The Hangman's Daughter

  Hurried steps departed in the direction of the tanners’ quarter.

  Bonifaz Fronwieser approached the clerk apprehensively. “Can I be of assistance to you in any other way?”

  Lechner only shook his head shortly. He was deep in thought. “Go. I’ll call for you when I need you.”

  “Your pardon, sir, but my fee.”

  With a sigh, Johann Lechner pressed a few coins into the physician’s hand. Then he turned back to the interior of the keep.

  The midwife lay on the floor of her cell, breathing with difficulty. Near her, now almost illegible, the sign was still on the ground.

  “Satan’s whore,” hissed Lechner. “Say what you know, and then go to hell.” He kicked the midwife in the side, so that she rolled, groaning, onto her back. Then he wiped out the witches’ sign and crossed himself.

  Behind him someone rattled the iron bars. “I saw her draw that sign!” cried Georg Riegg. “And I threw a stone at her straight away, to stop her putting a spell on us. You can rely on old Riegg, can’t you, sir?”

  Johann Lechner spun round. “You miserable bungler! It’ll be your fault if the whole town burns down! If you hadn’t hurt her, she could sing her devil’s song now, and we’d have peace at last! But, no, now the Elector’s secretary is coming. And just when the town has no more money anyway. You stupid fool!”

  “I…don’t understand.”

  But Johann Lechner was not listening to him anymore. He had already walked out onto the street. If the hangman could not bring the Stechlin woman around by midday, he would have to call a council meeting. Things were getting out of his control.

  CHAPTER

  13

  MONDAY

  APRIL 30, A.D. 1659

  EIGHT O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

  MAGDALENA WAS STRIDING UP THE STEEP ROAD from the Lech to the market square with a basket in hand. She could think of nothing but the events of the previous night. She hadn’t slept a wink, and yet she was wide awake.

  When Johann Lechner saw that the midwife was indeed unconscious and severely injured, he had dismissed the hangman and the physician, cursing violently. Now they were sitting in the hangman’s house, tired, hungry, and at their wit’s end. Magdalena had volunteered to go to the market to buy beer, bread, and smoked meat to help to revive them. After she had purchased a loaf of rye bread and a good cut of bacon in the market square, she turned to the inns behind the Ballenhaus. She avoided the Stern since Karl Semer, its landlord and the town’s presiding burgomaster, was currently on bad terms with her father. Everyone knew that the hangman had taken the side of the witch. So she went over to the Sonnenbräu to get two mugs of beer.

  When she stepped back into the street with the foaming tankards, she heard whispering and giggling behind her. She looked around. A group of children clustered around the door of the inn, eyeing her, partly out of fear, partly out of curiosity. Magdalena was making her way through the throng of children when she heard several voices strike up a little song behind her. It was an insulting rhyme with her name in it.

  “Magdalena, hangman’s cow, bears the mark upon her brow!

  Beckons all young men to play, ’cept for those who run away!”

  Angrily, she turned around.

  “Who was that? Speak, if you dare!”

  Some of the children ran away. Most, however, remained and looked at her, smirking.

  “Who was that?” she asked again.

  “You’ve put a spell on Simon Fronwieser, so that he follows you everywhere like a puppy, and you’re hand in glove with the Stechlin woman, that witch.”

  A boy with a crooked nose, approximately twelve years old, had spoken. Magdalena knew him. He was the son of Berchtholdt, the baker. He looked her in the eye defiantly, but his hands were shaking.

  “Is that so. According to whom?” Magdalena asked calmly, attempting a smile.

  “According to my father,” the Berchtholdt boy hissed. “And he says you’ll be next to end up burning at the stake.”

  Magdalena gave him a provocative stare. “Anybody else who believes this sort of rubbish? If so, shove off now, or else you’ll get one behind the ears.”

  Suddenly she had an idea. She reached into her basket and took out a handful of candied fruit. Actually, she had bought it at the market for her siblings. She smiled as she spoke on.

