Chapter 25
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 025
Chapter Title: The Jews (2)
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Pope Martin V had tried to erase me from the Christian world.
Excommunication.
All trade routes would be severed, and no merchant would dare do business with Bohemia.
That must have been the Pope's withering strategy.
But would those old Vatican fossils ever realize it?
The fact that the excommunication had actually set me free.
Something no king in Europe could dare attempt. Something that, even in the original history, only began to happen gradually around the 19th century.
To me, the Jews were not sinners who killed Jesus.
They were simply talented people unjustly persecuted, citizens who would pay taxes in my land and live alongside us.
Discriminating against them just because their religion was different.
Rejecting them just because their skin was different.
In the 21st century I came from, that sort of thing would have gotten you socially excommunicated instead.
'Go ahead and curse me to hell all you want.'
If taking in those forsaken by God made me a devil, then I would gladly become the greatest devil of all.
Of course, the world doesn't always bend to my will.
Just half a day after the Edict of Jewish Equality was proclaimed.
As expected, the flames erupted right in my own backyard.
The audience chamber in Prague Castle had turned into a chaotic marketplace.
Taborite priests clad in black robes, their faces stern and solemn.
Guild masters in lavish silk garments, gold necklaces dangling, their greasy faces flushed red.
People who would normally never mix, like oil and water, had miraculously united against the common enemy: the Jews.
'Well, just as I figured.'
When most people think of riots, they picture illiterate mobs wielding pitchforks and torches.
But that's not the truly frightening resistance.
It's the well-dressed elites.
Cultured speech.
And armed with the most powerful weapon of all: the banner of righteous cause.
That's the real poison that threatens a king's authority.
"His Majesty Ulrich I enters!"
At the guard's shout, I stepped into the audience chamber, and the marketplace din cut off abruptly.
But it wasn't a silence of respect. It was a precarious hush, like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.
I slumped crookedly onto the throne and looked down at them.
At the front stood an old priest.
His sunken eyes burned with blind fanaticism.
He was Jan Zelivsky, the most radical and extreme among the Taborites.
"You have arrived, Your Majesty."
Zelivsky bowed his head. It was polite enough, but thorns laced his voice.
"The servants of God and representatives of Prague's citizens have gathered here to meet with our busy king."
"You don't exactly look like you're here for tea."
I replied dryly, propping my chin on my hand.
"Get to the point. Zelivsky, are you their spokesman?"
"Less a spokesman, and more an old man offering loyal counsel to steer Your Majesty from the wrong path."
Zelivsky clutched his Bible to his chest and took a step forward.
"Your Majesty. Revoke the edict."
"Why?"
"The Bible says, 'Do not be yoked together with unbelievers.' How can light consort with darkness, or Christ with Belial?"
His eyes gleamed with utter conviction. Not a shred of doubt that he embodied justice.
"The spirit of the Hussites is to return to the purity of the early church. And the Bible clearly commands us to distinguish the holy from the profane."
"And?"
"The Jews denied Christ. They can never be our spiritual brothers. Let alone granting them citizenship and letting them live among us within the sacred walls of Prague? This is not tolerance. It's contamination!"
Zelivsky's voice rose higher and higher.
He glanced back at the priests and merchants behind him, drawing them in.
"We shed our blood to purify this city! We drove out the Pope's corruption and Rome's decadence to build a godly city living by the Word alone. And yet!"
Thud!
He slammed his staff on the floor.
"Why would Your Majesty welcome as brothers the cursed bloodline that nailed our Lord Jesus Christ to the cross?"
The crowd behind him erupted in chorus, as if on cue.
"That's right!"
"Withdraw the edict!"
"Expel the heathens!"
I impassively took in their "righteous fury."
I'd seen this coming a mile away. Before the Vatican even, these Taborite priests, bound tight by faith, would revolt hardest if I freed the Jews.
That's why I'd prepared for this exact moment long ago.
"Priest Zelivsky."
The chamber quieted at the king's low call.
"You took up arms because you hated the Pope, right?"
"Yes! Rome's Antichrist..."
"Why? Because he claimed a monopoly on truth, branded you heretics, and discriminated against you?"
