1521

The Diet of Worms had gone just as Martin Luther had expected. During the three-day trial, Luther had repeatedly been brought to face the council, presided over by the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, himself. An honor to be sure, but one that would only help fuel Luther’s reformation. Monarchs, whether they be kings or emperors, should have no authority over the will of God.

At first, Luther made a show of repentance, even going so far as to extend the trial by requesting time to consider his answer. But he had known the moment he was summoned to appear before the Diet what his answer would be. He refused to recant any of his writings, issuing the challenge to the council that unless it could convince him by Holy Scripture of his errors, he would recant nothing. The challenge went unmet, as the council was unable to support its accusations with scriptural evidence.

His stand against the Church had not been well received by clergy and many faithful, on the surface at least. But it mattered little. Everything was going according to plan. Perhaps too well, Luther thought as he rode back to Wittenberg, Germany. He left the town of Worms before a final edict had been issued, but he already knew what the council’s decision would be. The emperor would declare Luther an outlaw, no doubt banning his writings and demanding his arrest.

Despite his resolve, a shudder ran through him. He would face the very real possibility of being killed on sight. Being labeled a notorious heretic would provoke dogmatists to come after him. He couldn’t help wondering if Septem Montes had planned for this as well. Making him a martyr would surely fuel the revolts that had already broken out across Germany, solidifying his reformation. With only a few in the Church aware of the plan Pope Innocent VIII had entrusted to him three decades prior, Luther would need to act carefully going forward. He knew he had Pope Leo X’s blessing, despite the fact the pontiff had issued an edict excommunicating him several months before. But Luther had little fear for his eternal soul. This was God’s Will, after all.

Everything he had done was in accordance with Septem Montes, the Seven Hills Project Pope Julius II had devised half a century earlier.

Lost in thought, Luther nearly missed the pounding of horse hooves behind him. He peered through the carriage’s rear window, but despite the height of the May sun, the forest was dark, obscuring his view. Someone―rather, half a dozen someones―were rapidly approaching, a cloud of dust billowing behind them. Highwaymen? Fear compelled Luther to whip the reins, urging his horse to go faster, even though he knew there was no way a horse pulling a two-wheeled carriage could outrun a group of riders. Immediately, he regretted his decision to reject the offer of Prince Frederick III, Elector of Saxony, to secure safe passage for him to and from the trial. Yet once the emperor’s decision was announced, even the prince himself would be punished for aiding Luther.

“They’re not here for me,” Luther told himself. How could anyone have possibly known he would be traveling this road? True, this was the most direct route to Wittenberg, but most travelers chose to go the long way, avoiding the forest entirely. Cast in shadow even at midday, the road through the dark forest was indeed disconcerting. Luther took this route for that very reason. The fewer people he encountered, the better.

The six riders continued to barrel toward him. Luther pulled his hat further over his eyes and veered his coach to one side, hoping the riders would continue past without paying him any heed. He couldn’t be overtaken now, not when he still had so much work to do. His reformation had only just begun.

Within a heartbeat, the horsemen surrounded him, forcing his gig to a halt. He froze as each masked rider aimed an arrow at his chest. So they really were here to kill him. It didn’t matter whether their target was his money or his soul. Dying here would end everything. For all of his training to no longer fear the flesh, his heart raced and his hands became so slick with sweat, Luther could scarcely keep hold of the reins. He said a silent prayer, begging the Lord to

allow him to live long enough to complete his work. His tutors had insisted that should he not fulfill his role in Septem Montes, Luther would forfeit his salvation. Eternal damnation would be all that awaited him.

He reached for the small coin purse tucked beneath his robes, hoping to barter for his life, only to hesitate when one of the men dismounted. Pulling his sword on Luther, the man climbed into the carriage. Pulling a length of rope from his pocket, he tied Luther’s hands together, securing them to the side of the gig. Then he retrieved a burlap sack from another pocket and after a moment’s hesitation, pulled it over Luther’s head. “Forgive us, Professor Luther,” the man whispered.

Just as Luther feared, this wasn’t a simple heist. The men were operating under someone’s orders. But whose? For a moment, he worried that Pope Leo X had rescinded his promise, but Luther quickly dismissed it. Septem Montes was too important. Even if the pope were fool enough to go against the plan, others within the Church would never allow it. Still, doubt crept in—an uncertainty that had plagued him since the beginning. It didn’t have to be him. If he failed, the Church would simply start again. The work was important, but not necessarily the man.

The reins cracked and the carriage lurched forward. Where are they taking me? Fear began to smother Luther, more suffocating than the burlap hood secured around his neck. If they were planning to kill him, why not just be done with it? What better place to make someone disappear without a trace than this dark forest?

Bereft of his sight, Luther tried focusing on his other senses—the breeze against his bound hands, the creak of the wheels as they rolled along the dirt road. He hadn’t felt the coach turn around, so he doubted they were taking him back to Worms and the emperor. That meant they were continuing north, toward Wittenberg. Although it was his home, he knew Wittenberg was not safe. Nowhere in Germany would be safe for him.