  “For everybody else, I might have some candy, if they want to tell me a thing or two.”

  The children pushed closer to her.

  “Don’t take anything from the witch!” Berchtholdt’s son yelled. “There’s sure to be a spell on the fruit that’ll make you sick!”

  Some of the children looked frightened, but their appetite was stronger. With big eyes they followed all of her movements.

  “Magdalena, hangman’s cow, bears the mark upon her brow,” the Berchtholdt boy repeated. But nobody sang along.

  “Oh, shut up,” another boy interrupted him. He was missing most of his front teeth. “Your father stinks of brandy every morning when I go to get bread. God knows all the crazy things he thinks up when he’s drunk. Now shove off.”

  Crying and hollering, the baker’s son ran off. Some followed him; the others crowded around Magdalena and stared at the candied fruit in her hand as if in a trance.

  “Well, then,” she began. “About the murdered boys, Clara, and that Sophie girl. Who knows what they did at the midwife’s? Why didn’t they play with you?”

  “They were buggers, real pests,” the boy in front of her said. “Nobody here misses them. Nobody wanted to have anything to do with them.”

  “Why would that be?” Magdalena asked.

  “’Cause they were bastards, weren’t they? Wards and orphans,” a little blonde girl piped up, as if the hangman’s daughter were a bit slow on the uptake. “And besides, they didn’t want to have anything to do with us. They always hung around with that Sophie. And one time she beat my brother black-and-blue, that witch!”

  “But Peter Grimmer wasn’t a ward at all. He still had his father,” Magdalena objected.

  “He got bewitched by Sophie,” the boy with the missing teeth whispered. “He was totally different since they met! They kissed and showed each other their bare arses. Once he told us that all the wards had entered a compact together and that they could cast a spell on other children to put warts on their faces and even smallpox, if they wanted to. And just a week later little Matthias died of smallpox!”

  “And they learned their witchcraft from the Stechlin woman!” a little boy shouted from farther back in the group.

  “They used to sit in her house, and now the devil has taken away his disciples,” another one hissed.

  “Amen,” Magdalena murmured. Then she gave the children an enigmatic look.

  “I know witchcraft as well,” she murmured. “Do you believe me?” Frightened, her audience backed away a little.

  Magdalena put on a conspiratorial face, waving her hands mysteriously. “I can make candied fruit rain from the sky.”

  She tossed the sweet candies high up in the air. As the children screamed and scrambled to get the fruit, she disappeared around the nearest corner.

  She didn’t notice that a figure was following her at a safe distance.

  “I guess today I’ll take a cup of your devil’s brew.” The hangman pointed at the small pouch dangling at Simon’s side. The physician nodded and poured the coffee grounds into the pot of boiling water that was hanging above the fire. A strong, invigorating fragrance filled the air. Jakob Kuisl breathed it in and nodded appreciatively. “Doesn’t smell bad at all. Considering it’s supposed to be the devil’s piss.”

  Simon smiled. “And it’ll clear our minds, believe me.”

  He filled a pewter mug for the hangman. Then he sipped cautiously at his own mug. Every sip helped dispel the tired feeling in his head.

  The two men were sitting across from each other at the large, worn table in the main room of the hangman’s house, brooding over the previous night’s
events. Anna Maria, Kuisl’s wife, had sensed that the two needed to be alone, so she went down to the Lech to do her laundry and took the twins with her. Silence engulfed the room.

  “I bet my behind that Clara and Sophie are still at that building site,” the hangman growled after a while, drumming his fingers on the table. “There has to be a hideout there, and a good one at that. Otherwise we or the others would have found it long ago.”

  Simon winced. He’d scalded his lips with his hot mug.

  “That’s certainly possible, but there’s no way of finding that out now,” he said finally, running his tongue over his lips. “At daytime, the workmen are at the site, and at night there are the guards that Lechner dispatched. If they find out anything concerning those children, they’re sure to inform Lechner…”

  “And Sophie will end up at the stake together with Martha,” the hangman concluded. “Jesus Christ, there’s a jinx on all of this!”

