Lord of All, ruler of No One
Our journey today will take us away from the emperor Friedrich III who will spend most of the episode holed up in his castle at Wiener Neustadt, fretting and gardening. Instead we look at the dramatic life of his younger cousin, Ladislaus Postumus, king of Hungary, king of Bohemia and Archduke of Austria. This will take us back to Prague and its complex religious politics, to Vienna where the people fall for the alluring promises of a populist and to Hungary where one of the greatest generals of the age squares up against Mehmet II, the conqueror of Constantinople.
Ep. 210 – Ladislaus Postumus, Lord of all, Ruler of No One – History of the Germans
Transcript
We do apologize for the delay to this service. We are aware that you have a choice of podcasts and very much appreciate that you have today again chosen the History of the Germans.
Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans; Episode 210 – Ladislaus Postumus, Lord of all, Ruler of No One, which is also Episode 8 of Season 11, the Fall and Rise of the House of Habsburg.
Our journey today will take us away from the emperor Friedrich III who will spend most of the episode holed up in his castle at Wiener Neustadt, fretting and gardening. Instead we look at the dramatic life of his younger cousin, Ladislaus Postumus, king of Hungary, king of Bohemia and Archduke of Austria. This will take us back to Prague and its complex religious politics, to Vienna where the people fall for the alluring promises of a populist and to Hungary where one of the greatest generals of the age squares up against Mehmet II, the conqueror of Constantinople.
But before we start a quick reminder that the History of the Germans is not solely driven by my mojo, but by the generosity of our patrons. And you can become a patron too by signing up on historyofthegermans.com/support. And then I want to say special thanks to Mads H., Anne J(anssen), Henry W., Joeri N., Klaus K., Alucard Z. and Dan, who have already signed up on historyofthegermans.com/support
And with that, back to the show.
Armagnac War & Vienna Concordate.
Last time we ended on Friedrich III’s journey to Rome, a journey that brought him the imperial crown and a wife, Eleanor of Portugal. But there is no free lunch, in particular no free lunch with the pope. The price Friedrich paid for sceptre and spouse was to throw the imperial church under the not yet existing bus.
He signed the Vienna Concordat, the treaty that would define papal-imperial relations for the next 350 years. While France, England, and other kingdoms had long negotiated agreements to keep Rome at arm’s length — limiting papal say in church appointments and the flow of funds — Friedrich’s deal granted the pope a lot. The pope could overturn local elections of bishops and abbots, if he felt another candidate was more worthy or was worth more. Cash flowed more freely to Rome than from anywhere else. 30% of papal pomp came out of the purses of imperial subjects, double of what Frenchmen or Englishmen let go south.
No surprise that anti-papal and anti clerical sentiment reached new heights, piling on to a tradition that went back to Henry IV, Fredrick Barbarossa and Ludwig the Bavarian.
Did it at least work? Did Friedrich receive a hero’s welcome? His authority restored, his common peace renewed and his Imperial courts universally recognised?
Well, not really. His failure to stop French mercenaries ravaging the southwest was still fresh in memory. No amount of imperial bling could distract from the fact that church taxes were going up, the council of Basel was dissolved and papal emissaries were picking up the most lucrative benefices.
So, no it didn’t. But then Friedrich didn’t need to be loved, just obeyed. He controlled all the Habsburg possessions, Upper, Lower and Further Austria, Tyrol, the kingdoms of Bohemia and Hungary, a powerbase strong enough to force through whatever policies he wanted to implement, right.
Well, let’s break it down. Friedrich did not own Upper and Further Austria, or Tyrol, nor was he king of Bohemia or king of Hungary. The reason he controlled these lands was as guardian of his cousins, Sigismund of Tyrol and Ladislaus Postumus. Sigismund had reached maturity and taken ownership of Tyrol in 1446.
That was a blow, but he still had the greatest of prizes, Ladislaus Postumus. We have met him briefly in the last episode, where he accomplished the greatest feat of his fairly short life, he was born. Born as the son of Albrecht of Habsburg, king of the Romans, king of Hungary, king of Bohemia, Archduke of Austria, Margrave of Moravia and, and, and.