Zelivsky nodded reluctantly.
"...Yes."
"But look at yourself now."
I pointed straight at him.
"You're doing exactly what the Pope did. 'We're holy, you're filthy.' 'We're chosen, you're cursed.' How is that any different from his logic?"
"Th-that's different! We follow the truth, while the Jews..."
"It's not. The Hussites are treated as heretics and despised across Europe right now. So are the Jews. We're in the same boat, neighbors under one roof."
At the word "neighbors," Zelivsky's face twisted into something indescribable.
I turned to him.
"Priest Zelivsky. Do you love Jesus?"
"Of course! More than my own life."
"Then you'll love his family too."
"...Pardon?"
Zelivsky furrowed his brow, sensing the trap like a wary beast.
"What nation was Jesus's mother, the Virgin Mary?"
"..."
"His foster father Joseph?"
"...A Jew."
"Then Jesus?"
"..."
Zelivsky clamped his mouth shut.
Not because he didn't know the answer, but because saying it would strangle his own logic.
But I didn't stop there.
"Jesus's chief disciple Peter? Apostle Paul? Both circumcised Jews. By your logic, Jesus was a pagan, and Peter went to hell."
"That's sophistry!"
Zelivsky flushed red and shouted.
"They fulfilled the Old Testament law and established the new covenant! But the Jews in that ghetto now reject Jesus!"
"Reject."
I chuckled and tapped the throne's armrest.
"'There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.'"
Zelivsky's eyes bulged.
"G-Galatians 3:28..."
I pressed on.
"How about this? 'For there is no difference between Jew and Gentile—the same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him.'"
"That's... Romans 10:12..."
Zelivsky's pupils shook like an earthquake.
'Knew this was coming, so I crammed the Bible last night and picked out the good verses in advance.'
If they attack with Scripture, crush them with Scripture right back.
Lucky Ulrich knew Latin. Otherwise, I couldn't even read the Bible.
"Your 'love thy neighbor' always comes with conditions. They have to be on your side, speak your words, benefit you."
I scowled down at the chamber.
"Where does the Bible have a footnote saying 'love thy neighbor—except Jews'? Does the Ten Commandments say 'thou shalt not kill—except Jews'?"
"Th-that's..."
"Doesn't it shame you as Christians to take a slap from the Pope and vent on easy targets like the Jews?"
I pronounced sentence on Zelivsky.
"Priest Zelivsky, do not use the Bible to justify your hatred."
"...Ah... Aaaah!"
I turned from Zelivsky, collapsed on the floor, to the potbellied man behind him.
Prague guild master, rings glittering on every finger.
"Guild master."
"Eek! Y-yes, Your Majesty?"
He jumped in fright.
"You here out of piety too? Can't sleep worrying about Jewish souls?"
"N-no! Well, faith matters, of course, but... we're here about more practical... order issues."
"Order?"
The guild master babbled, sweat pouring like rain.
"Your Majesty, the Jews have no business ethics! They ignore guild rules, sell at absurdly low prices, disrupting the market!"
"Disrupting?"
"Yes! And they... use wicked magic! How else could they make so much money? Honest Christian merchants can't compete with their sorcery. At this rate, Prague's trade will fall entirely into their hands!"
"Magic."
I let out a hollow laugh.
"Guild master. Let's be honest."
I leaned forward, staring him down.
"What scares you isn't black magic. It's competition."
"...Pardon?"
"You've lounged safely in your guild fence. No rivals, prices set as you please. Now Jews enter, selling better and cheaper, and you're terrified your rice bowl will shatter."
"Y-Your Majesty! We're just protecting Prague's economic order..."
"That's not order. That's monopoly."
I barked coldly at everyone assembled.
"No unjust monopolies in my kingdom. Make better, cheaper goods than the Jews, and the people will buy yours. Fail, and they'll buy Jewish goods."
"But Your Majesty! Christian merchants will starve..."
"Then starve."
A deathly chill fell, like ice water dumped on them.
No one dared breathe.
I raised my chin, nailing it shut.
"As king, I must protect my people. But if it's not war or recession—just losing at competition—then it's your incompetence. Don't hide behind faith."
