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Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

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◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 49: The Information Revolution (2)

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Kraków, capital of the Kingdom of Poland.

The Great Audience Hall of Wawel Castle.

Massive stone pillars supporting the high ceiling had silently endured centuries of history, while tapestries along the walls displayed Poland's white eagle emblem, embroidered in gold thread.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, making even the dust in the air seem sacred, while hundreds of flickering candles deepened the hall's solemn atmosphere.

Beneath those lights, the great nobles and high-ranking clergy who upheld Poland filled the Great Audience Hall.

Nobles draped in splendid silks and furs, knights in gleaming plate armor, and bishops clad in red cardinal robes.

Yet their gazes were fixed on a single point like daggers.

There was no welcome.

Only open contempt and hatred sharp enough to strip flesh from bone.

"Envoy of His Majesty Ulrich I of the Kingdom of Bohemia! Abraham ben Eliezer enters!"

The attendant's cry rang dryly through the audience hall.

Step. Step.

The sound of footsteps striking the marble floor seemed especially loud.

The man walking in from afar was an alien presence, utterly unsuited to this magnificent, sacred space.

A black tunic so plain it looked shabby.

A curly beard and a distinctive hat.

And thick ledgers and letters held against his chest.

Murmurs broke out among the nobles.

"A Jew? Bohemia's envoy is a Jew?"

"Good heavens. That Heretic King must truly be mad."

"He brought one of those people who sold out Jesus into sacred Wawel Castle? This is an insult to Poland!"

Their insults flew at him like daggers.

The nobles openly pretended to spit on the floor, while the clergymen made the sign of the cross and stepped back as though they had seen a demon.

In devoutly Catholic Poland, sending a Jew to meet the king was nothing less than the worst possible provocation, one that struck at Poland's pride.

An ordinary Jew would have been crushed by the murderous atmosphere and collapsed on the spot.

But Abraham did not stop.

Cold sweat ran down his back, and his heart pounded madly, yet his face remained strangely calm.

He pressed his lips together and continued forward in silence, his eyes fixed on the throne ahead.

'Do not be afraid. I am not a usurer.'

His hand, damp with sweat beneath his robes, clenched tightly.

'I am the representative of His Majesty Ulrich I, the Steel King. If I bow my head, my lord bows his head.'

The king had promised him that he would build a nation where Jews no longer had to hide and could live with dignity.

As proof, he had placed upon Abraham's shoulders the extraordinary title of Plenipotentiary Ambassador of the King, a title no Jew in history had ever dared to dream of.

Behind Abraham stood Bohemia's army of steel, and in his hands lay enough capital to shake a nation.

That pride kept Abraham's spine, a Jew who had spent his entire life enduring scorn, as straight as steel.

Thud.

At last, Abraham stopped at his assigned place before the throne and bowed with crisp formality.

"On behalf of His Majesty Ulrich I, King of Bohemia, I greet His Majesty Władysław II Jagiełło, the great King of Poland."

His voice did not tremble. It rang clear and sharp through the audience hall, reaching the king's ears without hesitation.

Only then did the old man seated sideways on the throne, who had seemed to be dozing, slowly open his eyes.

Władysław II Jagiełło.

The ruler of the united Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania.

The victor who had crushed the Teutonic Knights on the fields of Tannenberg and seized dominance over Eastern Europe.

An old bear whose teeth had not yet fallen out.

His deep, clouded eyes swept over Abraham.

"......"

Jagiełło said nothing.

As the silence stretched on, the nobles' fury neared its breaking point.

"Your Majesty! That insolent wretch must be dragged out at once!"

"A mere merchant dares look upon Your Majesty's face? This is an insult to the nation!"

A young knight could no longer contain himself and stepped forward.

"We should cut off his head and send it back to Bohemia! Then that Heretic King will not dare look down on Poland!"

The mood in the audience hall turned ugly. They looked ready to draw their swords at any moment.

A bead of cold sweat rolled down Abraham's forehead.

Yet he did not even blink. Instead, he lifted his head and met the eyes of the nobles who looked ready to kill him, then those of the king on the throne.

Then Jagiełło spoke.

"Silence."

The king's voice was low, but as cold as frost.

The nobles who had been shouting and reaching for their swords fell silent at once, as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over them.

"Interesting."

What came from Jagiełło's lips was not anger, but a peculiar interest.

Resting his chin on one hand, he stared intently at the shabby Jew standing below the throne.

'Ulrich von Sternberg... I knew he was mad, but he's even madder than I thought.'

An ordinary ruler would have sent a noble in splendid clothes or a bishop with the finest tongue to forge an alliance.

That was European diplomatic custom, and basic courtesy.

But Ulrich had sent a Jew.

For their most important first meeting, no less.

'He doesn't care about bloodlines, religion, or custom. He only looks at results.'

Jagiełło had originally been a pagan grand duke of Lithuania.

He had converted to Catholicism and ascended the throne to marry the Queen of Poland, but he had spent his life surviving suspicious looks directed at his origins and faith.

That was why Ulrich's radical pragmatism stirred an odd sense of kinship and catharsis within him.

"Either the King of Bohemia understands me very well, or he is testing me. It must be one or the other."

To stand against Emperor Sigismund, having a madman like this at his side would not be so bad.

