And then this riddle as well disappeared in the smoke and fire forever.
When Jakob opened his eyes, he thought at first that the cruel boogeyman had returned to get him. Attentive eyes stared at him from beneath a leather hood, and little fingers ran over his crushed limbs.
“He’s alive,” whispered a gentle voice.
“But how is that possible? He fell off the steep cliff, I saw it myself!”
“He must have a powerful guardian angel, or perhaps it’s that death is afraid of the hangman.”
That voice was, in contrast to the two others, deep and masculine. Jakob blinked. The morning sun blinded him, and he still felt like he was dreaming. Dwarfs knelt all around him, washing his face and tugging on his clothes.
“Filthy Venetian riffraff,” he grumbled. “I don’t have any jewels, I . . .” But then his vision cleared, and he saw they weren’t dwarfs standing around him at all but children, many children, certainly more than a dozen. Among them was little Joseffa, leaning on Jossi for support, and Maxl, along with the other boys and girls from the cave.
“Didn’t I tell you to go back to your parents?” he growled weakly. “Fresh kids, don’t even listen to the hangman . . .”
“You should be happy these children didn’t go back down into the valley but kept looking for you,” came a deep voice that seemed strangely familiar, “or you’d soon be food for the ravens. You badly need medical help.”
Jakob slowly turned his aching head—and froze.
“Damn! Xaver Eyrl,” he gasped, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
The young woodcarver grinned. He’d folded his huge arms and was looking at the hangman lying in front of him in the meadow. Eyrl’s red hair shone like fire in the sun. “Well, it seems I’ve found you, and not the other way around,” he said. “It’s lucky for you I’d just gone to the old mine looking for a place to hide, and the children told me you were lying up here in the meadow.” He winked at Jakob. “I thought I’d come up and have a look at my hangman. Our last meeting wasn’t especially cordial, you know.”
“You knew about the mine?” Jakob asked, puzzled.
Eyrl shrugged. “Of course I know about the mine on the Kofel, and so do many old residents of Oberammergau, but I had no idea the schoolmaster and Hannes were searching for gold and silver there. The children told me everything.”
“Hannes . . . ?” Kuisl asked, exhausted.
“We found him dead at the bottom of the cliff, nothing but a smashed puppet, his eyes wide open in terror. I don’t know what the last thing he saw was, but it was certainly nothing pleasant.”
“Ah . . . the black boogeyman,” Jakob mumbled. “That’s what he saw.”
Xaver Eyrl looked at Jakob in surprise. “What did you say?” But the hangman just shook his head, which made it ache again.
“Oh, forget it, but it’s good you’re here so I don’t have to keep looking for your rotting corpse anymore. So listen here . . .” Jacob tried in vain to get up. “Xaver Eyrl, I’m arresting you under suspicion of . . .” He groaned and fell backward again. Small pebbles trickled down into his open wounds and he started to pass out.
“Hmm. To tell you the truth I don’t think you’re in any condition to arrest anyone,” Eyrl responded, “not even a rabbit. Otherwise I would never have considered coming to the sickbed of my hangman and torturer.” He grinned, showing a row of white teeth. “But in any case, you are on the wrong track. It wasn’t me. At least, I didn’t kill anyone. I’m not guilty of anything except poaching.” He leaned far over to whisper something in the hangman’s ear. “I’ll tell you a little secret. I just saw the charcoal burner, the one who has been secretly bringing me bread and cheese the last few days. He was down in the valley and told me excitedly about all the things that happened since yesterday. The accursed smuggling ring has been broken and Judge Rieger has been arrested and taken to Schongau. Finally justice will prevail and you won’t need to search for me anymore. My job is done.”
“Smugglers’ ring?” Again Jakob tried to sit up, but he collapsed again. “Damn!” he cursed, “I . . . I thought there was more to this than just a few ghost stories, but . . .” He tried to concentrate, which just made his headache worse. His whole body ached as if every single bone were broken.
“You really need to rest,” said little Jossi, standing alongside Xaver Eyrl. “You’re badly injured.”
“Has it gotten to the point where a child must tell me what I can and cannot do?” he asked, but he lay still because the pain was too great.
