The Play of Death
I do the dirty work, and he records it all in the files, Kuisl thought. To be fair, he should at least sign in blood.
“Very unfortunate, what happened between you and the doctor,” said the secretary, getting right to the point.
“Do you know what Ransmayer did?” But Lechner waved him off.
“Don’t tell me about Melchior Ransmayer, hangman,” he said. “He’s a whoremonger, I know that myself, but at the same time he’s our only doctor and otherwise an honorable man. In contrast to you,” Lechner added with a shrug. He folded his hands, as if in prayer. “A dishonorable hangman strikes down a doctor. You tell me what you’d do if you were in my place, hangman.”
“I’d at least call for an investigation.”
“With no witnesses? The testimony of a hangman and his daughter against a highly educated doctor?” Lechner shook his head. “The Inner Council would never allow that.”
Jakob Kuisl ground his teeth silently. Perhaps, as usual, Lechner was right. The Inner Council, which determined the destiny of the town, was composed of six councilors, among them three deputy burgomasters and the first burgomaster, Matthäus Buchner, considered a very vain man. They were all from old, well-established patrician families and attached great weight to their positions.
And most of them are Ransmayer’s patients, Kuisl thought. One crow never pecks out the eye of another one.
“On the other hand, I need you, hangman,” Lechner continued in a gentler vein. “You’re experienced, clever, and above all, I have no one else to take the job. But your drunkenness, arrogance, and bad temper are always a problem.”
“If the sermon is over, I have a lot to do,” Kuisl grumbled.
Lechner raised his hand. “Don’t be so impatient. I’ve already found a solution that will be good for us all.” He leaned down over his documents and began leafing through them. “To placate everyone here and spare you from Ransmayer’s anger, we’ll have to send you away for a while.”
Kuisl didn’t bat an eye, but inwardly he was seething. “You want to banish me from town?” he finally asked in a soft voice.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Lechner replied. Finally, he raised his eyes from the papers and looked directly at Jakob. “You’re just going to take a little trip with me to Oberammergau.”
“Eh? Oberammergau?” Kuisl looked at the secretary, perplexed. “To see the Passion play?”
Lechner chuckled, something that coming from him sounded very peculiar, Jakob thought.
“Unfortunately not. I don’t have the time,” he answered finally. “But a little bird told me there was a very ugly murder in Oberammergau—a crucifixion in the cemetery. They already have a suspect, and after one or two trips to the torture chamber, he’ll no doubt confess.”
“I’m going to Oberammergau as an executioner?” Jakob asked, puzzled. “But isn’t that under the jurisdiction of Murnau?”
“The Murnau judge, Franz Stanislaus Gespeck, died last year,” Lechner said, “and the position has not yet been filled. It’s possible they’ll merge into one district with Schongau. Very distressing, the whole thing.” He made a sad face as he played with his quill. “In any case, Schongau is responsible for the Ammergau district for now, even if the abbot at Ettal Monastery disapproves. I have already sent a messenger to Munich requesting the approval. A mere formality. The messenger should arrive in Oberammergau about the same time we do.”
“Hold on.” Jakob grinned and scratched his beard, as he gradually began to understand. “You think if you can solve the case, you will be given jurisdiction over Murnau? You are interested in becoming administrator of the Murnau district, aren’t you?”
The secretary had already gone back to his work and was signing papers. “As I already said, hangman, you’re smart, and that’s the reason I need you with me in Oberammergau, not just to torture people. It’s not a bad move for you.” The quill made scratching sounds as he continued writing. “I can’t stand Ransmayer either,” Lechner continued, but now in a low, almost inaudible voice. “It’s quite possible we’ll find something that will bring him to his senses. One hand washes the other. On the other hand, if you fail . . .” He looked up again. “How is your son, Georg, doing in Bamberg?” he asked suddenly.
Kuisl felt anxiety rising inside him. “He’s an apprentice right now, and will surely be a good hangman someday. I’m still hoping he’ll return to Schongau and take over my job.”
“For that to happen, the council would naturally have to agree. Why did he have to go and make a cripple out of Berchtholdt’s boy?” Lechner made a mournful face. “The Berchtholdts still have a lot of influence, and I really don’t know if there’s anything I can do. But we should never give up hope, should we?”
For a long while, the only sound in the room was the scratching of the quill. Finally, the secretary put the quill away, folded his hands, and stared at Kuisl.
“It’s so quiet here—did you say something, hangman? Or did I?”
Kuisl shook his head as if he didn’t know what to say. “I heard nothing, Your Excellency. When are we leaving?”
“Tomorrow at the crack of dawn—before the Ettal abbot beats us to it and comes up with some random suspect.” The quill rasped noisily over the paper. “And now leave me alone again, hangman. I still have some things to do.”
Jakob Kuisl nodded, got up, and stepped out of the dark room into the bright light of day. There weren’t many people he feared.
But Johann Lechner was one of them.
