The Bohemian Cement (3)
A few days later.
The Prague square in the height of summer was filled with a commotion that sounded like a disturbed beehive.
Buzz, buzz-
People had flocked like clouds after seeing the recruitment notice for sewer construction workers.
Even though a significant portion of the labor force had already been siphoned off for the Sternberg estate reconstruction project, there were still many in Prague who hadn't left their hometowns or were heads of households who had to protect their families.
Daily wages paid on the spot.
Three meals a day provided.
Once these unconventional conditions were put forward, it seemed as if every able-bodied man left in the city had poured into the square.
I was watching the scene not from the palace terrace, but from under a temporary tent right in the middle of the site.
"My Lord, it's good that you've gathered so many people, but..."
Janos said, thumping his heel against the ground.
"Will this even dig? It's great that you've made the cement, but you have to dig the ground first before you can pour anything, don't you?"
"Is there any reason it wouldn't dig?"
"Well, this is Prague. It's completely different from the soft dirt roads of Sternberg."
Janos pointed to the square floor with his chin.
"This is ground that tens of thousands of people and carriages have been treading on for hundreds of years. It turns to mud when it rains, dries up when the sun comes out, then more dirt is covered over it and it gets trampled again... This has been repeated thousands of times, so it's practically a boulder. It'll be a miracle if the workers don't ruin their wrists trying to strike it with pickaxes."
Janos's observation was accurate.
The foundation of a medieval city was as troublesome as modern asphalt.
The compacted layer, formed by centuries of waste, lime, gravel, and countless footsteps, was tougher and harder than most sedimentary rock.
Trying to dig such ground with crude medieval farm tools was as reckless as trying to tear down a fortress wall with bare hands.
However, I chuckled and shrugged my shoulders.
"You worry too much. Do you really think I'd tell them to dig with bare hands?"
"Then what? Surely you aren't going to use gunpowder? In the middle of the city?"
"I've prepared something quieter and more reliable than gunpowder."
I gestured toward the entrance of the square.
"Stefan!"
"Yes, Your Highness! Did you call?"
Stefan, the construction manager I had hurriedly brought from Sternberg, answered boisterously.
As a veteran who had already completely overhauled an entire estate following my designs, he was the only one qualified to lead this unprecedented massive project.
"Unpack the equipment. It's time to work."
"Understood! Boys! Unload the cargo!"
At Stefan's command, the assistants roughly pushed wooden crates off the wagons.
Clatter-clatter- BANG!
The crates opened, and the items inside spilled out.
Thousands of shovels and pickaxes.
But their color was peculiar.
The reddish rust characteristic of farm tools left in the corner of a smithy or the whitish color of wrought iron was nowhere to be found.
Instead, only a black, heavy luster that looked as if it had been oiled glistened.
"Alright, line up and take one each! If you lose it, I'll deduct it from your daily wage, so handle them with care!"
Stefan distributed the equipment to the workers.
A worker standing at the front, as bulky as a bear, picked up a pitch-black pickaxe. He twitched his eyebrows at the unexpected weight transmitted to his wrist.
"Oh... it's lighter than I thought and fits my hand perfectly?"
He gripped the handle tightly and swung it in the air a few times.
Whoosh, whoosh-
The sound of it cutting through the wind was extraordinary.
"Good. Let's test it out."
The man spat on his palms and rubbed them together, then spread his feet wide and took a stance. Then, with a loud shout, he struck the pickaxe down with all his might.
"Hiyah!"
Thwack-!
"Huh...?"
A bewildered sound escaped the man's lips.
There was no significant shock that should have traveled up his wrist. He barely felt any resistance from the hard ground.
The man pulled on the pickaxe handle.
Cr-r-rack!
A chunk of dirt that had been hardened for hundreds of years was lifted up by the roots. Yet, the pickaxe blade remained shiny without a single scratch.
"What is this? Why is the ground so soft? Did it rain yesterday?"
The man, filled with suspicion, swung the pickaxe once more.
Thud! Thud!
It was the same this time. The pickaxe didn't distinguish between rocks or hardened dirt. It pierced through everything that blocked its path as if cutting through tofu.
Only then did the man shout in excitement.
"Hey! This thing is the real deal! The ground is like butter, just butter! I don't even need to put in any strength! You just plunge it in, and it digs itself!"
"What?"
"Really?"
Hearing that, the other workers began to rush to plunge their assigned shovels and pickaxes into the ground.
Thud! Crack! Swish!
"It's true! The rock just splits!"
"Was shoveling always this easy? The dirt just scoops right up!"
Exclamations erupted here and there along with clouds of dust.
The shovel blades slid into the dirt as if they were slipping in. Even when they hit stones, the blades didn't bend; instead, they shattered the stones.
Janos said, clicking his tongue.
"My Lord, that wouldn't happen to be..."
"Yes. It's steel farm equipment forged in the steel mill."
Ordinary wrought iron is soft, so it bends if struck hard, and cast iron is hard but brittle.
However, steel that has undergone proper heat treatment is different. It is hard enough to shatter rocks, yet possesses the flexibility to absorb and deflect shock.
Manpower? Technology? Of course, those are all necessary.