Quickly, the children stripped off his torn shirt and washed his upper body and face with ice-cold meltwater. The hangman groaned but let them do as they wished.
“How about not asking any questions for a few moments, but just listening?” Eyrl suggested. “I’ll tell you what happened, and you’ll let the children wash your wounds.”
Jakob nodded silently and Xaver Eyrl began. First he told about the smuggling ring led by Judge Johannes Rieger and the deputy burgomaster Würmseer, then the hidden signs, and the black riders. Half the village was involved in smuggling, he said. Then he told Jakob briefly about what had happened the night before on the Döttenbichl.
“The Schongau secretary is now in charge here in the valley,” he said finally. “And as the executioner, you’ll no doubt soon meet Rieger again in your hometown. The only one to get away was Franz Würmseer, but the black riders will catch up with him.” Eyrl nodded his satisfaction. “I’ve gotten my revenge.”
“Does that mean you knew about this smuggling all along?” asked Jakob as the children dabbed his wounds with freshly picked shepherd’s purse.
“All of Oberammergau knew about it, but no one said anything; they kept silent while they were paid off.” Eyrl’s face suddenly turned red with anger. “Only my father and I resisted. Father said it was unchristian—we couldn’t earn money carving figurines of our Savior and at the same time line our pockets with ill-gotten gains. When Father threatened to report the matter to the abbot, the citizens of Oberammergau ruined us financially. My father left the valley and died in misery. I swore vengeance.”
“So you returned and distributed those Pharisee figurines,” Kuisl said.
“I wanted to remind the smugglers of how evil they were and force them to face up to it. The old bathhouse keeper, Landes, along with Gabler, Würmseer, and Sailer—almost the entire town council—were involved in the operation. Even old Faistenmantel knew about it, though he didn’t get involved, probably because he knew there would be trouble sooner or later. Nevertheless, I wanted him to have a Pharisee, too. Konrad Faistenmantel could think only of himself, unlike his son Dominik, who was a lovable dreamer.” Eyrl seemed to relax. “The two of us played together a lot when we were kids.”
“But why were you silent when I questioned you?” asked the hangman. “You could have confessed it all to the abbot.”
“You forget that Judge Johannes Rieger was also present there, and he was one of the masterminds of the smuggling operation. If I’d even said a word, he would have denounced me as a liar and made sure someone would kill me even sooner. That’s the reason he calmed down when you said there was more to my break-in at Konrad Faistenmantel’s house.” He smiled. “But then came the earthquake and my chance to escape. Sometimes the earthquake seems like a gift from God.”
“You’re not the only one to feel that way,” Jakob said.
By now, the children had cared for his wounds, at least for the time being, but Jakob still was not able to stand up by himself. Evidently his left leg was broken. Eyrl looked at him, trying to figure out what to do.
“You’ll never get back to the valley like that,” he finally said, shaking his head. “And the children can’t carry you.” He sighed. “So I’ll have to do it.”
Jakob coughed, and realized he’d lost two teeth in his fall. “You mean you will carry your own hangman?”
“I can’t believe you’ll charge me. For doing what? Distributing little
figurines and poaching deer now and then?” Xaver Eyrl laughed. “Actually, I meant to wait a few days before showing my face in town again, but under these circumstances . . .” He scratched his head, then motioned to the hangman. “So come on, hangman, jump up on my back.”
“You forget I’m very big,” Jakob objected.
“And I’m very strong. We can stop and rest now and then.”
Jakob shook his head doubtfully, but then he let the children get him to his feet. They helped him stagger over for a few steps, like an old dancing bear, until he got to Eyrl. The woodcarver grabbed his arms, wrapped them over his shoulders, and pulled him up.
Xaver tottered a bit, but then he started walking forward. Like two demonic creatures merged into a single monster, the hangman and his former victim marched down from the Kofel into the sunlit valley.
Surrounded by a cluster of laughing children.
EPILOGUE
SCHONGAU, BEGINNING OF JUNE, AD 1670
ON A SUNNY MORNING IN June under a clear blue sky, the largest and most spectacular execution in recent decades took place in Schongau.
