red cord.

As I unfolded the rustling parchment, densely written Latin curses spilled out before my eyes.

I wasn't alone in the office.

There was Cenek of Vartemberk, a noble in splendid silk robes whose face was as pale as a corpse.

And Jan Rokycana, a theologian wearing black priestly robes.

The man who would one day become the Hussites' archbishop was trembling before me like an aspen leaf.

"I'll read it aloud. Listen carefully."

I cleared my throat and began reading the Papal Bull.

"Pope Martin V, servant of the servants of God... and so on. An evil serpent has entered the Lord's vineyard... blah, blah."

The introduction was long. I skipped ahead to the important passage.

"Here it is."

Lowering my voice, I read in a solemn tone.

"Therefore, in the name of Almighty God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and by the authority of the blessed Apostles Peter and Paul, We declare."

"..."

"Ulrich von Sternberg, who calls himself King of Bohemia, is an enemy of the Church, a blasphemer, and a traitor to the faith."

Someone swallowed dryly.

"We cast him out from the Christian community and strip him of all rights and honors he has enjoyed. The land he treads shall be cursed, and the water he drinks shall become poison."

"Oh, Lord..."

Rokycana murmured as though groaning. His hands were clasped together, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Those who follow him shall receive the same curse, while those who kill him shall not be charged with murder, but shall instead receive a reward in heaven."

"Anathema. Let there be a curse."

"Anathema Maranatha. Let him be cursed eternally until the Lord comes."

The reading ended.

Only a heavy silence filled the office.

It felt like a funeral hall. No, an execution ground.

Excommunication.

In medieval society, excommunication was not a mere religious punishment. It meant social annihilation within the Christian world.

First, the breaking of feudal contracts. The knights and lords who had sworn loyalty to me could now legally betray me. No, they had to betray me.

Second, the loss of legal protection. If someone stabbed me on the road and cut off my head, they would not be called a murderer. They would be praised as a defender of the Church.

Third, diplomatic isolation. No king or merchant in Europe could trade with me. Bohemia had become an island on land.

"...Your Majesty."

Cenek spoke in a trembling voice.

"This... cannot be undone. Now all of Europe will come to hunt us."

He was right. Emperor Sigismund could not have asked for a better pretext.

Now he would gather crusaders not only under the authority of the Emperor, but with the blessing of God's representative behind him.

"We're finished...!"

Cenek clutched his head.

"The trade routes will be cut off, and not even a grain of salt will enter! The mercenaries will break their contracts and leave, while neighboring countries rush in to tear our territory apart!"

"Calm yourself, Lord Cenek."

"Calm myself? Is this a time to be calm? It is excommunication, excommunication! We will all fall into hellfire!"

At that moment, Jan Rokycana, who had remained silent, slowly raised his head.

Despair filled the respected theologian's eyes. Yet what he feared was not the worldly ruin that troubled Cenek.

"Your Majesty."

Rokycana's voice was calm, but the terror within it was deeper and darker.

"Do you truly not understand what this means?"

"Tell me."

"An Interdict."

Rokycana pointed to the Excommunication Edict.

"Now every church in Bohemia must close its doors. The bells will not ring, and Mass will not be celebrated."

"So?"

"What do you mean, so?"

Rokycana sprang to his feet.

"Even if a child is born, we cannot baptize them! Those children must go to hell without having their original sin washed away! Even when someone dies, we cannot hold a funeral Mass! The souls of the dead must wander through purgatory and suffer forever!"

His cry was close to a scream.

Cenek was declaring political bankruptcy, while Rokycana was declaring spiritual bankruptcy.

Both reactions were thoroughly medieval, and perfectly normal.

But.

"So what?"

I casually rolled up the Papal Bull and tossed it onto the desk.

"...Pardon?"

Rokycana asked blankly.

"Does being excommunicated ruin your appetite? Or does it stop you from breathing?"

"Th-that is not the point... Your soul will be cast into hellfire..."

"Rokycana."

I leaned back in my chair and laced my fingers together.

"Hell is not a place you go after you die."

Rokycana's mouth opened and closed at my words.

His mind had spent its whole life within theological logic and the authority of the Church. It seemed incapable of processing my heretical statement at once.

"Think about it, Rokycana."

I nodded toward the Excommunication Edict on the desk.

"Can that piece of paper cut your flesh? Can that lump of lead break your bones?"

"Th-that is not so, but the peace of the soul..."

"The peace of the soul."

I snorted and rose from my chair. Then I slowly walked to the window and threw it wide open.

Prague's cold winter air rushed into the office. In the distance, I could see the spires of St. Vitus Cathedral and, beneath them, Prague's clustered streets.

Beggars covered in filth huddled in the streets, while gaunt children searched through the mud.

"Look down there."

I pointed outside.

"Right now, thousands of children are starving to death despite having the Pope's blessing. When the Black Death spread, did the devout survive while only heretics died?"

"Th-that..."

"No. Everyone died."

I looked Rokycana straight in the eyes.

"Those who prayed died, and those who cursed died. Good people died, bad people died. Only those who ate well, drank clean water, and slept somewhere warm survived."

Rokycana's pupils shook.

He must have wanted to refute me. Theologically and doctrinally, I was wrong.

But in reality, I was cruelly right.

"God does not deliver people from poverty."

I emphasized every word.

"What delivers people from poverty is bread. What defeats disease is not prayer, but medicine. What kills enemies is not curses, but steel."

I strode over and picked up the Excommunication Edict again. The heavy lead seal swung beneath it.

"This is just parchment and a lump of lead. It's like a receipt some Pope sent to flaunt his authority."

"A receipt...?"

"Yes. Confirmation that we have safely received 1.3 million groschen."

Cenek could not close his mouth. János stifled a snicker, while Rokycana stared at me as though he were looking at a demon.

"Your Majesty... are you serious? You mean to trade all of this for a mere sum of money? The world is cursing you. They hate you for no reason!"

"For no reason?"

I tossed the Excommunication Edict onto the desk again and approached Rokycana.

"Yes, it is unfair. I haven't even begun doing things that would make them grind their teeth yet."

"...What do you mean by that?"

"If I'm going to be cursed at anyway, I should properly earn their condemnation."

The corner of my mouth twisted upward.

"Wouldn't it be polite to give those who hate me for no reason a very good reason?"

The blueprint for the next step had already taken shape in my head.

A bomb that would leave all of Europe stunned, something that could not even be compared to a trivial Excommunication Edict like this.

Footnotes:

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