Kuisl nodded, though he hadn’t really paid much attention. What did he care about the Reichstag? All he wanted was to see his little Lisbeth. In the meantime the high and mighty could go right on planning the next war. They’d have no trouble finding people willing to follow them, to let themselves be slaughtered for the promise of wealth and glory. As for himself, he’d have nothing more to do with that old cut and thrust.
“And how about yourself? What are you doing here?” the farmer asked. “Have you found a place to stay yet?”
Kuisl closed his eyes. Apparently he’d stumbled across the chattiest farmer in all of Regensburg. “I’ll be staying at my sister’s,” he mumbled, hoping that the little fellow might leave him in peace now.
All the while, the hangman and his companion had being moving along the line, and now only two wagonloads of hay separated them from what people were calling Jakob’s Gate. The watchmen peered beneath the wagons, prodded the hay with their swords, then waved the wagons through and turned to the next traveler in line. The first rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. A storm would not hold off for long.
Finally it was their turn. The farmer was allowed to pass without further ado, but Kuisl was waved aside.
“Hey, you… Yes, you!” A guard wearing a helmet and a breastplate pointed at the hangman and ordered him to step closer. “Where are you from?”
“Schongau, down by Augsburg,” the hangman replied, looking at his interlocutor as he would a stone.
“Aha, from Augsburg…” replied the watchman, twirling his fancy mustache.
“No, not Augsburg, from Schongau,” the hangman replied in a gruff voice. “I’m no dirty Swabian. I’m Bavarian.”
“No matter,” the watchman said, winking at his comrade behind him. He looked Kuisl up and down as if measuring him against some mental image. “And what brings you here, Bavarian?”
“My sister lives here,” the hangman replied curtly, refusing to indulge the mocking undertone. “She’s gravely ill, and I’m paying her a visit, with all due respect.”
The watchman grinned smugly. “Your sister, indeed! Well, if she looks anything like you, you should find her in no time.” He laughed and turned back to his comrade with a smirk. “Living and breathing lumps of rock with hooked noses are pretty uncommon ’round these parts, isn’t that so?”
Laughter broke out all around. Kuisl remained silent as the watchman continued poking fun at him. “I hear they feed you Swabians on noodles and cheese until you got ’em coming out your ears. You’re living proof that this stuff’ll make you fat and dumb.”
Without batting an eye, the hangman moved a step closer and seized the man by the collar. The watchman’s eyes bulged like marbles from their sockets as Kuisl yanked him off the ground and looked him in the eye.
“Listen, young fellow,” he snarled. “If there’s something you need me to tell you, just ask straight out. Otherwise, hold your tongue and let me through.”
Suddenly the hangman felt the point of a sword at his back. “Put him down,” a voice behind him said. “Nice and easy, big fellow, or I’ll ram this sword through your guts so it comes clean out the other side. You hear me?”
The hangman nodded slowly and set the frightened man back down. When he turned around, Kuisl saw a tall officer in a polished cuirass before him. Like his colleague, he wore a twirled walrus mustache and a helmet that gleamed in the bright sunlight and covered a mane of blond hair. He now had his sword positioned directly at the base of Kuisl’s throat. A small crowd of onlookers gathered around them, eagerly waiting to see what would happen next.
“Fine,” the captain said, his lips pressed in a thin, mirthless smile. “Now you will turn around and we’ll go together to the room in the tower. We keep some cozy quarters there, where Bavarians such as yourself can take time to reflect.”
The officer pressed the point of his sword a fraction of an inch into the hangman’s neck to emphasize his point. For a moment Kuisl was tempted to seize the man’s sword, pull him up close, and drive his larch-wood truncheon straight between his legs. But then he noticed the other watchmen standing around with lances and halberds raised, whispering among themselves. Why had he let himself get riled up? It almost seemed as if the watchman had deliberately gone out of his way just to provoke him. Was this how Regensburgers dealt with all strangers?
Kuisl spun around and marched off toward the tower. He could only hope they’d let him go before the good Lord called his sister home.
