The Council of Twelve

  “Ah, Your Excellency!” Lohmiller greeted the prince when he saw him. He bowed, too, though not as low as the courtiers in the park. “Do you want to ride out with your young friend before your violin lesson?”

  “I’d love to,” Max sighed. “And ideally, I’d break my arm while riding so I wouldn’t have to attend stupid Kerll’s music class.” He shook himself. “But no, we’re here for something else. Do you still have Arthur’s leash? You were going to fix it.”

  “The leash from your dog?” Lohmiller scratched his head. “Hmm, I’m very sorry, young sir. I haven’t fixed it yet. But I’m sure you can have a new one—”

  “You don’t need to fix it,” Peter interjected. “We just want to take a quick look at it.”

  “Look at it?” Lohmiller stared at Peter as if he’d only just noticed him. Then he shrugged. “I think it’s somewhere by the other leather things that need to be fixed, in my room. Wait here.” He walked over to the long building and soon returned with a leash. It was about six feet long and made of leather; the collar was decorated with pearls and tiny diamonds. Peter guessed this leash alone was worth as much as two warhorses.

  “There you go,” Lohmiller said and handed the leash to Peter. “Although I don’t really understand what you want with it.” He waited, curious to see what happened next.

  Peter looked at the collar, which was indeed torn in one place.

  “Like I told you,” Max said quietly. “Arthur tore himself free. There’s nothing special about it.”

  Peter ran his finger over the tear, thinking. The leash was made of the finest calf leather and had been greased well; every pearl and diamond was still in its place. No precious stone had fallen out. Peter handed it back to Lohmiller.

  “Could you do us a favor?” he asked. “Could you please pull on both ends as hard as you can?”

  The head groom laughed. “Your requests are getting stranger and stranger.” He looked at Max, and when the prince nodded, he pulled on the leash so the muscles on his arms bulged under his shirt.

  “Is that enough?” he gasped after a while.

  “Yes, that’s enough,” Peter replied. “Thank you very much. You can take the leash back now.”

  “As you wish. Always a pleasure, young sirs.” Shaking his head, the groom disappeared into the stables, and Max stared at Peter uncomprehendingly.

  “If that was some kind of trick, you’ll have to explain.”

  Peter smiled. “Not a trick, just an experiment. That’s what you do in science, I read about it. You make observations and draw conclusions.”

  “And what conclusions did you draw?” Max asked with interest.

  “Well, the leather is strong enough that not even that bear of a head groom can break it. And something else.” Peter paused dramatically.

  “Stop keeping me in suspense,” Max complained. “What else?”

  “The tear in the collar is smooth. When leather rips, the edge is soft and fibrous. I know that from the Schongau tanneries. This leash didn’t tear, it was cut.”

  “Cut?” Max’s jaw dropped for a moment. “But . . . but . . . that means . . .”

  “That means your nursemaid was lying. She or someone else cut the collar and abducted the dog.” Peter crossed his arms on his chest in satisfaction. “Quod erat demonstrandum. That’s Latin, and it means which was to be proven.”

  Max turned purple with rage. “Amalie is going to regret this, I swear! I’m going to tell my father, and he’ll throw her into the deepest hole, where worms and bugs can eat her, and—”

  “Is that really what you want?” Peter interrupted him. “Because that’s probably exactly what’s going to happen.”

  “No, damn it, that’s not what I want.” Max groaned. “Amalie is really nice, I’ve known her longer than I can remember. I have no idea why she’d do something like that. She loves Arthur almost as much as I do.” He clenched his fists. “But if I don’t tell my father, I’ll never get Arthur back. What a quagmire! What are we supposed to do?”

  “I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” Peter said. “We’ll watch Amalie. That’s what you do when you’re trying to catch a thief. I know that from my father. He says they all make a mistake sooner or later.”

  “But I can’t watch her,” Max objected. “She knows me. She’d become suspicious right away. And I’m not allowed to leave the Residenz, and she’s always going into town for something or other.”

