Prague, the council chamber of the Old Town Hall.
Two principal groups existed here, each barely holding down its hostility toward the other.
On one side of the heavy oak table sat the professors of the University of Prague.
Theologians and thinkers more familiar with the quill than the sword. On their deeply lined faces there sat both the pride of having led this revolution with logic and scripture, and the anguish of watching the war run headlong into an uncontrollable tragedy.
Opposite them stood the great nobles of Prague and the representatives of the wealthy citizenry, wearing anxious expressions.
They had joined this cause for practical purposes as much as theological justification: to confiscate the Church's enormous property and to limit royal power.
But they too had grown sick of this endless war that blocked the trade routes and emptied their coffers.
These two factions were generally classified as the moderate wing of the Hussites, the Utraquists.
And apart from both, standing near the door with a quiet but menacing presence, was one man.
One eye, a gaunt frame, a face burned black by the sun, and a chalice emblem carved from wood and sewn onto shabby cloth garments.
He did not say a single word, yet his presence alone made everyone in the room struggle for breath.
The most radical and merciless flail of faith of the Hussite movement, who regarded the professors of Prague as compromisers and the nobles as selfish opportunists.
It was Jan Žižka and the radical Taborites.
"Hmm...."
"Ahem!"
Under that chilly gaze, only a suffocating silence flowed through the chamber. Awkward coughs alone cut through the stillness.
Every eye in the chamber was drawn to a single sheet of parchment lying at the center of the room, on the enormous table.
Neither a royal edict nor a papal bull, but a letter sent by a mere provincial lord.
Yet that very letter had summoned every divided leader of the Hussites to this place.
The one who finally broke the silence was the spiritual pillar of the moderates, a professor of the University of Prague and a distinguished theologian, Jan Rokycana.
For now he was no more than a theologian, but in later days he would become the Archbishop of Prague elected by the Hussites.
Adjusting the spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, Rokycana spoke carefully.
"The reason we have gathered here is... to discuss together the letter sent by the lord of Šternberk."
"Is there anything to discuss at all?"
Čeněk of Wartenberg, head of the pragmatic noble faction, stepped forward as though he had been waiting for this.
"'Earnestly hoping that beside your chalice banner, the eight-pointed star of Šternberk and the lion of Bohemia may fly together'... he talks in circles, but in the end is he not saying we should raise him up as king!"
The chamber immediately fell to murmuring. Rokycana calmed the commotion and spoke evenly.
"...To speak honestly, it is a proposal difficult to refuse. The bloodline of Charles IV. The weight that name carries is truly enormous."
"Master Rokycana is right!"
Čeněk's voice held an excitement, as though he had found a way through where everything had been blocked.
"Have you forgotten? We are at present fighting all of Europe! The reason the Pope and the emperor call us heretics and send crusades is that we are rebels without a king."
Čeněk clenched both fists and spoke with fervor.
"But if a rightful descendant of Charles IV stands with us, the story changes entirely. This becomes not a rebellion but a just civil war to reclaim the throne from a usurper! Even the Pope could not lightly call the direct bloodline of an imperial emperor a heretic!"
At that very moment, Jan Želivský, the hardline theologian representing the Taborites, sprang up from his seat.
"Nonsense!"
He was also the very man who had led the recent defenestration of the Prague city councilors and, unintentionally, sent the 'Idle King' Wenceslas IV to his death by shock.
Želivský's eyes blazed with a fanatical fire.
"He may be a descendant of Charles IV, but have you forgotten that he is also the nephew of the liar Sigismund who burned our teacher Jan Hus! His father was a Catholic imperial-faction man, and he himself is our enemy, who burned Comrade Mikuláš to death!"
BANG!
Želivský struck the table with all his force.
"Where is the guarantee that this is not a trap of Sigismund's!"
At Želivský's shout the chamber stirred again. Watching it, Čeněk snorted with contempt.
"If you reason that way, then not one person carrying the blood of the House of Luxembourg could ever be king."
"What did you say!?"
"Then shall we keep fighting without a king and be picked off one by one by foreign invaders? Does that fine faith of yours stop a crusader's blade?"
Just as sparks were about to fly between the two men, Rokycana stepped in to mediate.
"Calm yourselves. Let us set aside emotion and look at the justification with reason alone. The claim of being Charles IV's grandson through the female line is certainly powerful. It could gather into one the hearts of the Bohemian people, who long for the golden age of the late emperor. It could even become a banner capable of rallying moderate Catholics who despise Sigismund."
