The King of the Peasants (3)
March. By the calendar, it was the time when spring was just beginning to stir.
However, no matter how much the sting of the Winter General had faded, the wind whipping over the high stone walls still bit like a blade, threatening to carve the very flesh from one's bones.
Yet, the scene at the third guard post on the northern wall of Prague Castle was quite different.
“Hoo….”
Matej let out a long breath, leaning his body against the spear rack. A cloud of white steam dissipated into the air.
Ondrej, standing beside him, could no longer contain his boredom. “Hey, Matej. How much longer until the shift change? My stomach clock says the bell should have rung long ago.”
“Who knows. You’ll have to wait at least half a day more to hear that bell.”
Matej replied indifferently.
His gaze, scanning the area below the wall, was as sharp as ever, but his expression remained remarkably relaxed despite the bone-chilling cold.
In truth, at this time of year, soldiers on the ramparts were usually half-dead, fighting a war against the frost. Their iron helmets and armor would cling to their skin, and no matter how many thick layers they wore, there was no stopping the cold that seeped into their very marrow. It was not uncommon in the Middle Ages for soldiers to suffer from toes turning black with frostbite or to simply freeze to death while standing guard.
But this year was different.
Whoosh—
A fierce, biting wind whipped the edges of their cloaks violently. Despite the freezing temperature, their expressions were as peaceful as cats curled up before a hearth.
“By the way… isn’t this thing a real miracle?”
Ondrej tapped his chest. Inside his thick gambeson, the area near his left breast bulged unnaturally.
“It’s incredibly warm. It’s like carrying a stove inside my coat.”
“Be careful. You’ll burn your skin if it’s too hot.”
“Don’t worry. I wrapped it in two layers of cloth, nice and tight.”
Ondrej slipped his hand into his gambeson to savor the warmth. Inside, there was a round stone the size of a man’s fist. It was an ordinary river stone, heated red-hot in a bonfire and distributed by the cooks during morning roll call.
But that common, unremarkable rock was a treasure more precious than gold to soldiers who had to stand guard in this weather.
[Attach a pocket to the inside of every soldier's uniform who is on winter duty. And distribute a heated stone at every shift change.]
This was a direct order from the King. In fact, the method of wrapping a hot stone in cloth and keeping it close to the body was a bit of wisdom passed down among mountain hunters to survive the bitter cold. But Ulrich was the first to order it systematically across the entire military—a massive organization.
It didn’t cost much money. It was just a matter of sewing an extra pocket inside the uniforms and picking up stones from the riverbank to heat in a fire. But the effect of that small consideration was immense.
The soldiers no longer shivered while on duty, and as their bodies warmed, their minds grew at ease. Thinking that the King treated them not as expendable supplies but as human beings, their morale naturally soared to the heavens.
Ondrej let out a breath filled with admiration. “Most lords wouldn’t care if their soldiers froze to death… but our King is truly an eccentric man. He even worries about keeping our chests warm with stones.”
Matej, too, silently stroked his own chest. It was warm. And it wasn’t just because of the stone’s heat.
“Come to think of it, you’ve been looking good lately?”
Ondrej laughed mischievously and poked Matej’s side with his elbow. “I heard you’re visiting the Fat Goose Inn like it’s your own home? They say the atmosphere between you and the barmaid there is quite something.”
“…Don’t talk nonsense.”
“Oh, don’t be shy. Was her name Lenka? She’s quite a beauty. When are you getting married?”
“It’s not like that.”
Matej feigned ignorance, but he couldn’t hide the faint smile spreading across his lips. Lenka. The barmaid who worked at the Fat Goose Inn in the back alley of the Old Town Square. She was a lovely girl whose eyes curved like half-moons when she laughed.
In truth, Matej had thought he would never be able to hold a woman in his heart again. When he lost his wife and young daughter to a Hungarian raid two years ago, his world had collapsed. He had joined the Hussites out of pure vengeance, living a hellish existence where he simply couldn’t bring himself to die.