From as far away as Landsberg, Augsburg, and beyond, people streamed into town to witness the execution of the former burgomaster of Schongau, Matthäus Buchner, along with his accomplices. The crowd was so great that the spectators had to search for good places to stand in the adjacent fields. Lodging in Schongau was so tight that farmers rented out their barns, and the peddlers, musicians, actors, and hawkers of sacred images did a brisk business.
Despite his treasonous activity and involvement in the salt-smuggling operation, Buchner, as a patrician, had the right to a speedy beheading. People said later that he stood up straight and without much fuss for the final blow, but that was no doubt because Jakob Kuisl carried out the execution with just one powerful stroke of the sword. The blow came so fast and clean that for a moment Buchner’s head remained atop his torso before finally tipping over slowly, to the accompaniment of loud murmurs in the crowd. Just as deftly, the executioner beheaded the former Ammergau judge, Johannes Rieger, who received his just punishment as the ringleader of the band of Oberammergau smugglers.
Afterward, Jakob turned and stared grimly and defiantly into the crowd as if expecting an apology from everyone who until recently had cursed him as an incompetent drunk.
“It’s hard to believe that despite his age he managed to deliver such powerful blows with the sword,” mumbled Wilhelm Hardenberg, an old patrician and councilor. “Especially since rumor has it that he fell in the mountains near Oberammergau and broke his leg. Two weeks ago he looked pretty bad, and now he’s just limping a bit with the splint.”
His colleague on the council, the pharmacist Magnus Johannson, agreed. “He still is certainly the best hangman in all of Bavaria, even if there are some people who didn’t see it that way until recently and wanted to call on Master Hans from Weilheim to be their hangman.” Johannson cast a sarcastic sidelong glance at Hardenberg, then he shook his head. “This Master Hans is a strange fellow, not only because of his white hair. Compared to him, our hangman is a true paragon of joyful living, even though . . .”—he hesitated—“they say he doesn’t drink a drop anymore.” He laughed. “You’ll see . . . In his old age our hangman will become a crotchety old Calvinist.”
“God forbid!” Hardenberg shook his head indignantly and crossed himself. “Well, in any case, we should thank God that this dreadful conspiracy has finally been brought to an end.”
The two patricians nodded in silent agreement, leaving unmentioned the fact that they, like most of the other councilmen, had been loyal followers of Buchner until just a short while ago. Secretary Johann Lechner had decided to prosecute only Buchner, and he required the other members of the town council to renew their oath of office to the city before releasing them. In this way, Lechner could be certain to have especially loyal patricians in the future.
Ignaz the Tyrolean and Melchior Ransmayer, who as accomplices of Buchner followed him to the scaffold, were less fortunate. In the presence of some officials from Munich they were tortured for three days by Jakob until they finally told everything about their salt-smuggling scheme, and since they were neither nobles nor patricians they could not expect an even half-painless beheading, but at least the secretary waived torture on the wheel, which would have been appropriate in this case. The two were hanged by Jakob Kuisl as common thieves, though the Tyrolean made a much more dignified impression than the doctor.
On the way to the execution site in the knacker’s cart, Melchior Ransmayer howled the entire way, begging for forgiveness and calling to his former influential patients, who lowered their gazes as the cart passed by. On the ladder up to the gallows he fidgeted and wriggled so much that Jakob had to tie him with ropes like a bundle of rags. People laughed on seeing that Ransmayer, without his full-bottomed wig, was almost bald, and in his death struggle his eyes popped out like the eyes of a fish.
While Jakob tugged on the Tyrolean’s feet to break his neck and shorten his suffering, he let the doctor dance around at the end of the rope until his feet finally stopped quivering. The spectators in the front row seemed to notice something like a triumphant flash in the hangman’s eyes, though how could you say that for sure about someone wearing a hood?
By early afternoon, the executions were finally over. The crowd dispersed and went to the noisy taverns. For the torturing, beheadings, and two hangings, Jakob received twenty gleaming new guilders and an entire roasted sheep that was eaten with great gusto that evening in the hangman’s house, along with copious amounts of beer and wine.
