WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Ceaseless
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈
Chapter 94: To the Balkans
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The small audience chamber of Prague’s royal palace.
Outside, the cold winter wind still howled, but here, a splendid red seemed to bloom, enough to make one forget the season itself.
A robe of the finest velvet, smooth and lustrous, its texture wholly unlike coarse Bohemian wool. A lion embroidered densely in gold thread gleamed upon it with intimidating majesty.
The envoy of the Venetian Republic.
Francesco Foscari.
“On behalf of the Most Serene Republic, I offer my greetings to His Majesty, the King of Bohemia.”
Foscari bowed elegantly. Every movement of his fingertips and every glance carried calculated courtesy.
He had not yet ascended to the Doge’s seat, but this ambitious man, who would one day hold the Adriatic Sea in his grasp, already had the bearing of a seasoned statesman.
“You have had a difficult journey, Lord Foscari.”
“It was nothing. Your Majesty appears even more majestic than when I last saw you.”
“There is no need for empty flattery. Let us get straight to the point. You came because of the matter I have in mind, correct?”
At my blunt question, Foscari answered not with words but with a glance toward his attendant.
A thick parchment document placed atop a silk cushion.
And the red wax seal stamped upon it.
It was the original contract for the artillery mercenary agreement Venice and I had concluded last time.
“It is time for Your Majesty to fulfill the contract.”
Foscari’s voice was courteous, but firm.
“Thessalonica is in danger. Murad II, the Ottoman sultan, is tightening his grip around the city’s throat. Its walls are strong, but they cannot withstand the Ottomans’ enormous stone-throwing cannons.”
“And?”
“We need Your Majesty’s artillery. Please use the cannons that crushed the crusaders to stop the infidels.”
I rested my chin on my hand and remained silent for a moment.
Thessalonica. The Eastern Roman Empire’s second-largest city.
Geopolitically, it was the navel of the Balkans and a gateway to the Aegean Sea.
If it fell into Ottoman hands, the balance in the eastern Mediterranean would collapse. But if Venice fortified it, it would become a powerful breakwater holding back the Ottoman advance westward.
‘Not bad.’
My elite artillery needed real combat experience anyway.
Shattering rocks at a firing range and striking living enemies on a real battlefield were entirely different matters.
Besides, making Venice owe me a favor would be excellent insurance for the future.
“I keep my promises. That is my principle. The contract between Bohemia and Venice will be honored.”
The tension visibly drained from Foscari’s shoulders.
“Then, Your Majesty, if you will pardon the question. That new cannon you mentioned before... has the steel cannon been completed?”
“It has. We have already held a demonstration. It is unfortunate that I could not show you personally. It can turn rocks to dust from more than one kilometer away.”
“One kilometer...?”
Foscari asked with a blank expression.
“It is a unit of distance used in Bohemia. In Venetian measurements, it would be about fifteen hundred braccia.”
“Fifteen hundred braccia...!?”
A braccio meant an arm.
One braccio was roughly sixty-six centimeters.
Foscari swallowed dryly.
“Ha ha, remarkable. Truly remarkable. I thought it would be enough if Your Majesty’s steel cannon was merely as powerful as the one that destroyed the Emperor’s crusaders, but... this exceeds all expectations.”
He smiled in satisfaction, but I continued as though pouring cold water over him.
“However, Lord Foscari. There is one problem.”
“A problem?”
“The journey from Prague to Thessalonica is no easy undertaking.”
I drew a line in the air with my finger.
“If we travel by land, we must pass through Hungary. As you know, Sigismund is desperate to kill me. The moment my army crosses his border, war will break out. Can Venice handle that?”
A Bohemian army crossing the Hungarian border by land?
Even an Emperor drowning in debt would not quietly watch his own backyard be violated. He would gather every soldier he could and try to stop us with his life on the line.
“And if we travel by sea? Bohemia is landlocked. We have no port.”
To reach Venice’s Adriatic port, we would ultimately have to cross the Alps.
The problem was that Tyrol and Austria, which lay along that route, were also Habsburg lands. Imperial territory.
Even after my objection, Foscari wore an easy smile.
It was as if he had expected the question.
“War? Your Majesty, merchants do not fight. We simply pay tolls.”
“Tolls?”
“What we have prepared is not an army. It is a merchant caravan.”
Foscari took a silk banner from his robes and unfolded it.
