The Hangman's Daughter

Simon pricked his ears. Something, then, was buried there. But what?

  The hangman nudged him on the shoulder.

  “We can’t wait any longer for the bailiffs,” he whispered. “We don’t know how much longer they’ll stay here. I’m going to run over to that side wall and get one of them. You stay here. If you see anyone coming toward me, whistle like a jaybird. Can you do that?”

  Simon shook his head.

  “Damn it, then just whistle as best you can. They won’t notice it.”

  Jakob Kuisl looked round for the last time, then hurried with long strides toward the wall and took cover behind it. The men had noticed nothing.

  More shouting could be heard, now farther away, so that Simon found it increasingly difficult to understand them. He saw that the hangman, stooping, ran along the side of the wall, directly toward the man inside the square, who was trying to pry up the flagstones with a wooden stick. Jakob Kuisl was only a few strides away from him. Suddenly the man turned round. Something had aroused his attention. The hangman let himself fall to the ground. Simon blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, the darkness had swallowed Jakob.

  He was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard a sound in front of him. The second man, who had been walking around the site, was suddenly standing right before him. He looked just as surprised as Simon was. The man had evidently been looking for a hiding place on the far side of the pile of logs. Now he had turned the corner and stumbled right into Simon.

  “What the devil?”

  More he could not say, for Simon had seized a stick and had struck the man’s legs from under him. The man fell over on his side. Before he could pick himself up, Simon was upon him pummeling him with his fists. The face of his adversary was bearded and scarred, and the blows seemed to bounce off him as if from a rock. With a sudden movement he grabbed the physician, held him up for a second, and flung him forward. At the same time he raised his right hand to strike a blow.

  He hit Simon on the side of the head, and Simon fainted. When he came to, the man was sitting on his chest and throttling him with both hands, while his face was contorted into an ugly grin. Simon saw the rotten stumps of teeth and beard stubble, red, brown, and black like a mown field in October. Blood was dripping on him from the man’s nose. Simon saw every detail with a clarity as never before. In vain he struggled for air, he felt that he was nearing his end. Scraps of thoughts and memories whirled wildly through his head.

  Must pull…the knife…from the belt.

  He fumbled for his knife even as he started to lose consciousness again. At last he found the hilt. Just before he lapsed into final unconsciousness he drew out the stiletto and lunged. He felt the blade slide into something soft.

  A scream brought Simon back to the present. He rolled quickly to one side, gasping for air. The bearded man lay near him, rubbing his thigh. Blood was spreading over his hose. Simon had wounded him in the leg, but it was obvious the injury was not severe. The man was looking at him already and grinning. He drew himself up, ready to attack again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a stone lying on the ground and bent over to pick it up. For one moment his face was turned away, and in this moment Simon threw himself on him with the knife. The man cried out in astonishment. He had expected the weedy-looking youth to just run away, and this sudden attack surprised him. Now Simon sat astride his opponent’s broad chest, holding his knife in his raised right hand, poised to attack. Beneath him the man’s eyes filled with terror. When he opened his mouth to scream again, Simon knew that he had to strike immediately. He could not risk the man being heard by the others. He felt the hilt in his hand, the hard wood, the sweat on his fingers. He felt the man writhing under him, looking certain death in the eyes.

  Simon noticed his arm becoming as heavy as lead. He…could not strike. He had never killed. That was a threshold he couldn’t cross.

  “Ambush!” screamed the man under him. “Here I am, here behind the pile of logs…”

  The oak cudgel whizzed right past Simon and struck the man in the middle of the forehead. The second blow crushed the skull and blood and white matter oozed out. The face changed to a bloody mush. A strong hand pulled Simon off the body.

  “Damn! Why didn’t you finish him off before he began to scream? Now they know where we are.”

  The hangman threw the bloodstained branch to one side and dragged Simon behind the woodpile. The physician could not answer. The face of the dead man had burned itself into his memory like a picture.

