Chapter 1, part one - Standing up for Father Hus
Prague, the Summer of 1419
Pavel of Marsovice opened the door of the workshop, carrying two loafs of bread with him. He closed the door behind him, looking around for Master Frantisek. He went through the workshop into the adjoining house and put the bread in the kitchen. When he returned to the workshop, Master Frantisek there, was readying a large vat of water.
“Master, the bread is in the kitchen. Something strange happened though.” Pavel seemed unsure if he should continue.
Frantisek looked up and nodded at the vat of piss standing in the corner.
“The hairs should be loose enough now. After you're finished with those skins, you can help me with the cleaning of this new batch.”
Pavel sighed and walked over to the where the skins were soaking in piss. After all these years apprenticing for Master Frantisek, he hardly noticed the stench. He grabbed the first skin from the vat and methodically scraped the hairs from the skin with a knife.
Frantisek observed his apprentice for a minute.
“Lad. What happened?”
“Master?” Pavel still hesitated. “The baker. Sir, the baker told to me hurry back here. He said there was something in the air. What can he mean?”
Frantisek dumped a dried skin into the vat of water.
“Humph! That man gossips like my aunt!”
Pavel silently continued removing the hairs. A tedious job, but of course an important step in the process of tanning the hides.
“Still, he is right. The council is holding several notable followers of Hus. But that's business unfit for us baseborn.”
Master Frantisek was right of course. A simple tanner's apprentice had no business meddling into the affairs of the city council. He continued his tasks while the Master finished soaking the new skins in water.
Suddenly, the door of the workshop burst open. A slender boy rushed in, the colour of his cheeks showing his excitement.
In between his gasps for breath, he said, “Pavel, quickly! Father Zelivsky is going to demand the release of our brethren!”
“Boy! I will not interfere with how tight or loose Master Vincenc holds his apprentices, but you will not disturb mine from his work! I will have words with Master Vincenc later.”
The carpenter's apprentice looked up in surprise for a moment, seeing Master Frantisek for the first time.
“Beg your pardon, Master Frantisek. Master Vincenc is following Father Zelivsky to City Hall. He said all devout Christians should add their voice to this cause!”
“Then be on your way boy and be a devout Christian. In this workshop, there's work to be done!”
“Pavel! It's Father Zelivsky! Will you come?”
Tomas looked pleadingly at his best friend. Pavel glanced at Master Frantisek and sighed.
“I'm sorry Tomas, I have work to do.”
Tomas slumped, disappointed. He turned around, reached for the door.
“Lad. Quality is in the sharpness of one's mind. You will not be doing any good work today anyway.”
Tomas and Pavel looked up, hopefully.
“Well? On your way now.”
Pavel quickly put his equipment away, rinsing his hands. He joined his friend.
“The work will still be waiting for you tomorrow. By the end of tomorrow, I expect to see it all finished.”
Pavel didn't wait for him to change his mind.
“Yes Master,” he shouted over his shoulder as he and Tomas rushed out of the door.
Outside, the two friends sped towards the city centre.
“Master Frantisek is a dour master. I don't know how you survive that... And the stench!”
Pavel laughed. “He's not that bad!”
“Truly, he is a horrible man. I don't think he ever relaxes his muscles for a single moment.”
“Just because you've been extremely fortunate with Master Vincenc doesn't mean all other masters are horrible men!”
Running through the city, they saw many grim faces. Many more than usual. Pavel started to doubt his wisdom to meddle in such affairs, but he didn't have time to think on it. As they rounded a last corner, they reached the city hall square. A big crowd had gathered there, listening to a dark haired priest with a black beard.
“We shall not bow to mere councilmen who bow their heads to the corrupt bishops. Look how they live in material riches and splendour! Behold, how you, men of Prague, the lifeblood of Bohemia, live in hardship. But look deeper; see! See how your hardship strengthens your resolve and tempers the steel of your lives. And see how the material riches of those... those cowering men, bathing in the luxuries of the world, how it corrupts them to their very souls!”
All thought left Pavel as rapture filled his head. He glanced at his friend and saw the admiration both of them shared for Father Zelivsky.