Beyond Wittenberg lay Berlin. Did the emperor plan to make an example of him? Burn him at the stake like the Waldensians three centuries before? No—although he ruled the most powerful empire in the world, even the emperor was still a vassal of the pope. During the long and arduous ride, the uncertainty of whether he still had a role within Septem Montes weighed heavily on Luther. He offered up frequent and fervent prayers, yet his anxiety remained. His captors spoke little and only stopped when Luther insisted he be allowed to relieve himself. The bits of light he could see through the weave of the sack hood gradually extinguished as dusk fell, yet the men continued on their course as fast as the horses could carry them.

Luther had fallen asleep at some point, and when he opened his eyes, the carriage was stopped, and sunlight peeked through the hood. The man beside him untied Luther’s hands from the side of the coach, but still he could not move. Every muscle in his body ached with the stiffness of remaining in the same position throughout the long journey. Luther felt a tug on the rope binding his hands.

“This way,” the man said. Another grabbed Luther’s arm, supporting him as he stepped down from the gig. Gravel crunched beneath his feet. The only other sound came from the early morning songs of birds. No horses, squeaky wagon wheels, no children playing, no venders hawking their wares. None of the usual sounds of a bustling city.

The bird songs faded, and the gravel gave way to smooth stone as the men led him into a building, their footsteps echoing off the surrounding walls. Still, no one said a word. Finally, they sat Luther in a chair, untied the binds at his wrists and removed the burlap hood. Six men stood before him.

“Welcome to Warburg Castle, Professor Luther,” one of the men said. “Forgive us for the rough treatment, but we had to cover your head, lest anyone see you and know you were brought here.”

“But why…,” Luther began, but the rest of the words failed him.

“His Highness, Prince Frederick III, ordered it so. He guaranteed you safe passage to and from the Diet of Worms, but when you fled, this was his solution—to make it appear as though you had been kidnapped. The prince will return from Worms in another couple of days. Until then, you are to stay here and keep out of sight. And while you are here, we will refer to you as the Knight George.”

Again, Luther wanted to ask why, but he could only stare at them. “The emperor has not yet issued his final edict,” another man said, “but the prince feels it will most certainly not be in your favor. As only the prince and the six of us know your identity, it would behoove us for you to pose as the Knight George and await His Highness’s return.”

The men each bowed, and then left the room, closing the door quietly behind them. Luther sat in silence for a long moment. When the shock finally subsided, he offered a prayer of gratitude. Prince Frederick was taking an enormous risk in harboring a notorious heretic, but with the prince’s assistance, Luther would be able to complete his work. His Ninety-five Theses had been the first hammer blow, the first fissure in the great foundation of the Church, but more strikes were needed to awaken the masses, to make the people question what they had believed all their lives.

Seeing a small desk situated against a wood-paneled wall near the room’s only window, Luther stood and walked to it. The men had set his meager belongings on the desk―his Bible, his theses, and his other writings. They had left a stack of blank pages, a quill, and small bottle of black ink.

Luther debated writing to his tutors and informing them of his whereabouts, but quickly decided against it. If the letter were intercepted, he would not be the only one at risk. If the emperor discovered where Luther was hiding, everyone in Wartburg Castle would be punished, whether they knew his true identity or not. The days turned to weeks as Luther awaited Prince Frederick III’s return and news of his punishment. Despite what the Church considered the actions of a heretic, word of his trial had spread, adding fuel to the fire of his reformation. But it was not enough. Luther needed to get the people out from under the apron of the Mother Church, or his reformation risked the same fate as the Waldensians’. He knew Christians needed to nurture their own faith, instead of blindly following their priests or bishops.

As Luther paced his small room, seeking guidance from familiar Bible passages, the truth struck him. “This,” he thought as he closed the book and felt the weight of it in his hands. How blessed he was to be able to read the Word of God for himself. Not many in his country could read, but even fewer could read anything but their native language. Typically only clergy were taught Ancient Greek, the language of the Bible. To get the Word of God into the hands of the people, it needed to be translated.

Luther chose to begin with the New Testament, painstakingly translating each book from Ancient Greek into German, the people’s language. He worked day and night, spending nearly every waking moment hunched over the small desk in his room. He repeatedly sent one of his six caretakers out for more paper and ink.

Translating offered Luther a fresh look at the beloved scriptures he knew so well, and as he labored, the work steeled his resolve. Luther believed earnestly in what he had written in his Ninety-five Theses and other volumes, crafting new theses as inspiration struck. His tutors would have him believe that everything he wrote about was a lie, fabricated to bring about a reformation of the Church that would return its lost children into the fold when the time was right.

No. The Church didn’t need a staged reformation. It needed a real one. Using the pretext of continuing his work on Septem Montes, Luther grew his reformation under his own design. He enlisted the help of supporters like Andreas Karlstadt and Gabriel Zwilling to head a revolutionary reform agenda in Wittenberg while he remained in hiding at Wartburg. If his tutors got wind of his establishing a new church instead of the intended false branch of Catholicism, they would no doubt sanction his death.

Nearly a year after going into hiding, Luther finally completed his translation of the New Testament. He returned to Wittenberg in disguise, uncertain of the state of the reformation.

Zealots, calling themselves Zwickau prophets, had turned the social order into utter chaos. Their radical doctrines incited riots, a problem for the town council, but Luther was grateful for the religious confusion the zealots created. It paved the way for him to reestablish himself as a conservative influence within the reformation.