“Majesty, the Estates have rejected the levy of a special bĕrne to fund the Neapolitan campaign.” von Ehrlichman found himself once more the bearer of bad news.
Ladislav did not immediately respond. His disgust at the failure of his courtiers was apparent as he scowled and turned away for a moment.
“There was much outcry for the Magyars to foot the bill instead. Though Moravia’s contribution means that there will be no great financial strain,” von Ehrlichman added.
Ladislav ste his hands, formed into fists, upon the table in front of them.
“And what recourse do we have now? Without the tax our armies will melt away like snow under the Neapolitan sun.”
“Majesty, given that the aim of the campaign has been accomplished, surely the outstanding bills are not too great to be put off. We have no more need…” The Cardinal trailed off. The monarch he served, and had tutored for years, knew as well as the prelate that with the fighting finished only back pay was owed—and none gave any concern to paying mercenaries in a distant land whose task was finished. Gott in himmel, he realized, there must be something else, another purpose intended for that army.
von Ehrlichman quickly spoke up once more, the old man trying to conceal his realization.
“There are the Estates of the Incorporated Lands. As hereditary ruler of them, the King’s word is accompanied by even greater prestige than in Bohemia,” he noted.
And he was right. Moravia, Silesia, and Lusatia together possessed a population larger than that of Bohemia, and each had its own Estates. During the Occupation, they had recognized Ladislav as their hereditary ruler, rather than elected, in an attempt to both give the Estates of Bohemia a slap in the face and curry favor with the Crown. Each had differing agendas, but they shared a common distrust for Bohemian dominance of the government.
Moravia, the Margraviate to the southeast of Bohemia, was half as large as her Czech brethren to the west. Moravia was dominated by the magnates, particularly by the Rozmberk family, and the clan elders had grudgingly given their support to Ondrej’s plea for a special tax. Their sway in Moravia was so great that their votes and influence combined with provincial distaste for anything done by the Bohemian Estates meant that a tax was quickly agreed to. It would cover almost all the remaining costs of the campaign, leaving von Ehrlichman wondering why Ladislav was so disappointed by the failure of the Bohemian Estates. An insult to royal prestige, of course, but the King seemed seriously worried.
Silesia and Lusatia were different beasts entirely. The Kingdom and the Margraviate were dominated politically by Czechs though commerce was controlled by merchants and townsmen of both languages. The Snĕm of both realms conducted its proceedings in Czech, and the ancient nobles used language as just one of their many tools to beat the Germans back from the positions of power. The general sentiment in both Bohemia and Moravia towards the Empire was that they were only officially provinces therein. Perhaps the best description was that while their King and Margrave was a citizen of the Empire, Bohemia and Moravia were not Imperial. The decrees from Nuremberg certainly reflected this, declaring that in legal proceedings the Czech territories were under the King’s justice, and that only the King himself was answerable to the Empire. Their rights to elect their own ruler, rather than following the laws of succession or have the Emperor appoint a lord to their vacant offices, was another long-cherished unique aspect. That those privileges were a result of their status as an electoral state and political influence within the Empire was ignored. The motives for awarding these rights were disregarded; the Czechs ascribed an entirely different motivation to them, preferring to consider themselves a nation apart.
By contrast, the two Duchies were German through and through. Silesia and Lusatia considered themselves loyal provinces of the Empire. Many of the Silesian dukes held titles elsewhere in the Empire, particularly Brandenburg. Trade tied Breslau and the other cities to the eastern German states as well as the Czech provinces, and the larger cities were all members of the Hanseatic League. Lusatia, due to its meandering territory among oft- Since the eleventh century, the duchies had been dominated by Germans coexisting not among Czechs but Poles. The language there was exclusively German, even among the ancient Piast princes of Silesia, not the juxtaposed duality of the two Czech realms. Both Silesia and Lusatia considered themselves German territories attached by cruel Fortune to arrogant Czechs to their south, and Ladislav not King of Bohemia—for their allegiance to Bohemia was passing at best, limited to sharing a ruler—but Duke of Upper and Lower Silesia and Upper and Lower Lusatia, still lord to them, but their own lord, an upstanding German, not a Czech landlord with German properties.