A golden winged lion holding a sword against a red field.
The flag of the Venetian Republic, the Lion of Saint Mark.
“Place this banner on the wagons. Then cover the cannons and pass them off as Bohemian glassware.”
He continued with a perfectly shameless expression.
“Under Imperial law, local lords cannot arbitrarily inspect the Venetian Republic’s diplomatic bags and official goods. Furthermore, we are currently the Emperor’s greatest creditor, having lent him an enormous sum for his war expenses.”
“Oh?”
“At every Austrian checkpoint, the Republic’s customs fees will be paid in advance. Duke Frederick of Austria? That penniless duke goes blind at the scent of money. Even if he sees the golden lion banner passing by, he will pretend he has not.”
It was a fairly convincing plan.
They intended to pass through the heart of enemy territory using the power of capital and diplomatic immunity.
A solution worthy of Venice, which worshipped profit over faith and practical gains over lofty causes.
“Fine. Let us say that you will take responsibility for the transport. What if we are discovered?”
“Then we will smooth things over ourselves. We need only say that glass is rather heavy and toss them a bag of gold coins.”
Foscari’s confidence was not empty bluster.
At the time, Venetian ducats held as much power in Europe as a papal decree.
“What about the army? We cannot send only the cannons. We will need gunners to operate them and troops to guard them.”
“Actually, we would not mind that...”
I silently stared at Foscari.
After a heavy silence, he gave a light laugh as though it were a joke.
“...A joke, Your Majesty. Disguise them as mercenaries. If we say they are a private guard hired by Venice, no one will suspect a thing.”
After considering it briefly, I nodded.
“Very well. I will assign my finest artillery unit and its commander. But I have one additional condition.”
“Please name it.”
“Command authority remains entirely with Bohemia. General Jan Žižka will lead my artillery. I cannot allow some Venetian mercenary captain to order my army about.”
“That goes without saying. In the first place, we could not find a better commander than General Žižka to face the Ottomans.”
The deal was made.
I rose from my seat.
“Good. We depart in three days. And I will assign you a suitable guide.”
“Your Majesty? Venice knows the Austrian routes inside and out. Our merchants travel them every day. There is no need for a guide...”
“The guide will not be an Austrian noble, will he?”
“Pardon?”
I smiled.
“Trust me. There will be no better guide.”
* * *
If we flew the Venetian banner, we would be safe.
What Foscari said was certainly true.
But.
‘We may pass the official inspections. But what about bandits? What about those vicious robber nobles?’
The Alps were vast and treacherous.
And in the Middle Ages, the Alps were little different from a lawless land.
A lord only had to put on a mask, and he became a bandit or a brigand.
Venice’s banner and diplomatic immunity would not stop arrows flying from a secluded mountain path.
Žižka was an excellent general, but he was a soldier. We needed a local guide who understood the Alps’ complicated terrain and the habits of the lords who ruled there.
Someone fluent in German, familiar with every local noble family’s lineage and weaknesses, and able to talk their way out of a crisis.
I headed for Prague’s Royal Press Bureau.
Creak!
The moment I opened the door, the sharp scent of ink and paper struck me.
The distinctive acrid yet fragrant smell of oil-based ink made from linseed oil and lampblack.
“No, this sentence is far too bland! You idiot!”
The Press Bureau was a battlefield.
Dozens of bureau staff and reporters hurried about, while at the center of it all, Oswald von Wolkenstein, the Director of the Press Bureau, shouted at the top of his lungs.
“What do you mean, ‘The Emperor became angry’? Readers want vivid, raw descriptions! Write, ‘The Emperor’s face turned red as a rotten apple’! Rewrite it!”
His face overflowed with vitality.
Nothing remained of the old man who had been dying in prison. Now, there was only the fierce spirit of an editor who had tasted the power of the press.
“You seem to be doing well, Lord Oswald.”
At my voice, Oswald startled and turned around.
“Y-Your Majesty! When did you arrive?”
“Just now.”
I picked up a stack of manuscripts from the floor and handed it to him.
“‘Duke of Austria Enjoys Mercury Baths to Treat Gonorrhea?’ ...Is this true?”
“Ah, yes! It is the scoop of a lifetime, learned through an old friend of mine, an apothecary in Vienna.”
Oswald grinned. Malice and delight were mixed equally in that smile.
“It will run on tomorrow’s front page. When that bastard Frederick sees it, he will foam at the mouth as though he truly has mercury poisoning.”