But the King changed, and the world changed with him. The country grew prosperous, the city became clean, and the streets began to hum with vitality instead of the suffocating fear of war. Prague, viewed from the ramparts while clutching a warm stone, was no longer gray.
‘Yes… perhaps I can start over.’
If he served faithfully, saved his pay, and confessed to Lenka, maybe he could buy a small house. Wouldn’t his deceased wife and daughter be happy for him in heaven? Even as a soldier with nothing to his name, in this country, if one lived diligently, there was hope for tomorrow.
That was when it happened.
Clatter, clatter—!
With the loud sound of clashing armor, someone came running up the stairs to the ramparts in a hurry.
“Huff, huff…!”
It was a soldier from the same platoon. His face was flushed red, and he was drenched in sweat.
Matej, startled, tightened his grip on his spear. “What is it? What’s going on? Is it an enemy attack?”
“Or is it already time for the shift change? I didn’t hear the bell.”
The soldier shook his head violently. He was so out of breath he couldn’t even finish his sentence. “N-no… that’s not it… huff, huff…”
“Catch your breath and speak, you idiot. Is someone chasing you?”
“The, the King…”
The moment they heard that word, the expressions of Matej and Ondrej twisted into something fierce.
“What? Why the King! Has some misfortune befallen him?”
“Is he perhaps ill?”
“Did some madmen attack him? Did those Catholic bastards finally send an assassin?!”
Murderous intent flared in their eyes. They looked ready to draw their swords for the King at a moment’s notice.
Startled by their intense reaction, the soldier waved his hands frantically. “N-no! It’s not like that!”
“Then what is it! Stop stalling and spit it out!”
“The King…”
The soldier took a deep breath and shouted in a trembling voice.
“H-he says he’s giving us… land!!”
“…What?”
Matej and Ondrej’s eyes widened as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.
* * *
For long ages, the corrupt bishops of Rome and greedy nobles have sold the name of God to squeeze the blood and sweat from the people. They filled their own bellies with unrighteous greed, while the people who tilled the land in sweat were left to groan in the agony of starvation.
Therefore, I have strictly held them accountable for their sins, confiscating all lands illegally held by families involved in treason and corrupt monasteries, and returning them to the Royal Treasury.
However, the King’s granary is the people’s granary. Today, I intend to return this reclaimed land to you, its rightful owners.
Article 1. As of today, Royal land shall be sold to the people of Bohemia. This grace is granted only to landless peasants who do not own a single span of their own field.
Article 2. Repayment terms are as follows: Those who receive already cultivated farmland shall pay in installments over 20 years by surrendering a portion of the harvest. Those who reclaim wasteland shall be exempt from all taxes and payments for the first 5 years, followed by 15 years of installment payments.
Article 3. Priority in land distribution goes to those who have sacrificed for the King and country: wounded veterans, families of the fallen, retired soldiers, and families with many children.
Article 4. All independent farmers receiving land must strictly follow the ‘New Farming Method’ designated by the Royal Court. Failure to do so will result in immediate forfeiture of the land.
“…”
Prague Old Town Square. The place where the royal messenger had just finished reading the decree and departed was plunged into a strange, heavy silence. It was clearly Czech, a language they knew well, but the content didn’t register in their minds immediately. It felt as if they were listening to Latin.
“So… what on earth does that mean?” a baker covered in white flour asked the person next to him with a blank expression.
“Is the King offering to rent us land? Is he saying he’ll lower the rent a bit?”
“Well… what does ‘distribution’ mean? Does it mean he’s giving us tenant rights? That we get to farm the lords’ land…”
To a medieval peasant, the concept of ‘owning land’ did not exist. Land belonged to the King, the nobles, or the Church. The people were no different from livestock attached to that land. A life of working until one’s back broke on someone else’s soil, surrendering more than half the harvest to the master—that was the logic of the world they knew.
But the King was giving them land. Not just renting it, but giving them a land deed with their own name on it. The people were experiencing collective cognitive dissonance at this unconventional decree that defied medieval common sense.
Just then, a scribe who had been staring intently at the notice shouted in a trembling voice. “No! He’s not renting it!”
