“Just one more careless move and this boy will lose his head,” he growled at Barbara. “Now get up slowly and drop the knife.”
Barbara looked into his eyes and knew he was serious.
Carefully she put the knife down and stood up, raising her hands.
“Don’t be afraid, Paul,” she said gently. “Everything will be all right if we do what the men say, you’ll see.”
Paul’s eyes flashed, but apparently he recognized the seriousness of the situation and remained still. The Tyrolean grinned.
“I’ve got to admit he’s quite a rascal,” he said. “He’ll be a good warrior someday if his hot temper doesn’t get him killed.” He laughed and turned to Melchior Ransmayer, who was holding up his hand to the heavily bleeding cut on his face. “The kid almost killed you. Ha! A little kid like that against a grown man. You can count yourself lucky if I don’t go around telling everybody about that.”
“My grandfather will cut you to pieces and hang your guts on the gallows,” Paul snarled. “You’ll see.”
“Your grandfather is an old drunk,” replied Ransmayer, who had gotten to his feet and calmed down a bit, putting his hand to his cheek, which was still bleeding. “If Master Hans doesn’t chop his head off soon, he’ll wind up choking on his own vomit in the street.”
“I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!” Paul shouted, lunging for Ransmayer again, but the Tyrolean grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back.
“Calm down, kid,” he said. “Actually I was going to cut you down right here, but I like you. Let’s see if I can’t find some use for someone like you in Hall in Tyrol.” He pointed at Barbara, and then at Ransmayer. “Quick, tie the girl up. We’ve got to find out what she knows and if she talked to anyone about us. The shipment leaves for Augsburg tomorrow, and until then we must be sure nothing goes wrong.”
Ransmayer nodded darkly, then took one of the ropes used to tie up the sacks and bound Barbara’s hands behind her back. Briefly she considered resisting, but the point of the sword was just an inch away from Paul’s throat. The Tyrolean had said perhaps he could use Paul, but that certainly wouldn’t prevent him from killing the boy if she struggled to get away.
Melchior Ransmayer tied the knots so tightly that she let out a muted cry of pain. Then once again he checked the wound on his face. “This will never heal,” he moaned. “It will leave a terrible scar.”
“You’re the doctor,” the Tyrolean said, grinning, “so sew up the wound yourself. Or are you really just a bad doctor, as everyone says around here, huh?”
“How dare you . . .” Ransmayer seemed about to explode, but then he took a deep breath before continuing in a quiet voice: “You’re right. We have to find out what this girl knows, but we can’t do that here—there will be too much noise, and that would be dangerous. Let’s go to my office, where nobody can hear us.”
Suddenly, Ransmayer smirked and his eyes began sparkling with excitement. “This pretty wench and I were rudely interrupted during our last tête-à-tête.” He giggled. “Well, this time we’ll have all night.”
The few houses in Oberammergau where lights were still burning showed Magdalena, Simon, and Johann Lechner the way back to the village. Magdalena was shivering despite the warm coat that Lechner had put around her shoulders.
The Schongau secretary had provided the Fronwiesers with two horses, so they arrived in the village before the others. Along the way, Magdalena finally told Simon what had brought her to Oberammergau and the difficulties she’d suffered on her trip. She was trembling all over now and had a bad cough, but at least the fever didn’t seem any worse. What worried her most was her pregnancy, but she’d probably have to wait a few months to see if any harm had come to her unborn child.
“This Tyrolean who almost managed to drown me in the Ammer is probably the same person Barbara saw in Schongau with Melchior Ransmayer,” she said to Simon, as they followed along behind the secretary. The donkey, Franziskus, trotted along happily beside them. He had gotten his helping of oats and was now peaceful as a lamb. Magdalena had decided nevertheless not to ride him anymore.
