“When this is all over, you’ll get so many candied plums they’ll be coming out your ears,” Barbara replied. With both arms, she boosted herself out of the trapdoor. “Now let’s go, before Ransmayer slips through our fingers.”
Wedged in between two guards, Simon stood atop the Döttenbichl staring at the many Oberammergauers gathered below around the hill. Some faces were contorted with hate, but most of the spectators seemed just curious or even indifferent. Simon knew these gazes from the occasional executions in Schongau. They were just waiting for the spectacle to begin, and happy they weren’t standing up there on the scaffold themselves.
Alongside him stood Franz Würmseer, dagger in hand. He approached menacingly, as the guards forced Simon down onto the snow-covered, muddy ground.
“The verdict is unanimous,” Würmseer proclaimed as he cast his eyes over the silent crowd. “The stranger must die.”
“You mustn’t do this!” cried Simon, struggling in vain to escape the clutches of his guards. “You know me . . . all of you. It’s me,” he pleaded, “the medicus from Schongau.” He turned and looked down at the woodcutter Alois Mayer standing in the first row alongside some of the other actors in the Passion play. “I came to help you. How many of you have I visited in your homes as the medicus?”
Mayer was about to answer, but a young, tough-looking fellow dressed as a wagon driver cut him off. “Hold your tongue, Schongauer. We don’t want any foreigners poking their noses around here. What comes next is all your fault.”
“Faistenmantel hired him!” screamed an old woman to whom Simon had given an herbal ointment just two days ago for her gout. “He told me himself. They’re probably working together to sell our village to the foreigners.”
“What nonsense,” Simon insisted. “I’m here because—”
“Truly spoken.” It was the voice of Johannes Rieger, interrupting Simon’s desperate plea. The judge strode forward through the crowd and climbed slowly up the hill. “Don’t you see what’s going on here? First they sent just the Schongau medicus, then the Schongau secretary with his executioner. Who will they send next? For a long time, the people down on the Lech have had an eye on our beautiful town, and if we don’t watch out, they’ll seize power here, too. Just like this man here.” Rieger pointed his walking stick at the groaning Konrad Faistenmantel, who was gradually regaining consciousness. The council chairman was bound to the cross by ropes on his hands and feet; his bald head had swollen bright red from hanging upside down, and blood continued to drip from it into the snow. “First he took your money, and now he wants to sell what remains of you to the Schongauers,” Rieger continued. “I have proof that Faistenmantel wanted to meet with the Schongau Town Council. The papers with his signature were already prepared.”
“That’s a brazen lie,” Simon shouted. “Don’t believe a word he says.”
He still could hardly believe that even the Ammergau judge was one of the conspirators—the whole valley seemed to be part of a dreadful conspiracy. Evidently they had long ago lost patience with the many foreigners. The children’s bones that Simon had found suggested that Franz Würmseer and his accomplices had killed the laborers’ children to sow fear among the immigrants and convince them to leave the valley on their own. The Faistenmantel family and some others who were on the Oberammergau Town Council had figured out what was going on and had to die for it. That’s what must have happened.
Simon couldn’t imagine that all of Oberammergau had known about the grisly sacrifices. Perhaps at first it had just been a small group, and the others had appeared at the meeting that night merely out of curiosity or hatred of Konrad Faistenmantel. But through their terrible suspicions, Johannes Rieger and Franz Würmseer had accomplished just what they intended—to whip the Oberammergauers up into a mob. Anyone doubting Faistenmantel’s guilt was now finally won over.
“Death to all traitors to our village!” someone shouted, and others joined in the chorus. “Death to all immigrants! We don’t need you!”
Johannes Rieger had now reached the top of the slope with the cross. He stood next to Franz Würmseer in a defiant pose. “We cannot be sold,” the judge said in a loud voice, “not to the Schongauers, and not to anyone else. This valley is free, and ever since the time of King Ludwig of Bavaria we have had inalienable rights. Anyone seeking to take them from us must die.”
