It was enough to make you want to spew.
Matthias stole quietly through the alleyways around Haymarket. A man of his rank should have been on horseback, but a rider would attract attention to himself. Even in weather like this the night watchmen would be going about their business. It was not the best moment to be seen.
He had spent the last two hours finding out everything Urquhart needed to know to put an end to this mess once and for all. Matthias was under no illusion that they could silence everyone who had heard of Gerhard’s violent death. All the better if they could, of course. He didn’t imagine the Fox and Jaspar Rodenkirchen would have gone around telling everybody and anybody, but that was pure speculation on his part. The important thing was to eliminate Kuno. If Kuno talked, then he and his new friends had time before daybreak to ruin everything. Any influential person in Cologne would believe Kuno, and he could count on leniency from his judges if he gave evidence against them. A prattling beggar or a drunken priest, on the other hand, did not represent a serious danger to the Overstolzes.
Or, to be precise, a danger to me, thought Matthias. What are the others to me? They can lead the Kones or Heinrich, Daniel or Theoderich to the block for all I care.
In a few hours it would all be over anyway.
But first there was this night to get through. Urquhart had one more task before he could carry out the deed Matthias was longing to see. It gave him grim satisfaction to think that, however much what he was about to do ran counter to Johann’s wishes, it would receive Blithildis’s approval. She was the only person he really admired. She was an Overstolz, she was strength, power, even if she was blind and tied to her chair. She should have been his mother, not Johann’s.
He quickly went over what he had found out. Urquhart’s hostage was a Richmodis von Weiden. She lived on the Brook, together with her father. He knew the house. Jaspar von Rodenkirchen had no other relatives, only a servant, a cook, and a cleaning woman. Where the two women were, he had no idea. The servant was dead.
They were doomed. Urquhart would find them.
Suddenly Matthias felt the confidence well up inside him. Looking around to see that no one was watching, he slipped into a doorway. Beyond it yawned the emptiness of a huge courtyard. The howling storm was not so bad in the protection of its walls. By day flax and candles were sold here; now it was deserted. Heavy curtains of rain billowed before him.
He blinked and rubbed the water out of his eyes. Then he saw the immense shadow coming toward him through the downpour.
“I expected you sooner,” said Urquhart. His voice was as calm as ever, almost friendly, but a hint of sharpness was still audible.
“I came as quickly as I could.”
“Of course.”
“Have you gotten anywhere?”
Urquhart made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve been to the dean’s. Nobody there. They’re not that stupid.”
“Then go to Kuno’s. No, wait, leave that till last. There are too many other people there, servants and the like.”
“I wouldn’t bother with Kuno’s. Little Kuno escaped with the woman. Daniel—your noble family can be proud of him—was kind enough to poke a few holes in him.” Urquhart gave a mocking smile and threw his head back, letting the water run down over his face. “Women are such caring creatures. Softhearted. If they find a rabbit that’s been hurt they take it home and look after it.”
Matthias returned his smile. “I’ll tell you where to find her. Do what you can. Kill them all, if you like.”
“All? I couldn’t say who they all are anymore. Can you?”
“No. It’s enough if you eliminate one.”
“Who?” Urquhart said in the tone of a man who already knows.
Matthias spat on the ground. “The weakling.”
ON THE BROOK
“And the end of the story?” asked Jacob.
“Is quickly told,” said Jaspar.
Goddert gave them a disgruntled look and put a couple of logs on the fire. There was a crackling and whistling as air and moisture escaped.
“We ought to be doing something instead of philosophizing about history,” he muttered.
Jaspar disagreed. “We are doing something by philosophizing about history,” he said. “We know the conspirators and we know they have something planned. We still don’t know what or when. The answer must lie in the recent past.” He massaged the bridge of his nose. “After the Great Adjudication.”
“The ‘Great’?” asked Jacob.
“Yes,” said Richmodis, “there was another. Two years ago, when Conrad claimed there was a plot on his life.”