“Master Schreevogl has long suspected that Ransmayer and Burgomaster Buchner are involved in some scheme,” she continued. “Now we know that Schongau is at the center of a large smuggling ring. In Soyen they are using wine barrels, but I suspect they have other ways to conceal their activities—boxes, sacks, concealed compartments for all I know. They probably keep changing the containers so as not to attract attention.” She shrugged. “I’m sure the wagon drivers both in Oberammergau and in Schongau have a finger in this, as well as the two master wagon drivers, the raftmaster down at the Schongau landing, but also the little fish like poor Lukas, who was thrown into the Ammer by the Tyrolean.” Magdalena sighed as they turned off the main road and entered town. “The poor fellow probably drowned, and all he wanted was to make a little money for his family and had no idea what he was getting into.”
“And do you think Barbara figured out what was going on between Buchner and Ransmayer, and for that reason they wanted to silence her?” Simon asked.
Magdalena nodded. “He didn’t make someone plant fake evidence—the supposed mandrake root—in our house because he wanted revenge as a jilted suitor. Everything was planned coldly by Ransmayer and Buchner. It was, naturally, a big plus for Buchner and his people when the guards found the magic books. We have to get back to Schongau as soon as possible and—” Magdalena doubled over, clutching the reins tightly. Her stomach cramped up painfully like it was an anxious little animal.
Lord, don’t let me lose the child. Not again.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Simon replied, placing his hand anxiously on her shoulder and trying to steady her. “You are sick. What you need now is a comfortable seat by the fire, a hot cup of chamomile tea, and a bed.”
Magdalena smiled wearily. “Except for the chamomile tea, I’ll agree.”
“I must side with your husband,” said Lechner. “Your work is done, Frau Fronwieser. Take a rest—you’ve earned it. That’s the least I can do for you. Take care of yourself, and of Peter, who will surely be happy to see his mother tomorrow morning.”
“But—” Magdalena objected.
“What has to be done in Schongau will be done,” Lechner interrupted coolly. “By me, not by you, and that’s my final word. I shall ride home with the soldiers and arrest Buchner, and I promise you that your sister will be set free.” He shook his head. “Even though I’d like to throw her into the stocks for a day for the stupid things she’s done. Those magic books should have been burned long ago.”
“Well, then . . . all right,” Magdalena replied hesitantly. She was actually happy that Lechner had made the decision for her. She felt so weak, and so incredibly tired. Until now the desire to reach Oberammergau in time to save Barbara had kept her going, but the turmoil on the Döttenbichl, the grisly sight of the crucified Faistenmantel, and above all the concern for her husband’s life had taken their toll. Now that Lechner had received Schreevogl’s letter, she broke down. All she wanted to do was to sleep.
When they finally arrived back in Oberammergau, lights were burning in every house. Soldiers were in the streets and they had confiscated a large wagon, in which sat Judge Johannes Rieger, his hands tied, along with other residents of Oberammergau, some wagon drivers, and the woodcutter Alois Mayer. Simon had told Magdalena that Mayer in particular had tried to frighten him with stories of little Venetian men and black riders, probably to keep him from poking around too much.
He could never have imagined that they would only awaken Simon’s curiosity, she thought wearily. An old family affliction!
The Ammergau judge glared at Johann Lechner but didn’t speak. Evidently he’d come to terms with his fate, for the time being.
“These are the ones we suspect of being members of the smuggling ring,” the secretary declared. “We’ll take them to the dungeon in Schongau for further questioning, and I hope very much their leader, Fr
anz Würmseer, will soon join them there.” He winked at Magdalena. “You see, your father has plenty to keep him busy. Where is he, anyway?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Magdalena mumbled. Simon had told her that her father had been gone since that afternoon to look for a suspect in the forest. But now it was the middle of the night. It was still raining lightly, and the wind whistled through the alleys. What in the world had her father been doing out there all this time?
“In God’s name, stop!”
A carriage rumbled with great speed down the main road and stopped in front of the tavern. On the coachbox sat Abbot Benedikt Eckart, looking very angry. His cross was on a chain around his neck, blowing back and forth in the wind. He got to his feet, wavering, and shook his fist at Lechner.
“What you’re doing here far exceeds your authority,” he shouted, his voice crackling with emotion. “What’s the reason for all these arrests? This is my district.”
