The Play of Death
“But how about Johann Lechner?” Barbara asked. “Someone should warn him that he could—”
“Ha! Do you think no one has tried?” Martha interrupted, filling Barbara’s cup with fresh wine. “Buchner has locked the city down like a mousetrap. Your sister already left two days ago, but we’re afraid something has happened to her, since she hasn’t returned yet with Lechner.”
Schreevogl nodded earnestly. “I gave her a letter for Lechner, but unfortunately we still haven’t heard from her. I don’t think she was caught by Buchner’s henchmen, or they would have found my traitorous note and I would have been tossed into the dungeon with Barbara.” He drummed his fingers nervously on the tabletop. “In any case, Buchner knows he doesn’t have much more time, and that’s the reason for hastily calling a council meeting.”
Barbara turned pale. “My God,” she moaned. “Isn’t there anyone in town to stand up to him?”
“I’m afraid there are very few in the council, in any case.” Jakob Schreevogl sighed. “Yours truly and a few of the young patricians. Buchner bribed some of the older members just to be sure, and the others are simply afraid or hope to benefit from the changes. For a long time, the town’s dependence on Munich has been a thorn in the flesh of many council members. After all, we were once a great imperial city.” He frowned. “If it comes to a vote, Buchner’s people will probably win. The constables are already instructed to immediately remove any troublemakers from the council. Unless . . .” He paused and poured himself a cup of wine as well.
“Unless what?” Barbara asked excitedly.
The patrician took a long drink before continuing. “Unless we can prove by tomorrow that Buchner is acting contrary to the best interests of the town—then, perhaps, the council might change its mind. I know that Buchner is planning something outrageous, and I suspect Doctor Ransmayer also has a part in it. There are witnesses, but none of them can tell me exactly what the two are planning.”
“I observed the two of them together,” Barbara interrupted, “in the parish church, and they were discussing something secret.”
Schreevogl nodded. “Magdalena told me about that, so, as you see, maybe you can help us. Exactly what did you see? It’s important, Barbara. Perhaps we still have a chance to stop Buchner.”
“Actually, there were two meetings,” she answered hesitantly. “The first time I saw Ransmayer with that odd Tyrolean in the hat in the parish cemetery, and then later Buchner and the doctor upstairs in the bell tower.”
“Can you remember any details of their conversation?”
Barbara closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. “At the first meeting, the Tyrolean told Ransmayer to be ready. Later, in the bell tower, the doctor demanded more money from Buchner—but for what, I don’t know.”
“Curses!” Schreevogl pounded the table. “That’s nowhere near enough. I thought you might have overheard something that would help us, but now . . .”
“That stupid doctor was there in the cemetery again yesterday,” Paul said suddenly from his seat in front of the stove. “And he was there before, too. I’ve seen him often.”
Everyone turned to look at Paul. “What are you saying?” Schreevogl asked with surprise.
“Well, I like to play around the building site. I climb around on the sacks of mortar for the new steeple.” He petted the purring cat, looking a bit embarrassed. “I know I’m not allowed to do that, but—”
Barbara jumped up and held him firmly by his two little hands. “Paul, that doesn’t matter now. What exactly did you see?”
“The doctor sometimes looked into the bags, then the wagon drivers came by, he spoke with them, and the men loaded the sacks on the wagon. Fat old Buchner was sometimes there, too.”
“This is our chance,” Schreevogl whispered. “I knew the two were up to something. We’ve got to find out as fast as we can what Ransmayer and Buchner were doing in the old cemetery—and it must have something to do with those sacks.”
“That won’t help if we can’t catch them in the act,” Martha interjected. “Even if those sacks were full of gold and jewels, they’d just deny everything.”
Barbara nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right. We need someone to . . .” She stopped and smiled. “Paul?” she said, turning to her nephew. “I think your aunt will let you go and play on the building site once more. Would you like to?”
Paul nodded enthusiastically. “I sure would. Can I take my slingshot along?”
“Indeed, and this time you can bring some extra large stones.”
