“’Tis true!”
“Then now you know just what to do!”
Simon’s anger was rising, and his ears started to hum. Michael Berchtholdt was trying to turn the tables on her, to make it look as if Magdalena was responsible for what happened to Resl—and the others actually seemed to believe him! Simon knew he didn’t stand a chance, but someone had to try to stop this.
Prepared for a fight, he pulled out his knife and was about to jump out from behind the cart when the shutters on the second floor of the hangman’s house flew open with a bang. There stood Magdalena in a white linen nightdress, her hair disheveled, her teeth clenched, her eyes ablaze. Simon shuddered. For a moment he believed the vision standing before him was not his beloved Magdalena but an avenging angel straight out of the Old Testament. The boisterous men below were also apparently so astonished by her appearance that absolute silence prevailed for a moment.
“Lies!” she shouted out into the night. “Filthy, cowardly lies! You all know what happened! Each and every one of you! And still you stand there like asses playing along with Berchtholdt and his ridiculous masquerade!”
She pointed at the master baker, who raised his right hand in a sign meant to ward off the devil. “You, Berchtholdt, got your maid pregnant and administered the poison yourself, not I! I’m going to Secretary Lechner, and I’ll tell him everything. When my father, the hangman, is through with you, you’ll want to hide your face behind that mask. He’ll cut your nose off and throw it to the dogs!”
“Hold your tongue, hangman’s girl!” Michael Berchtholdt’s voice trembled with hatred and anger. “It’s about time someone muzzled that impertinent mouth of yours. You’ve been whoring around this town far too long. And as for your father…” He looked around, waiting for signs of approval. “Court Clerk Lechner will see to it that Kuisl is forced to chase his own daughter through the streets with a whip. Lewd woman! Isn’t it so, my friends?”
“’Tis true!” The voices were not as loud as the last time, but the young fellows seemed to have regained their confidence.
Simon, still standing behind the cart, noticed Anna-Maria now, standing a ways back from the window alongside the frightened twins, who had apparently been awakened by the noise. The mother turned to her daughter, trying to coax her away from the window, but Magdalena remained adamant.
“Lewd woman?” she shouted over the din of the mob and pointed at their leader. “Who is lewd here, Berchtholdt? Didn’t my father brew you a potion just last year to keep your rod nice and stiff? You dirty, lying sack of shit! And haven’t you all come by at least once seeking ivy and stoneseed for your barnyard liaisons with your sweethearts? I could sing a verse about every last one of you. Listen up, Berchtholdt…” She paused for a moment to concentrate before hurling her curse at the mob’s leader.
“The wife of Berchtholdt has gone dry. The baker’s got a wandering eye… He mounts his maid, the lewd old steed, and poisons her to hide the deed!”
“Lies, lies! I’ll put a gag in your damned mouth, Kuisl girl!” Michael Berchtholdt ran to the door of the hangman’s house and, finding it locked, kicked at it like a madman. When the heavy oak boards wouldn’t budge, he swung his lantern in a wide arc up onto the roof.
“Burn down the hangman’s house!” he screamed. “Go to it, friends! We won’t take that kind of talk from a whore!”
Hesitantly at first, but then faster and faster, the young men rushed forward to toss their torches against the walls and onto the roof. Soon some of the shingles caught fire, and a thin column of smoke began to rise up into the sky like a slight, black finger. The roof smoked and the shingles crackled as the first flames licked at the timbers, rising ever higher until finally engulfing the entire roof.
“Get out of here, fast!” Anna-Maria shouted, pulling the tearful children away from the window, “before we’re burned alive!”
She ran down the stairway with the children and out the door, where a hail of stones, rotten vegetables, and stinking dung awaited them. Magdalena followed close behind. Defiantly, she stood in the doorway a moment and allowed herself to be pummeled with filth and malice.
A stone struck her forehead, and she staggered backward as a thin trickle of blood ran down her right temple, dripping onto her bodice. For a moment it seemed she was preparing to fight off the entire mob of farm boys and journeymen by herself. She clutched the door frame with both hands, cursing softly. But reason soon prevailed, and she ran off after her mother and the twins, who had sought refuge behind a woodpile.