Just then Prokop Holý, the Taborite warrior-priest who had been watching the proceedings from one corner with his arms folded, spoke contemptuously.
"The great emperor's two sons turned out the way they did; do you suppose a grandson will be any different? And a grandson through the female line at that, half a bloodline."
"What nonsense is this! Is a grandson through the female line not a grandson!"
Čeněk shouted.
"And is this a time for us to quibble over the male line and the female line? With crusaders sharpening their swords beyond the border!"
Rokycana again brought reality home in a heavy voice.
"Gentlemen. We must all face the facts. To speak honestly, is any other option even left to us?"
Rokycana's single remark pressed the air of the chamber down still heavier.
"His Majesty Charles IV's nephews, Jošt of Moravia and Margrave Prokop, have already passed away. Setting aside Sigismund and His Grace Wenceslas, they were the most legitimate successors Bohemia had."
In truth, Sigismund's hunger for the throne was nothing new.
Some twenty years ago, taking his own elder brother Wenceslas IV's incompetence as a pretext, he had abducted and imprisoned him in Vienna in Austria and tried to make himself King of Bohemia.
At the time, those contending for the throne of Bohemia were Charles IV's two sons, Wenceslas and Sigismund, and his two nephews, Jošt and Prokop.
Among them, Jošt of Moravia even briefly took the seat of Holy Roman Emperor ahead of Sigismund.
Though the victory itself became meaningless when, fifteen weeks after his accession, he 'was' suddenly killed by an illness of unknown cause.
And now, nearly twenty years later, of those four the only one still alive was Sigismund.
"At present the other descendants of His Majesty Charles IV are only princesses who have refused our crown or have already become queens abroad. Distasteful as it is to admit, the fact is that the only people in Bohemia now with the legitimacy to be king are Sigismund and... this man Ulrich."
A heavy silence settled over the chamber again. Within that silence, Prokop Holý spoke.
"...Is there not one more? Władysław II Jagiełło. He too hates Sigismund, does he not?"
Čeněk raised an eyebrow.
"Do you mean that Polish king? He is a foreigner with no connection to Bohemia at all."
"He is not of Charles IV's bloodline, but he is one of the most powerful sovereigns in Europe. And he is also the enemy of our greatest enemy, Sigismund. Sigismund is openly supporting the Teutonic Order, Poland's old rival. In fact I have heard King Jagiełło showed considerable interest in our proposal."
That Poland was secretly supporting the Hussites in order to weaken Sigismund was already an open secret.
Rokycana shook his head and said.
"But in the end he is a Catholic sovereign. However much he loathes Sigismund, he would hardly wish to become a heretic king and be excommunicated by the Curia. So instead of stepping forward himself, he put forward his cousin, Vytautas, Grand Duke of Lithuania, as his proxy."
Prokop frowned.
"A proxy for the king. Then that man at least might do..."
"That Grand Duke Vytautas likewise balked at being branded a heretic. So he in turn said he would send his own nephew, Duke Korybut."
Čeněk let out a hollow laugh.
"...So you are saying we must serve the proxy of the king's proxy as our king? If we refuse this man Ulrich here, that is."
A cold silence hung over the chamber once more.
Heresy.
In the end that damnable brand of heresy was the problem.
To become King of Bohemia now was to make an enemy not only of the Holy Roman Empire but of the whole Catholic world.
Finding a sovereign willing to bear that risk was like plucking a star from the sky.
Čeněk let out a deep sigh and said.
"I simply cannot believe it.... What is certain is that this man Ulrich is either a madman or a genius. He must have laid this board knowing precisely that we have no other candidate."
He put a question with an expression of utter incomprehension.
"That a man carrying the blood of His Majesty Charles IV has been hiding all this time without a name. Why on earth did none of us know such a person existed?"
"I shall explain that part."
The one who spoke was the theological rector of the University of Prague, the man most versed in old records and genealogies, Jan of Příbram.
Opening an old book with layers of dust settled on it, he calmly began his account.
Ulrich's mother, Princess Eliška, was the youngest daughter Charles IV had late in his life.
But she was born prematurely, and to make matters worse her mother the empress died in labor, so at court she was treated as an ill-omened child.
She was born so sickly that everyone thought she would soon die, and her father Charles IV thought so as well.
Naturally the princess was forgotten in everyone's memory. But a miracle occurred.
