He was about to move on when he heard a cracking sound under his shoe, as if he’d stepped on a nutshell. Puzzled, he leaned down and picked up from the ground an object about as long as a finger and broken in two. It had been lying in the mud, and it took a while before Jakob realized what it was. He stopped short.
What in the world?
It was probably just an accident, but he decided to keep the little object. Lost in thought, he put the two parts in his pocket and continued walking past the gurgling pools of water and low-hanging trees on his way to Oberammergau. A gentle wind tugged at his hat.
At least he’d persuaded Lechner to let him go back to Simon’s house for the night instead of staying in the monastery, telling the secretary it would be better for his investigations to be closer to the scene of the crime. The actual reason, however, was that Jakob could no longer tolerate the sour faces of the abbot and his priests. Every time they walked by him they made the sign of the cross and ran into the church to pray, as if he were the devil himself. The hangman grinned. It wasn’t the worst of all possible things to be regarded as a devil. At least they’d leave him alone. After half an hour Jakob finally reached Oberammergau. In contrast with Schongau and other cities and towns, there was no town gate here, no city wall, and no night watchman. Here and there along the main street, light could be seen through closed shutters, but otherwise it was pitch-dark. On the right was the tall steeple of the church, and somewhere in the distance a cow was mooing.
Despite the darkness, Jakob decided to take a shortcut. He turned left into a muddy lane that led down to the rushing waters of the Ammer. Somewhere down there along the shore was the bathhouse. As he walked along he couldn’t help noticing the many sprigs of St. John’s wort still hanging on the doors; Simon had told him about them. Grimly, Jakob looked toward the dark outlines of the mountains looming on the horizon. So far, the sprigs had done little to drive evil from the valley.
As he was about to turn toward the bathhouse he noticed a figure about twenty paces away. Suspicious, he stopped. It wasn’t so much the fact that someone was still roaming the streets at this late hour that aroused his suspicions, it was the cautious way the figure was moving, sneaking along like a thief in the night, as if he didn’t want to be seen.
Who the devil is that? That’s not the way a farmer walks when he’s on his way home from the tavern. It’s more like a person with something to hide.
He decided to follow the suspicious figure at a distance, carefully scurrying from house to house, occasionally ducking into small alleys ankle-deep in garbage. By now, Jakob had seen enough to say the figure was young, broad-shouldered, wearing a black cloak and a floppy hat, and holding a sack over his shoulder. He was stooping down as he approached the main street in the village, where the home of the judge as well as the warehouse was located. On the wide street it was harder for Jakob to follow the stranger without being seen, so he leaned against a wall and waited a while.
When he stepped out into the street again, the man had vanished.
Damn!
He looked around frantically, but no one was there. He was about to give up when he heard a clatter in a side street that sounded like a barrel falling over. Quietly he crept closer, stopped . . . and grinned. The stranger had evidently used an empty beer barrel to climb up to the second floor of a house, but the barrel had fallen over, and now the man was clinging to the windowsill above him, swinging back and forth like a pendulum.
And soon he’ll fall down and I can harvest him like a rotten apple . . .
Jakob was convinced that the stranger was just an ordinary burglar, probably one of these itinerant peddlers being discussed in the town council and everywhere else. Though he wasn’t really looking for people like that, he couldn’t allow any random gallows bird to break into other people’s houses. Perhaps an arrest would help him win over the stubborn Oberammergauers.
The man was still dangling beneath the window, but Jakob hesitated, suddenly realizing whose house it was—it was the back of the stately mansion of Konrad Faistenmantel and his family, one of the finest homes on the square. The burglar definitely had good taste.
To Jakob’s surprise, the stranger was actually succeeding in pulling himself up to the window—the fellow, evidently, was strong as an ox. Instinctively, Jakob cracked his knuckles and ran out into the street.
It was time to act.
He ran toward the man, and before he could slip out of reach, pulled him by the feet. With a loud shout, the man tumbled to the ground. For a moment he was stunned and just lay there, but then he got control of himself again and got to his feet. Instead of fleeing, however, he attacked the hangman, who was taken by surprise and fell over backward.
