Chapter 34
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 034
Chapter Title: The Second Crusade
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A few hours before the Battle of Maleshov.
The morning air in Prague's Jewish quarter, Josefov, felt utterly different from before.
Abraham flung open the window of his office on the second floor of his trading house and took a deep breath.
It was truly wondrous.
The air in Prague hadn't changed at all, yet with the shift in circumstances, even the air felt refreshingly crisp.
In the past, they had been shadows of the city.
They had slunk along the walls to avoid the eyes of Christians, hunching their shoulders in shame over the yellow rags sewn to their clothes. Children couldn't laugh loudly, and adults couldn't hold their heads high.
But now, the noises drifting in from outside were no longer screams or laments.
The heavy rumble of cart wheels over cobblestones.
Merchants haggling at the top of their lungs.
The laughter of children racing through the alleys filled Josefov.
They walked with heads held high now. They met Christian merchants eye-to-eye as equals, shook hands confidently, and signed contracts with pride.
The insulting yellow badges that had branded them as beasts were gone from the chests and backs of their kin passing in the streets.
Abraham leaned on the windowsill, gazing down at the scene with a proud smile.
'To think this change happened in just one month.'
Ulrich von Sternberg.
The young king of Bohemia.
His "Edict of Jewish Equality" had shattered the curse that had crushed the ghettos for centuries, like a magic spell.
The moment when the king had asked him to serve as royal treasurer was still vivid in Abraham's mind. It would surely remain an unforgettable memory for life.
The king's bold decision to heavily favor a Jew—no less a rabbi—had convinced Bohemia's Jews to trust and watch him.
And the king's promises had held firm to this day.
At that moment, young scribe Joseph, who had been sorting ledgers, knocked cautiously and entered.
"Rabbi. The quicklime shipment for Sternberg lands is ready. Since it's for gunpowder production, I double-checked the dryness."
"Well done. You sent the invoice properly, right? No discounts for the royals or credit sales. His Highness wouldn't want that either."
"Of course. Billed at exact market price. And..."
Joseph hesitated.
Abraham set down his ink-stained pen and turned.
"And?"
"No word yet on the letters sent to Vienna, Nuremberg, and Frankfurt."
Abraham's brow furrowed. He sighed, eyes drifting to a corner of the desk.
There lay undelivered returned letters and empty envelopes without replies, piled up.
With King Ulrich's tacit approval, Abraham had sent secret missives to Jewish communities across the Empire.
[Come to Bohemia. The king here does not persecute us. A place to live as humans, without the yellow star. Bring capital and skills, and it will be a land of opportunity.]
An invitation to flee the unstable Empire, where mad riots could erupt anytime, to the promised land.
But no replies came.
Only long, long silence.
"They're scared."
Joseph muttered bitterly.
"A Christian lord—no, a king branded a heretic—treating Jews as equals... They'll think it's a trap. Luring us in for our money, then slaughtering us all. Offers too good to be true are usually scams."
"...Probably."
Abraham tried to think the same.
Vienna's rabbis were cautious to the point of cowardice. They'd endure familiar discrimination over risking sudden disaster.
Or perhaps they feared Emperor Sigismund's watchful eye, not daring to head to Bohemia.
With war raging, crossing borders was a gamble with death.
'What a pity. The promised land exists here, yet so many can't believe it.'
Abraham clicked his tongue and rose, chest tight with pity and frustration for his people.
Then—
Ding, ding, ding—!
Bell tolls rang loudly through the streets.
The peaceful buzz of the Jewish quarter turned to murmurs in an instant.
"What is it?"
Sensing unease instinctively, Abraham rushed outside.
People stopped their work, crowding toward the street entrance, toward Prague's gates.
"Refugees! Refugees are coming!"
"Gods, look at their state..."
"Who fled from where this time?"
Beyond Prague's gates, along the Vltava riverbank, hundreds staggered in a procession.
A familiar sight.
When war broke out, the powerless commoners always packed first and fled.
Farmers chased by Cumans from the south?
Or villagers fleeing the chaos?
Abraham tsked and ordered Joseph.
"Joseph, fetch some bread and water. We're not flush ourselves, but we can't ignore the starving. The king told us to fulfill our civic duties..."
But as the refugees drew near, something was off.
Their clothes were in tatters. Bare, bloodied feet trudged without shoes.
But Abraham was a merchant. He noted the fabric quality amid the rips and the shape of their hats.
"Huh?"
Abraham's heart sank.
Not Bohemian peasants' coarse garb.