So let us trace what happened to him and the territories he had inherited up to the time Ladislaus came back from Rome with his beloved guardian. And we start with Hungary
Hungary until 1452
When Ladislaus was born in February 1440, his father had been dead for four months. His mother, daughter of Emperor Sigismund, took up the fight to defend her infant son’s inheritance — focusing first on Hungary. She had him crowned in the ancient coronation church by the correct archbishop and with the stolen crown of St. Stephen – all at the tender age of 12 weeks.
Hungary was a land dominated by about 60 magnate families who owned about 2/3rds of the land. The church, controlled by the same people owned another fifth, and the king barely one-twentieth. Peasants and burghers held what crumbs remained.
The majority of these all powerful Hungarian magnates rejected the idea of a newborn as ruler, in particular since another attack by the Ottomans looming. In the ensuing civil war Ladislaus, his mother and her small group of supporters amongst the magnates were pushed back to Bratislava, which they could only hold thanks to support by emperor Friedrich’s brother, the archduke Albrecht VI.
Ladislaus mother died in 1442 and – as per his father’s testament and very much to the chagrin of Albrecht VI – the guardianship for the boy went to emperor Friedrich III.
The big shift in Ladislau’s fortunes came in 1444 at the battle of Varna. As we heard last time, the Habsburg’s rival for the Hungarian crown, king Wladyslaw III of Poland had been killed fighting the Ottomans. It took Poland three years to install Wladyslaw’s brother, Kasimir IV on the throne, meaning there was no immediate successor in Hungary. A vacant throne plus the fear of a renewed Ottoman campaign forced the Hungarian factions to come together.
Two magnates dominated the scene
In one corner we have Ulrich, count of Celje, great-uncle of Ladislaus, whose family had risen from Habsburg vassals to imperial princes ruling lands in modern Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, and Austria. They backed Ladislaus’s claim from the very beginning — but were bitter enemies of the Habsburg Leopoldine line, to which Emperor Friedrich belonged.
In the opposite corner we have John Hunyadi, a minor nobleman from Wallachia, modern day Rumania. He had made his career in the military, first in the service of Sigismund and then of Albrecht II. Whilst he was deployed in all of Sigismund’s wars, including the fighting with the Hussites in Bohemia, it was in the wars with the Ottoman Turks that he had made his name and had become immensely rich. At his death he owned 2.3 million hectares, 28 castles, 57 towns and 1,000 villages, mainly in the south of the country. Defense against the Ottomans was his lifeblood, which is why he had backed Władysław III instead of the infant Ladislaus. For that he was rewarded with command of Hungary’s armies and the title of Voivode of Transylvania. His successful 1442–44 campaigns made him famous across Europe and forced the Turks into peace
In 1444 he followed the crusader army into the defeat at Varna — a disaster for Christendom that cost him his king, but sufficiently hard fought to halt the Ottoman advance.
With Władysław dead and no Polish successor in sight, both factions — Celje and Hunyadi — finally united behind Ladislaus. Ladislaus was still only four years old, so that a council of regents was established.
With both John Hunyadi and Ulrich of Celje supporting Ladislaus claim to the throne, one could assume the two men would now kiss and make up. But that would be misunderstanding the situation. These guys cared very little about very little Ladislaus, and a lot about who controlled Hungary. One of Hunyadi’s first actions as regent of Hungary was to try to dislodge Ulrich of Celjefrom western Hungary, which he failed to do. From then on, the two men would be in near continuous armed conflict of varying intensity. In the meantime the regency council was dissolved and Hunyadi became sole regent of Hungary.
In 1448 Hunyadi suffered a crushing defeat by the Ottomans, which weakened his prestige. Celje and Hunyadi now stood roughly equal, and both understood that whoever controlled young Ladislaus would control Hungary.
We are heading into the 1450s and Ladislaus is slowly but surely getting closer to maturity. When Hunyadi tried to force Friedrich III to hand over young Ladislaus by force, the emperor remained stubborn. So Hunyadi went for the second best option and agreed with Friedrich III that he would not send Ladislaus to Hungary before the boy was 18.
