WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

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◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 34: The Second Crusade

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A few hours before the Battle of Malešov.

The morning air in Josefov, Prague's Jewish quarter, was unmistakably different from before.

Abraham threw open the window of his office on the second floor of his trading house and drew a deep breath.

It was strange.

Prague's air itself had not changed at all, yet now that everything around him had changed, even the air felt fresh.

In the past, they had been the city's shadows.

They walked close to the walls in silence so as not to catch Christians' eyes, their shoulders hunched in shame over the yellow patches sewn onto their clothes. Children could not laugh loudly, and adults could not lift their heads.

But now, the sounds outside were no longer screams or laments.

The heavy rumble of cartwheels rolling over stone.

Merchants shouting as they bargained.

The laughter of children running through the alleys filled Josefov.

They walked with their heads high. They met Christian merchants' eyes as equals, shook hands with confidence, and signed contracts.

No longer did the chests and backs of their people bear the humiliating yellow marks that had treated them like animals.

Leaning against the windowsill, Abraham looked down at the scene with a proud smile.

'I can't believe all this happened in just one month.'

Ulrich von Sternberg.

The young king of Bohemia.

His Edict of Jewish Equality was like a magic spell that had broken the curse weighing on the ghetto for centuries.

The moment when the king had asked him to become Royal Minister of Finance remained vivid in Abraham's mind. It would surely stay with him for the rest of his life.

A king boldly appointing a Jew, and a rabbi at that, to such an important post had given the Jews of Bohemia reason to trust him and wait.

And the king had kept his promise without fail.

Just then, Joseph, a young clerk who had been organizing the ledgers, knocked cautiously and entered.

"Rabbi. The Saltpeter to be sent to the Sternberg domain is ready. Since it will be used to make Gunpowder, I checked its dryness twice."

"Good work. You sent the invoice properly, didn't you? Don't give them a discount or sell it on credit just because it is for the royal household. His Majesty wouldn't want that."

"Of course. We billed them at the exact market price. And..."

Joseph hesitated.

Abraham set down his ink-stained pen and turned toward Joseph.

"And?"

"There has still been no reply to the letters sent to Vienna, Nuremberg, and Frankfurt."

Abraham's brow furrowed. With a sigh, he looked toward one corner of his desk.

There lay letters that had returned undelivered, along with empty envelopes that had received no reply.

With King Ulrich's tacit approval, Abraham had sent secret letters to Jewish communities across the Empire.

[Come to Bohemia. The king here does not persecute us. It is a place where you can remove the yellow star and live with dignity. Bring your capital and skills, and it will become a land of opportunity.]

It was an invitation to leave the unstable Empire, where a mad riot could erupt at any moment, and come to the promised land.

Yet no reply had come.

Only long, endless silence.

"They must be afraid."

Joseph muttered bitterly.

"A Christian ruler, and a king branded a heretic at that, says he will treat Jews as equals... They will think it is a trap. They'll suspect he intends to lure us in for our money, then slaughter us all at once. An offer that sounds too good is probably a scam."

"...That must be it."

Abraham tried to believe the same.

The rabbis of Vienna were cautious to the point of cowardice. Rather than move rashly and suffer for it, they would have chosen to endure the familiar discrimination and contempt.

Or perhaps they feared Emperor Sigismund and did not dare choose Bohemia. With the war underway, crossing the border itself would be a gamble with their lives.

'How tragic. The promised land exists here, yet so many cannot believe it.'

Clicking his tongue, Abraham rose from his seat. His chest felt tight with sorrow and frustration for his people.

That was when it happened.

Ding, ding, ding!

Bells rang wildly in the street.

The peaceful sounds of the Jewish quarter instantly turned into a restless murmur.

"What is it?"

A sense of dread rose in Abraham as he hurried outside. People had stopped what they were doing and were gathering near the entrance to the street, toward Prague's gates.

"Refugees! Refugees are pouring in!"

"Good heavens, look at the state of them..."

"Where have they fled from this time?"

Outside Prague's gates, hundreds of people staggered along the bank of the Vltava River.

It was a familiar sight.

When war broke out, powerless commoners were always the first to pack their belongings and flee.

Were they farmers driven north by the Cumans from the southern border?

Or refugees who had come up from the countryside to escape the fighting?

Clicking his tongue, Abraham spoke to Joseph.