Filthy and blood-soaked, but clearly black coats.
Wide-brimmed hats, long sidelocks peeking beneath. And crucially, the bright yellow star badges on their torn chests.
"Oh, Adonai..."
Abraham shoved through the crowd, running out.
They were Jews.
Not Bohemian Jews.
At the front, an old man leaned on a broken staff, barely shuffling.
Caked blood in white beard, sunken eyes. Wretched, but Abraham recognized him.
"Rabbi... Rabbi Mayer?"
The old man looked up blankly.
Seeing his old friend's face reflected in those cloudy eyes, tears welled.
"A... Abraham? Is that you?"
Vienna's chief rabbi.
Pillar of Austrian Jewry, sage Mayer ben Isaac, close with Abraham.
Abraham rushed to support the collapsing man.
His body was feather-light; rotten blood and stench wafted from his clothes.
"What happened?! From Vienna here... Why no reply, and like this...!"
Mayer coughed black phlegm, clutching Abraham's hem with trembling hands. The grip tore at the silk.
"Letters?"
Mayer's lips twisted in a ghastly grin.
"Time to write replies? You fool."
"What?"
Mayer pointed behind with shaky hand.
Abraham followed.
Finally saw.
People trailing: youths with bandaged stumps, women missing ears or noses.
Children staring blankly, holding parents' hands.
"Sigismund... that demon slaughtered us. Said we spied for Bohemia's heretic king."
Mayer gnashed teeth, screaming in rage.
"Vienna's ghetto burned. Nuremberg, Salzburg too... Emperor's troops seized everything, stripped us bare. Killed resisters, enslaved women and kids. We... crawled from sewers to escape."
Abraham stared dumbly at Rabbi Mayer.
While he'd fretted over no replies, suspecting distrust...
German Jews burned in hellfire.
Rabbi Mayer clung to Abraham's hem.
"Tell me, Abraham! Does Bohemia's king truly protect us? Or another slaughterhouse? Where... where can we flee this endless persecution?"
Abraham swallowed tears, helping the old man up.
"Welcome, Rabbi."
His voice trembled but firm.
"Here... a king treats us as people, not purses."
The victory at Maleshov hadn't even cooled.
I, Jan Zizka, Janos, and a handful of guards whipped our foaming horses northward all night.
Knight Captain Kuno would follow later, organizing Tabor and Prague militias.
Destination: the kingdom's heart, Prague.
"Make way! His Highness passes!"
Janos bellowed hoarsely.
Prague beyond the gates was pandemonium.
Streets choked with citizens hauling evacuation gear.
Crying children, merchants boarding shops, rich folk yelling while loading carriages.
Terror.
News of Sigismund's army spread faster than wind.
"The king!"
"The king's back!"
Citizens recognized me, murmuring.
But their eyes lacked past fervor: fear, anxiety, faint hope, distrust—would we abandon them?
I didn't slacken reins, galloping across Old Town Square to the town hall. Hooves pounded mercilessly on cobblestones.
"Look there, Your Highness."
Zizka pointed: ornate noble carriages lined the town hall.
Horses stamping nervously, servants fidgeting.
"Cowards all gathered."
"What're they plotting inside?"
Zizka sneered coldly.
"Opportunists riding the cause for money and power, no real conviction. Just scheming to save their skins."
I agreed.
The council debating Bohemia's fate? Obvious mess.
We dismounted together.
Guards startled, lowering spears.
"Y-Your Highness! Commander Zizka!"
"Out of the way."
I ascended stairs, mud-and-blood cloak billowing. Zizka's bulk followed close.
His armor reeked of Maleshov's Cuman gore and gunpowder.
"Wait for me!"
And Janos too.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Shouts leaked from the closed council chamber door.
"Send envoys now!"
"Who? Who'll offer their neck to that mad emperor?"
"Unconditional surrender! Only way to save Prague from burning!"
"All that heretic's fault! If that brat king hadn't strutted, His Majesty wouldn't bring such a host!"
As expected.
Cowards' chorus, spot on.
Moderate nobles, rich merchants, opportunists.
Trembling at Sigismund's blade, seeking scapegoats.
"Negotiate! Offer the king for mercy..."
At those taboo words—
I kicked the heavy oak door.
BAM!
Hinges screamed; door flew open.
Cold wind and blood-stench rushed in.
"..."
Silence blanketed the room; dozens of eyes snapped to the door.
Nobles gasped. There stood the king they'd just whispered to betray.
I strode in slowly, deliberately.
Step, step—
Each footfall made nobles flinch.