“And you really don’t want anything to drink?” Magdalena asked her father in surprise as he chewed contently on his leg of mutton. “People say you—”
“People say all kinds of nonsense when they’ve got time on their hands,” he answered. He grinned and patted his well-rounded belly. “A man must drink, too, and the water in the Tanners’ Quarter isn’t fit for much more than tanning hides. I’ll stick with small beer—it doesn’t taste quite as bad as the water, and I can still stand up after three mugs of it. Perhaps others should do that, as well.”
The hangman cast a suspicious glance at his younger daughter, Barbara, who at that moment was toasting one of the knacker’s journeymen and already seemed a little tipsy. Magdalena breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed Barbara’s smile. Her younger sister still sometimes woke up at night bathed in sweat when the memories of that terrible night with Melchior Ransmayer returned. She had aged just in the last month, but she had also become more mature, and her visits with the young men became less frequent.
“You should be happy that Barbara is enjoying life again,” Magdalena said, turning to her father. “What she experienced over the last few weeks was dreadful, and I hope she can someday forget the horrible things Ransmayer did to her.”
There was a loud cracking sound as Jakob broke the leg of mutton straight through with his powerful hands. “I should have put the bastard on the rack,” he growled, grim-faced. His fall in the Ammergau mountains had left him with not just a broken leg and a wide gap between two teeth, but some bad scarring. One of the large scars was on his forehead, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.
“I’m glad, though, that Lechner didn’t order that cruel punishment,” Magdalena replied. “It’s just not appropriate anymore in these modern times. Lechner showed mercy with the other Oberammergau smugglers and ordered a few blows with a stick and some time in the stocks. He knows he still needs his people.” She squeezed her father’s hand. “And believe me, Ransmayer will rot in hell a long time for what he did.”
“Hell exists already here on earth,” said Jakob, angrily pounding the table. “Damn, if Paul hadn’t been able to slip away, who knows . . .” His voice trailed off. Evidently the consequences were too dreadful to consider.
Magdalena turned around to look at the other guests. And at the opposite end of the table sat the midwife Martha Stechlin, engaged in an animated
conversation with Jakob Schreevogl. The patrician wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to pay a visit to the dishonorable hangman’s family after the executions, even though it would surely earn him some disapproval from his colleagues.
Martha Stechlin had actually been able to get Schreevogl and a few of the younger council members to leave that contentious meeting weeks ago, and the piles of salt they discovered in the old graveyard had provided the decisive evidence. After that, things proceeded quickly. Schreevogl had demanded a search of Ransmayer’s house, and on their way to the house Paul had come running toward them. The subsequent hearings had left Burgomaster Buchner with no other choice than to admit everything, allowing him to escape the same torture on the rack he himself had ordered for Barbara just a few days earlier.
“Stop right now and die like a proper chicken!”
Shouting and waving his wooden sword, Paul chased after a rooster that ran under a table in the main room and disappeared, clucking loudly. He, too, had recovered remarkably well from the events of the last few weeks, though sometimes his callousness seemed a bit frightening to Magdalena. She herself had survived the fall into the Ammer as well as the fever that followed. There was no bleeding, and Martha Stechlin assured her there had been no injury to the child she was carrying. In the last few weeks she’d developed a healthy appetite and had worn wider skirts. She smiled. It was really astonishing that Simon still hadn’t noticed, but he was completely absorbed in his work with the many patients who’d been anxiously awaiting his return from Oberammergau.
Paul’s older brother, Peter, was completely absorbed in a volume of anatomical sketches from Georg Kaiser’s library. Among the possessions of the deceased schoolmaster they had found a will in which he bequeathed all his books to Simon, including the valuable illustrations of human anatomy by Andreas Vesalius. The many fine books helped Simon significantly in coming to grips with the betrayal and horrible death of his old friend.
Magdalena couldn’t help remembering Jörg Abriel’s magic books, which were now well preserved in the city archives. Out of Barbara’s reach, she thought with relief. These books, like the Walen books, seemed to have a strong magical attraction and could put a curse on anyone who wasn’t careful. Anxiously, Magdalena glanced at Peter, absorbed in the pages of anatomical drawings.