The earlier mumbling swelled up now to a thunderous cascade of shouts, roars, and the banging together of hoes and shovels as the Oberammergauers expressed their agreement.
“Death to the foreigners, death to the traitors!”
“Don’t believe a word of what your judge says,” Simon shouted desperately. “Children have been killed here. If you don’t do anything to stop this now, you will be murderers yourselves.”
But Simon’s voice was drowned out in the roar of the crowd, and the guards pushed him back onto the ground, holding him by both arms in a viselike grip as Franz Würmseer slowly brought the dagger up to his throat.
All the fanaticism had disappeared from Würmseer’s eyes. He appeared cool and cautious now, and Simon thought he understood what the wagon driver had been trying to do all along. With the sacrificial ritual he was forging an inseparable bond between himself and the citizens of the town. After tonight, they would all be murderers. The act would bring the village together and no one would then be able to stop this shameful activity.
Snowflakes fell into Simon’s eyes, and he had to blink. Strangely, at this moment he no longer felt any fear. Even the shouts of the villagers sounded muted, as if he were separated from them by a thick wall. All his thoughts at that moment were with Magdalena and his two sons, who would now grow up without a father. Endless grief came over him.
So this is the way it feels when you die . . . He squinted and waited for the painful, deadly blow. But it didn’t come.
Instead, he heard a voice he knew only too well.
“Take your filthy paws off my husband, or my father will put you all on the wheel one by one and yank your guts out. By God, I swear he will!”
The guards loosened their grip a bit, and Simon was able to turn his head around. From out of the darkness, three riders clothed all in black charged at full speed up the hill. In front rode a man on a dapple-gray horse, and a donkey trotted alongside them.
And on the donkey rode a woman in a black robe who looked very, very angry.
17
OBERAMMERGAU, ON THE NIGHT OF MAY 11, AD 1670
SIMON CLOSED HIS EYES, THEN opened them again. But he still saw the same thing. Am I dreaming? Am I perhaps already dead? The strange riders and Magdalena had now reached the top of the hill, and at the same time almost two dozen soldiers, about half of them armed with muskets, emerged from the forest. They aimed at the spectators, who ran off in all directions, wailing and screaming. Stunned, Franz Würmseer and Johannes Rieger stood up above alongside the cross. Clearly, they couldn’t comprehend what they were seeing.
“Nobody move!” commanded the disguised man on the dapple-gray horse. His hood hung down over his face, so that Simon couldn’t recognize him in the dark. But he knew the voice.
“My men have orders to shoot anyone who tries to flee,” he said in a commanding voice. “Those who remain will not be harmed. You have my word as the personally appointed secretary of the elector.”
“Johann Lechner!” Simon scrambled to his feet, shocked. The two guards who’d been holding Simon tightly until a few seconds ago had already run off. He staggered as he looked down at the secretary, who reined in his horse at the foot of the Döttenbichl and removed his hood. He held a pistol in his right hand, and his expression was imperious and determined. With his other hand he pointed up the hill.
“Cut the fat man down from the cross, and bring me the judge and this Würmseer fellow,” he ordered some of the soldiers around him. “They are the main culprits; don’t let them escape.”
Franz Würmseer let out a loud cry of anger, ducked, and ran down the back of t
he hill, away from the crowd. A shot rang out, but the wagon driver just kept running into the forest and had soon disappeared in the darkness. Johannes Rieger, however, remained standing there calmly, holding his hands up, smiling, confident of his ultimate victory. His old arrogance had returned.
“It’s good you came, esteemed colleague,” he called out to Lechner. “I was trying to bring this crowd to their senses, but it appears they’ve gotten a bit out of control.”
“He’s lying,” Simon shouted. “He’s the leader of this conspiracy.”
“Nonsense,” Rieger replied coolly. “In any case I answer only to the abbot of Ettal.”
“Whom I have already informed of your machinations,” Lechner said. “A letter to our reigning prince, the elector, will be sent tomorrow.” He nodded grimly. “But don’t worry, you will receive a fair trial, if only to show Munich that a new hand is needed to rule in this valley.”