“Excellent. I was right to put you in this position.”
Pretending to be impressed, I naturally brought up the real subject.
“By the way, Lord Oswald. Tyrol is your homeland, correct?”
“Yes, it is... Why do you ask?”
“Then you must know the Brenner Pass, the gateway between Austria and Italy, as well as the dispositions of the lords in the surrounding region.”
Oswald’s eyes narrowed slightly.
He seemed to have instinctively caught the scent of something ominous.
“Well... I know it like my own home. I even know how many spoons those lords own. Half of them are drinking companions of mine, and the other half are sworn enemies.”
He looked at me suspiciously.
“But why ask about my homeland all of a sudden? Surely you are not...”
“Our artillery will cross the Alps into Italy. There is much cargo, and the road is difficult. General Žižka will command the unit, but to cross the Alps quietly, we need a guide familiar with the region.”
I placed a hand on Oswald’s shoulder.
“I think you are the most suitable man for the task.”
Clack!
Oswald dropped the quill he had been holding.
His face turned white as flour.
“Your Majesty! Are you telling me to return to Austria? To the place where the men who did this to my fingers are?”
Oswald stepped back, shaking his head vehemently.
“No! I cannot go! Why would I ever return there? Making newspapers here is enough revenge. I do not wish to stand before the Duke’s blade again of my own accord!”
His trauma ran deeper than I had expected.
A homeland that had also been a prison. A land filled with memories of betrayal and torture.
“Calm yourself, Lord Oswald. I am not sending you there to die.”
I gripped his shoulders firmly.
“Change how you think of it. You are not returning as a criminal. You are returning as a triumphant general.”
“What? A triumphant general?”
“When you cross the Alps, my elite artillery and steel cannons will be behind you. And the Venetian Republic’s banner will fly from the wagons.”
I looked directly into his eyes and whispered, sweet as a devil’s temptation.
“Imagine it. The lords who tortured you. Duke Frederick of Austria’s officials who took your property. They will see you and be unable to lift a single finger.”
“...”
“They will have to clear the way because they fear Venice’s banner and my cannons. You will raise your head proudly before their very eyes, laugh at them, and pass by at your leisure. What revenge could be more exhilarating than that?”
Oswald’s pupils trembled.
Fear and the desire for revenge clashed fiercely within him.
“And this expedition is not some ordinary merchant journey. It is a historic field test of my new weapon against the vast Ottoman army. Will you hear about this great epic from someone else and write articles from the corner of your room? Or will you witness history yourself and record it with your own hand?”
That was the decisive blow.
The instinct of a reporter, the hunger for a scoop, began to stir.
But he still hesitated.
“B-but... what about the newspaper? Without me, those idiots cannot write a proper sentence...”
“Do not worry about that, Director.”
At that moment, a familiar voice came from the back of the office.
A nobleman in a neat silk doublet.
Yet his sleeves were rolled up, and his fingers were stained with ink.
Hynek Krušina of Lichtenburg.
He had once raised his voice against me at Prague’s city hall. Now, he had become deeply absorbed in refining sentences under Oswald.
“K-Krušina?”
“I am here. I will take charge of editorial authority while you are away, Director.”
Krušina smiled confidently.
“To be honest, am I not better than you at translating Latin and quoting the classics? I revised every line of the special article on ‘The Papacy’s Extravagance’ last time. Your writing is somewhat... too sensational at times. It lacks dignity.”
“W-what did you say?! You insolent brat!”
Oswald flared up. But Krušina paid him no mind and bowed to me.
“Your Majesty, please take him without concern. The newspaper’s publication will not suffer even if Lord Wolkenstein is absent. In fact, I will win over readers with more refined and elegant prose. By the time the Director returns, public opinion may say that I am better suited to be editor-in-chief.”
“Y-you little... You should be begging me not to leave, because the newspaper will fail without me...!”
Oswald fumed indignantly, but he realized there was no longer any excuse left to make.
He let out a deep sigh, then raised his head as though he had made up his mind.
“...Very well. I will go. But Your Majesty, promise me. My safety will be guaranteed, correct? Those Austrian lords will not be able to touch even a hair on my head?”
“Of course. Do not worry.”
Meeting Oswald’s gaze, I answered in a confident tone.
“Bohemia’s finest soldier will be at your side.”
Footnotes:
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