  Soon afterward they heard voices coming closer.

  “André, was that you? What’s happened?”

  “We must get away from here,” whispered the hangman. “There are still four of them, and they’re likely to be experienced soldiers. They understand about fighting.” He grabbed the half-unconscious Simon and dragged him to the edge of the wood. Then they let themselves drop into a bush and watched what happened next.

  It only took the men a short time to find the body. There were loud cries, someone screamed. Then they swarmed in all directions. Watching the torches, Simon could see that they always stayed in pairs. They went along the edge of the wood and poked their torches into dark places. Once they passed within a few steps of their bush. But it was too dark and they could not see anything. Finally they gathered together again by the corpse. As Simon was getting ready to breathe again, he saw that one of the points of light was approaching their hiding place. It was one man alone. From his gait he could see that the man had a limp.

  At the edge of the forest, not far from their bush, he halted and raised his nose in the air. It looked as if he was sniffing. His voice reached them clearly.

  “I know that was you, hangman,” hissed the limping man. “And I know that you are somewhere out there. Believe me, I’ll have my revenge. I’ll cut off your nose, ears, and lips. The tortures you have inflicted on others are nothing to those you yourself will suffer. You’ll beg me to smash your skull in, just as you have done to André.”

  The man turned abruptly around and was swallowed by darkness.

  Not until some time had passed did Simon dare to breathe freely.

  “Who…who was that?” he asked.

  The hangman stood up and brushed the leaves from his coat. “That was the devil. And he’s got away from us. All because you crapped your pants!”

  Automatically, Simon turned away from him. He felt that he was not only afraid of the devil but also of the man next to him.

  “I…I can’t kill,” he whispered. “I’m a physician. I’ve learned to heal people, not to kill them.”

  The hangman smiled sadly.

  “There you are. But we are supposed to be able to do it. And when we do it, then you are horrified. Stupid lot, you’re all the same.”

  He stomped off into the forest. Suddenly Simon was alone.

  Magdalena knocked frantically at the little manhole down by the Lech Gate. The opening was just high and wide enough for one person to fit through it. In this way the watchmen didn’t need to open the whole gate for latecomers, thus risking an attack.

  “It’s the middle of the night! Come back tomorrow; the gate opens when the bell strikes six,” growled a voice from the other side.

  “Alois, it’s me! Magdalena Kuisl. Open, it’s important!”

  “What’s next? First I let you in, then out again, and now you want to come in again. Forget about it, Magdalena, nobody comes into the town before the morning.”

  “Alois, down at the building site on the Hohenfurch Road there is more destruction in progress. Strangers are there! My father and Simon are watching them, but they can’t hold out long! We need the bailiffs!”

  The manhole creaked open. A weary watchman stared at her. He stank of brandy and sleep. “I can’t help you there. You must go to Lechner.”

  Only a short time later Magdalena stood before the gate of the ducal castle. The guards let her in but would not allow her to wake the court clerk. She shouted and scolded, until at last a window
opened on the second floor of the residence.

  “What’s all the racket down there, damn it?”

  Lechner, in his nightgown, blinked sleepily down at her from his window. Magdalena seized her chance and told the clerk briefly what had happened. When she had finished her story, he nodded.

  “I’m coming down right away. Wait there.”

  Some time later they were walking with the night watchmen and the guards along the Augsburg Road toward the Hohenfurch Road. The men were armed with pikes and two muskets. They looked tired and did not give the impression that it was their greatest desire to get up before dawn to hunt for a few marauding soldiers. Johann Lechner had hurriedly put on his doublet and cloak, and his hair was tousled under his official cap. He looked suspiciously at Magdalena.

  “I only hope you are telling the truth. Otherwise both of you—you and your father—can look out for trouble. And anyway, what is the hangman doing outside on the Hohenfurch Road at this time? Respectable burghers stay at home! Lately, your father has had a bit too much to say for my taste. He should torment and hang, and otherwise keep his mouth shut, by God!”