“Conrad would have lost that war, too,” Jaspar continued. “He was forced to make peace with the patricians. But he was still dangerous. And the conflict between patricians and tradesmen had reached the point where there were frequent armed clashes. On top of that there was the threat of civil war among the patricians, since they were split between the Overstolzes and their allies and the Weises. The Weises are the oldest merchant family in Cologne; compared to them the Overstolzes are nouveaux riches. The two groups had never been particularly fond of each other, but as long as there was a common enemy, the archbishop, they pulled together, more or less. But as the Overstolzes’ influence grew, the Weises looked for an ally. They found one in the archbishop.”
“Not really,” objected Goddert. “They supported the authorities. They behaved with dignity.”
“With dignity? They sold themselves. Not very wise, despite their name, to trust Conrad, if you ask me.”
“He’s our lord and master,” Goddert declared, “and it is not the place of his subjects to question his authority. Apart from his perhaps overly secular approach—”
“You’re talking like a priest.”
“And you are one.”
“Dean, if you please. Anyway, the Weises got nothing out of their treachery.”
“But—”
“Let me finish. Trusting Conrad is like holding out your hand to a mad dog. Everyone knows what happened in Neuss in 1255.”
“That was never proved.”
“What? It wasn’t proved that Conrad set fire to the tent of the King of Holland and the papal legate when they were trying to persuade him to release the bishop of Paderborn? It wouldn’t be the first time Conrad had used violence to get his way. Changing from Saul to Paul after his second big defeat was merely a tactical move. He had a trial before the Curia because of his debts and while that was taking its course he could sit back and watch the patricians falling out among themselves and with the guilds.”
Jaspar paused to see if Goddert would reply, but he had obviously lost interest in the argument.
“Anyway,” he went on, “the conflict between the city and Conrad about their rights and privileges wasn’t over. Once more a court of arbitration was set up, once more under Albertus Magnus. To demonstrate his impartiality, he even appointed some of Conrad’s supporters to it, but that didn’t stop Conrad’s demands on the city from being rejected once more. He must have been furious, but he had to be patient again. Albertus also criticized the sleaze and corruption among the patricians, and that gave the guilds hope. The Great Adjudication only calmed things superficially.”
Jacob rested his chin on his hand. “And not for long, I assume?”
“No. Last year Conrad removed all the mint officials from office, overnight, so to speak, allegedly for exceeding their powers. That meant the city could issue no more coins. The patricians screamed bloody murder, but the guilds saw their opportunity and made an official complaint against the burgomasters and magistrates, at which Conrad removed all the magistrates but one from office. He kept on emphasizing that it did not infringe on the terms of the Great Adjudication, but then he would, wouldn’t he? He decreed that in the future he would make all appointments to the council of magistrates himself. The patricians were sidelined. Only yesterday they had practically ruled the city; now they were banned from office. Conrad accused them of serio
us crimes and summoned them to a hearing, then outlawed twenty-five who refused to attend, including Kuno’s brothers. They had to flee the city, otherwise the populace would have torn them to pieces. Then Conrad appointed new magistrates, one or two patricians among them, but mostly craftsmen and guildmasters like Bodo Schuif.”
“The brewer who gave us away?”
“Yes. Unfortunately.”
“And what is all that supposed to mean?” Goddert joined in the argument again, his voice quivering with rage. “What Conrad did was quite right. The patricians looked down on the guilds as if they were a herd of pigs. They taxed us till we bled. The burgomasters were corrupt through and through, the magistrates were guzzling and whoring at the expense of honest people and they twisted the laws to suit themselves. Profiteering, taking bribes, and abusing their office, that’s what the patricians were good at. And some were made magistrates when they were scarcely out of their nappies, like that little thug Daniel. Conrad sat in judgment on them and a good thing, too. I support our archbishop, however much you may say he’s a liar and a murderer.”
“He is a liar and a murderer.”