  “Hmm, yes, she knows you . . . But . . .” Peter thought. Suddenly, his face brightened. “I know who’s going to watch Amalie for us when she goes to town.”

  “And who’s that?”

  Peter grinned. “It’s a surprise. I don’t think you could find any better noses for the job.”

  Suddenly he felt a pleasant tingle spreading from his scalp to his toes. They had found a lead, just like dogs following a scent. For the first time, Peter understood why his father and grandfather kept chasing rogues.

  It was incredibly fun.

  Barbara was also enjoying the almost-springlike sun while she tried to forget about her uncertain future for a few hours.

  She stood with Conrad Näher on a rise outside Munich and gazed at the panorama of the city, with its churches, patrician palaces, tall stone buildings, and the angular projections of the fortifications surrounding the city wall. In the center, the two domed towers of the huge church could be seen far into the countryside on a clear day like today. Barbara wondered if the tall church could be seen from Hoher Peißenberg, the mountain around Schongau that marked the border of her home.

  Näher had turned up around noon at the executioner’s house with a bunch of dried flowers and invited Barbara to join him for a walk. Apparently, the meeting had finished earlier than expected, and she could imagine why.

  Barbara had felt like declining. The pregnancy was making her nauseated, and she was still sore from her fall at the cemetery the day before. Michael Deibler had told her about Hans’s death, that he had been executed like a traitor. Strangely, she hadn’t been filled with happiness at the news, but more with a sense of dread. Like Deibler and her father, she didn’t believe an angry mob of citizens was responsible for Hans’s death. Someone was lurking out there, and she wondered who the next victim was going to be.

  Apart from that, she just didn’t know what to do. Marry Conrad Näher, this friendly, gallant executioner from Kaufbeuren, who was almost as old as her father? Or simply run away? Because her sister was right on one point: she couldn’t go back to Schongau. Only a few more weeks and she wouldn’t be able to hide the pregnancy any longer, and Barbara didn’t want to put her family and herself through what would inevitably follow.

  Conrad Näher had been standing next to her in silence for a while. Something seemed to be on his mind, and Barbara suspected it had to do with Hans’s death and the meeting of the council that morning. Suddenly he squeezed her hand, and she gave a start. A cold breeze made her shiver. Out here, with hardly anyone around, she had dared to put on Näher’s silk scarf.

  “A beautiful view, isn’t it?” Näher said with a gesture at the city in front of them. “When you see Munich on a sunny day like this, it’s hard to imagine the suffering that went on here only a few decades ago.”

  “What do you mean?” Barbara asked, glad for the distraction.

  “Well, the Swedes didn’t manage to storm the city, but Munich had to pay a huge ransom. The countryside around the city was ravaged. And then came the Plague. More than half the people of Munich died.” Näher sighed. “But now that Elector Ferdinand Maria and his foreign wife rule the country, Munich is blossoming like a rose in May. It’s almost a miracle.”

  Barbara thought of all the young maids, the traveling journeymen, the rag collectors, peddlers, old mercenaries, orphans, and beggars in the suburbs, who would love to smell the rose but weren’t allowed to. The dead girls had belonged to those people, too. She was about to reply when Näher spoke again with a timid voice.

  “My dear Barbara,”
he began awkwardly. “I want to be honest with you. I . . . I understand the decision to marry isn’t an easy one for you. I’m not the youngest man, and I can’t promise you heaven on earth. And also, the last few days . . .” He smiled sadly. “Well, I’m sure you noticed that we hangmen don’t have the best reputation. But you already know that from home.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m not the worst prospect, as the Kaufbeuren executioner. I have money and a big house that’s waiting to be filled with the patter of children’s feet.”

  Barbara blushed and turned away, but Conrad Näher continued, more eagerly now. “I know your father wants to force you to marry, but I don’t believe in that. A wife who bawls her eyes out all day long only brings you the ridicule of your neighbors. I don’t need a wife like that. You have to want it, Barbara. But we don’t have much time. The city is raging because of those damned murders, trying to blame us hangmen for them. They already lynched Master Hans, and no one knows what’s going to happen next. Deibler and Widmann wanted to dissolve the council today. I asked them to wait two more days. Two days, then we all go our separate ways again.” Conrad Näher looked at her intently. “I’m afraid you must decide now, Barbara. Do you want to come to Kaufbeuren with me?”