  Magdalena bowed her head humbly.

  “We were gathering herbs in the woods. Haircap moss and mugwort. You know, they can only be picked by moonlight.”

  “Devilish stuff, that! And what was Fronwieser’s son doing there? I don’t believe one word of it, hangman’s daughter!”

  In the meantime dawn started to break. The watchmen extinguished their lanterns as they approached the misty clearing near the road. Further back on a pile of wood sat the hangman and the physician.

  Johann Lechner stamped up to the two men. “Well? Where are your vandals? I can’t see anything. And the building site looks exactly as it did yesterday!”

  Jakob Kuisl rose. “They fled before they could destroy anything. I hit one of them in the face.”

  “Oh, yes. And where is he now?” probed the clerk.

  “He…didn’t look well. The others took him with them.”

  “Kuisl, give me one reason why I should believe this story.”

  “Tell me one reason why I should otherwise call you out here in the middle of the night.”

  The hangman now approached the clerk.

  “There were five,” said Kuisl emphatically. “Four of them were soldiers. The fifth was…somebody else. Their patron, I assume. And I believe he comes from the town.”

  The clerk smiled. “I don’t suppose you recognized him, by any chance?”

  “It was too dark,” Simon now joined the discussion. “But the others talked about him. They called him Moneybags. He must be a rich burgher.”

  “And why should this rich burgher commission a couple of soldiers to vandalize the building site of the leper house?” Lechner interrupted.

  “They didn’t damage it. They were looking for something,” said Simon.

  “What now? Did they destroy the building site, or were they looking for something? First you said that they were going to destroy it.”

  “Damn it, Lechner,” growled Jakob Kuisl. “Don’t be so slow-witted! Someone hired these men to upset everything here, something that would hinder the workers, so that their patron could look for what is hidden here in peace!”

  “But that’s nonsense!” interrupted Johann Lechner. “They didn’t gain anything by damaging things. The work is still proceeding in spite of everything.”

  “There were delays, though,” added Simon.

  Jakob Kuisl fell silent. The clerk was just about to turn away when the hangman suddenly spoke again.

  “The foundations.”

  “What?”

  “The patron must suppose that the treasure, or whatever it is, lies under the foundations. When the building work here is finished he won’t be able to get at it anymore. Then buildings of stone will stand here, all mortared and walled up, so he has to interfere with the work and in the meantime turn over every bit of earth until he finds what he is looking for.”

  “That’s right!” cried Simon. “When we were here the first time, parts of the foundation were dug out knee-deep. Someone had put the flagstones neatly aside. And tonight, too, one of the men was prying up the flagstones with a pole!”

  Johann Lechner shook his head.

  “Tales of treasure hunters and a mysterious search at midnight…Do you expect me to believe that?” He waved his hand over the clearing. “What thing of any value could be hidden here? The land belongs to the church, as you know. If there were anything to be found here, the parish priest would have discovered it in his documents. Every bit of church land is exactly recorded: the floor plan, position, previous history…”

  “Not this one,” Jakob Kuisl interrupted him. “This site was presented to the church by old Schreevogl, only a short time ago, to ease his entrance into paradise. The church knows nothing about this land, nothing at all.”

  The hangman let his eyes range over the clearing. The lower walls of the little chapel, the foundations for the hospital, the well, the linden tree, a frame of beams for a stable yet to be built, piles of wood…

  Something is hidden here.

  The court clerk gave him a benign smile. “Kuisl, Kuisl, stick to what you can do and leave all the rest to us members of the council. Do you understand? Otherwise I’ll have to come and have a closer look at your house. People say you sell love potions and other witches’ brews…”

  Simon joined in. “But sir, he’s right. The site…”

  Johann Lechner turned around and looked at him angrily.