Thanks to the devoted nursing of one old lady-in-waiting, the princess did not die and survived safely to adulthood. Though she had to spend most of every day in bed.
When the youngest princess, whom he had put out of mind, came of marriageable age, the emperor fell into a quandary. She was too frail in body to be married off to a foreign royal house, and there was almost no chance of her producing an heir.
And so the emperor decided to entrust the sickly princess to his most trusted retainer, Petr of Šternberk.
Along with a promise that if the princess were to die young and childless, he would grant permission to remarry in the emperor's name.
Because of this, even though it was an imperial marriage, the wedding was held very modestly and few knew of it.
But something happened that even the emperor had not anticipated. It began as the duty of a subject to his sovereign, but Petr came to love his wife truly.
The tender love of the two brought one boy into the world as if by a miracle. But the happiness was not long.
Princess Eliška, after bearing her son, at last breathed her last a few years later... and Petr never took another wife for the rest of his life.
"A sickly princess who could die at any time... I see. So from the outset she was a politically worthless being who could not be married into another royal house."
"That is so. It was not news likely to reach the ears of provincial lords or of scholars like us in Prague. And still less those of the peasants."
Just then Jan Želivský, the radical theologian who had been keeping silent, let out a sneer.
"A truly moving tale. And so the hero of that tragedy has now appeared saying he will be king? Is that not far too well timed to be coincidence?"
At his words Čeněk immediately retorted.
"What nonsense! The tragic descendant of a forgotten princess! What a perfect story this is! The common people will go wild for a tale like this!"
"A perfect trap, more like!"
Želivský shot back at him with bloodshot eyes.
"Has it not occurred to you that all of this is Sigismund's scheme? Having failed to have us kill the thorn of a nephew who threatens his throne, he has now thrown him out as bait to divide us! The moment we accept that greenhorn lord, our revolution will rot away from the inside!"
After a long stretch of argument, a thoroughly worn-out Rokycana shouted loudly.
"Enough! All of you, stop!"
At his cry the commotion subsided for a moment. Sweeping back his disheveled hair, Rokycana spoke.
"Even in this moment while we debate here, Sigismund is gathering an army. Now we must decide. Will we accept Šternberk's proposal, or refuse it?"
At Rokycana's words the chamber sank into a heavy silence again. No one readily opened his mouth.
That was when it happened.
The shadow that had until now stood motionless leaning against the wall, Jan Žižka, spoke for the first time.
His voice was rough, as though worn hoarse by battle, but it carried enough weight to silence every sound in the chamber at a stroke.
"A fight is not made with words."
Every eye turned to him. The one-eyed old general fixed his gaze on the letter on the table and went on.
"It does not matter whether that greenhorn is Charles IV's grandson or the devil's child. Whether he is Sigismund's spy or a savior is not important either. Only one thing matters: does he know how to fight?"
Žižka's gaze swept slowly over the chamber.
"Mikuláš may have been a fool, but he was not an easy opponent. He beat such a man twice. With a mere few dozen soldiers and peasants. That does not happen by luck."
"I know no theology and I know no politics. What I know is war. And what matters most in war is not justification or bloodline but a sword that can win."
"Whether the man who sent this letter is truly a serviceable sword, or just a decorative one that snaps easily, is something I must see and judge for myself."
Rector Jan of Příbram let out a deep sigh and took up Žižka's words.
"...General Žižka is right. In the end, we must confirm his worth for ourselves. It will not do to hand the crown of Bohemia hastily to an unproven man. It is far too great a gamble."
He argued no further. Instead he began to lay out a practical solution everyone could accept.
"Let us offer him the position of regent of Bohemia. He would govern in the king's place and be given the authority to fight Sigismund as commander in chief of our Hussite army."
It was an exquisite move: withholding the throne while conferring authority and responsibility on a par with a king's.
"If he joins our cause in earnest and proves his ability as commander in chief... it will not be too late to raise him up as our king then. But if he has some other design or shows himself incompetent... in that case we need only depose him."
Čeněk of Wartenberg was the first to nod with a satisfied smile.
"A good idea, Rector. A very reasonable and practical method. It is a perfect opportunity to test his sincerity and his ability."
Jan Želivský still wore an expression full of discontent, but with Jan Žižka standing firm there was no longer any ground on which to object. He simply shut his mouth with a displeased face.
And so the opinions of the Hussite leadership converged into one. Rokycana closed the meeting.
"Then let us send a letter. To the young lord of Šternberk, telling him to come to Prague and prove his worth in person."