Hidden behind a stone column, Barbara watched the good Schongau churchgoers on their way home. Tears of anger filled her eyes while Paul tugged impatiently on her hand.
Actually, she’d been sent out by Magdalena only to look for Paul and bring him home. She finally found him in an overgrown garden close to the city wall, sitting under a linden tree and carving a wooden sword. He could be absorbed for hours in such handiwork, but he never went to school. He also wasn’t especially interested in playing with other children; if he did, he fought with them, and he didn’t shrink from picking a fight with older boys.
On her way back to the Tanners’ Quarter Barbara had heard the commotion in the market square. She ran there with Paul and saw how her father was insulted and jeered at by the rich Schongau citizens. Because she feared being spotted by Ransmayer, Barbara had hidden behind a column near the entrance portal—much to Paul’s displeasure; he was intent on defending his grandfather’s honor with his little wooden sword.
“Why are the people saying such mean things about Grandpa?” he asked. “And why do we have to hide? We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Because . . . because . . .” Barbara stuttered then just fell silent. “I’m afraid you’re not old enough to understand that yet, but be quiet now before someone sees us here and takes out his anger on us.”
Some of the churchgoers were whispering among themselves about the dispute between the doctor and the hangman, with most of them siding with Ransmayer. For a long time, the patricians in particular had been in favor of dealing more harshly with the lower classes, as many of them felt that the old traditional values were being threatened.
“His younger daughter, this Barbara, is a slut. Everyone knows that,” said the wife of Josef Seiler, the richest cloth merchant in town. “She gets involved with any fellow who comes along, and when she gets pregnant, well, the wife of the bathhouse keeper, her sister, gets rid of it. Blood is thicker than water.” She giggled, and Barbara had trouble restraining herself—she wanted to jump out from behind the column and scratch the old witch’s eyes out. Frau Seiler had visited the bathhouse just a few days earlier because of a festering abscess, and Magdalena prepared a healing ointment for her that the old woman had been all too happy to get.
“Watch out, the next time we’ll mix some buckthorn in the crucible to give you the shits,” Barbara whispered. “Or some moonflower, you old witch.”
“Who is a witch?” Paul asked, clutching his sword. “If she’s a
witch, I’m going to run her through, and—”
“Sh!” Barbara placed her hand over the boy’s mouth, and he started to kick. Now the other women started shouting about the Kuisls.
“It really was the best thing for them to do to send little Peter to school in Oberammergau,” said an elderly lady who was wearing a bonnet and had almost no teeth left. “He’s the only one of this brood that will amount to anything. His brother, this Paul, is already a monster. Some time ago I saw myself how he pulled out little Ludwig Hallhuber’s hair in bloody clumps, and one time he got hold of our neighbor’s cat, and . . .”
That was more than Barbara could take. With clenched teeth, she turned around and pulled Paul away with her. She was quite aware that her little nephew could be a real devil. But did he have a choice? The other children teased him and his older brother as often as they could, just because they were the grandsons of the town executioner. Paul had as much courage and determination as all the other Schongau boys put together.
Just as Barbara rounded the corner into the little lane leading to the Lech Gate, she caught sight of Melchior Ransmayer, evidently on his way home. Strangely, he didn’t cross the market square but headed toward the back of the church where the old cemetery was located, the same place where she thought she’d seen the doctor the night before. What was Ransmayer up to?
After hesitating briefly, Barbara decided to act.
“Listen, Paul,” she said, turning with a smile to her nephew. “We’re going to play a little game. We’re going to follow the silly doctor as closely as we can without getting caught. If he sees us, we lose; if not, you’ll get a piece of licorice later on, all right?”
Paul nodded excitedly and together they followed Melchior Ransmayer. At this hour a lot of wagons stood in the lane behind the church, providing a good hiding place. Ransmayer opened the squeaking gate to the cemetery and crossed the old graveyard with its sacks of mortar, piles of earth, and carved headstones. From there, he continued on through a door in the rear of the church. Barbara waited a moment and then came scurrying out from behind a wagon with Paul; they entered the building almost on the doctor’s heels.
Now, just after the conclusion of the mass, the church seemed deadly quiet, but clouds of incense still hovered in the air, obscuring the view of the unfinished north side of the nave. Two years ago, the clock tower had collapsed, almost completely destroying the choir loft and the vestry at a time when more than a hundred people were in the church. An elderly widow, Regina Reichart, was crushed in the rubble, and it took three days and three nights of digging to find the buried monstrance.
The construction work on the new steeple and choir loft was still in progress, and the old cemetery was being used to store the debris and the new building materials. Bricks and sacks of mortar were piled up in the chancel, and the only way up to the bell tower was an open staircase. Through the haze of incense, Barbara could see the doctor hurrying up the stairs then stopping briefly to look around. At the last moment, she was able to pull Paul behind a pew, and then they heard the creaking stairs as Ransmayer continued upward.
Well, it’s unlikely that Herr Doktor left anything behind up there during the mass . . .
Her heart beat faster. It looked as if Ransmayer really did have something to hide. She had been right.
