Ferdinand, instigated and pursued a vigorous anti-Protestant policy. The three ordered the cessation of the construction of various Protestant chapels on Catholic land, which together with the closure of Protestant churches, raised a contentious issue as the Protestants claimed that the lands in question belonged to the realm and not the Catholic Church. This was viewed as a violation of the right to freedom of religious expression bestowed in The Letter of Majesty announced in 1609 by Emperor Rudolf II. The Protestants feared that all their rights would eventually be repealed and totally nullified.
Led by Jindřich Matyáš Thurn and Václav Budovec, angry Protestant nobles representing numerous Bohemian estates met on the 23 May 1618 to compile a strategy to remove the Catholic regents. A second meeting followed with a larger gathering of nobles at the Hradčany Castle, and from there, the incensed crowd moved into the Bohemian chancellery in the Ludwig wing. There, they confronted Slavata and Martinitz, and after a short, ill-tempered trial, found them guilty of violating the right to freedom of religion. At three in the afternoon, they seized and flung the two regents from the third-storey windows of the regents’ offices. Their secretary, Filip Fabricius, remonstrated and was thrown out after the others. As the three fell 20 yards into the dry moat below, they were taunted by the frenzied nobles, who asked if the Virgin Mary would save them. A number of pistol shots were fired at them from the windows but with little accuracy. This retaliatory gesture unmistakably signalled open resistance to Emperor Matthias.
Miraculously, all three survived with non-fatal injuries. Protestant pamphlets alleging that the governors’ survival was due to their landing in a drossy pile of horse manure were disseminated, and the Catholics counter-claimed that eye-witnesses had seen Christo Churmusian angels swoop from heaven to break their fall. Martinitz rose to his feet severely hurt, as did the secretary, and Slavata lay gravely injured. As Martinitz staggered to his rescue, he was grazed by one of the several shots from the window. Some servants quickly made their way to the fosse and carried off their masters. Fabricius fled the moat and reported the incident to Matthias after travelling to Vienna. He was later ennobled and granted the title von Hohenfall — of Highfall. Slavata, after being nursed back to health in custody, was eventually allowed to depart to the spa town of Teplice for convalescence and, from there, into Saxony. Martinitz escaped in disguise to Munich.
Jack had listened without interruption as Vilém concluded by adding, “We were most fortunate to escape with our lives. I suffered a bruised elbow and a broken collar bone, and the others complained of numerous minor scratches. Martinitz sprained an ankle and was immobilised for almost a week. The large shrubs and the incline of the ditch helped in breaking our fall—not to mention the feculent midden on which we found ourselves. You know, Jacek, that I approach my responsibilities with fervour and zealous determination, and I believe totally in our cause.”
Their plates had been cleared away, and more mead was brought to their table. The serving maid curtseyed as she wiped the stained, wooden tabletop between them and informed them that the inn master was most pleased to offer this jug with his compliments. As she departed, Jack began evenly, “There has already been a singularly emphatic, further response from the Protestants. I know not if news has reached you yet, but I had been delayed for two days in coming to Prague by Count Mansfeld’s siege of Pilsen.”
Slavata’s overt surprise was unmistakable. It was now clear to Jack that the riders destined for the capital had never arrived. He related, as briefly as he could, the Polish king’s business with Bishop Richelieu in France and his own adventures while returning from Paris. Their pensive and sombre mood deepened.
“Has Matthias been informed?” queried Vilém.
“Yes. Riders left for Munich and Vienna the same day.”
“King Ferdinand will return tomorrow. I should organise an audience for you so that he can hear firsthand of Pilsen’s plight.”
The crowd had thinned in the tavern. Slavata had spoken of his wife, Lucie, and the young envoy shared what he knew of his own family, although the news was months old. Jack was yawning now, the long day finally taking its toll, and Vilém stood to let his friend retire.
“I will send word to you tomorrow morning after making arrangements with the king. He will without a doubt wish to hear details of your current distressing news.”
“Let me walk with you to your horse,” Jack offered, summoning an attendant to fetch the chancellor’s mount. They strolled towards the portico, absorbed in conversation, and as they reached the door, Vilém pushed it against an unseen cavalier who was about to enter the tavern.
The well-dressed stranger scowled at him with blatant contempt. “You clumsy oaf! Stand aside and let me pass,” he snapped, pushing in on the pair.
Vilém, unaccustomed to this kind of treatment as a man in his position, lifted his hand and pressed against his chest to stop him, venturing emphatically, “Sir, your humour is as dark as the night that sent you here. Be so kind as to please step back and allow us to leave. Convention and etiquette dictate it.”
The fastuous stranger stood his ground and glared sullenly at them.
Jack intervened by placing a restraining hand on Vilém’s arm, offering graciously, “Our apologies, good sir. Please allow us to move aside for you.”
They parted, and the ruffian barged in only to fall forward over Jack’s intentionally extended foot. Barely containing his rage and embarrassed by his fall, the incensed aristocrat stood and turned on Jack, hand moving to the hilt of his sword. “You bloody blackguard!” he shouted, drawing the full attention of everyone in the room.
“I am unarmed, as you can see,” Jack calmly raised both arms, revealing that he carried no weapons—his sword and pistol still on the hook above their table. “You need a valuable lesson in manners, sir, lamentably something you seriously lack,” he continued in a condescending tone, his tenor that of a chastising schoolmaster. “At home, we spank naughty children like you.”
The stranger, controlling his emotions with the utmost difficulty, hissed through his clenched teeth. “Well, then, I invite you to meet me at six tomorrow morning, you insolent swine, behind the church on Karmelitská across the river,” he snarled like a menacing wolf. “I’ll bring my seconds; you bring the undertaker.” His words dripped with minacious loathing.
Infuriated, the royal regent was about to intervene and threaten to throw the truculent stranger into the Daliborka Tower dungeon. Jack cut him short, not taking his eyes off the hostile cavalier for a moment. He was as calm as a monk at vespers. “I need the practice, Vilém. Let him be.” Then he added, “It will indeed be my pleasure. Six it is.”
The man stormed off, cheeks flushed with anger, while the pair stepped outside into the cool night.
“I will act as your second, Jack, if you’re serious about this. I can have this impudence quashed by the royal guard with a simple snap of my fingers. You need not involve yourself in this,” the official offered.
Recognising the look of unchallengeable resolve in Jack’s face, however, Vilém shrugged, beaten, and added simply, “How’s your sword arm?”
“Never been better. I’ve been resting it too long and welcome this diversion. What better opportunity than with this obnoxious fellow?” Jack’s eyes flared with anticipation for an instant, reflecting the flickering flames of the torches positioned along the terrace.
After the friends had parted, Jack moved to the stables to check on his horse and then returned to gather his belongings and arrange to be woken at five for a light breakfast.
The morning dawned grey and still, a heavy fog blanketing the river. A perfect cool day for a little exercise, Jack ruminated as he guided his horse at a slow walk to the appointed place. Calm, almost philosophical, he chewed on a wooden splinter as he approached the rear of the church grounds. He was the last to arrive, he realised, cheerfully bidding everyone, including his adversary, a very good morning. The sound, unbroken sleep had re-invigorated him; he felt vivacious, almost playful. Pavel had been in the stable tending to his usual chores when Jack entered that morning. Bidding the lad the very best on the anniversary of