Two soldiers seized the astonished judge, who offered no resistance as he was bound and led away. In the meantime, Magdalena had gotten down from her donkey and run up the hill. Breathing heavily, she embraced her confused husband and gave him a kiss.
“I actually intended to roast you slowly over a hot fire because you just decided all of a sudden to stay in Oberammergau,” she said with visible relief. “Damn, if I didn’t love you so much—” she said, shaking him. Suddenly she stopped short, and Simon saw she was pale and trembling all over.
“What . . . what are you doing here in Oberammergau?” he asked, confused. “You’re clearly ill. You should be in bed at home and not in some godforsaken place like this.”
“The same goes for you,” Magdalena panted, feverish and trembling. “Are you . . . scolding me now for having saved you? Don’t say another word, or I’ll tie you to the cross myself.”
Simon raised his hand, trying to calm her down. “I just want to know what’s going on here, that’s all.”
“That is something I can explain to you, Herr Bathhouse Medicus.” It was Johann Lechner on his dapple-gray horse, trotting up the hill. In the meantime, some men had untied Konrad Faistenmantel from the cross. The council chairman had a badly bleeding head wound, but otherwise seemed relatively uninjured. Lechner looked down on him from atop his horse with visible disgust.
“It appears we arrived just in time,” the secretary said. “This crazy mob would actually have crucified their own fat council chairman.” He snorted. “In fact, I could imagine something like that happening in Schongau now.” Only then did he turn to Simon with a stern gaze. “I gave you and the executioner clear instructions to return home. And now look where I find you. Can’t you do as you’re told? I suppose I can find that stubborn Kuisl character somewhere around here . . .”
“Oh, no, I came by myself.” Simon brushed the snow and mud from his shirt and trousers and hoped Lechner wouldn’t probe any further. He looked down to where the crowd had been driven together by the guards; they were now crying and praying as they stood on the meadow in the moonlight. It was hard to imagine that just moments ago these same people had wanted to kill him. “I learned about this meeting and wanted to check it out all by myself,” Simon continued. “That was stupid of me, and I should have let you know—but evidently you knew about it anyway.”
“What did you think I knew about?” asked Lechner, still sitting atop his horse. Suddenly he looked at Simon with piercing eyes.
“Well, that Konrad Faistenmantel was about to report Würmseer and his henchmen on account of these grisly sacrifices, and was thus marked for death.”
“Grisly sacrifices? That is certainly . . . interesting.” Lechner raised an eyebrow. “Now please tell me more about it.”
Simon quickly told him about the children’s bones he’d discovered there a few days ago and his presumption that certain workers’ children had been killed here in order to drive the foreigners out of the valley.
“I suspect that young Dominik Faistenmantel and Urban Gabler were about to talk and had to be eliminated,” he concluded. “And Sebastian Sailer was plagued by a bad conscience and killed himself for his part in the crime.”
“Because of these . . . sacrifices?” Lechner asked.
Simon nodded. He looked around the Döttenbichl, which was now almost completely enveloped in darkness. “The bones lie in some of the crevices in the rock. If you want to have a look . . .” He began to search, but Lechner called him back.
“Stop this nonsense. If there are children’s bones lying around here, we’ll find them tomorrow and give them a decent burial. What’s more important now is to catch Würmseer. He’s one of the masterminds behind this plot.”
“Don’t forget the judge,” Simon persisted. “I’m convinced he knew about it from the very start, though he claims he’s not involved.”
The secretary dismissed the thought. “I have long suspected that Johannes Rieger had his finger in this, though I had no proof. It took this meeting to provide the evidence against him and Würmseer.” He smiled. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, Master Fronwieser. Your evidence that Franz Würmseer had left behind secret messages put me and the black riders on the right track.”