Thus, although Ladislaus was king of Hungary in name, real power rested with John Hunyadi — and that was supposed to remain so until 1458.
Bohemia before 1452
The situation in Bohemia was even more convoluted. By the end of the Hussite wars, the country was on its knees. Around 10% of the population had perished, the German minority that had dominated trade and the lucrative mining business, had been expelled. Without the contacts and expertise of German merchants and engineers, production had slowed down and trade had shrunk. The ultimate beneficiaries of the revolt were the mighty barons who had seized almost the entirety of church and crown property. The radical Hussite factions, the Taborites and Orebites had been defeated militarily and politically neutralized. Two groups remained, the old-school Catholics and the moderate Hussites going by the name of Utraquists. Their theological differences had narrowed down to the question whether the laity should be allowed the receive bread and wine during the Eucharist.
Otherwise they were almost identical; each of the factions were dominated by the barons focused solely in how they could enrich themselves at the expense of the cities and peasants. In a cruel twist of fate, the revolution that had called for freedom and equality, ended with the return of serfdom. The only major export were mercenaries, hard boiled by the endless wars and adept at the use of handguns and wagenburgs.
During his brief reign, Ladislaus’ father had relied on the old-school Catholics, whilst the Utraquists had tried to put Wladislaw III of Poland on the throne. After Albrecht’s death, the Catholics backed Ladislaus’s claim, whilst the Utraquists did not put any candidate forward. They did not mind leaving the throne vacant for a while, after all Bohemia had spent decades without a king.
Between 1440 and 1444, the barons of both sides debated the issue at several diets. The compromise they came to was to accept Ladislaus as king, not to crown him before he had reached maturity, aka not before they knew what kind of a guy he turned out to be. A delegation was sent to Emperor Friedrich III, requesting that the boy be raised in Bohemia, learn Czech, and become familiar with his future kingdom. Friedrich refused. The result was stalemate: Ladislaus was recognized but not ruling.
Friedrich III, in his function as Guardian of young Ladislaus, maintained links with the Bohemian barons. That involved for one, Ulrich of Rosenberg, the long standing leader of the catholic party and largest landholder in Bohemia. But he also built a relationship with the Utraquists, in particular with a young man by the name of Georg of Podiebrad, who in 1444 took over the leadership of his party.
Georg of Podiebrad was from a rich but not very old Bohemian family. His father had fought with Jan Zizka and the Hussites right from the very beginning of the revolt. When he was 14 he took part in the battle of Lipany when a coalition of Catholics and moderate Hussites defeated the radical Taborites. In 1438 he had fought against king Albrecht II.
Immediately after he had taken over as leader of the Utraquists, Bohemia descended once more into a civil war between the Catholics and the Hussites that lasted from 1444 to 1448. George of Podiebrad emerged victorious. The diet elected him as Landverweser, aka regent of the kingdom on behalf of the still absent Ladislaus. In 1451, just before his journey to Rome, Friedrich III recognized Georg of Podiebrad in his role as regent of Bohemia.
The two men seemingly got on really well. Piccolomini, who was at the time Friedrich III’s closest advisor called Podiebrad quote: “greatly experienced in warfare and commendable for his gifts of body and mind, except that he is infected with the folly of communion under both species and Hussitism”
Austria before 1452
Now for the third part of Ladislaus’ inheritance, Austria. Here, Friedrich III showed an unusual burst of energy. While he made no serious attempt to rule as regent in Bohemia or Hungary, in Austria he did — and with good reason. Of all the Habsburg lands, the duchy of Austria was the most lucrative after the silver mines of Schwaz. How else was he to fund his various tasks as Holy Roman Emperor.