They wore fine silks, scented. I was wretched: matted hair, soot-smeared face.
But the filth amplified my menace.
A giant shadow loomed behind.
"Eek!"
Someone stifled a scream.
Jan Zizka.
The one-eyed old wolf entered silently, bloody mace on shoulder.
His single eye swept the room; haughty nobles trembled, bowing like aspens.
Prey sensing a blood-scented beast.
I headed for the head seat.
The moderate leader, Cenek von Vartemberka, jumped up flustered.
"Y-Your Highness..."
"Move."
Cenek yielded under my glare, stepping aside.
I plopped into the chair, propping muddy boots on the polished oak table.
No one dared complain.
Silence.
Suffocating hush.
I rested chin, locking eyes one by one.
"Continue."
My low voice echoed clearly everywhere.
"Overheard fun stuff outside. Envoys? Surrender? Or... hand over the king?"
Nobles sweated, averting gazes.
The fat merchant who'd yelled loudest looked ready to crawl under the table.
No surprise.
Expecting grand ideals from Prague's moderates? Foolish.
They bare teeth at Sigismund for one reason: he's emperor. Power incarnate.
Past king Wenceslaus IV's inept reign was paradise: no interference, lording local fiefs, sucking feudal honey.
Bohemian nationalism? Hus's reforms?
More vital than their vaults and deeds?
True reason they reject Sigismund: memory of his brutal pillage and iron fist twenty years ago. Fear strong monarchy crushing privileges.
Some moderates sincere: professors like Jan Rokycana, pure theologians. Their anguish real.
But in chaos, pens weigh less than blades. Intellectuals without swords? Empty echoes.
Ruling this chamber: opportunists borrowing my stick against the Sigismund tiger.
Fawning as loyal when I wore the crown—unlike Tabor zealots—but ready to bait me, grovel to the strong.
Classic medieval feudal nobles.
Then Cenek forced a smile, waving hands.
"Misunderstanding, Your Highness! We just sought ways to secure Prague against the overwhelming imperial army. The emperor's host is vast, so realistic options..."
"Realistic options."
I smirked.
"So, offer my head for mercy?"
"N-No, not that..."
"Lord Cenek. And Bohemian nobles gathered here."
I leaned forward slightly, coaxing softly instead of roaring.
"Do you truly not know Sigismund? Or has fear warped your memories?"
My gaze pierced theirs one by one.
"Sigismund keeps no oaths. He gave Hus safe conduct in the emperor's name. Ink barely dry, Hus burned at the stake."
Nobles' eyes wavered.
Pure truth, unvarnished.
"Open gates, offer surrender? Worth more than Hus's pass?"
I tapped the table lightly.
"Sigismund's drowning in debt. How much to maintain that crusade and mercenaries daily?"
"..."
"To him, you're not negotiators. Just walking wallets. Label rebels, execute legally, seize lands and wealth. Why spare for mercy when beheading pays mercenaries simpler?"
Color drained from faces.
They knew. Clung to "I'm the exception" delusion.
I crushed it coldly.
Then an old merchant in the corner cried shakily.
"Th-Then what?! Fight and win? Cuman hordes from south, emperor's legions north! We're rats in a trap!"
"Cumans."
Janos handed me a heavy leather pouch from his belt. I untied, dumped contents on table center.
"Worried about these?"
A grotesque iron mask. Holes in forehead, crusted blood.
"Eek!"
"Th-That's...!"
Nobles recoiled. Any Bohemian knew it.
"Trophy from Maleshov."
I said calmly, chin rested.
"Those 3,000 Cumans you feared? Crow food on Maleshov hill. Our losses: mere dozens."
Heavy silence fell.
But shock, not fear.
"3,000 Cumans, losses dozens?!"
"Impossible..."
"Doubt it? Grab arriving soldiers, ask."
I smiled leisurely, surveying them.
"Well? Still think I can't protect you?"
Atmosphere shifted.
I proved not just talk: a king who crushes foes, wins victories.
The mask evidence.
Defeatism cracked.
Cenek swallowed, cautious.
"B-But Your Highness... Cumans are light mercs. Emperor's main force differs. Our army maxes 20,000 vs. heavy knights and 100,000. How block them?"
"Block?"
I arched brow.
"Who said siege defense?"
"Pardon? But foes 100,000, we..."
"Right. Sigismund thinks I'll cower, bar gates, tremble like rats waiting retreat."
I rose, gazing at Prague's vast plains from window.
"I'll turn that delusion against him."