“Damn!”
Cursing, Jakob flailed about with his arms like an out-of-control windmill. Arresting this man had turned out to be far more difficult than he’d expected. The hangman was going on sixty now, and even though he was a bear of a man and a skillful fighter, it was a long time since he’d fought in the Great War, where he was feared as a master of the longsword. Nowadays Jakob could feel pain in every bone in his body while standing up, bending down, walking long distances, and above all in dirty brawls like this one. If he was going to win this fight, he’d have to be fast.
The hangman feinted to the right then landed a blow with his left fist, catching his opponent off guard. Jakob struck him hard on the cheek, and the man uttered a sound of surprise. But then he prepared to attack and pummeled Jakob with a hail of blows.
His opponent was strong, and Jakob couldn’t dodge all the blows, but he clenched his teeth and concentrated completely on his own next move. The hangman let his guard fall, which left him open to a few more painful blows, but he managed to stiff-arm his opponent like a battering ram.
Jakob’s opponent took a direct hit to the chin, groaned softly, then fell to the side like a rock landing in the muddy alley. As he fell, his hat fell off, and for the first time Jakob was able to see his face. It was actually a young fellow with prominent facial features and bushy eyebrows. Though he was perhaps only twenty, he seemed as massive as a stone monument.
And he had fiery red hair.
The man’s eyelids fluttered and he kept turning his head from side to side, moaning. Presumably he would soon wake up again. When Jakob leaned over him for a better look, he noticed a sack the man had been carrying lying next to him on the ground. It had flown open and some small objects had fallen out. Reaching down in the darkness, he could feel the sharp corners of carved wooden figurines. The moon shone on a number of dainty statuettes about as long as a finger.
They all represented a man in clerical garb.
“Good heavens! That’s . . . Xaver!”
The voice came from one of the windows overhead, where an old maid had opened the shutter and was looking down at the unconscious man. “What is Xaver doing here? I thought he was long gone—to the West Indies, or God knows where.”
Now the shutter of another window opened—the one the burglar had been trying to break into—and the massive figure of Konrad Faistenmantel appeared, dressed in a thin nightshirt and nightcap and looking very tired and very angry.
“What the hell . . .” he started to say, but then he discovered the young man with the fiery red hair lying unconscious below, and his eyes flashed with anger.
“Xaver Eyrl!” he hissed. “Haven’t I told you to stay away from us Faistenmantels? You have some explaining to do.” Then he looked in astonishment at Jakob Kuisl, whom he obviously had just recognized. An evil smile passed over the face of the town council chairman. “What a pleasant surprise. I see, Xaver, you have brought your executioner along. Now I hope we’ll find an explanation for some of the things happening in town.”
9
OBERAMMERGAU, ON THE MORNING OF MAY 8, AD 1670
JOHANN LECHNER’S FINGERS PLAYED WITH the wooden chess piece as he pondered a brilliant move. His nails dug into the finely whittled lindenwood figurine, over the veil
ed headpiece and robe of the finger-sized Pharisee—so finely carved that even the folds in the robe were visible. Lechner carefully placed the figurine back on the table alongside the others, all of them identical. There were seven.
A subtle smile spread over his face as he leaned down toward Xaver Eyrl, who sat in a chair opposite him.
“Good work,” Lechner said approvingly. “There are not many people who can carve something like that—especially not seven of them that so resemble each other.” He pointed at the other figurines. “Why seven, Eyrl? What did you intend to do with them?”
The young carver shrugged and remained silent. His hands and feet were in chains, and around his neck was an iron ring fastened to the wall by another chain. He stared at Lechner grimly. The secretary, the abbot of Ettal, and the Ammergau judge were sitting at a rough-hewn table brought down from the main floor into the basement of the monastery just for this purpose. The morning sun was already shining over Ettal, but none of that penetrated down here into the dark dungeon, where the only light came from a smoking oil lamp on the wall.
At the side of the table stood Jakob Kuisl, his arms folded over his broad chest and a black hood drawn down over his face. The hangman knew that he was expected to put on a dramatic presentation—and part of that was this damned hood that itched and scratched like the fur of a mangy wolf. Concealed under the hood, Jakob studied the accused, visibly scarred by the previous night’s brawl.