As the door closed behind the hangman, the first raindrops began to fall on the pavement outside, and within moments the rain was drumming down so hard that the people waiting at the gate had to pull their cloaks over their heads or seek shelter in nearby barns. Hail as big as pigeon eggs fell from the sky, causing many a farmer to curse himself for not having brought the harvest in earlier. It was already the third raging thunderstorm that week, and people were praying. Each family crowded together around an altar in their homes; not a few of the inhabitants of the surrounding villages took the deluge as an expression of God’s righteous anger, and of his punishment for the debauched ways of the accursed city folk—the fancy clothes, their swindling ways, their shameless whoring, and all the arrogance of building ever taller, ever grander houses. Hadn’t Sodom and Gomorrah perished in a similar way? With the Reichstag set to take place next January, all the pompous nobles would show up again; they would drink and whore and, instead of attending mass, would celebrate their own power—while, in fact, it was God alone who would decide the weal or woe of the German Empire!
With a deafening crack, a bolt of lightning struck the walkway atop the battlements, followed by such a loud clap of thunder that children as far away as Emmeram Square started wailing. In the brief flash of the next bolt of lightning, a figure could be seen struggling along the road from Jakob’s Gate into town. He walked with a stoop, his face lashed by the hail and rain. No one else dared go out in such weather, but the man had an urgent message to deliver, and it wouldn’t wait.
The scar on his face throbbed as it so often did when the weather was changing. The hangman had almost slipped away from him, but the man knew his enemy would have to pass through Jakob’s Gate—there was no other way into town from the west. The man had run from the raft landing to the gate as fast as possible to warn the guards. A bit of money in the right hands had won them the time they needed to carry out their plan.
Revenge! How long they both had been waiting for that…!
The man grinned, and the scar on his face began to twitch nervously.
2
SCHONGAU
AUGUST 13, 1662 AD
THE OPPRESSIVE SUMMER air lay over Schongau like a musty blanket.
Magdalena Kuisl ran down the narrow overgrown path from the Tanners’ Quarter to the Lech, her skirt fluttering behind her. Her mother had given her the afternoon off and her strict father was far away, so she raced through the cool, shady land along the river, happy to escape the stuffiness and the stench in town.
Magdalena looked forward to a swim in the river, as the odor of manure, dirt, and mold clung to her matted black hair. She and her mother had been busy in town all morning collecting garbage and shoveling it into their cart. Even the nine-year-old twins, Georg and Barbara, had to help. The work seemed harder than usual because Magdalena’s father had left for Regensburg a few days ago. As the family of the hangman, it was the Kuisls’ job to clear the streets in Schongau of garbage and animal carcasses. Every week mountains of trash piled up at the corners and intersections in town, rotting in the hot sun. Rats with long, smooth tails scampered about on top of the piles, glaring at passersby with evil little eyes. At least Magdalena had the afternoon to herself.
After just a few minutes the hangman’s daughter arrived at the riverbank. She turned to the left, away from the raft landing where there were already a half-dozen rafts tied up. She could hear the shouts and laughter of the raftsmen as they unloaded the barrels, crates, and bales and t
ook them off to the newly rebuilt storage building, the Zimmerstadel, on the pier. She turned off the narrow towpath and made her way through the green underbrush, which now, in midsummer, was shoulder-high. The ground was swampy and slippery, and with each step her bare feet sank in with a slurping sound.
Finally Magdalena reached her favorite spot, a small, shallow cove invisible behind the surrounding willow trees. She climbed down over a large dead root and removed her soiled clothes. Then she scrubbed the dress, apron, and bodice thoroughly, rubbing them over the sharp, wet pebbles. She laid them out to dry on a rock in the warm afternoon sun.
As Magdalena stepped into the water, the current flowing past tugged gently at her ankles and she sank gradually into the mud. A few more steps and she slipped completely into the river. Here in the cove, hollowed out of the river ages ago, the current wasn’t quite so strong. The hangman’s daughter swam out, taking care not to get too close to the whirlpool in the middle of the Lech. The water washed the dirt from her skin and hair, and after a few minutes she felt fresh and rested again. The foul-smelling city was far, far away.