  “As for you, Fronwieser, shut your insolent mouth, will you? Your little affair with this hangman’s wench…” He looked across at Magdalena, who quickly turned her head away. “It’s illegal and a disgrace, not only for your father. There are some aldermen who would like to see you both in the pillory. What a picture! The hangman putting the mask of shame on his own daughter! Up to now I have shown some restraint, out of consideration for your father, Fronwieser, and also for the executioner, whom I have respected up to now.”

  At the words “hangman’s wench,” Jakob Kuisl jumped up, but Magdalena held him back. “Leave him, Father,” she whispered. “You’ll only make things much worse for us.”

  Johann Lechner looked over the site once more and signaled to the watchmen to return.

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” he said, without turning around. “I think that there were in fact soldiers here. I’m even prepared to believe that some crazy Schongau patrician hired them to destroy the leper house. Because he was afraid that travelers would avoid the town. But what I do not believe is your tall tale about a buried treasure. And I do not wish to know who this patrician is. Quite enough dirt has been stirred up already. From now on a watch will be set here every night. The building work will continue as the council decided. As for you, Kuisl…” Not until now did he turn to the hangman. “You will come with me and do that for which God has ordained you. You will torture the Stechlin woman until she confesses to the murder of the children. That is the only thing of any importance. And not a few lousy soldiers on a ruined building site.”

  He was turning to go when one of the bailiffs plucked at his sleeve. It was Benedict Cost, who had been on duty in the keep this same night. “Sir, the Stechlin woman,” he began.

  Johann Lechner stopped. “Well, what about her?”

  “She…she’s unconscious and badly injured. At midnight she was drawing signs on the floor of her cell, and then Georg Riegg threw a stone at her, and now you can’t get a peep out of her. We sent old Fronwieser to her to see if he could bring her around.”

  A red flush came over Johann Lechner’s face. “And why haven’t you told me this until now?” he hissed.

  “We…we didn’t want to wake you,” stammered Benedict Cost. “We thought it could wait until the next day. I was going to tell you early this morning—”

  “Wait until the morning?” Johann Lechner had difficulty keeping his voice calm. “In one or two days the Elector’s se
cretary will be here with bag and baggage, and then all hell will break loose. If we can’t produce a culprit, he’ll undertake the search himself. And then God help us! It won’t be just one witch that he’ll find, you can be sure of that!”

  Abruptly he turned away and hurried back to the road that led to Schongau. The watchmen followed him.

  “Kuisl!” he called back when he reached the road. “You will come with me, and the others too! We’re going to squeeze a confession out of the Stechlin woman. And if necessary I’ll force speech out of a dead woman today!”

  Slowly, the mists of the morning rose.

  As the last of them left the site, a quiet sound of weeping was heard from somewhere.

  Martha Stechlin was still unconscious and therefore not in a condition to be questioned. She had a high fever and was mumbling in her sleep as Bonifaz Fronwieser held his ear to her chest.

  “The sign…the children…all deception…” She uttered scraps of words.

  The old physician shook his head. He looked up submissively at Johann Lechner, who was leaning against the cell door and observing the medical examination with increasing impatience.

  “Well?” inquired Lechner.

  Bonifaz Fronwieser shrugged. “It doesn’t look good. This woman has a high fever. She’s probably going to die before she regains consciousness again. I’ll bleed her, and—”

  Johann Lechner gestured dismissively. “Oh, leave that rubbish. Then she’ll die on us all the sooner. I know you quacks. Isn’t there another way to bring her around for a short time, at least? After she’s confessed she can die, as far as I’m concerned, but first we must have her confession!”

  Bonifaz Fronwieser was thinking. “There are certain remedies, which I unfortunately don’t have at my disposal.”

  Impatiently Johann Lechner drummed against the cell bars with his fingers. “And who has these certain remedies?”

  “Well, the hangman, I suppose. But that is devil’s stuff. Draw a large quantity of blood and the midwife—”

  “Watchman!” Johann Lechner was already on the way out. “Bring the hangman to me. He must bring the Stechlin woman around, and quickly. That’s an order!”