It must be remembered that for three years the lands had been left uncultivated; and trade, except where carried on by Germans, had been totally paralysed. The consequence of these misfortunes was a terrible famine. Unemployed workmen and starving peasants crowded into Prague and enforced by violence their demands for food and clothing. Driven out by the authorities of the city, they perished of cold in the woods; large holes were filled with the dead bodies; family affection ceased in the bitter struggle for life; and, when all kinds of strange food had been tried and exhausted, mothers killed and ate their own children.
At last, in 1283, a better harvest began to restore some hope for a return to human conditions of life. Then wild rumours and speculations fed the rising expectation. A beautiful rainbow was the source of bright prophecies; and a half belief began to arise in some minds that King Ottakar was not really dead, and would return in triumph. Suddenly a definite announcement took the place of dreams and fancies. Not Ottakar, but his son Wenceslaus, was to return to reign in Bohemia. Base and sordid to the last, Otto had demanded from the half-starved Bohemians a ransom of 35,000 marks, as compensation for what he called his care and expense in guarding the young Bohemian king, in reality as a bribe not to break any more promises. But the sum was paid, and no doubt willingly.
There is something inexpressibly touching in the enthusiasm which greeted the return of the twelve-year-old king. Men, hardly recovered from years of starvation and plague, seemed at once convinced that at last a better time was coming; and on June 9, 1283, barons, knights, clergy, citizens, and peasants flocked out to meet the young king, Bishop Tobias leading the motley throng, and all singing the hymn of St. Adalbert, the opening words of which had served Ottakar as a war-cry at the fatal battle of the Marchfeld.
But the troubles of Bohemia were not yet at an end. The boy followed his most natural instinct in appealing to his mother to join him in Prague. Unfortunately, Kunigunda had in the meantime formed a connection which proved most dangerous to the peace and order of the country. Zavis̆ of Falkenstein belonged to a noble family of Moravia, and he had succeeded in securing the queen’s affection during her residence in Opava. Whether the marriage, which was recognised at a later time, had already taken place, or whether, as some said, their connection was one of illicit love, certain it is that it was the affection between them, rather than the form of its expression, which excited the indignation and jealousy of the Bohemian nobles; and Zavis̆ soon justified that indignation.