“And they believe, and want us to believe, that they can buy back the forgiveness of our Lord, that worldly riches can move our Lord to absolve them from their corruption. And how they want us to believe this! For if we follow their lead, even more of your possessions would flow to their pockets. Nay, they are not thieves; they are worse! They steal from the poor with bald lies!”
Pavel shouted, voicing his agreement with fervor.
“And now, now those councilmen are holding our brethren, true followers of our Lord, ready to hand them over to a King whose own brother, our Emperor, broke his promise to our brother Father Hus and burnt him on the stake. Our Emperor, who failed to protect his subjects. Brother to our King. No, our brothers should be set free! Councilmen! Hear us! The will of the people is spoken. Free our brothers!”
“Free our brothers! Brothers! Brothers!”
Pavel chanted on the top of his lungs. The crowd shouted with a single voice. The city hall shook from the shouts.
“Heretics! Heretics,” a voice pierced from the inside of the city hall, “Heretics! You shall be burnt when our King's men arrive!”
“We may be burnt in this life, councilman, but you are mistaken! It is you who will burn. You will burn when it matters. You will burn when our Lord judges you.”
“Burn in Hell!”
“BURN!!”
The priest raised his arms, waiting for the crowd to lower their voices again. He took a deep breath.
“So free our brothers, or truly you will be judged by our Lord! And he will not forget how you caused harm to His flock! Free our brothers!”
Another roar came from the crowd and Pavel shouted his throat raw. Tomas shook his fist in the air, screaming like an animal. Then, unthinkable, Pavel saw something being thrown from the city hall. Unnaturally slow, he saw the object sail towards Father Zelivsky. He grabbed Tomas' shoulder, pointing to the projectile. Tomas shrugged his friend off, enraptured by the priest's words. The projectile hit the priest in the back, knocking him from his feet. The crowd gasped, shocked, silent. Doubt captured the crowd: was this God punishing a heretic?
Years later, Pavel would wonder about his life, where it had led him, when he set his first step on that unforgiving path. He would always come to this point. Why did he set foot on this path? Pavel never found an answer to this. But in his mind, undoubtedly, this was the moment. For why did he, Pavel of Marsovice, in this moment, as the crowd wavered so clearly, why did he choose to raise his voice?
“It... It came from the city hall! The councilmen! They threw a rock at Father Zelivsky! The councilmen!”
In the silence, those words cut through the crowds. A second of silence, another one. Then, an old man, a cloth over one eye, stepped forward and grabbed a stone from the ground.
“They would slay another of our brothers, our beloved Father Zelivsky! Are we not the true faithful? Are we not good subjects to our city, to our King? Are we not the lifeblood of our country? Why should we bow to a German King and Emperor who do not respect his subjects! Freedom for our brothers! We shall free our brothers!”
A shout of agreement, carefully. Then, a roar. More men stepped forwards, and they charged to doors of the city hall, the old man in front. The large doors buckled, buckled again and broke. The crowd chanted.
“Free our brothers, free our brothers!”
Then, a giant crash was heard through the shouting. A councilman was shouting as he flew through the large windows from the city hall down towards the crowd. The crowd reacted immediately, bearing upon him. More councilmen flew down, all shouting. Pavel charged as well, engulfed in the mass of bodies. He lost sight of Tomas, didn't even care. All that was on his mind was that he got hold of that vile councilman, to teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget. That vile man would suffer. That was all that mattered. That vile man must suffer.
After some time, a shout penetrated his mind.
“Brothers! Fellow countrymen! Our brothers are free! And we shall throw down the yoke of our German oppressors. And we will rid ourselves from the corrupt in the clergy.”
The one-eyed man was standing on the steps in front of the city hall, several men in rags behind him. Beside him stood Father Zelivsky, shakily.
“You have spilled blood today,” Father Zelivsky said in a soft voice, “but it was for a good cause. For you have defended our Lord's faithful from the corrupt.”
Pavel looked at his hands. They were red with blood. Not his own. As he looked around, he saw several dead bodies, wrapped in the torn clothes of a councilman. He was shocked, scared. He looked up, saw more scared men among the crowd. Tomas, he couldn't find Tomas. The old man was speaking again, but Pavel didn't listen to his words.
Shaken, Pavel ran away from the square.