“Secret messages . . . Black riders . . . ?” Simon was now completely baffled. “I don’t understand.” But then he remembered the black riders who had come with Lechner and Magdalena. Once he had seen a black rider like that on the Döttenbichl. He looked out into the darkness, but the riders had disappeared. What did these ghostly apparitions have to do with Johann Lechner?
“The black riders are out looking for Franz Würmseer, who evidently has fled into the mountains,” Lechner said. “For a long time they have been on the trail of him and the others.”
“Because of the sacrifices?” Simon asked.
Lechner smiled. “No, not because of the sacrifices, but for something altogether different.” He winked at Simon. “Both you and the hangman are clever, but not quite as clever as you sometimes think, Herr Fronwieser. Your observations were correct, but they led you to the wrong conclusion.” He pointed at Magdalena, who looked exhausted and had taken a seat on a mossy boulder. “In contrast to your wife, who’s exceptionally smart for a woman. I owe a lot to her, and I only hope her warning didn’t come too late.”
When Simon looked at her questioningly, she just shrugged her shoulders and smiled. She was pale and trembling, but seemed strangely relaxed, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “I, too, didn’t realize until the very end,” she said. “But everything came together, and it all centers on a single matter that has already cost so many lives.”
“And that would be?” Simon asked.
Magdalena began her story.
Under the cover of darkness, Barbara and Paul crept through the roads of Schongau toward the old cemetery next to the church. The wind howled, tearing at their clothes, while a cold rain lashed their faces. In weather like this it was unlikely they’d meet anyone here.
Barbara had learned from earlier late-night excursions that the night watchman always followed the same route and schedule as he made his way through town. She had bided her time at a corner close to the Cow Gate until he’d passed by with his lantern and halberd, and then she’d followed him. Nevertheless, she turned around cautiously from time to time. It was quite possible the guards were still out looking for her, though they probably assumed she had fled the town.
The moon had slipped behind the clouds, leaving the streets as dark as at the bottom of the sea. Barbara had brought along a large kitchen knife from Martha Stechlin’s home, and she clutched it tightly. It gave her a feeling of security, even though she didn’t really believe it would be of much use to her in a fight against two strong men. She feared a confrontation with them but hoped fervently that Paul’s observations were correct and that Ransmayer and this strange Tyrolean were still at the old cemetery. There had been only one stroke of the church bell since Paul had brought his message, but the men might now be long gone, and then she would once again have
nothing to go on.
And Buchner will finally get what he wants, she thought—absolute power in Schongau. Perhaps even now the dissolution of the town council is being discussed in the meeting, and then even Jakob Schreevogl won’t be able to change anything . . .
The watchman announced the ninth hour in a loud voice, and the church bells resounded through the night. They had arrived at the low wall surrounding the cemetery, behind which the weathered gravestones and the shed for the building site became visible. At present, construction work on the steeple and chancel was proceeding very slowly even though new mortar, plaster, and bricks were being delivered every day. Barbara had often wondered what Burgomaster Buchner, who was supervising the construction, meant to build with all the materials.
The Tower of Babel?
Paul tugged at her dress and pointed toward two figures vaguely visible, standing in front of the shed. Barbara breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently they had not come too late after all.
The two men were engaged in an animated conversation, but the howling of the storm made it almost impossible to hear what they were saying. Barbara signaled to Paul, and they crept along the cemetery wall until they reached the crooked gate that was swinging back and forth and banging in the wind. They slipped through and ran hunched over from one gravestone to the next toward the shed. The temporary wooden structure seemed strangely out of place amid the rotten crosses and crooked gravestones. Alongside the shed was a pile of nearly a hundred sacks, evidently delivered that day and not yet brought inside. They were covered temporarily with a canvas sheet, which formed a small hill that provided Barbara and Paul a place to hide behind to spy on the two men. Carefully, Barbara climbed up onto the sacks and motioned to Paul to stay down below and wait.
From up above, she had an excellent view of the two men. Ransmayer was wearing his fine velvet jacket and a full-bottomed wig that he had to grip tightly with one hand because of the stormy gusts.