  “Don’t say such a thing,” Simon grinned. Then he turned serious again.

  “Let’s recapitulate,” he said. “The children seem to be hiding somewhere at the building site. And there’s something else hidden there as well. Something that a rich man would like to have. That’s why he has hired a handful of soldiers. Resl from Semer’s inn told me that these soldiers were meeting with somebody in the upstairs room last week.”

  “That would’ve been the mastermind, the patron.”

  The hangman lit his pipe on a chip of pinewood. Like a tent, the tobacco smoke billowed over the two men, mingling with the fragrance of the coffee. Simon had to cough briefly before he went on.

  “The soldiers are vandalizing the building site for the leper house, so that they’ll have more time for their search there. That makes sense to me. But why, in the name of God, does one of them slaughter the orphans? There’s no sense in that!”

  Thoughtfully, the hangman sucked on his pipe. His eyes were staring at a point in space. Finally, he spoke. “They must have seen something. Something that mustn’t be brought to light under any circumstances.”

  Simon slapped his forehead, spilling the remainder of his coffee, which formed a brown puddle that spread across the table. But he didn’t care about that.

  “The patron!” he shouted. “They have seen the patron who is behind the destruction?”

  Jakob Kuisl nodded.

  “That would also explain why the Stadel had to be burned down. The devil had an easy time getting his hands on most of the eyewitnesses. He got Peter out there on the river. Anton and Johannes were unwanted orphans and therefore easy prey. But Clara Schreevogl was well protected as a patrician’s child. The devil must somehow have found out that she was sick and in bed…”

  “And then his cronies set fire to the Stadel to distract her family and the servants, so that he could get the child,” Simon groaned. “There was a lot at stake for Schreevogl. He had his stock of merchandise down at the Stadel. Of course he’d rush down to the river.”

  The hangman relit his pipe. “Clara was home alone, sick in her bed. But she did get away from him somehow. And so did Sophie—”

  Simon jumped to his feet. “We have to find the children at once, before the devil gets them. The building site…”

  Jakob Kuisl pulled him back on his chair.

  “Calm yourself. Take one thing at a time. We have to save not just the children, but Martha as well. And it is a fact that there was a witches’ mark on each of the dead children. And that all of them had previously been at the midwife’s. It’s possible that the Elector’s secretary will arrive as early as tomorrow, and Lechner wants to have the confession by then. I can actually understand why: if the secretary begins meddling in the matter, then one witch just won’t do. That’s exactly how it was with the last great witch hunt here in Schongau. In the end they burned more than sixty women in these parts.”

  The hangman looked deep into Simon’s eyes.

  “First we have to find out about these signs. And we have to do so very soon.”

  Simon groaned. “Damn these signs. There’s nothing but one riddle after the other here.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Who’s there?” the hangman growled.

  “It’s me, Benedict Cost,” came a frightened voice from the other side of the door. “Lechner’s sent me to fetch you. You’re supposed to be attending to the witch. She won’t say a thing, and she’s supposed to confess today. So now you’ve got to heal her again. You’ve got medicines and books that the old physician doesn’t have, Lechner says.”

  Jakob Kuisl laughed.

  “First I’m supposed to hurt her, then heal her again, and in the end burn her. You’re completely crazy, you lot.”

  Benedict Cost cleared his throat.

  “Lechner says it’s an order.”

  Jakob Kuisl sighed.

  “Wait there. I’m coming.”

  He went over to his spare chamber, grabbed a few bottles and jars, packed everything into a sack, and set out on his way.

  “You come along,” he said to Simon. “Time for you to learn something proper, not just those scribblings from university, from those buffoons who break up a man into four humors and think that’s that.”

  He slammed the door behind them and stomped ahead. The bailiff and Simon followed.