The flames rose toward the ridge of the roof, and at first Simon just stood there in his hiding place behind the cart, immobilized with terror, but as the fire started to consume the house, he couldn’t stand by any longer. Without a further thought, he ran out from behind the cart directly into the mob.
“You dogs!” he roared. “Setting fire to a house with a mother and her children inside! Is that all you know how to do?” The young men turned around, astonished. When they saw Simon, hatred flared in their eyes. At once three rushed the medicus, who tried to hold them off with his knife. The razor-sharp blade whistled through the air in a semicircle as the men stepped back.
“Not one step closer,” Simon snarled. “This stiletto’s done the work of an army surgeon; it’s amputated fingers and arms. A few more won’t make any difference!”
He heard the sound of feet running behind him, but before he could turn around, a heavy, powerful body struck him and pinned him to the ground. At once all the other men were on top of him. One of the Berchtholdt boys drew back his arm and laid into Simon’s face with his fist, over and over, as if he were nothing more than a bag of flour. The medicus could taste his own blood, and after the fourth blow the world went black. The shouts and noise of the brawl sounded strangely distant, and acrid black smoke wafted across his face.
They’re beating me to death. Like a rabid dog, they’re beating me to death! If this is the end…
As if in a dream, he heard a sudden clap of thunder, then felt something cold drip onto his upturned face. It took him a few moments to realize they were raindrops—thick, heavy drops falling harder and harder. Then a proper downpour was pelting him and his enemies, turning the ground beneath them into a muddy morass.
“Stop! In the name of His Majesty the Prince, I order you to stop at once!”
The voice boomed so loud that even in the torrential rain the command was clear. Turning his battered head from where he lay on the ground, Simon could make out in a haze a figure astride a horse. The medicus blinked several times before realizing through a veil of blood that it was the secretary, Johann Lechner. The rain streamed down his black coat, his hair clung to his forehead, and yet despite the storm the Elector’s representative looked like an enraged and awesome deity. As the supreme authority in Schongau, he commanded a dozen city watchmen, who stood beside him now, their loaded muskets pointed at the mob. Their expressions made plain their displeasure at being awakened in the middle of the night only to stand here in the rain. And the secretary, too, was clearly annoyed he’d been called from his ducal residence, where he represented the electoral prince in matters of government.
“I shall give you exactly one minute to clear out of here,” Lechner said in a soft voice. “After that I will give the order to shoot. Is that clear?”
Simon could hear whispering and the patter of running feet as cloaked figures fled into the darkness. In a matter of moments the area in front of the hangman’s house was empty, except for a handful of cast-off flour sacks and extinguished torches that bore witness to the nightmare—these and a devil’s mask that leered up at Simon maliciously from a puddle of mud and horse piss. A few flames still spluttered on the roof, but otherwise the heavy downpour had quenched the fire.
“For God’s sake, see to it at once that the fire doesn’t flare up again!” the secretary shouted to the city guards. “Accursed vigilantes! A plague on all those farmers!”
The guards filled buckets with wa
ter at a nearby well and ran up into the attic to put out what remained of the fire. Some of the men helped Anna-Maria to let the cows out of the barn, where they’d been lowing anxiously and beating their hooves against the boards of their stalls. Meanwhile, Magdalena contemplated the smoking roof from a safe distance. Speaking softly, she tried to soothe the children, who were weeping and burying their heads in her lap. The face of the hangman’s daughter was vacant.
“They’ll pay for this!” Magdalena seethed at last, rubbing the blood from her forehead. “Father will string them up for this, I swear!”
By now Simon had struggled to his feet and hobbled over to Magdalena. Bending down over the twins, he gave them a quick once-over, especially little Georg, who was having a coughing fit, apparently suffering from a mild case of smoke inhalation.
A few last drops fell from the sky before the rain ceased altogether. The thunder sounded far off now, like the drums of a slowly retreating army.