Eyrl’s left eye was black-and-blue and his lip so swollen it looked like a fat caterpillar. He had fought tooth and nail when he was arrested the night before, and it had taken four men to tie him up and get him into a cart bound for Ettal Monastery. Now, early the next morning, he seemed to have calmed down a bit.
But Jakob suspected he would be a hard nut to crack. The hangman’s gaze wandered over to the instruments of torture lined up neatly along the wall and gleaming, cold and metallic, in the light of the oil lamp. A sharp odor rose from the pan of glowing embers standing in the corner.
“I’ll ask again,” said Lechner after a while. “What were you doing with those little figurines?”
“They are woodcarvings,” Eyrl replied curtly. “I sell them in the villages.”
“Aha! And you wanted to sell one to Faistenmantel, as well, and for that reason were trying to climb through his window?” Lechner asked. “Didn’t he hear you knocking at the door, hmm?”
Eyrl remained silent, defiant, but Jakob could see him eyeing the torture instruments out of the corner of his eye—the thumbscrews, the hot poker, the jaw-expander . . .
He’s wondering which instrument I’ll use first, Jakob thought, and how long he’ll be able to keep silent. In any case, he’s a tougher nut than Göbl.
At daybreak, Lechner had released Hans Göbl, the first suspect, with instructions not to leave the valley. The once proud sculpture painter was so overwhelmed he burst out crying and collapsed, and when his family arrived to pick him up at the gates to the monastery, he was still trembling. It was not the first time Jakob had seen how strong, upright men could react under the fear of torture.
The judge, Johannes Rieger, shifted back and forth on his chair and cleared his throat. “Well, I believe the matter is clear,” he began, drumming his fingers on the table where the ink, quill pen, and documents were located. “Eyrl was trying to break into Konrad Faistenmantel’s house, and in the process he dropped this sack of figurines. That’s all there is to it,” he said, turning his ferretlike face toward Johann Lechner. “I don’t know the point of your questions, except that—”
“ET TU,” Lechner interrupted sharply. Rieger blinked. “What do you think that means, ET TU? These two Latin words are engraved into the base of each of these figurines.” Lechner turned over one of the Pharisee figurines and handed it to Rieger. “You too . . . What does it mean, and why the seven statuettes of Pharisees, Jewish scholars, not beautiful figurines of the Madonna that would sell very well?”
The judge frowned and leaned back, his arms folded. “That’s something you’ll have to ask the accused, not me.”
“That’s just what I was going to do before you interrupted.” Lechner pointed at Jakob and his torture instruments. “I brought my hangman along not just to put down stupid brawls in the Oberammergau cemetery. Eyrl will talk—if not now, then tomorrow or the day after.” He pounded the table with his fist and glared at his two colleagues. “As you know, I have permission from Munich to pursue this investigation, wherever it takes us, and with all means at my disposal, whether you like it or not.”
“Torture in a monastery,” hissed Abbot Benedikt, sitting beside him. “That’s . . . blasphemy.”
“To crucify a man is also blasphemy,” Lechner replied dryly. “I’ll find the culprit, you can count on it, and I’ll also find out what it has to do with these statuettes.”
“Don’t you think you’re getting ahead of yourself?” Johannes Rieger asked sarcastically. He pointed at Xaver Eyrl, who stared ahead with a grim look on his face. “This man is an outlaw, a burglar, there’s no question about that. He left the village some time ago and since then has been drifting around the area. When he ran out of money, he came back and tried to burglarize Konrad Faistenmantel because he thought that’s where the money was. He’ll pay the price for that, but your assumptions concerning these statuettes are simply ridiculous. We should have continued questioning Göbl—this is a dead end.”
“He didn’t just try to break into Faistenmantel’s house,” Jakob grumbled softly. “He wanted to take revenge on him. Good God, is that so hard to understand?”
The three inquisitors spun around.
“What are you saying, fellow?” Rieger snarled.