As she swam back to the shore, she noticed her clothes had disappeared.
Magdalena looked around, unsure of what to do. She’d laid her wet clothing out on the rock right there, and now all that remained was a damp spot gradually vanishing in the hot sun.
Had someone followed her here?
She looked up and down the shoreline but couldn’t see her clothes anywhere. She tried to calm down. No doubt some children were just playing a joke on her—nothing more. She sat down on a tree root to dry off in the sun. Lying back with her eyes closed, she waited for the pranksters to start giggling and give themselves away.
All at once she heard a rustling behind her in the bushes.
Before she could jump up, someone wrapped a hairy, sinewy arm around her neck and placed a hand over her mouth. She tried to scream, but not a sound came out.
“Not a word, or I’ll kiss you until your neck is red all over and your father gives you a good spanking.”
Magdalena couldn’t help giggling as she sputtered through the hand held over her mouth.
“Simon! My God, you nearly scared me to death! I thought robbers or murderers…”
Simon kissed her gently on her neck. “Who knows, maybe I am one…” he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink.
“You’re weird, a runt, and a quack, and nothing more. Before you even touch a hair on my head, I’ll wring your neck. God knows why I love you so much.”
She extricated herself from his grip and threw herself at him. In a tight embrace they rolled across the wet pebbles in the cove. Before long she had pinned Simon to the ground with her knees. The medicus was slender and wirier than he was muscular. At just five feet tall, he was one of the smallest men Magdalena had ever known. He had fine features with bright, alert eyes that always seemed to sparkle mischievously, and a well-trimmed black Vandyke beard. His dark hair was lightly oiled and shoulder-length in accord with the latest fashion. In other respects, as well, Simon was well groomed, though at the moment his appearance was somewhat in disarray.
“I—I give up,” he groaned.
“Oh, no you don’t! First you’re going to swear to me there’s no other woman in your life.”
Simon shook his head. “No—nobody else.”
Magdalena rapped him on the head and rolled down next to him. She’d never quite forgiven him for flirting with the redheaded merchant woman more than two years ago, even though Simon had sworn a dozen times there really hadn’t been anything between them. But the day was just too beautiful to waste quarreling. Together they looked up into the branches of the willows swaying back and forth above their heads in the gentle breeze. For a long time they were silent, listening to the wind rustling in the trees.
After a while Magdalena spoke up. “My father will probably be away for a while.”
The medicus nodded and gazed out at two ducks flapping their wings as they rose from the water. Magdalena had already told him about her father’s trip to visit his ill sister. “What did Lechner have to say about that?” he finally asked. “As the court clerk, he could have simply ordered your father not to leave town—now of all times, in summer when the garbage stinks to high heaven.”
Magdalena laughed. “What was he to do? Father just got up and left. Lechner cursed and swore he’d have him hanged when he came back. It was only then that it occurred to him that my father would have trouble hanging himself.” She sighed. “There will probably be a big fine to pay, and until he comes back, Mother and I will just have to work twice as hard.”
Her eyes took on a dreamy look. “How far away is Regensburg, anyway?” she asked.
“Very far.” Simon grinned as he playfully drew his finger around her belly button. Magdalena was still naked, and droplets of water sparkled on her skin, tanned from her daily trips into the forest to collect herbs.
“Far enough at least that he can’t torment us with his lectures,” the medicus said finally, with a big yawn.
Magdalena flared up. “If there’s a problem, it’s your father who’s always hounding us. Anyway, the purpose for my father’s trip was serious—so stop your silly grinning.”
The hangman’s daughter thought now about the letter from Regensburg that had troubled her father so much. She knew her father had a younger sister in Regensburg, but she never realized how close the two of them had been. Magdalena was only two years old when her aunt fled to Regensburg with a bathhouse owner. They left because of the Great Plague but also because of the daily taunts and hostilities in town. Magdalena had always admired her for her courage.