Jagiełło tapped the armrest of his throne with his fingers.

"He sent you despite knowing full well that my subjects would foam at the mouth in opposition. That means he has great confidence in what you brought, does it not?"

He gestured toward Abraham with his chin.

"Speak. Is what your master sent me an insult, or a gift?"

Abraham bowed deeply once more.

"Before that, I would first like to present the reply to the letter Your Majesty sent."

From inside his robes, Abraham withdrew a parchment scroll sealed with red wax.

It was the official reply to the secret envoy King Jagiełło had dispatched.

"A mutual nonaggression pact, and a bilateral military alliance."

Abraham's voice echoed clearly through the audience hall.

"If the Teutonic Knights in the north invade Poland, Bohemia's army of steel will strike their flank. If the Holy Roman Empire in the west threatens us, Poland's knights will become our shield. That was Your Majesty's proposal..."

Raising the scroll high, he declared, "My lord, His Majesty Ulrich I, has gladly signed it."

Murmurs spread through the hall.

But Abraham did not stop.

"Yet my lord said that an oath written on paper could fade before the ink had even dried."

He handed the letter to an attendant, then reached into his robes again.

"An alliance ultimately means trusting each other with their backs. And that trust does not come from promises alone, but from the practical strength to fill each other's hungry bellies."

This time, Abraham pulled out a heavy leather pouch.

"That is why I brought this."

Without hesitation, he loosened the pouch's drawstring and poured its contents onto the floor.

Clatter!

Clear, bright metallic notes rang through the audience hall.

Hundreds of silver coins spilled across the floor.

Prague groschen, minted from the finest silver without impurities.

The candlelight caught the shining tide of silver scattered across the marble floor.

"Gasp!"

The contempt in the nobles' eyes instantly turned to gleaming greed.

Abraham did not miss their reaction and spoke calmly.

"My lord said that what is most needed to make friends is not flowery rhetoric, but bread and trust that can fill each other's bellies."

He pointed to the scattered silver coins.

"This is a down payment, Your Majesty."

"A down payment?"

"Bohemia is starving. We won the war, but our people's tables remain empty."

Abraham spread his arms.

"We want Poland's abundant wheat and rye. We will purchase all the old grain piled in your granaries and beginning to rot. The price will be..."

He paused before declaring in a voice that carried through the hall.

"We will pay twenty percent above the current market price. In cash, in full. Payment will be made immediately, here and now."

The audience hall erupted in commotion.

This time, it was not anger, but shock.

Twenty percent above market price? And full payment in cash?

To Polish nobles suffering from chronic financial shortages, it was an irresistible devil's temptation.

King Jagiełło narrowed his eyes with interest.

"It seems money grows on trees in Bohemia. You spend freely for a nation that has just fought a war."

"We are simply determined to save our people."

"So you say. But the envoy I sent proposed a military alliance, did he not? I need a sword to strike the Teutonic Knights, not a merchant's calculations."

Abraham answered without yielding an inch.

"Your Majesty, soldiers must have full bellies before they can raise their swords. Through this trade, Poland will turn its rotting grain into gold and secure military funds, while Bohemia will obtain food and stabilize its rear."

Abraham's eyes met the king's directly.

"Is this not the true foundation of an alliance where we can entrust our backs to each other?"

Silence fell over the hall.

A moment later, Jagiełło burst into hearty laughter loud enough to shake the audience hall.

"Khahahaha! Excellent! You are far easier to speak with than those fools who prattle on about chivalry and honor!"

Jagiełło slowly rose from his throne.

When he had been buried in his chair, he had looked like nothing more than a frail old man. But when he straightened, his heavy shadow fell over Abraham like that of a bear.

"I like you. Now I understand why your master sent you. He hates wasting time on useless formalities, does he? Just like me."

He descended from the throne and picked up a silver coin rolling across the floor. Its sheen was brilliant.

"My barns are overflowing with old grain that rats are chewing through. Rather than let it rot, I would rather exchange it for the miracle your master performed when he defeated the Emperor's hundred-thousand-strong army."

Jagiełło placed a hand on Abraham's shoulder. His grip was remarkably strong for a man in his seventies.

"Go and tell him this. I like the nerve it took to send a Jew as his envoy. And tell him that next time, he should come himself. This old man would like to share a drink with him."

Suppressing his emotion, Abraham bowed deeply, very deeply.

"Your Majesty's grace is beyond measure. This trade will be a blessing for both our nations."

* * *

After Abraham departed and the audience hall grew noisy again, King Jagiełło sank back into his throne and stroked his beard.

'Ulrich von Sternberg...'

The Heretic King he had only heard about through rumors.

A radical ruler who had smashed the crusaders, humiliated the Pope, and placed Jews in important positions.

Young, capable, and above all, ambitious and unbound by convention.

Jagiełło's eyes narrowed.

'What a waste to leave him as only an ally.'

For the future of the united Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania, would it not be better to put a firm leash on a mad dog like that and bring him over to my side?

He suddenly thought of his youngest daughter.

"Jadwiga... How old is that child this year?"

A meaningful smile formed on the king's lips.

Something beyond a simple alliance.

The thought that they might need a bond forged in blood crossed the old bear's mind.

Footnotes:

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