“Though it seems you have lost that authority,” Lechner rejoined coolly. “Your Excellency, I suspect your judge, along with a number of residents of the village, of running a huge salt-smuggling operation. This is a serious crime being investigated directly by the supreme ruler, the elector, and is not within the purview of ecclesiastical law. The evidence is so compelling that I must take Johannes Rieger and some other suspects back to Schongau with me.”
“But . . . but . . .” stammered the outraged abbot.
“If you wish to complain, you are welcome to do that in Munich,” replied Lechner, “but I think you’ll soon be receiving a letter from the capital, in any case.” He smiled. “Rumor has it that Munich is not completely satisfied with your judgment and plans a new administration for the district. It would be an honor for Schongau to offer our assistance.”
The abbot fell back feebly onto his seat in the coach, clutched his wooden cross, and spoke a quiet prayer. Suddenly he appeared very old. Lechner paid no further attention to him but got down from his horse and motioned for Simon and Magdalena to enter the inn with him. Downstairs in the warm tavern were some soldiers just preparing to leave.
“Follow me,” Lechner ordered, and led Simon and Magdalena up the stairs.
They ascended to the second floor and down a corridor to a door in back. Lechner opened it and bowed slightly. “The ambassador’s suite,” he said, pointing inside. “This is where I always stay, but now it’s at your disposal. I hope you have a speedy recovery.”
“But this is—” Magdalena gasped.
“The least I can do for you,” Lechner said.
The room before them was completely paneled in oak and magnificently enriched with carvings. In one corner a fire was roaring in a green-tiled stove, spreading its comfort and warmth. A chandelier hung from the ceiling with at least two dozen fragrantly scented white candles burning in it, and in the middle of the room stood a huge four-poster bed with furs and quilts spread out on it and a baldachin overhead like a canopy of the heavens.
“I know this is not the most elegant of places, but in these backwater towns one has to take what’s available,” Lechner said with a shrug. He pointed to a table with a carafe of wine as well as bread, cheese, and ham on it. “The same goes for the food. I hope you find it more or less acceptable.”
“Oh . . . uh . . . yes, it is,” Magdalena replied. “Completely acceptable.” The room was so warm that she took off the wet coat. Then she sank into the bed and at once was overcome with exhaustion. Simon collapsed in a chair. In his filthy clothes he looked very much out of place in the regally appointed room. Strangely, that didn’t seem to disturb him at this moment, as he sat there, lost in his thoughts.
“I’ll leave you and your husband to yourselves now,” Lechner said. “If you need anything, just let the innkeeper know. He’s been told to fulfill your every need. Stay as long as you wish, and, uh . . .” He looked over at Simon with some disgust. “In case your husband should need a few fresh clothes, you’ll find some things in the chest over in the corner, though perhaps not the right size. We’ll meet again in Schongau.”
Without another word, Johann Lechner left the room. For a while, the voices of the soldiers could be heard downstairs, then the whinnying of horses outside, and finally the rumbling of a number of wagons slowly fading in the distance. Soon thereafter, silence fell over the room, interrupted only by the crackling of the logs in the stove.
Magdalena closed her eyes and almost instantly fell asleep.
When she woke up, Simon was still sitting on the same chair at the table. The plate and cup seemed unused, and he was staring up at the flickering chandelier.
Magdalena rubbed her eyes and yawned. “How long did I sleep?” she asked, sitting up in the bed.
“Not long—perhaps one or two hours.” Simon shrugged. “I don’t know exactly.” He looked out the window into the darkness. “All is quiet in the village, almost as if nothing had happened.”
Magdalena was still weak, but the warmth in the room felt good. Her strength seemed to be returning even though she hadn’t slept nearly enough yet. She looked lovingly at Simon. Was this the right time to tell him about her pregnancy? “Simon, there’s something—” she started to say.
“I’ve been thinking,” he interrupted. “About the salt smuggling and all the strange things that have happened here. There’s something that’s still not quite right. The bones of the children . . .”
She sighed. The good news would have to wait a bit.