Silently she threw some pebbles, which skipped a few times before finally being swallowed by the rippling water.
“It’s a mystery to me who’s going to clean up all the garbage in town for the next few weeks in all this hot weather,” she said, more to herself than to Simon. “If the aldermen think I’m going to do it, they have another thing coming. I’d rather spend the rest of the summer in a hole in the ground.”
Simon clapped his hands. “What a great idea! Or we can just stay here in this cove!” He started kissing her cheeks, and Magdalena resisted, though only halfheartedly.
“Stop, Simon! If anyone sees us…”
“Who’s going to see us?” he replied, passing his hand through her wet black hair. “The willows certainly won’t tell on us.”
Magdalena laughed. These few hours spent down at the river or in nearby barns were all they had to show for their love. They’d always dreamed of getting married, but strict town statutes wouldn’t permit that. They’d been courting for years, and their relationship was like a desperate game of hide-and-seek. As the daughter of the hangman, Magdalena wasn’t allowed to associate with the higher classes. Executioners were dishonorable, just like gravediggers, bathhouse owners, barbers, and magicians. Accordingly, marriage to a physician was out of the question, but that didn’t keep the couple from clandestine meetings in the fields and barns around town. In the springtime two years ago, they’d even made a pilgrimage together to Altötting, basically the only longer time they’d been together. In the meantime the affair between the medicus and the hangman’s daughter had become a hot topic of conversation in the Schongau marketplace and taverns. Moreover, Simon’s father, old Bonifaz Fronwieser, was urging his son with increasing insistence to finally settle down with a middle-class girl. That was actually essential in advancing Simon’s career as a doctor, but he kept putting his father off—and meeting secretly with Magdalena.
“Maybe we should go to Regensburg, too,” Simon whispered between kisses. “A serf gains his freedom after living a year and a day in the city. We could start a new life…”
“Oh, come now, Simon.” Magdalena pushed him away. “How often you’ve promised me that! What will become of me, then? Don’t forget I’m dishonorable. I’ll just end up picking up the garbage again, no matter where I am.”
“Nobody knows
me there!”
Magdalena shrugged. “And what will I do for work? The cities are full of hungry day laborers and—”
Simon held his finger to her lips. “Just don’t say anything now—let’s forget it all for just a while.” His eyes closed, he bent down and covered her body with kisses.
“Simon… no…” Magdalena whispered, but her resistance was already broken.
At that moment they heard a crackling sound in the willow tree above them.
Magdalena looked up. Something seemed to be moving there in the branches. All of a sudden she felt something warm and slimy hit her and run slowly down her forehead. She put up her hand to feel it and realized it was spit.
She heard giggling and then saw two boys, about twelve years old, quickly climb down the tree. One of them was the youngest son of the alderman and master baker Michael Berchtholdt, with whom Magdalena had often exchanged strong words.
“The doctor is kissing the hangman’s daughter!” the second boy shouted as he ran away. Disgusted, Magdalena wiped the rest of the spit from her forehead. Simon jumped up and shook his fist at the smirking boy.
“You impertinent little brats!” he shouted. “I’m going to break every bone in your bodies!”
“The hangman’s daughter can do that better than you!” cackled the second boy, disappearing into the bush. “Do it on the rack, you scum!”
Then little Berchtholdt stopped short. He turned and looked at Simon defiantly, with clenched teeth, trembling slightly as the medicus charged after him like a madman, his shirt open and his jacket undone.
“It wasn’t me,” he squealed as Simon raised his hand to strike. “It was Benedikt! I swear! Actually, we were just looking for you because—uh—”
Simon had raised his hand to strike the boy when he noticed that young Berchtholdt was staring open-mouthed at the half-naked hangman’s daughter, who was trying to hide as best she could behind a rock while she buttoned up her bodice. The physician gave the boy a gentle poke on the nose strong enough to send the boy reeling backward into the mud.