The scribe was so excited he was spitting as he spoke. “Look here! It says, ‘Upon completion of repayment, full ownership of the land is recognized’! Ownership! It means it becomes my land, just like the lords’! Real land that I can pass on to my children and grandchildren!”
Murmur, murmur—
A ripple began to spread through the square.
“My own land, really?”
“We’re buying it as our own land, not paying rent?”
“Y-yes, that’s right. It says if we pay a little bit over 20 years, it becomes entirely ours?”
“20 years? That’s practically free! We’ve been farming other people’s land our whole lives anyway!”
Doubt turned to certainty, and silence turned to astonishment. And that astonishment soon became a massive wave of joy that swept over the square.
“Waaaaaah!”
Just then, a wail that seemed to tear at the chest erupted from a corner of the square.
“Whoa, you scared me!”
“What? What’s going on?”
All eyes turned to a man with one leg—a wounded veteran. He had dropped his crutches and was sitting on the ground in front of the notice, sobbing as he caressed the paper.
“My land… to think I’ll have my own land…”
After losing his leg in the defense of Prague and being discharged, he had cursed his useless body and spent his days drowning in alcohol. To a man who lived because he couldn’t bring himself to die, feeling like a burden to his family, the King’s decree was a lifeline sent from heaven.
“Even without a leg… he’s giving me land? A cripple like me… can have my own field?”
Dignity as a head of a household. The hope that he could feed his family once again. The man called out the King’s name, tears streaming down his face. “Your Majesty… thank you… *sob*, long live King Ulrich!”
That desperate wail acted as a detonator. The eyes of the crowd gathered in the square flipped in an instant.
“Land! We have to go get our land right now!”
“But what is this ‘new farming method’? It says we have to plant something?”
“Who cares! He’s giving us land, I’d plant dung if I had to!”
Amidst the chaos, a tragicomic scene unfolded. “Damn it! Why are my legs so perfectly fine!” a sturdy young man shouted, hitting his own thigh with his fist in frustration. “If I’d known this, I would’ve taken an arrow on the battlefield!”
“You madman, you’d become a cripple just to get land?”
“He said wounded veterans have priority! I should’ve gotten land a year earlier and paid it off! To think I’d have land to pass on to my children!”
Soldiers on leave hugged each other and danced. “Did you hear? They give you land when you’re discharged!”
“Now I don’t have to go back home and be a tenant farmer! I can farm on my own land!”
A strange atmosphere flowed among young lovers as well. “Honey, we…” a young farmer who had just promised to marry his sweetheart shyly took her hand. “The decree… it said families with many children have priority.”
“Oh, you!” The maiden blushed, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she gripped it tighter. “The sooner we have them… the sooner we get the land, right? Shall we start trying tonight?”
“Oh, really! How shameless!”
Even as she said that, their footsteps were already heading toward home. Since one child was practically equal to a field of land, Bohemia’s nights were not going to cool down for a while.
The area in front of the Prague City Hall turned into a scene of utter chaos in an instant. “Form a line! Do not push!” the administrators screamed, trying to protect their desks, but it was in vain.
“Move! I was here first!”
“I took an arrow to the knee at Malesov!”
“I have five children! Five!”
The heat, hot enough to make the winter wind feel insignificant, filled the space in front of the City Hall. Instead of white steam, a longing for land erupted from the people’s lips.
In the midst of that confusion, someone, unable to contain their overflowing emotions, shouted at the top of their lungs: “Long live King Ulrich! Long live the King of the Peasants!”
That shout was like a spark falling on a pile of dry firewood. People who had been grabbing each other by the collars to get land first began to shout in unison.
“Long live King Ulrich!”
“Thank you, Your Majesty!”
“O King who gave us land! May you live for a thousand years!”
The shout did not stop at the square in front of City Hall. It spread through the gaps in narrow alleys, across the fields beyond the walls, and soon, like a wildfire, across all of Bohemia. Without a single exception, with all their hearts, every citizen of Bohemia shouted with one voice.
“Your Majesty! May you live long and prosper!”