Anxiously, Jakob Kuisl made his way through the moor toward Ettal Monastery, whose dome shone red and white like a huge jewel in the rugged mountains. It was a sunny afternoon. In the distance a woodpecker was hammering and little thrushes fluttered back and forth excitedly between the branches, but the hangman took no notice of all this. He stomped along determinedly, his boots sinking deep into the mire.
He was restless, because he didn’t know what Lechner planned to do with him. Clearly he had angered the secretary earlier in the Unterammergau church. Would he send him back to Schongau now that Eyrl had fled from the dungeon? Until recently, Jakob would have been all too happy to leave, but lately he’d been overcome, as often before in his life, with a burning curiosity. He had to figure out what was going on in this valley. In addition, he suspected he would never see his son, Georg, again unless Lechner was happy with him.
Only now did Jakob notice how much he’d succumbed to grief and his bad temper in recent years. The death of his beloved wife, the departure of his son, and the gruesome dreariness of his work had driven him into a despair that he’d tried to overcome with beer, wine, and hard liquor.
Just like my father, the old drunk, Jakob mused. Is this the fate of our family?
The hangman was not an especially pious man, but the earthquake the day before had actually seemed to him like a sign from God. He had prayed for a miracle, and it came.
The earthquake had awakened him from his torpor.
Still, he damn well wasn’t going to admit it to his son-in-law. His innermost thoughts weren’t anyone’s business except his own and the Almighty’s, before whom he’d stand someday, with all his sins.
After Jakob had left the Sacred Blood Chapel in Unterammergau with Simon, they had first taken a high mountain trail back to Oberammergau. The many crosses and roadside shrines had reminded them that the Lord was keeping a very close eye on this valley. Twice they met a group of armed hunters and forest workers looking for Xaver Eyrl, but it seemed the woodcarver had disappeared from the face of the earth, and Jakob doubted the men would ever find him. The valleys and the mountains offered many places to hide, and Eyrl was presumably long gone.
While Simon stayed behind in Oberammergau, Jakob started out on the path of penance to Ettal Monastery. As he entered through the main gate, he saw some Benedictine monks busy tearing down the shed damaged by fire during the earthquake. They were looking down as if they were absorbed in their work, but Jakob suspected they just wanted to avoid eye contact with him, a hangman, a bringer of misfortune. The collegial atmosphere he had felt when extinguishing the fire had disappeared.
“Ah! Behold, the executioner honors the monastery with another visit.”
Jakob turned, saw the abbot descending from the main building, and bowed slightly as he waited for him at the bottom of the stairs.
“Word has gotten around that you are a master at showing up where a hangman has no business being,” said the abbot in a sardonic tone. “First came the brawl at the Oberammergau cemetery, then you appeared at the monastery tavern during the earthquake, and now you are even snooping around in the Sacred Blood Chapel.”
“Someone was murdered,” Jakob replied curtly. “The medicus wanted my opinion.”
“The medicus who just happens to be your son-in-law. They say you ask questions about things that don’t concern you.”
Jakob shrugged. “The venerable secretary gave me his permission to ask any question
I wanted to.” That was a lie, but the hangman assumed that Lechner and the abbot didn’t waste much time talking about a dishonorable underling. “As you already know, Sailer hanged himself in the chapel,” Jakob said. “He’s the third Oberammergauer in just a week to die under questionable circumstances. Surely, officials at the monastery must hope there are no more such incidents.”
“This matter is no longer a worldly concern,” the abbot snapped. “Ever since the earthquake it must be perfectly clear that we have angered our Lord. We never should have tried to reschedule the Passion play. Only faith can save us now.” His face twisted into an evil smile. “In any case, it appears that your superior, the Schongau secretary, is overwhelmed by these events. I shall write a letter to Munich and ask that the investigation be put back in the hands of the ecclesiastical court here at the monastery. And oh, by the way . . .” Abbot Benedikt stopped as if something trivial had just crossed his mind. “The secretary has been waiting for some time to see you. It seems he’s not very happy with his hangman, or so I hear.”