Austria, or more precisely the guardianship over Ladislaus as duke of Austria came with some heavy baggage. As many a buccaneering acquiror had found out to his or her detriment, a P&L never comes alone, there is always a balance sheet attached. And in the case of the duchy of Austria that balance sheet was very much out of balance. Ladislaus’ father, Albrecht II had borrowed from the estates on an epic scale. He used the money to wage war against the Hussites and to support his father in law Sigismund financially. There were the 400,000 florins on his wedding day to Elisabeth, but even more loans and gifts over the decades. Some of it was covered by taxation, but still a huge amount had been given to him in the form of loans.
The estates now knocked on Friedrich’s door and asked for their money back. Meanwhile law and order in the duchy had fallen apart again. A decade had passed since Albrecht II had crushed the robber barons, and Friedrich’s cautious approach — coupled with empty coffers — allowed the bandits to return#. In 1450 things got so bad, Friedrich had to get out of his lethargy. He mobilized the ducal forces and captured 60 robbers who he had executed on the market square of Vienna.
Still the locals were not satisfied. They were further enraged when they heard about the agreement between Hunyadi and Friedrich that extended Ladislaus guardianship until the boy was 18.
Things were boiling over when on October 14, 1451 Friedrich announced his departure for Rome for his imperial coronation — and that he would take Ladislaus with him.
That same day 39 lords and city representatives met at the castle of Mailberg and swore not to rest until their rightful lord, young Ladislaus, was released from the clutches of his warden and was residing again in the Hofburg in Vienna.
The movement’s leader was Ulrich von Eyczing, a member of the Bavarian lower nobility who had become immensely rich in the service of Albrecht II. Eyczing had managed Albrecht’s finances from the moment Albrecht had taken control of the duchy of Austria. Piccolomini painted him as a shrewd and money grabbing parvenu, others saw him in a more positive light. But what he definitely, was, was a man who could whip up a crowd.
On December 12th he mounted the pulpit that stood on the Am Hof Square, the largest in medieval Vienna. His speech began by ventilating the well known grievances, the unpaid debt, the bandits and the absence of a duke in the Hofburg and then went on to claim that Friedrich kept their true lord, young Ladislaus in appalling conditions, more prisoner than ward. Then in a masterstroke of political theatre he presented Ladislaus’ sister Elizabeth, wearing rags as proof of Friedrich’s avarice and meanness.
That cut through. The oath of Mailberg was signed by another 250 nobles, towns and cities. Vienna deposed the mayor that Friedrich had just approved and replaced him with a new one who immediately renounced the city’s allegiance.
Friedrich was already en-route to Rome. He briefly considered to return and quell the revolt. But decided to press on, for one because it is never clear how long a window for an imperial coronation remains open, and also because Ladislaus was travelling with him to Rome, so whatever von Eyczing and his co-conspirators wanted to do with their rightful lord, they couldn’t.
Ladislaus was now 12 years old and as far as anyone made out, enjoyed his time in Rome and did not suffer any depravation from his older cousin, the emperor.
Return to Wiener Neustadt
in June 1452 Friedrich returned to Wiener Neustadt, with Ladislaus in tow, Ladislaus who was the nominal king of Bohemia, the nominal king of Hungary and the nominal Duke of Austria but ruled nothing.
Wiener Neustadt was Friedrich’s main residence. The town lies about fifty kilometres south of Vienna and, at the time, belonged to Styria rather than the duchy of Austria. Never at ease in Vienna, Friedrich had built himself a castle-palace there, decorated with curious monuments we will certainly return to later. The castle stood within extensive gardens, where the emperor devoted himself to his favourite pastime — gardening — a hobby his contemporaries found even stranger than his cryptic mottos and imagerie.
And if he had hoped he would come back to a joyous reception as the crowned emperor, he was sorely disappointed. Ulrich von Eyzing’s support in Austria had only grown in his absence. Amongst the many allies he found in Austria as well as in Bohemia, was Ulrich of Celje, the great uncle of little Ladislaus and major power player in Hungary. Ulrich had previously sought the support of Friedrich in his struggle against John Hunyadi for the supremacy in Hungary. But now he had joined the chorus of discontent, demanding the emperor hands over young Ladislaus.