  Barbara felt nausea rising up in her again. She needed to sit down. But there was no bench on the rise, not even a tree trunk. Only a faded wayside cross and a stone that marked the border of a village called Sendling. A handful of farmhouses stood on either side of the village street, and farther down was a little church with a tavern next to it. Barbara could hear faint music coming from inside.

  “Can we go there?” she asked with a trembling voice and pointed at the tavern. “I . . . feel a little faint. And it’s still quite cold when the sun disappears behind a cloud.”

  Näher eyed her closely. Did he suspect something? But then he nodded and gently placed his coat around her shoulders. “Of course. It’s better to discuss such matters in the warmth over a jug of beer or some mulled wine, anyway.”

  They walked down to the tavern with its freshly painted shutters. Smoke rose from the chimney; two horses were tied to a post and chewed on oats from a feeding trough. Inside, the tavern smelled deliciously of freshly baked bread and smoked sausages.

  Only a few patrons sat at the tables during this part of the day—most of them farmers who hadn’t much to do this time of year. Three musicians played a fast folk song. They were a young violinist, an older man with a wheel fiddle, and a flute player with a dark complexion who also played the tambourine. They didn’t seem to play so much for their sparse audience as for themselves, laughing out loud in the middle of the song or taking breaks for sips of beer. They were cheerful, boyish men, and Barbara particularly liked the young blond violinist—a jaunty lad whose teeth gleamed white and whose eyes had an intelligent and curious look about them.

  When Barbara and Näher sat down at a table near the musicians, the violinist gave her a playful smile and fiddled a wild series of notes. For a brief moment, Barbara felt like he played only for her. She returned the smile bashfully.

  Conrad Näher ordered a beer for himself and a cup of mulled wine for Barbara, which really did make her feel better. The nausea disappeared and a warm feeling spread in her chest, aided by the music. But Conrad Näher’s serious expression told her that she couldn’t put off this conversation any longer.

  “Barbara, if you’ve got something to tell me, you should do so now.” His hand reached for hers, and she winced again. “I’m not blind, girl. My late wife wasn’t so fortunate as to have children of her own, but many young women sought us out for help, some desperate, others joyful. If you know what I mean . . .” He paused, and Barbara swallowed hard. She’d been right, Näher did suspect something. But she also knew there was no way back once she confessed. If she told the Kaufbeuren hangman about her pregnancy, she was at his mercy. Who was to say he wouldn’t tell her father right away?

  “I, um . . . ,” she began, clearing her throat. “Well . . .” She desperately searched for the right words.

  Just then, a younger man who’d been sitting at the back of the room stepped to their table. He was around thirty, although his face had something childlike about it. With his tight red vest, fur-collared coat, and the hat he’d playfully pushed to the back of his head, he looked like a typical dandy from the city. He was unquestionably attractive, but Barbara didn’t like the arrogant smile on his fleshy lips.

  “What a surprise!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms. “It’s good old Conrad. How small the world is.”

  Näher winced when he saw the man. Then he nodded reluctantly.

  “Greetings, Sebastian,” he grumbled. “What brings you to Sendling?”

  “My father’s business dealings. Fustian is expensive, especially here in Munich, where the foreigners ruin the prices. So I’m looking for weavers in the wider region who can offer us a better price.” The man winked at Barbara. “And if the business talks end in a good game of dice and a glass of wine, I’m not one to complain.”

  “Well then, good luck with your gambling and business talks.” Näher turned away, clearly eager to end the conversation. But the other man wasn’t fobbed off that easily.

  “What a pretty girl you have there,” he said with a smile. “You aren’t trying to find yourself a wife, are you?”

  Barbara thought Näher grew a little paler. “Her father is the Schongau hangman,” he said quietly. “As you might have heard, we hangmen are holding a meeting in Munich.”