“So what?” Goddert jumped up, his face bright red. “What are your patricians? Look at me. When did I ever get anything out of my work the patricians didn’t steal?”
“Father—” said Richmodis, trying to calm him down.
“No. Now it’s my turn. They bled us white and they got what was coming to them. I tell you, the time will come when Cologne is run by the guilds. One day we’ll get rid of all those villains on horseback in their expensive robes and furs. We’ll throw them out. Conrad will throw them out so that the guilds can get what they deserve.”
“What they deserve is a kick up the backside,” Jaspar barked back. “Because they’ve sold out.”
“They have not sold out.”
“They haven’t? Damn it all, Goddert, for once you’re right. Yes, the magistrates were corrupt. Yes, they fleeced the people. Yes, yes, yes, it serves the patricians right that they’re getting kicked in the teeth. But don’t you see that the guilds are just an instrument in Conrad’s hand? He doesn’t care who helps him extend his power. Last year he was still trying to reach an accommodation with the patricians. Even after he’d dismissed them from office he promised he would allow the exiles back and God knows what else if they’d sell the city’s privileges. It was only when the patricians dug their heels in that he allied himself with the weavers and other guilds against them. Open your eyes. Conrad’s not the guardian angel of the guilds. He’ll cheat you just as he tricked the patricians.”
“He will dispense justice,” Goddert stated, turning away from Jaspar.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Jaspar groaned. “Here we are, likely to get murdered any minute and I’m arguing about politics with a driveling old soak.”
“Old soak yourself.”
“Yes, but at least from my own wine.”
“You can keep your goddamn wine,” growled Goddert. “I’ve got plenty of my own.”
“Really? Not that I’ve noticed.”
Goddert took a deep breath, thought for a moment, then let it out slowly. “Errrm,” he said.
Jaspar furrowed his brow. “You’re surely not going to suggest we have a drink?”
“All right. Shall we have a drink?”
“Let’s have a drink.”
“No,” said Jacob.
Jaspar stared at him in amazement. “Why ever not?”
“Because you haven’t gotten to the end.”
“Near enough.”
“Nothing you’ve said tells us what the patricians have planned. I’m—I’m still afraid.”
Jaspar blinked, but said nothing for a while. “So am I.” He glanced at Kuno, who was lying on the bench by the fire, his chest faintly rising and falling. “Richmodis,” he said quietly, “you looked into this Urquhart’s eyes. Will he come?”
Richmodis nodded.
“Well, then. Everything bolted and barred, Goddert?”
“With these very hands.”
“Good. We ought to be fairly safe until the morning and then there’ll be enough people out in the streets.” He paused.
“So. The end. At the beginning of the year all hell was let loose in the city. In the church of the White Sisters a butcher mocked a patrician, Bruno Hardefust, because Conrad had removed him from the council of magistrates. There was an argument; Bruno drew his dagger and killed the butcher. It was a spark to a powder keg. The butchers’ guild screamed for vengeance. Hordes gathered at the Hardefust house and set it on fire. Riot, pillage, you name it. Hardefust drummed up a posse of patrician friends and they laid into the craftsmen. Countless wounded, some dead. The magistrates took their time, giving the patricians plenty of opportunity to commit more murders, presumably hoping to increase the seriousness of the charges against them. They only stepped in toward evening and asked Conrad to adjudicate. He had cleverly kept out of it.”
Jaspar gave a grim laugh. “His hour had come. He fined both sides, but in addition he decreed that the patricians were to kneel before him barefoot and beg forgiveness with the whole city looking on. Ha! What a humiliation! Most submitted, if reluctantly, and paraded to the howls of delight of twenty thousand people. Some fled the city; three were captured the same day, dragged back, and beheaded on the spot.”
“I remember,” Goddert almost purred. “It was a day of rejoicing.”