For Friedrich, surrendering Ladislaus spelled the collapse of the powerbase he needed to be an effective emperor. When Friedrich III was elected in 1440 he was the most powerful Habsburg in decades if not centuries. As the eldest son of Ernst the Iron he owned Styria, Carinthia and Carniola as well as further Austria, the ancestral lands along the upper Rhine. As guardian of Sigismund of Tyrol, he controlled these rich lands, including the silver mines. And as guardian of Ladislaus he ruled the core duchy of Austria and exercised the rights of his ward in Hungary and Bohemia.
By 1452 much of that had already slipped away. He had very reluctantly released Sigismund of Tyrol from his guardianship in 1446. He had given Further Austria to his brother, Albrecht VI after the debacle of the Armagnac wars. I by the way made a mistake in one of the previous episodes where I ascribed the foundation of the University of Freiburg to Albrecht V. It was in fact Albrecht VI, the brother of Friedrich III who founded it.
If Friedrich III released Ladislaus from his guardianship, his resources would be limited to his duchies of Styria, Carinthia and Carniola, lovely places and in case of Styria prosperous, but nowhere near profitable enough to sustain imperial ambitions.
So, of course Friedrich III fought tooth and nail to keep hold of young Ladislaus and thereby his ability to rule the empire. No, of course not. He did sent a force to Vienna to suppress the rebellion, but this effort came to nought, possibly because he could not pay the soldiers. And when the two Ulrich, of Celje and of Eyzing showed up before Wiener Neustadt with an army of 4,000 militiamen from Vienna, he caved. Ladislaus moved to Vienna and for the next decade or so, Friedrich III barely ever left his beloved home in Wiener Neustadt, fretting, gardening and making babies with the lovely Eleonor of Portugal.
His inactivity was noticed all across the empire and criticism of his inability or unwillingness to discharge the duties of a nominal leader of Christendom reached a first peak when Constantinople fell in 1453 Yet neither that seismic event nor unrest at home could drag the emperor out of his flower beds.
We will explore the consequences of this long phase of imperial hibernation in the next two episodes.
Today, though, we turn to young Ladislaus, and the patchwork of lands he at least nominally ruled.
Ladislaus in Vienna
Even though the Austrians, Hungarians and Bohemians had formed a united front demanding the release of young Ladislaus, that was really the only point on which their interests aligned. Each party wanted to get hold of the rightful heir to their lands to anchor him in their culture and politics.
Ulrich von Eyczing wanted him to remain in Austria to stabilise the duchy and strengthen local authority. George of Podiebrad needed him in Prague to reconcile the Utraquists and old-school Catholics under his regency. John Hunyadi, ruling Hungary in the boy’s name, wanted Ladislaus to come to Buda to legitimise his de facto power. And Ulrich of Celle wanted that too, but for himself.
Unsurprisingly these four parties fell out almost immediately. On September 6th Ladislaus entered Vienna in a grand procession, organised by Ulrich von Eitzing. Only weeks later, a Hungarian delegation arrived, demanding that their king be handed over. In January 1453, Ladislaus travelled to Bratislava to receive the homage of his Hungarian subjects, but days later he was whisked back to Vienna.
The two protagonists present in Vienna, Ulrich von Eitzing and Ulrich of Celje, clashed hardest. Eyczing wanted the young duke to remain in Austria and restore order, while Celje urged him to pursue his rightful crowns in Hungary.
Eitzing could not let that happen. In September 1453 he led armed men into the Hofburg at night who apprehended Ladislaus, his sister and Ulrich von Celje in their sleep. At sword point, the terrified boy was forced to dismiss his uncle from all Hungarian offices and order him to leave Vienna. The next day Ladislaus confirmed John Hunyadi as his captain general in Hungary.
Ladislaus crowned king of Bohemia
Holding a blade to one’s throat is rarely the way into a boy’s heart, which may explain why Ladislaus was somewhat less enamoured of Ulrich von Eyczing than he had been. Within weeks, the boy was in Moravia, where George of Podiebrad assembled the Bohemian barons to swear him allegiance. On October 28th he is crowned king of Bohemia in St. Veit’s Cathedral with the crown of St. Wenceslaus.