  “Oh, and of course there’s always enough time for a little fun,” the stranger said with a grin. “And why not?” He turned to Barbara. “Especially if the hangman’s girl is so young and pretty. How old are you, darling?”

  “I can’t see how that’s any of your business,” Barbara said, disliking the man’s tone. She thought she detected a silent threat. “And now please leave us alone.”

  “Of course, I didn’t mean to disturb the cozy rendezvous. Pardon my intrusion.” The young man took a bow. “I was about to leave anyhow. I’ll be back in Munich this evening—perhaps I’ll see you around.” Chuckling, he walked to the door.

  “Who in God’s name was that?” Barbara asked with disgust when they were alone again. “Do you know that man well?”

  Näher shook his head. He clearly felt uncomfortable, biting his lip nervously. “No, it’s . . . more of a superficial acquaintance. Nothing that . . .” He faltered, then he suddenly stood up. “Please excuse me. I must speak privately with Sebastian. You know the way back to Munich.”

  Barbara stared at him with shock. “But—” she started.

  “It’s not about you,” Näher said, cutting her off. “It’s something between men. An old story. But I don’t know how long this conversation is going to take, so you might as well head back to the city.” His eyes flickered and he rummaged in his pockets. He pulled out a few coins and put them on the table. “That should be enough for the beer and wine. I will send you word when we can meet again. God bless you.”

  His coat billowing behind him, Conrad Näher rushed after the stranger. The door slammed shut and Barbara was alone. She had been too stunned to even say goodbye to Näher. What had come over him? Just a moment ago he had urged her to choose a life with him in Kaufbeuren, and now he was running away like a thief in the night. What on earth did he and that strange dandy have to talk about?

  The musicians now played a slow song with a mournful melody that put Barbara in a melancholy mood. She had almost confided in Näher and revealed her secret. She had probably been close to agreeing to marry him. But now she was no longer sure what was right and what was wrong. She put her head in her hands and started to cry, silently at first, then sobbing as the tears fell into her cup of mulled wine. How she longed for her older sister right now. But Magdalena had her own problems, and at the end of the day, she couldn’t help her, either.

  No one could.

  She was so lost in her misery that Barbara didn’t notice the music stopp
ing. She jumped with fright when she looked up. The young violin player had sat down at her table and was looking at her sympathetically.

  “Whatever happened, there’s no reason to cry so much,” he said. “Was it our music? If it was too sad, I can easily rectify that. Do you know the song about dumb Augustus?” He picked up his fiddle and played a cheerful tune, moving his head from side to side like a little dog. He looked so funny that Barbara couldn’t help but smile.

  “There you go, that’s better.” The young man put his violin aside. “But don’t you dare start crying again, or I’ll play all thirty-three verses. It makes you awfully dizzy. I always do it when a robber tries to attack me. I make the scoundrel spin round and round until he spins right into the Isar River.”

  Now Barbara laughed out loud. She wiped the tears from her face and took a closer look at the young man. Again she noticed his lively eyes, his small frame, and the fine features of his face, soft fluff growing on his chin. His hair was flaxen, and his nose covered in freckles despite it being winter, which gave him a slightly mischievous look. Barbara guessed he was about the same age as she.

  “Your music was beautiful,” she said. “Do you often play here?”

  The violin player shrugged and nodded at the two other musicians, who were packing away their instruments. “Hans and Ludwig are from around here; I usually play in Munich. Today was just a rehearsal. A wealthy Sendling farmer is getting married in two weeks, and we’re providing the music. We need enough songs for the whole night and half the day.”

  “So you . . . you’re a traveling musician?” Barbara knew this kind of musician from Schongau. They traveled from place to place, together with jugglers and other itinerant artists, and played for a few coins and somewhere to sleep.

  “A pauper musician?” The young man raised his eyebrows with indignation. “Oh, no! I’m a Munich town musician. I’m officially permitted to play at weddings and other celebrations for money. I have a steady income and a roof over my head. Not like those roaming rogues.”