“Fronwieser, Fronwieser…” With a mixture of amusement and sympathy, Johann Lechner looked down on Simon from atop his horse. “You bring me nothing but grief. And now I’m awakened in the middle of the night to save your miserable life.” He pointed to the smoking roof. “If it hadn’t been for the rain, all of Schongau could have gone up in flames. And all because of a stubborn woman.”
“Your Excellency—” the medicus began, but Lechner waved him off.
“I know what happened, and I know who’s behind it, too.” He leaned down in the saddle and regarded Simon as he might a disobedient child. “But believe me, something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. Haven’t I told you several times you ought to put an end to your little affair with Kuisl’s daughter? If you don’t, people will never quit hounding you.” Lechner sighed. “This time I came to your aid, Fronwieser, because the city’s welfare was also at stake. But next time you’re on your own. May God have mercy on you then.”
Simon was too weak to reply. Blood had congealed in his mouth, his left eye was already swollen shut, and the right half of his face would probably be shining all shades of the rainbow in the next half-hour. His whole body felt as if it had passed through a grain mill. Shock and fear for Magdalena’s safety had made him forget his pain at first, but now it rolled over him like a surging storm. He searched in vain for a suitable response.
“Is that all?” It was the voice of Magdalena, who had planted herself in front of the secretary’s horse in the meantime. Her face was crimson with anger. “This rabble almost burns our house down, they beat Simon half to death, Berchtholdt poisons his maid, and you are scolding us?”
Lechner shrugged. “What should I do, lock them all up? Harvest is approaching, and I can’t let the crops wither in the fields with no one to work them. Perhaps I should put Berchtholdt in the stocks… perhaps, yes.” He shook his head, thinking. “But to do that I’ll first have to present some evidence. He was disguised just like the others, and none of those farmers will snitch on the master baker. After all, he’s the man who buys their grain year after year. Believe me, that would be an endless trial that wouldn’t help anyone at all. Besides, the people are right.” He turned his horse around and started back toward town, throwing one last glance behind him and shaking his head almost regretfully. “A medicus and a hangman’s daughter… That won’t do. We have to have rules, after all. Believe me, Magdalena, your father would see things in exactly the same light.”
The secretary disappeared into the night with his guards, leaving the small, sodden group alone in the dark. A breeze blew across the courtyard and carried the last of the smoke away. Now that the fire was out, it felt as quiet as a cemetery. Anna-Maria rocked the children silently in her lap.
“Looks as if we’ll have to spend the night in the barn,” she said. “We can start cleaning up tomorrow. The whole attic is black with soot.”
Magdalena stared at her in disbelief. “Pardon me? They set your house on fire and all you think of is cleaning up?”
Her mother sighed. “What else is there to do? You heard what Lechner said. None of those men will be held accountable.” Angrily she tapped her daughter on the chest. “And don’t think for another moment that you can keep playing the hero. That’s over and done with! This time we were lucky, but the next time it could be the children burned to death in their beds. Is that what you want?” She looked intently at her daughter, who pursed her lips. “I’ll ask you again: Is that what you want?”
“Your mother is right,” Simon said. “If we go after Berchtholdt, then next time they just may burn your house to the ground. The man is an alderman, after all, and has the people on his side.”
Looking up into the overcast night sky, Magdalena took a deep breath of the fresh air the rain had brought. For a while no one spoke a word. “You don’t really think they’ll leave us be, do you?” she whispered at last. “For them I’m fair game, now more than ever.”
Her mother looked at her crossly. “Because you take it too far! Lechner is right. A hangman’s girl and a medicus—it isn’t proper. You’ve got to quit carrying on, or else it’ll come to an even worse end. You can’t marry; that’s against the law. And after what happened tonight, you know they won’t leave you in peace until you start keeping your hands off each other.” Anna-Maria stood up, brushing the soot from her dress. “For far too long your father has just stood by and watched, Magdalena. But this is the end. As soon as he returns, we’ll send a letter to the executioner in Marktoberndorf. I heard his wife died in childbirth, and he would be a good match for you, with a big house and—”
Magdalena leaped up in a rage. “So you want to hide me away, so I don’t give you any more trouble. Is that right?”