At last, he held all his titles — King of Bohemia, King of Hungary, and Archduke of Austria — though how much power came with them was another matter.
After his departure from Vienna, the estates established a council of regents that declared they would administer the state until Ladislaus turned 20. In Hungary, John Hunyadi braced the kingdom for the next Ottoman assault that was as inevitable as drizzle in London. And in Bohemia, where Ladislaus now resided, real power lay with George of Podiebrad, whose influence grew all the greater with the young king under his roof.
The battle of Belgrade 1456
Into this already unstable situation came another wave of Ottoman attacks. Pope Nicholas V had called for a new crusade after the fall of Constantinople, but responses were tepid. Friedrich III convened three imperial diets between 1454 and 1456, attending only one — the one held in his hometown of Wiener Neustadt. These diets painted the now familiar picture of a dithering, indecisive, and as some claimed, cowardly monarch. Whether he was indeed any such thing is not relevant, because the perception struck and the facts spoke for themselves.
When the Ottomans struck Serbia and Hungary, no help came from the empire. The Hungarians, bitterly divided, rallied around their greatest soldier, John Hunyadi.
The enemy’s target was Belgrade, the gateway to Central Europe. The city stands at the junction of the Danube and Sava, just upriver of the Iron Gates. Every crusade to the east that had not travelled by ship via Venice, Genoa or Pisa, had passed this way. Now the Ottomans were coming the other direction.
Belgrade had always been a heavily fortified town, but between 1404 and 1427 it had been turned into one of the most extensive and most advanced military complex in europe. On the hill in the centre of town stood the fortress. That was surrounded by the walled upper town which held the garrisons and armouries and then the lower town surrounded by another, a third wall with only four major gates. Two sides were protected by the rivers Sava and Danube.
Sultan Mehmed II, conqueror of Constantinople, came prepared. He brought 22 great cannon, between 20 and 200 ships to seal the river, and as somewhere between 30,000 and 100,000 men — a host nearly as large and as well-equipped as the one that had breached the Theodosian Walls.
Against him stood 7,000 men inside the city of Belgrade and two relief armies coming down the Danube river. Of the relief forces, one was Hunyadi’s professional army of veterans — perhaps 10–12,000 men hardened by decades of fighting. They had campaigned with him from 1442 to 1444, bloodied the Ottomans at Varna, and survived the disaster of 1448.
The second was a force of roughly 30,000 peasant-crusaders, inspired and rallied by the fiery Franciscan preacher Giovanni Capistrano. Few had proper weapons; many carried pitchforks and flails. They did, however, possess a makeshift flotilla — perhaps 200 small ships — to challenge the Ottoman blockade.
The battle became part of the Hungarian national myth and was recently turned into a Netflix series called The Rise of the Raven, based itself on a series of bestselling books.
Mehmed II reached Belgrade before Hunyadi. He encircled the city by land and sealed the river. His giant cannon started pounding the town’s outside wall in preparation for a final assault. Hearing of Hunyadi’s approach, the sultan might have intercepted him — but he did not, he gambled he could take the city first. He was wrong.
When Hunyadi arrived, Belgrade was still holding out. To reach the city, he launched a daring river assault. In a five-hour battle, his ships broke through the Ottoman blockade and resupplied the garrison.
That was a setback, but Mehmet never intended to starve the city, but to storm it. For that he needed to break the walls with his cannon, which were now pounding the walls day and night. The defenders who had cannon of their own responded in kind and killed the commander of the Ottoman forces, Karaca Pasha.
On July 21st, 1456 a breach opened, and Mehmet sent in his elite troops, the Janissaries. In a running street the Ottoman forces hacked their way towards the centre of town, one house and one street at a time. Hunyadi ordered the defenders to gather all flammable material and build barricades of tarred wood throughout the city. Wherever the Janissaries broke through, he ordered his archers to set these wooden barricades alight. A wall of fire swept through the city, cutting the attackers off. Surrounded and isolated, the Janissaries were overwhelmed and massacred.