I pulled a gold coin from my pocket and flicked it into the air.
Clink!
It hit the floor with a clear ring, rolling to a stop between Zelivsky and the guild master.
"Anyone who can tell if this coin is Jewish or Christian, step forward."
No one did.
Money has no religion. Their grand cause crumbled naked before that simple truth.
The chamber air was taut as a drawn bowstring, ready to snap.
I read it in their eyes: fear, and beneath it, shame.
They dimly knew they were wrong. But admitting it meant admitting their faith was flawed—and surrendering their privileges.
'That'll do for now.'
They were Bohemian subjects too. Time to soothe them.
I rose slowly from the throne, descending the steps one by one.
My footsteps echoed in the silent chamber.
I approached Zelivsky, placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke low.
"Priest Zelivsky."
His shoulder flinched.
He trembled as if burned but didn't dare shake me off.
"We're fighting to prove arrogant Rome is wrong and we're right."
"..."
"If we act just like those Roman bastards, what will the world say?"
I met Zelivsky's eyes.
Beneath the fanatic gleam, anxiety and unease flickered.
"The Pope calls different things heresy and kills them. If we brand Jews heretics and drive them out, how are we any different?"
"That's..."
Zelivsky's lips twitched. He wanted to retort but had no logical comeback.
I patted his shoulder gently twice.
"I know. How fervent your faith is. But true victory isn't stabbing with swords. It's showing we're better than them."
I smiled softly at him.
"I need your steadfast faith, Priest Zelivsky. Guide the people so they don't lose their way mingling with Jews. Hold the center. Don't chase them out—convert them, embrace them, prove Christian superiority."
"..."
Zelivsky was silent a long while.
Finally, he sighed deeply and bowed his head.
"...If that's Your Majesty's will. We Taborite priests... will lead them with prayer."
Not total surrender.
But good enough. They wouldn't torch the ghetto tomorrow, at least.
Satisfied, I turned with a smile.
Next, the guild master.
"Guild master."
"Y-yes!"
"You said Jews disrupt the market."
"Y-yes. If Jews trade freely, us small merchants..."
"Wrong."
I shook my head lightly.
"Why fight over one loaf? Why not build a bakery?"
"...A b-bakery?"
"Jews have money. And an information network spanning Europe that you couldn't dream of. Massive capital and intel."
I placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Your fine glassware sells cheap stuck in Prague. But ship it to Venice or Constantinople via Jewish caravans? How much more?"
The guild master's eyes widened. His merchant calculator whirred.
"That... three or four times—no, at least tenfold!"
I grinned.
"Don't compete with Jews. Partner up, grow the whole pie. Stop eating each other in a tiny pond—head to sea, hunt whales. On the Jewish ship."
"Ah... Aaaah!"
Fear fled his face, replaced by greedy flush.
Not rivals, but partners.
Not rice bowl thieves, but investors growing the bowl.
A slight perspective shift, and Jews went from loathsome heretics to golden geese.
The guild master bowed 90 degrees.
"Your Majesty, we were so shortsighted. Cooperation with Jews... no, symbiosis! We'll explore it immediately!"
"Good thinking."
The chamber's bloodthirsty air softened.
Priests swayed by "moral cause," merchants drooling over "future profits."
Of course, centuries of hate wouldn't vanish overnight.
But no more pretext for rebellion or riots using the edict.
'That puts out the immediate fire.'
But the real problems were just starting.
Fancy words mean nothing without results—they'd bare teeth again anytime.
Just one of many issues ahead for me.
"Audience over. Dismissed."
They ebbed out like tide, leaving silence in the empty chamber.
I sank back into the throne.
Tension gone, fatigue crushed my shoulders.
"You can come out now."
From the shadows behind a pillar, someone emerged.
White, long beard. Deep wrinkles.
But eyes sharp and alive.
The ghetto leader, Rabbi Abraham.
Shock from the absurd scene still lingered on his face.
The king quoting Scripture to rebuke priests, using greed to sway merchants—all to protect his people.
"Your Majesty..."
Abraham spoke in a trembling voice.
"...are you the reincarnation of Cyrus the Great?"