Jakob frowned and looked around. The secretary’s splendid dapple-gray horse was hitched up outside one of the sheds, but he himself was nowhere to be seen. “Where can I find him?”
The abbot pointed up the steep mountainside behind the monastery. “He has gone for a walk up the trail into the mountains. You should go and join him immediately. And now run along. I have to pray for all the lost souls in this valley. And for yours, as well.”
His robe swishing, Abbot Benedikt hurried away, leaving the puzzled hangman standing alone in the courtyard. Jakob had been surprised by the abbot’s words. Why, for God’s sake, was Lechner waiting for him up in the mountains and not here in the monastery? Well, no doubt only the secretary himself could give him the answer, so he left the monastery through a low-beamed side door and headed toward the back of the building. From there, a muddy path led first through fields and mountain pastures and finally along a brook and into the monastery’s forest. At regular intervals, Jakob passed little shrines representing the stations of the cross in the Savior’s journey from His sentencing by Pontius Pilate to the crucifixion site. Jakob couldn’t help thinking of the three victims, all of them actors in the Passion play.
Who will be next? he wondered as he strode up the way of the cross. Matthew, John, or perhaps the venerable Peter?
Little beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. The path was not especially steep, but it was a warm day and he was still wearing his thick woolen coat. Briefly, he considered taking it off, but he didn’t want Lechner to see him looking like some random peasant in his sweaty shirt. He was, damn it all, the Schongau hangman. And he wasn’t accustomed to marching up some way of the cross only because his superior wanted him to.
It’s time for me to retire . . .
After about a quarter mile, the path led out of the forest, ending in a hill behind the monastery. A final devotional plaque showed the Mount of Calvary and three crucified men. Next to it was a bench where Johann Lechner sat, looking very relaxed. The secretary was alone. He had closed his eyes, stretched out his legs, and was clearly enjoying the afternoon sun.
“You are late, hangman,” he said, without opening his eyes.
“I’m a simple man without a horse or a coach,” Jakob grumbled, as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his dirty shirtsleeve. “It takes a bit longer for folks like us to get here from Unterammergau, and I also stopped at each station of the path to say a prayer for the honorable secretary.”
Lechner laughed softly. “Always in a joking mood, our Schongau hangman.” He pointed to the bench. “Take a seat.”
Kuisl settled down, and for a brief moment they were just two old men resting in the mountains and enjoying the sun. They looked at the monastery below, in the midst of blooming meadows and surrounded by mountains. The sight was so breathtakingly beautiful that for a moment Jakob actually forgot why he was there.
“Pretty spot,” Lechner said after a while. “So peaceful and undisturbed, with no nosy eavesdroppers.”
“Is there any reason we should fear eavesdroppers?” Jakob asked.
The secretary smiled. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last few days, it’s that you can’t trust a soul in this accursed valley—not the abbot, not the judge, and above all not these stubborn mountain people who don’t seem to live by any laws or rules.” For the first time, Lechner turned to look at Jakob. “The same is true for these cramped, moldy chapels where a private conversation is almost impossible. So, what have you learned, hangman?”
Jakob froze. He’d expected a severe tongue-lashing because he’d been snooping around without telling Lechner first, but evidently Lechner’s angry outburst in the chapel had just been an act.
The secretary winked at him as if he’d guessed what Jakob was thinking. “You are my dog, hangman,” he said. “I’ve taken you off your leash so you can sniff around, but I don’t want anyone to know I’m the one who let you go. And now, speak up and tell me what you know.”
Jakob cleared his throat. “Sailer hanged himself, there’s nothing secret about that, but I found one of the Pharisees in his pocket, too. I assume that Franz Würmseer also received a figurine like it.” Then he told Lechner how Würmseer had immediately recognized the figurine even in the semidarkness of the chapel. He didn’t mention the broken piece of wood in Sailer’s pocket, even though it raised questions in his mind.