The abbot laughed scornfully. “Has it gone so far that the hangman now takes part in the questioning in a burglary? This dishonorable fellow has to keep his mouth shut and only speak when he is asked.”
“Eh, you’re right,” Lechner replied, glaring at Jakob. “My hangman is sometimes a bit . . . impertinent. But he speaks the truth. He told me all about it yesterday. The initial investigation of Hans Göbl revealed that there is deep hostility between the Eyrls and the Faistenmantels. Konrad Faistenmantel brought financial ruin down on Xaver Eyrl’s family. There is therefore ample reason to suspect that Xaver killed young Dominik Faistenmantel and now has designs on Dominik’s father.” Lechner glared at Rieger and the abbot. “It’s interesting that neither of you two gentlemen mentioned this hostility, which must be general knowledge here. So why didn’t anyone tell me about it? Why do I have to learn about this from my hangman?”
“Are you trying to say we’re impeding your investigation?” Abbot Benedikt burst out.
“I don’t give a damn what you think,” whispered Lechner. “I only know that I’m going to solve this case, with or without your help.” Suddenly he clapped his hands loudly and rose to his feet. “Since the accused refuses to speak, we will continue the questioning tomorrow with the use of the first level.” He pointed at the torture instruments. “I think we’ll use the thumbscrews and pincers first, and if Eyrl continues to be stubborn, we’ll continue with fire and sulfur. Those usually make people talk. For today, the meeting is concluded.”
Lechner got up and gave Rieger and the abbot a sickly-sweet smile. “I would be pleased to have the esteemed gentlemen at my side tomorrow as witnesses. Believe me, the Schongau hangman is a tough fellow, and in three days at the latest this case will be solved and I can send my report to Munich.” Johann Lechner eyed the abbot suspiciously. “I’m sure Your Excellencies will welcome this outcome, won’t you?”
“Naturally,” Abbot Benedikt responded, his lips tightly pursed as he nodded to the Schongau secretary. “We all pray that the case can be solved as soon as possible. You will excuse us, morning mass calls.” Then he gathered up his robe and hastily left the cell with Johannes Rieger.
A while later, Jakob stood alone in the dungeon, which smelled of smoke and mold, and cleaned his torture instruments one by o
ne with a filthy rag. The tongs had become badly rusted, the pokers had a black gleam like polished basalt, and suspicious red spots were still visible here and there on the thumbscrews. Many years ago, Jakob’s grandfather Jörg Abriel had wrested confessions from alleged witches with these tools. Afterward, they were passed down to Johannes Kuisl, Jakob’s father, and finally to Jakob. He had always hated them.
The hangman sighed deeply and continued cleaning the tools. His mouth felt dry and he longed for a tankard of strong brown beer. Tomorrow it would begin again, the crushing and tearing, the shouting, howling, and crying. How he detested it. Perhaps Eyrl would weaken and confess, but Jakob doubted it. The young woodcarver looked strong and, above all, very stubborn, reminding Jakob in a certain way of how he was in his younger years.
But now I’m standing on the other side . . .
In the meantime, the guards had taken Xaver Eyrl to his cell, where, amid old wine barrels and moldy grain sacks, he could think about the pain awaiting him the following day. This was the reason Lechner had called off the questioning so abruptly. That fear could be a terrifying weapon, especially when darkness fell, with its somber dreams and the cold damp breath of loneliness in one’s face.
Jakob heard a door squeaking behind him, and when he turned around he saw Johann Lechner standing in the cell. The secretary had appeared suddenly, like a ghost.
“We must talk, hangman,” he said, lost in his thoughts and stroking his beard.
Carefully, Jakob set the instruments aside. “If it’s about the questioning tomorrow, Your Excellency, may I say—”
“I swear, if you exceed your authority again and embarrass me in front of the abbot, I’ll see to it that your family is run out of town like a pack of wolves,” Lechner hissed. “And your son will never—I repeat never—be allowed inside the gates of Schongau. Have I expressed myself clearly enough, hangman?”
Jakob was silent, then he nodded and said, “I understand. Please allow your loyal servant to continue his work now.”