“Suppose it is?” her mother answered. “It’s only to protect you and everyone else. You’re obviously incapable of doing that yourself.”
Without another word, Anna-Maria took the twins by the hand and went to the barn, where she made up straw beds for them. For a moment it appeared that Magdalena was about to call after her, but then Simon put his arm around her shoulder from behind. Her whole body started to tremble as she began to cry silently.
“She surely doesn’t mean it that way,” Simon whispered. “Let’s go to sleep now. Tomorrow when the sun comes up—”
Suddenly Magdalena wrapped her arms around Simon as if she would never let him go. She clung so fiercely to him that he could feel the firmness of her body through their wet garments, and she kissed him long and passionately on his bloodied lips.
“This very night,” she whispered finally.
Simon looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
Magdalena put her finger to his lips. “Mother is right. As long as we’re here, they’ll hound us. Too much has happened already, and the next time it might not just be us who get hurt; something could happen to the children. We can’t allow that.” She looked deep into Simon’s eyes. “Let’s get away from here, this very night. I mean it.”
Before Simon could reply, she went on hastily: “Berchtholdt will never leave us in peace. If the matter with Resl gets out, he’ll be thrown off the council. He won’t risk that, so he’ll do anything in his power to see that I keep my mouth shut. One way or another.”
“You mean, we should leave Schongau… for good?” Simon held her tightly. “Do you know what that means? We’ll have nothing, nobody will know us, we’ll—”
Magdalena stopped him with another kiss. “Stop your blathering,” she whispered. “Don’t think I don’t know myself that it will be hard. But it’s obvious we can’t stay here any longer. You heard what Lechner said. A medicus and a hangman’s daughter… ‘that will never do’…”
“And where shall we go?”
Magdalena hesitated only briefly before answering. “Regensburg. Anything is possible there.”
A roll of thunder signaled another rain shower passing over the town. Simon pulled Magdalena close and kissed her until, locked in a tight embrace, they sank to the ground in a puddle of b
lood, mud, and horse piss.
A small bundle of humanity in the midst of the thundering downpour.
4
REGENSBURG
AUGUST 19, 1662 AD
THE HANGMAN KICKED the iron-plated door so hard that the cell walls shook. Like a caged animal, he’d been pacing for hours, stooped over in the tiny chamber. His thoughts circled with him as he paced.
They’d been holding him in this dungeon for five days now. The room was made entirely of wood, an almost perfect cube built so low that Kuisl couldn’t stand upright inside it. Aside from a tiny hatch that opened once a day so that a foul-smelling soup and some bread could be passed to the prisoner, the room had no windows, and the darkness was so complete that even after hours in it, all he could make out were vague outlines. Fastened around Kuisl’s right ankle, a chain clanked as he trudged from one corner of the cell to the other.
The only piece of furniture was a hollowed-out wooden block that served as a toilet. A while ago, in a fit of rage, he’d picked it up and heaved it against the wall, a deed he now regretted, as the stinking contents had splashed all over the cell and had even managed to soil Kuisl’s cape. Never in his entire life had the Schongau hangman felt so powerless. He was convinced by now that someone had set a trap for him, a trap he’d stumbled into like a clumsy oaf. Whoever had so gruesomely murdered his sister and her husband was now attempting to frame him.
It made no difference that he declared his innocence when the guards entered the bathhouse, that he swore on his soul he’d only just discovered the two bodies moments before. The verdict had been decided at the outset, a fact that became amply clear when he saw the captain’s smirk. Now everything came into focus—his hasty arrest at the gate, his feeling of being watched, the unlocked door to the bathhouse. They had laid the bait and he’d taken it.
But why?
Ever since the Regensburg city guards had locked him in this cell, he’d been racking his brain to understand just who might be behind this conspiracy. He didn’t know a soul in the city, and presumably people here didn’t even know that Lisbeth Hofmann came from a hangman’s family in Schongau. Or could this be some kind of payback for his impudence toward the constables at Jakob’s Gate? Was it merely an accident that he crossed paths with the malevolent, scar-faced raftsman?