But the most important thing in shoveling is the quality of the equipment.
Janos shook his head from side to side.
"Hah, my goodness. To use steel, which should be used to pierce knights' armor on the battlefield, to dig the ground... With that pickaxe, one could even crack a knight's skull."
"One must sweat during times of peace to shed less blood during times of war."
I left the dust-filled site behind.
"Since digging the ground is solved, let's go solve the real problem."
"The real problem?"
"Digging blindly isn't the answer. We need to decide where and how to pierce it."
I entered the tent and unfolded the city map I had prepared in advance.
"Honestly, it's impossible to connect sewer pipes to every alleyway and every house in Prague."
I boldly ignored the complex road network of Prague drawn on the map.
"To do that, we'd have to tear up the entire city. It would be difficult even if it took two years, not two months. If we dig up every alley, not only carriages but even people won't be able to pass. The city's functions will be paralyzed."
"If you know that, why did you make such a promise? You boasted that you would finish it in two months."
"I didn't say I would connect it to every house."
I picked up a quill and drew a thick cross (+) line on the map.
These were the main arterial roads extending east, west, north, and south, centered on the Prague Palace.
"It's about choice and concentration."
I pointed to the cross lines on the map with my finger.
"We will bury massive trunk sewer pipes only under these four main roads. We don't have time to dig up the alleyways."
"Then what about the people inside the alleys? Are you saying they should still be covered in sewage?"
"No."
I drew circles at the points where the cross lines intersected, and around the markets and cathedrals.
"We just need to build public toilets, public baths, and laundromats at the major hubs of each district."
"Communal facilities?"
"Yes. If we can't treat the wastewater from each household individually, we make the people come directly to the sewer pipes."
I tapped the circles on the map.
"Think about it. Isn't it much better to walk a little and use a toilet with clean water flowing freely than to live with a smelly chamber pot inside your house? The waste from there is discharged out of the city through the sewer pipe right underneath, so it's very hygienic. We can just have the wastewater from each household disposed of through here as well."
This was the 'Hub and Spoke' urban sanitation system I had devised.
Connecting pipes to every faucet like modern water and sewage systems was premature. We lacked the cost, time, and technology.
Then there was only one answer.
We just needed to revive the Roman bath culture.
If we gather people where the water is, the city's waste will only be generated in controlled areas, making treatment overwhelmingly easier.
Even if the convenience of individual households is slightly reduced, there is no better way to raise the sanitation level of the entire city in a short period.
Janos looked down at the map and nodded.
"Hmm... It's certainly much more realistic than tearing up all the streets. Since we only have to block the main roads, we can minimize merchant complaints as well. But what is this red line?"
The place Janos pointed to was a unique line, painted unusually thick and dark, separate from the cross-shaped arterial road network.
A direct pipeline that started from the deepest part of Prague Castle, where the King's bedroom and office were located, dropped straight down vertically, and plugged into the central trunk sewer.
"This isn't even connected to the other trunk lines, and it's pierced directly without passing through anywhere in between. Don't tell me..."
"It's my private line."
Janos's eyes narrowed.
"A private line? Are you saying you're going to bury that long pipe separately just for your own use, My Lord?"
"Of course. A King can't use the same toilet as the commoners, can he?"
"Well, that's true, but... it's not like you, My Lord. I thought you'd hate it for being inefficient."
Inefficient. That's also true.
But sometimes there are things that must be done even if they are inefficient.
"No, I'm serious. I'm sick of seeing Sarka's face every morning when she empties the chamber pot, and above all, I want to protect the dignity of my buttocks."
Medieval toilets were truly hell, and that was no different even for a King.
Even now, I had to do my business with a chamber pot placed under a chair with a hole in it, or use a traditional latrine where the waste fell directly outside the castle wall.
The agony of the stench vibrating in the summer, and my buttocks freezing in the winter winds.
"This is absolutely necessary for my mental health. I can concede everything else, but I must reclaim the sound of civilization—the sound of water rushing down beneath my buttocks and washing away the waste."
"...Rushing down?"
"Yes! Flush! The great invention that washes away worries with the power of water!"
I clenched my fist, picked up the quill, and drew a blueprint on the parchment of a U-shaped pipe and a stream of water pouring from a water tank.
"I'm going to apply a specially designed siphon principle to this private line. I'll install a U-shaped water trap to prevent odors from flowing back, and I'll secure water pressure by installing a water tank at the highest point of Prague Castle. Then, with just one pull of a lever, the waste will wash away on its own. It's a permanent farewell to smelly traditional toilets!"
If this succeeds, I will have the first flush toilet in human history about 200 years early. I couldn't suppress my excitement just imagining it.
Janos looked at me and opened his mouth with an absurd expression.
"My Lord, your eyes are sparkling even more than when you were making cannons. Anyone would think you're going to find the Holy Grail."
"In a sense, it's more valuable than a cannon. Because it's an item that will vertically raise the quality of human life."
As a modern person who has tasted the civilization of the 21st century, I could endure being without a smartphone, but I absolutely could not endure a smelly toilet.
Imagining the flush toilet that would be installed in the Prague Palace in two months, I lovingly stroked the red line on the map.