After he’d finished, Lechner nodded approvingly. “Good sniffing, executioner. That all fits together with what I’ve been thinking.”
“Sailer got the figurine as a reminder from someone,” Jakob speculated, “and shortly afterward he hanged himself. But why? Why does anyone kill himself just because he was given a carved Pharisee? It must have something to do with greed and hypocrisy.”
“Yes, this Xaver Eyrl could probably have told us what that was, but he escaped, unfortunately.” Again Lechner closed his eyes, as if he just wanted to sit there and enjoy the sunshine.
“So it’s Würmseer,” he said finally. “Well, you see, you really helped me.”
“But there’s something else,” Jakob said. “Simon told me about some strange happenings here in the valley.” He told Lechner about the children’s bones, the black rider, and the stone circles. When he got to the last one, Lechner suddenly pricked up his ears and sat up on the bench as if he’d been stung by a wasp.
“Where did Simon see these stone circles?” he asked sharply.
“Beside the old Roman highway near Unterammergau, and then there’s one alongside the Malenstein and one up on the Döttenbichl, too.”
“Three stations, then,” Lechner mumbled, partly to himself. Then he continued: “Have you talked with anyone else about this?”
Jakob shook his head. “Not that I can remember.” But he didn’t mention that little Peter probably had already talked about it with some of the children, and Georg Kaiser most likely knew about it, as well.
Lechner looked at Jakob very sternly. His calm expression vanished and he seemed very concerned. “Listen, from now on I want you and Simon to stay out of this. You can go home. I don’t need you here any longer.”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Jakob.
“I said you can go home to Schongau before you stir up things any more here. You have helped me very much—thank you.”
“But . . .”
“You can go.” Lechner motioned impatiently. “Now let me sit here a while by myself. I have to think.”
“And so do I,” the hangman responded grimly. “About lots of things—especially about sniffing dogs released from their chains,” he added quietly.
He got up from the bench and walked back down to the monastery. He was so furious he’d forgotten to say goodbye to the secretary.
But Johann Lechner had already closed his eyes again, as if listening to a melody only he could hear.
Magdalena was dead.
She lay in a moldy coffin, her limbs cold and stiff. She could f
eel the coolness of the metal coins placed on her eyes as an offering to Charon, the ferryman of Hades, who carries the newly deceased across the river from the world of the living to the world of the dead. From far off, muffled by the thick lid of her casket, she could hear the deep, sad singing of the faithful assembled for her burial service. Magdalena wished she could cry, but she was dead, after all.
Suddenly she heard a loud rushing, and her legs felt wet.
The water, she thought. The water.
Cold dark water rushed into her coffin, from her legs to her hips, then to her shoulders, and finally a wave passed over her face, taking her breath away. She struggled to stay above the water, but no matter how hard she tried, she kept banging her forehead against the lid of the casket. All that remained was a tiny bubble of precious air, and then that, too, was gone. The water flowed up her nose, into her mouth, into her entire body, and it tasted salty, like . . . blood?
Magdalena wanted to scream, but more and more salty liquid poured down her throat.
She was bathing in her own blood.
“Water, water!” she gasped.
She felt a warm, comforting hand on her forehead. “All is well,” said a deep, muffled voice. “The Lord is with you.”
Suddenly she felt something warm on her lips, a salty liquid just like the one she was coughing up and spitting out in her dream just seconds ago.
“It’s too bad to waste the good potion,” someone grumbled. “Sleep, girl, sleep . . . Sleep is the best medicine now.”
“Barbara . . .” Magdalena mumbled. “The Master . . . I . . . must get to Oberammergau . . .”
“You must sleep now and get better.”
Again she felt a hand on her sweaty forehead and heard someone speaking reassuring words in Latin that sounded like a prayer. She smelled a mild fragrance of burned herbs that made her feel infinitely tired.
“Sleep, girl.”
Her lips still tasted salty from the liquid she had been given, salty like the blood that had come pouring over her in the dream. Just before she passed out again she could feel clearly that this dream was meant to tell her something.