“Then, Fox-cub,” Jaspar went on, unmoved, “in May, shortly before you came back, the patricians brought charges against the new magistrates, demanding they be removed from office. Conrad was diplomatic. He promised justice, convened a hearing, and tried to reach a compromise. But the patricians insisted on a clear verdict. In the meantime the guilds had gathered, armed to the teeth. The patricians responded immediately. Banners unfurled, they marched to the archbishop’s palace because they suspected Conrad—possibly with justification—of inciting the craftsmen against them. They set up two barricades, one in Rheingasse and another outside St. Columba’s. Conrad called out his armed guard and it almost came to a pitched battle. Thank God it didn’t. Conrad sent envoys to the Rheingasse barricade offering an unarmed meeting in the palace to discuss terms and claiming those at the St. Columba barricade had accepted. They used the same ploy at St. Columba’s.”
“Not exactly honest.”
“But it worked. Conrad promised the patricians safe conduct. The patricians, in good faith, appeared unarmed and were immediately fallen upon by Conrad’s men. Twenty-four were arrested and imprisoned, others fled the city. Conrad invited them to a meeting, but of course they weren’t so stupid as to believe him a second time. Nor did he want them to. It gave him a good reason to outlaw them. Which he did, with the pope’s blessing. And that is the situation at the moment.”
Jacob went through it in his mind. A thought occurred to him. “Can the patricians expect Conrad to pardon them?”
Jaspar shook his head. “Unlikely. A few weeks ago I heard that the prisoners in Godesberg Castle had laid their distress before him and begged him to free them. His response was to impose stricter conditions of imprisonment. I believe Conrad receives almost daily pleas from the patricians to pardon those banished or imprisoned, but the failure of the request from those in Godesberg seems to have disheartened them.”
“Or not, as the case may be,” said Jacob deliberately.
Jaspar’s head came up and he gave him a keen look. “The alliance?”
“Yes. Kuno didn’t say when the meeting at which they formed the alliance was, but it must have been soon after the failure of the appeal from Godesberg.”
“Well, well, well, is this my Fox-cub who knows nothing?”
Jacob shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve been going on about history so much, you’ve missed the answer to the question. I’ve just seen it.”
“What do you mean?”
Jacob couldn’t repress a smug grin. His little triumph of having beaten Jaspar to the solution was
all he had at the moment, but he was determined to make the most of it. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.
Jaspar put his head on one side. “I assume it ought to be obvious.”
“Clear as the waters of the Rhine. The patricians are going—”
There was a faint but unmistakable scratching sound from the front door.
“Shh,” ordered Jaspar.
They listened. All they could hear was the howling of the wind and the drumming of the rain. “It must have been the storm,” said Richmodis. Her voice quivered slightly.
“No,” whispered Jaspar, “that wasn’t the wind. He’s outside.”
Jacob closed his eyes and focused all his concentration on the spot outside the door. Over the years he had of necessity learned to register every noise, every minor detail.
There it was again. Scratching. Rustling.
Then something scraped along the wall of the house. Soft, cautious steps. More scratching on the wall, higher up this time.
Goddert put his hands over his mouth and looked at them one after the other, goggle-eyed. “Oh, God,” he said, half choked.
Jacob could feel his heart pounding somewhere just below his jaw. It was the same feeling as a few days ago when he was hiding in the little church watching through a tiny window the shadowy figure that was searching for him, that seemed to scent him, so that, on impulse, he had poured the holy water over himself. Figures appeared in his mind unbidden: Maria, Tilman, Rolof, and—He forced himself to stay calm. The others were looking at him expectantly, fear in their eyes, every one of them.
“Yes,” he said, “Urquhart’s outside.”
JOHANN
The night watchmen, their voices torn by the wind, had long since called eleven o’clock, but Johann was still sitting in his study, watching the candle burn down.
The group had originally intended to spend this night together. That decision seemed years ago now. Daniel had withdrawn, Theoderich, too, Heinrich von Mainz had ridden home, and Matthias had not returned. By now any idea that they were bound by a common cause seemed absurd to Johann.