“Can’t you and my father just admit for once that you were wrong?” she asked wearily. “Where is he, anyway? You said before he was looking for a suspect. Where? In the mountains?” She’d never really been concerned about his safety as he was always so strong and clever. Perhaps he’d simply taken shelter somewhere from the storm. Nevertheless she felt a bit unsettled.
“I don’t know where he is,” Simon replied. “The last time I saw him he was looking for Xaver.”
“Who is Xaver?” Magdalena asked.
“A fellow who probably knew about this gang of smugglers for a long time and, unlike the other villagers, didn’t want anything to do with it.” Simon told her about the young redheaded woodcarver whose family had been bankrupted by Konrad Faistenmantel, then he told her about the carvings of the Pharisees, the murder of Urban Gabler, and Sebastian Sailer’s suicide in the Sacred Blood Chapel in Unterammergau. Magdalena listened in disbelief. Once again, Simon and her father had in a few days’ time managed to get involved in multiple murders. It almost seemed as if they were attracted to crime.
Or that crime is attracted to them, she thought.
“I assume Xaver Eyrl wanted to take vengeance on the villagers,” Simon said finally. “He opposed the smuggling, so he came back and distributed these Pharisee figurines to remind people of their greed and hypocrisy. It’s possible he killed Gabler, too, but I don’t really think so. I think that Gabler, a devout Christian, had a guilty conscience and was going to expose their operation, so one of the other smugglers had him killed. Perhaps Sebastian Sailer . . .”
“Who then hanged himself because of his shame and guilt.” Magdalena nodded. “That certainly could be so, and these deaths weren’t presaged in the Acts of the Apostles but were simply a chain of adverse circumstances. But how about Dominik Faistenmantel, the man who was crucified? You said that Xaver and he were friends—so he probably wasn’t Dominik’s killer. But who was? The smugglers?”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about.” Simon sighed. “I don’t know how he fits into the picture. It’s possible that both he and his father knew about the activity and wanted to expose the perpetrators. But why the elaborate staging with the cross? At that time it would have been far simpler just to strike him dead and blame the murder on a random criminal. In addition, Dominik was the son of the council chairman, a man who at least approved of the machinations of the smugglers. The murderer must have expected to incur the wrath of Faistenmantel’s powerful family. It just doesn’t make any sense.
”
“It would be best to ask Konrad Faistenmantel himself,” Magdalena responded wearily.
“He’s in bed, unconscious.” Again, Simon shrugged. “The blow he got on the back of his head nearly killed him, and in addition he was hanging upside down on the cross. He can count himself lucky if he even partly recovers someday, but he certainly can’t be questioned in the near future.”
“Wouldn’t it be good if my father were here now,” said Magdalena, yawning. All the talking and concentration had made her tired again, and once more she lay down in the bed. “Surely he could help us,” she mumbled.
Simon stood up, walked from the table over to the bed, and put his hand on her forehead. “The fever has subsided a bit,” he said, “but you’re still very sick. Sleep is the best medicine for you now. You’ll see.” He grinned. “Your father will show up tomorrow at the latest. He’s a damned tough old bird, as you know. Tomorrow we’ll go over to visit Peter and then leave for Schongau.”
“I wish I could go to him right now,” she murmured.
“It’s too late. He’s surely fast asleep; we’ll go to see him early tomorrow morning, all right?”
“You . . . you don’t feel like solving any more riddles, then?” asked Magdalena as her eyes fell shut.
“No more riddles, I promise,” he replied with a grin, “at least not until tomorrow morning.”
“That’s good. Oh, one other thing, Simon.” She yawned. “I really think you should change your clothes. You stink.”
With these words, she turned over onto her side, and the last thing she remembered before she drifted off to sleep once again was seeing Simon staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. For the first time ever, he seemed completely indifferent to his appearance.
18
SOMEWHERE IN THE AMMERGAU ALPS, ON THE NIGHT OF MAY 11, AD 1670
IN THE DARKNESS, JAKOB KUISL stomped along the narrow, slippery path up the mountain. His overcoat, leather collar, and linen shirt underneath were already soaking wet from the rain and his own sweat.