In their perspective of political theory they were more correct than the Czechs. Together with Moravia, Silesia and Lusatia were considered the Incorporated Lands—territory amassed by the Kings of Bohemia, codified and guaranteed in Imperial bulls but territory that ruled in a personal union, not as additions to Bohemia. Thus Ladislav exercised his power in the German lands as Duke, and in Moravia as Margrave, just as the powers-that-be in Breslau thought. And he was a German before a Czech—he spoke both from an early age, but the royal family had been German since a century before in every respect, from the “von” that preceded first Luxemburg, then Wittelsbach, to his wider view that surpassed the boundaries of Bohemia and Czech provincial interests. He oversaw realms from Bavaria to Silesia and now Hungary and considered dynastic ambitions as far-flung as recovering the Low Countries to marrying his future son to the Ludwig of Burgundy’s daughter.
The Estates—not the Snĕm, a Czech title—of each realm had a more cosmopolitan view than Bohemia or Moravia. They still had rivalries with Bohemia and petty factionalism internally, but by necessity they saw beyond that. Lusatia was inherently vulnerably to Hohenzollern and Wettin ambitions, and was therefore strongly royalist in every case. Silesia depended on Polish and German trade to it and points south to keep the taxes flowing to the nobles and maintain the markets for their cloth and ironworks, and agitated that the Duke—not the King—nurture ties with the neighboring states.
The Estates of the duchies would in all likelihood answer the King-Duke’s pleas positively. von Ehrlichman summoned a scribe and, understanding Ladislav’s intent without a word passing between them, dictated a letter on behalf of the Duke of Silesia and Lusatia, calling the Estates to assemble to consider an extraordinary levy.
With a nod, the scribe took the notice as soon as it was stamped by the Cardinal, headed towards the Kanzlei to distribute the decree. Soon, lords would assemble in Breslau to hear the royal entreaty and decide whether to issue a land tax. Without a word from the King, the matter was finished.
“The rejection by the Snĕm of our proposal does nothing in our favor,” Ladislav commented, still dissatisfied by the dismal failure of the tax request. He realized the important sign that the strength of the opposition signaled to him. The Estates had declared that they were not to be ignored and only called upon to issue more taxes for matters they had not been consulted in. Involving the Snĕm was not objectionable, but they arrogated too much power to themselves and often took a contrary stance for purely political purposes. Trying to reconcile the Crown with their arrogance would not be an easy task, and it was made all the more odious by having to accept much of their pretensions.
“Since the Snĕm is insistent that the powers they have awarded themselves should stand unchallenged,” Ladislav paused, the cold scorn in his voice clear,
“we should see that they understand the acceptable limits of their rights.”
Cardinal von Ehrlichman recognized his liege’s stance, but stood unclear as to what Ladislav precisely intended.
“The Estates cannot remain intransigent and obstructive until the Crown bows to their every demand. And the Crown cannot do that,” he commented.
“What shall happen, then?”
“The knights are honorable but poor. Some of the magnates have succeeded in making retainers of them, a regrettable situation.” Most knights were unable to afford attending sessions of the Snĕm due to the cost and time away from their affairs. The Crown often paid many to come, and those who did attend on the royal largesse were the king’s men of previous mention. Now the high lords were doing the same, and had successfully eroded the royal influence over the knights estate.
“We have on our payroll a large army that we intend to keep up permanently. Many of the knights would prefer permanent service as officers to any position as a courtier, and we shall offer them such a chance.”
“And furthermore ensure the loyalty of the army to the Crown and not merely the Crown’s coin,” von Ehrlichman remarked. So Ladislav intended to maintain part of the army, and would use it to win the loyalty of martial-minded lords. But what primary purpose did he intend for it? The reason still eluded the prelate, and meanwhile the monarch went on.