"Joseph, bring them bread and water. We don't have much to spare either, but we cannot turn away the hungry. The king told us to fulfill our duties as citizens..."

But as the refugees drew closer, something felt wrong.

Their appearance was utterly wretched. Their clothes were torn to shreds, and they walked barefoot over the stones, their feet bloodied.

Yet Abraham was a merchant. He did not miss the material of their torn garments or the shape of the hats on their heads.

"What?"

His heart dropped.

They were not wearing the rough clothes of Bohemian farmers.

Though stained with grime and soaked in blood, they were unmistakably black coats.

Wide-brimmed hats. Long sidecurls hanging beneath them. And, most of all, bright yellow star-shaped patches sewn to their torn chests.

"Oh, Adonai..."

Abraham forced his way through the crowd and ran toward them.

They were Jews.

And they were not Jews from Bohemia.

At the head of the procession, an old man leaned on a broken staff, barely managing each step.

His white beard was crusted with dried blood, and his eyes were sunken. He was a pitiful sight, but Abraham recognized him.

"Rabbi... Rabbi Meir?"

The old man lifted his clouded eyes to Abraham.

The moment his dull, unfocused gaze settled on an old friend's face, tears welled up in his eyes.

"Ah... Abraham? Is that you?"

It was Meir ben Isaac, chief rabbi of Vienna, the spiritual pillar of Austria's Jewish community and an old acquaintance of Abraham's.

Abraham rushed over and caught him as he began to collapse.

The old man weighed as little as a feather, and the stench of rotten blood and sweat rose from his clothes.

"What in the world happened? All the way from Vienna... No, why didn't you answer the letter? Why have you come like this...?"

At Abraham's question, Meir coughed up black, blood-flecked phlegm.

His trembling hand seized Abraham's clothes. His grip was so strong it seemed ready to tear the silk.

"A letter?"

Meir let out a grotesque laugh.

"You need time to write a reply, my friend."

"What?"

Meir raised a trembling hand and pointed behind him.

Abraham's gaze followed his finger.

Only then did he see.

The people behind the procession.

Young men with severed wrists wrapped in bandages.

Women whose ears or noses had been cut off.

And children staring blankly into the air as they walked, holding their parents' hands.

"Sigismund... That devil slaughtered us, claiming we were spies conspiring with Bohemia's Heretic King."

Meir ground his teeth and screamed, his voice boiling with rage.

"The ghetto in Vienna burned. Nuremberg, Salzburg too... The Emperor's soldiers stormed in, seized our property, and took everything. They killed anyone who resisted, and dragged away women and children as slaves. We... We crawled out through the sewers and barely escaped."

Abraham stared blankly at Rabbi Meir.

While he had been fretting over such petty things as why no reply had come and whether they distrusted them, the Jews of Germany had been burning in Hell.

Rabbi Meir clutched Abraham's clothes and pleaded.

"Tell me, Abraham! Does Bohemia's king truly protect us? Or is this another slaughterhouse? Where... Where must our people go to finally be free from this endless persecution?"

After a long silence, Abraham swallowed his tears and helped the old man stand.

"You have come to the right place, Rabbi."

His voice trembled, but it was firm.

"Here... there is a king who sees us not as moneybags, but as people."

* * *

The victory at Malešov was still fresh.

Jan Žižka, János Hunyadi, a handful of guards, and I rode north through the night, whipping our horses until foam gathered at their mouths.

Sir Kuno would follow us later after organizing the Taborites and the Prague militia.

Our destination was Prague, the heart of the kingdom.

"Out of the way! His Majesty is passing through!"

János Hunyadi shouted in a hoarse voice.

The sight that greeted us after we passed through Prague's gates was utter chaos.

The streets were packed with citizens carrying bundles as they prepared to flee.

Children cried, merchants nailed shut their shop doors, and wealthy people shouted as they loaded their belongings onto carriages.

Fear.

News that Sigismund's army was coming had already spread through the city faster than the wind.

"The King!"

"His Majesty has returned!"

The citizens recognized me and began to murmur.

But their eyes did not hold the same passionate enthusiasm as before.

There was fear, anxiety, faint hope, and even distrust that I might abandon them and flee.

Without slowing my horse, I crossed Old Town Square and headed straight for City Hall. Hooves hammered mercilessly against Prague's stone streets.

"Look, Your Majesty."