  Slowly, Magdalena walked past the Ballenhaus and across the market square. Around her, market women were loudly hawking the first vegetables of the spring: onions, cabbages, and tender little turnips. The fragrance of oven-warm bread and freshly caught fish was in the air, yet she heard and smelled nothing. Her thoughts were still focused on her conversation with the children. On a sudden impulse she turned around and headed westward to the Küh Gate. Soon she had left the shouting and the noise behind her, and only a few people were coming her way. A short time later she had reached her destination.

  The midwife’s house was in a terrible state. The windows were shattered and hung crooked on their hinges. Someone had forced the door open. In front of the entrance, pottery shards and splintered wood were lying about. It was obvious that the small home had been a repeated target of looters. Magdalena was certain that nothing of any value was left in there, let alone any hint at what had happened a week ago. Nonetheless, she stepped into the main room, looking around.

  The room had been turned upside down. The kettle, the poker from the fireplace, the chest, and also the handsome pewter cups and plates that Magdalena had seen on previous visits were gone. Someone had pried open the chicken cage beneath the bench and made off with the chickens. Even the little house altar with its crucifix and statue of the Blessed Virgin had been stripped bare. All that was left off Martha Stechlin’s possessions was a smashed table and countless pottery shards, which were scattered across the floor. Some were adorned with alchemistic signs. Magdalena remembered having seen those symbols on the jars that the midwife had kept on a shelf next to her stove.

  Standing in the middle of the room, the hangman’s daughter tried to imagine, despite the emptiness, how only a week ago the children had played with the midwife. Maybe Martha Stechlin had told them ghost stories, but maybe she had also shared her secret knowledge with them and shown them herbs and medicines. Sophie in particular seemed to be interested in those sorts of things.

  Magdalena walked down the hallway and out into the yard. The midwife had been arrested only a few days before, but it seemed to Magdalena that the garden was already growing wild. The looters had yanked the tender shoots of early vegetables from the beds and had attacked the magnificent herbal garden. Magdalena shook her head. So much hatred and greed, so much senseless violence.

  Suddenly she caught her breath and hurried back to the main room to look for something. It immediately met her eye.

  She almost laughed at not having noticed earlier. She stooped down, picked it up, and rushed outside. In the street she actually did start to giggle, so that several burghers turned around and gave her a startled look.

  They had lon
g suspected that the hangman’s daughter was hand in glove with the witch. Now here was the final proof!

  Magdalena didn’t let their looks intimidate her. Still laughing, she decided on a whim not to go home through the Lech Gate but rather through the Küh Gate. She knew a narrow, unfrequented path, little more than a trail, that followed along the base of the town wall and descended to the Lech. The April sun was warm on her face as she passed the gate. She greeted the sentry and ambled along between the beeches.

  It was all so simple. Why hadn’t they thought of it earlier? It had been there before their eyes the whole time, and they simply hadn’t seen it. Magdalena pictured herself conveying the news to her father. Her fist was clutched around the object she was holding. The midwife might go free today. Well, not free, perhaps, but the torture would be suspended, and the trial would be reopened. Magdalena was convinced that now all would change for the better.

  The branch hit her right on the back of her head, so that she fell forward into the mud.

  She tried to push herself up, when suddenly she felt a fist grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and pushing her back into the mud. Her face lay in a puddle. When she tried to breathe, she tasted only dirt and muddy water. She struggled like a fish out of water, but her attacker kept pushing her head down. As she was losing consciousness, the hand suddenly yanked her up again. She heard a voice right in her ear.

  “Let’s see what I can do with you, hangman’s wench. Once, in Magdeburg, I cut off a girl’s breasts and made her eat them. Would you like that? But first I need your father, and you, you’re going to help me with that, sweetheart.”

  A second blow made her skull explode. She could no longer feel how the devil pulled her out of the water and dragged her over the embankment down to the river.

  The object slipped from her hand and sank to the bottom of the puddle, where mud slowly settled on it.