“The royal towns abandoned us in their voting as well. Summon their foremost leaders, and include those from Plzen, Kutna Hora, and the three towns of Praha. Let them come as a small group to our great hall, and away from the magnates they will accede to us,” he ordered tersely. von Ehrlichman nodded silently. The king he had watched as a child was now impenetrable to his mentor, and Dietrich smiled. He approved. If he could not predict Ladislav’s plans, then his enemies would be even worse off. He trusted his liege’s judgment, both because he had taught Ladislav much of what he knew and because he had observed the king’s past actions with favorable opinion.
“Now that we have fixed the mistakes wrought, let us call in the bunglers,” Ladislav declared with contempt. von Ehrlichman retreated to a corner, desiring to see unobtrusively how Ladislav would handle the pair that had led the Crown to defeat in the chambers of the Estates.
Ondrej Rozmberk and Wenzel von Dohna were ushered into the hall by the chamberlains. The magnate appeared sorrowful in his expressive manner but not distraught, while the knight did his best to appear quietly Stoic.
“Lords,” Ladislav began, forestalling Rozmberk’s attempt to speak,
“we have heard of the outcome of the Snĕm. Particularly, a rumor of involvement of the Magyars,” he said, trailing off. It was confusing, mostly because what he heard seemed so ridiculous.
Ladislav’s last sentence truly stopped Rozmberk from talking. Ondrej breathed in sharply in panic, while von Dohna spoke up instead:
“I believe, Your Majesty, that Hungary was mentioned in order to appease the Estates and smooth any ruffled feathers.” Rozmberk would be in his debt for this, he decided. The stupid Czech.
“Let’s hear the reason from the source, Count,” Ladislav retorted bitterly. Apparently, his information was true. Rozmberk had told the Snĕm that Ladislav would ask the Hungarian Diet before he came to ask the Bohemian Estates for any taxes.
“Your Majesty, the intent of my words was merely to pacify a hostile audience,” Rozmberk managed.
“My sole motivation was to get the lords to accede to the measure by telling them that the Magyars would contribute as well.”
Ladislav seethed.
“Perhaps Your Lordship would care to explain how promising that Hungary’s Diet would pay for the upkeep of an army of ten thousand men could accomplish anything! If anything, the Snĕm would be encouraged to pay even less.” He tried to be as distant as possible by addressing Rozmberk formally, but his wrath transformed it into biting sarcasm. The King could not contemplate what possessed one of his greatest allies to do something so infuriatingly stupid.
“Merely to get them to accede,” Rozmberk mumbled, the typically loquacious magnate reduced to repeating his previous sentences.
“Your lying tongue has only accomplished a supreme disregard for the Crown by the Estates!” Ladislav shouted, his anger finally breaking through layer upon layer of aloof cool.
The King’s outburst drew the surprised attention of practically everyone. von Ehrlichman was surprised to see the normally reserved Ladislav explode at Rozmberk for his failure, proving that his protégé did have passion after all. All the courtiers and servants scurried away, eager to avoid the monarch’s wrath, except for one who von Dohna saw carefully listening to the episode, paused from setting out a table. Wenzel watched as the steward cocked an ear towards the exchange, distracted for a moment from the action itself.
“That was not my intention. I was trying to sway them,” Ondrej said, crumpling before Ladislav’s verbal assault.
Ladislav glared at him, and shouted once more:
“The result of your damnable intents is catastrophe! Because of the clear incompetence of the Crown’s representatives, we appear like fools before the Estates. Not only have you failed, but we must either recant, which we cannot, or travel to Hungary and fail there as well!”
Ladislav gave up. He shook his head, arose from his throne in the new hall that von Wallenstein had built, and left for his quarters while ordering the stewards to prepare the court for travel. Thanks to Rozmberk’s failure, he would go to Hungary, muttering curses in German all the way.