Žižka pointed toward a line of splendid noble carriages parked outside City Hall.

The horses stamped anxiously, while the servants fidgeted as they watched their masters.

"All the cowards have gathered here."

"What do you think they're discussing inside?"

Žižka gave a cold, mocking smile.

"They are people who joined the cause for money and power, without a shred of conviction. They are probably thinking only of how to save their own skins."

I thought the same.

There was no need to see it to know what state the city council, which should have been discussing Bohemia's fate, would be in by now.

We jumped down from our horses at the same time.

The guards standing watch before City Hall were startled to see us and quickly lowered their spears.

"Y-Your Majesty! Commander-in-Chief Žižka!"

"Move."

My cloak, caked with dirt and blood, billowed as I climbed the steps. Žižka followed close behind me, his enormous frame looming at my back.

His armor still reeked of Cuman blood from Malešov and the acrid smell of Gunpowder.

"Wait for me!"

Then János Hunyadi followed as well.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

As we walked down the corridor, raised voices leaked through the tightly shut doors of the great council chamber.

"I'm telling you, we need to send an envoy at once!"

"Who would we send? Who would go before that mad Emperor and offer up their neck?"

"We must surrender unconditionally! That is the only way to stop Prague from burning!"

"It's all that heretic's fault! If that brat king hadn't acted so recklessly, His Imperial Majesty would never have brought such a huge army here!"

Just as expected.

It was a chorus of cowards, exactly as I had imagined.

The Utraquist nobles, wealthy merchants, and opportunists.

They trembled in terror of Sigismund's blade while looking for a scapegoat to blame.

"We must negotiate! If we ask for mercy on the condition that we hand over the king..."

The moment someone spoke those forbidden words, I kicked open the heavy oak door as though none of it was worth hearing any longer.

Bang!

The hinges shrieked as the doors flew open.

A cold wind, carrying the stench of blood, swept into the chamber.

"..."

The entire hall fell silent in an instant, and dozens of eyes turned toward the doorway.

The nobles were stunned.

The man standing at the door was the king they had just been whispering about selling out.

Slowly, very slowly, I walked into the chamber.

Step. Step.

Each time my footsteps rang out, the nobles flinched.

They wore splendid silk clothes and doused themselves in perfume.

Compared to them, I looked wretched.

My hair was matted with sweat and dust, and soot stained my face.

Yet that disheveled appearance only made my presence more intimidating.

Then a massive shadow followed behind me.

"Eek!"

Someone choked back a scream.

Jan Žižka.

The one-eyed old wolf walked in silently, a bloodstained mace resting on his shoulder.

As his single eye swept across the chamber, the proud nobles lowered their heads, trembling like aspen leaves.

It was the instinctive fear of prey facing a beast drawn by the scent of blood.

I walked toward the presiding seat at the head of the chamber.

Cenek of Vartemberk, leader of the Utraquists, sprang to his feet in alarm.

"Y-Your Majesty..."

"Move."

Cenek saw the murderous look in my eyes and hurriedly stepped aside.

I dropped into the chair, then crossed my legs and placed them on the table.

My mud-covered boots dirtied the polished oak table, but no one dared point it out.

Silence.

A suffocating silence filled the room.

Resting my chin on my hand, I looked each terrified noble in the eye.

"Please, continue."

My voice was low, but it carried clearly through every corner of the chamber.

"I seem to have heard some very interesting things outside. An envoy? Surrender? Or... were you proposing to hand over the king?"

The nobles broke into a cold sweat and looked away.

The fat merchant representative who had just been loudly calling to sell out the king looked as though he wanted to crawl under the table.

It was nothing surprising.

Expecting grand ideals or noble convictions from these Moderate Prague nobles was a luxury.

There was only one reason they bared their teeth at Sigismund.

He was the Emperor.

And an Emperor with immense power.

The reign of the previous king, the utterly incompetent Wenceslaus IV, must have been paradise to them. Free from royal interference, they could rule their own domains like kings and gorge themselves on the sweet privileges of feudalism.

Bohemian nationalism? Jan Hus's ideas of reform?

Would those really matter more to them than their coffers and land deeds?

The real reason they rejected Sigismund was because they remembered the merciless plunder and iron-fisted rule he had shown twenty years ago. They simply feared a powerful monarchy crushing their vested interests.