Meanwhile their comrades fighting on the other side of the wall of fire were pinned down by the Hungarian relief forces and suffered heavy losses.
By nightfall, both sides withdrew to their camps.
The next morning, discipline collapsed. Capistrano’s crusaders poured from the gates to plunder abandoned Ottoman positions and stumbled into fresh fighting. More and more men joined from either side until it turned into a full scale battle. Capistrano could no longer hold back and the peasant crusaders stormed out of Belgrade. Hunyadi had no choice but to follow. He struck for the Ottoman artillery, expecting the Ottomans to concentrate on defending their cannon and with it their only chance to take Belgrade. That eased the pressure on the crusaders who managed to break through the Ottoman lines. They captured the Ottoman camp and Hunyadi took the artillery.
Mehmed II rallied his troops and led them personally in a counterattack. Encouraged by their sultan’s bravery his beaten-up forces recovered their camp. But they could go no further. Mehmet II had been injured in the attack and their cannon were lost.
In the night they buried their dead, put their wounded on to carts and headed back to Constantinople.
The road to Hungary remained closed. Belgrade had held. The Ottoman tide would not reach it again for another seventy years.
The Aftermath
The victory at Belgrade sent shockwaves across Europe. Pope Calixtus III, the first of the Borgias, proclaimed a perpetual thanksgiving: every church bell would ring at midday, calling Christians to pray three Our Fathers and one Ave Maria in gratitude for deliverance from the Turks. The midday bell still rings today, its origin largely forgotten.
As for the victors — John Hunyadi and Giovanni Capistrano — neither lived to enjoy their success. Both died within weeks, victims of the bubonic plague that swept through the crusader camp.
With John Hunyadi gone, Hungary fell into political limbo. The young king Ladislaus had left for the safety of Vienna when news of the Ottoman advance had reached Buda, but after the great victory, he returned. At sixteen, crowned and recognised, he was expected to take full control of his realm and appoint his great-uncle Ulrich of Celje as Captain General in Hunyadi’s place.
The dead hero’s sons, László and Matthias, saw danger in every move. Their father and Ulrich of Celje had been bitter enemies, and they knew the new Captain General would come for them. Ulrich of Celje soon demanded repayment of fabricated debts and the surrender of the Hunyadi estates. The claim failed, but the hostility deepened.
In November 1456, Ulrich and King Ladislaus travelled to Belgrade to take possession of the fortress, commanded by László Hunyadi. As they ascended the ramparts, their men quartered in the upper town. The next morning, László struck first: Ulrich of Celje was dead.
At first, the terrified king feigned reconciliation, even promising the Hunyadi widow that her sons were safe. But once back in Buda, he had them seized. László was condemned for murder and publicly executed; Matthias was imprisoned.
For the first time, Ladislaus Postumus had acted like a monarch — ruthless, decisive, unflinching. But power in Hungary rested not with the crown but with sixty great magnate families, and their reaction would decide whether the boy-king ruled or merely reigned.
Ladislaus did not stick around to find out what happens to a man who kills the son of Europe’s Saviour and Hungarian National hero. He fled to Bohemia, taking Matthias Hunyadi with him as a hostage
In Prague, his regent George of Podiebrad cared less about judicial niceties and welcomed him with royal honours and arranged a glittering marriage alliance with the French crown.
Days before the nuptials, Ladislaus Postumus, King of Hungary, King of Bohemia and archduke of Austria keeled over and died. Rumours of poison spread and persisted for centuries, until in 1984 his grave was opened and his skeleton examined. Ladislaus Postumus had died of Leukaemia.
And thus, most unexpectedly the boy king, the plaything of his magnates and hope of his many subjects was gone.
Who was to inherit these crowns and duchies? His closest male relative was the emperor Friedrich III. So this must be the moment the famous Austro-Hungarian monarchy came into being. Friedrich III got to rule most of Central europe, his money problems are over and the empire can be put on a track to centralisation and consolidation of imperial power. Oh boy, oh boy – next week we will see how this is so not at all happening.
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