Of course, even among the Utraquists, there were university professors like Jan Rokycana and sincere theologians. Their anguish and faith might have been genuine.

But sadly, in these troubled times, a pen was lighter than a blade. The voices of intellectuals who could not hold the sword were nothing but empty echoes.

The people who truly controlled this council chamber were opportunists who had only used me as a club to keep the tiger called Sigismund at bay.

When I wore the crown, they had flattered me and pretended to be loyal subjects, unlike the fanatics of the Taborites. But when things turned against them, they were ready to throw me out as bait, wag their tails before the strong, and kneel without hesitation.

Typical medieval feudal nobles.

At that moment, Cenek forced a smile and waved his hands.

"You misunderstand, Your Majesty! We were only... trying to find a way to ensure Prague's safety before the overwhelming Imperial army. The Emperor's forces are so vast that we were discussing realistic alternatives..."

"Realistic alternatives."

I gave a faint laugh.

"So your conclusion was to offer up my head and beg for mercy?"

"T-That's not what we meant..."

"Sir Cenek. And all the nobles of Bohemia gathered here."

I leaned forward slightly. Rather than raise my voice at them, I spoke softly, as though patiently reasoning with them.

"Do you truly not know Sigismund? Or has fear twisted your memories?"

My gaze met each of theirs, as if piercing through them.

"Sigismund is not a knight who keeps his promises. He was the man who wrote Jan Hus a safe-conduct in the Emperor's name. Then, before the ink on that paper had even dried, he sent Hus to the stake."

The nobles' eyes began to waver.

Because my words were the unvarnished truth.

"You would open the gates and present a document of surrender? Do you think that paper will be worth more than Hus's safe-conduct?"

I lightly tapped the table with my fingers.

"Sigismund is drowning in debt right now. How much money do you think it takes each day to maintain those massive crusaders and mercenaries?"

"..."

"To the Emperor, you are not negotiating partners. You are walking purses. If he brands you traitors and executes you, he can legally confiscate your estates and property. Why would he spare you out of mercy? It would be far simpler to use the money from your severed heads to pay the mercenaries the wages they are owed."

All color drained from the nobles' faces.

They must have known it too. They had only clung to the flimsy hope that they would somehow be exceptions.

I crushed that hope with cold, brutal certainty.

Then an old merchant sitting in the corner cried out in a trembling voice.

"T-Then what are we supposed to do? Do we even have a chance if we fight? Those infamous Cumans are coming from the south, and the Emperor's huge army is advancing from the north! We are rats trapped in a jar!"

"The Cumans, you say."

János Hunyadi took a heavy leather bag from his waist and handed it to me. I untied the knot, pulled out its contents, and threw it onto the center of the table.

"Is this what you are worried about?"

What lay on the table was a grotesque iron mask. A hideous thing with a hole punched through its forehead, blood dried upon it.

"Eek!"

"Th-That is..."

The nobles recoiled in horror. No Bohemian could fail to recognize it.

"A trophy from Malešov."

Resting my chin on my hand, I spoke calmly.

"The three thousand Cumans you feared have all become crow food on the hills of Malešov. Our army suffered only a few dozen casualties."

A heavy silence settled over the chamber.

But this silence held shock rather than fear.

"Only a few dozen casualties against three thousand Cumans?"

"That cannot be possible..."

"If you think I am lying, grab any soldier when they arrive and ask them."

I looked around at them with an easy smile.

"Well? Do I still look like I lack the strength to protect you?"

The mood changed.

I had shown them that I was not merely a king of words, but a ruler who could defeat enemies and lead his people to victory.

The iron mask before them was proof of that.

The air, weighed down by defeatism, slowly began to stir.

Then Cenek swallowed dryly and asked with caution.

"B-But, Your Majesty... The Cumans are only lightly armed mercenaries. The Emperor's main force is different. Even if we gather every soldier we can, we have only twenty thousand men. How do you intend to stop heavily armed knights and an army one hundred thousand strong?"

"Stop them?"

I raised one eyebrow.

"Who said anything about defending the city?"

"What? B-But the enemy has one hundred thousand men, and we..."

"Yes. Sigismund will think I am terrified, that I will bar the gates and tremble behind them. He will believe we will hide like rats in a jar and wait for the enemy to leave on their own."

I rose from my chair and looked through the window at the vast plains stretching beyond Prague.

"I will use that misunderstanding against him."

Footnotes:

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