“This is a good game,” Paul whispered. “Lots better than that boring service.”
Barbara smiled. Shortly after daybreak that morning, she and her nephew had attended the early mass for the workers and simple people. Paul was right—this was a lot more exciting, but not without danger. If Ransmayer caught them, there would be some embarrassing questions.
As quietly as possible, Barbara and Paul approached the bottom of the staircase and looked up. In the oblique light falling through a church window they could see two pairs of boots standing on a landing about twelve feet above. One pair clearly belonged to Ransmayer, but Barbara had no idea who the person in the second pair might be, though the boots were of the finest leather and certainly didn’t belong to a poor man.
“You want more?” said a voice up above that seemed strangely familiar to her. “Are you crazy, Ransmayer?”
“Well, I also had expenses,” the doctor replied, “and the matter turns out to be more complicated than I thought at first. If my modest demands seem unreasonable to you, you can ask someone else . . .”
“Hold your tongue,” the other man snapped. “You’re already getting more than you deserve.”
In the meantime, Barbara and Paul had tiptoed a few steps higher. They just had to see who Ransmayer was talking to. He was not speaking in a Tyrolean dialect, so it had to be someone different from the man last night. They advanced very slowly, step by step, so that none of the fresh pine boards would squeak. Now they could see not just the stranger’s feet, but his clothes as well. Fine clothing, dyed wool . . . Clearly, the person standing next to the doctor was a Schongau patrician. One more step, and now Barbara could finally see his face. She held her breath.
It was not just some patrician, but none less than the first burgomaster, Matthäus Buchner.
At just that moment, Paul lost his grip on the little wooden sword, and it clattered down the stairs. To Barbara it sounded louder than all the church bells ringing at the same time. She started running back down with Paul, but it was too late. Buchner bent over, peered down the steps, and saw them both. The astonishment on his face changed to a horrible grimace. The burgomaster was a stocky man around fifty years old, with small, piercing eyes that shone like polished buttons in his puffy face. He was regarded as a strict Catholic and staunch defender of the Old Order, which he sought to impose at all costs.
“What are you two doing here?” he shouted at Barbara. “Have you been eavesdropping, you dishonorable woman?”
“Uh, no, Herr Burgomaster . . . abso-absolutely not,” Barbara stuttered. “I just wanted to see how far along the building of the steeple—”
“Naturally she was eavesdropping,” Ransmayer interrupted. “She’s a lying slut. I rebuffed her yesterday, and now she’s stalking me and trying to embarrass me. It’s outrageous.”
“I stalked you?” For a moment, Barbara was so stunned by Ransmayer’s nerve that she forgot her fear. “What are you saying? You attacked me like a rutting pig.”
“Ha! Listen to her!” said Ransmayer, turning to the burgomaster. “This brat is lying through her teeth. The pig was her father.”
“Grandfather is no pig,” shouted little Paul, who up to then had been hiding anxiously behind Barbara. He was about to charge at Ransmayer, but at the last moment his aunt seized him by his dirty shirt collar.
“Just look at them, this riffraff,” Ransmayer said. “They’re like wild animals. They should all be rounded up and thrown in the dungeon.”
“Be quiet!” With an angry wave of his hand, Matthäus Buchner silenced the doctor and suspiciously eyed Barbara.
“What have you heard?” he asked finally.
“Uh, actually nothing,” Barbara replied. “We just got here.”
Buchner’s piercing eyes seemed to bore straight through her. After what seemed like an eternity, he shrugged.
“Oh, why should I care what you heard, you dishonorable brat? You can go, both of you.”
“But . . .” Ransmayer started to say.
“I said, you may go.” Buchner’s lips twisted into an evil sneer. “For the time being, in any case.”
Barbara didn’t have to be told twice. Nodding, she silently spun on her heels and ran down the stairs with Paul to the side entrance of the church. Once outside in the marketplace, she shook herself, as if just awakening from a bad dream.
The words of the first burgomaster were still resonating inside her.
You may go . . . For the time being . . .
“I think the burgomaster is a bad man,” Paul said. “He has such evil eyes. They say something different from what comes from his mouth.”
“I fear so, too, Paul,” Barbara r
eplied, trembling. “Now let’s run home as fast as we can. We lost this game, but you’ll get the licorice just the same.”
She took her nephew firmly by the hand and ran through the muddy lanes, her skirt blowing in the breeze, down to the Tanners’ Quarter. She suspected she’d made a very bad mistake.
“You did what?”
Magdalena, who was crushing fresh linden leaves in a mortar for a potion to cure colds, stopped and stared at her younger sister. That Sunday she had finally been able to take a break and had just taken a seat next to her father at the table when Barbara and Paul came bursting excitedly through the door. What her headstrong little sister told her was really unbelievable. Couldn’t there be just one single day of peace and quiet in this family?
“Just so I get this straight,” Magdalena said again, struggling to lower her voice. “First, Father has another fight with Ransmayer in front of all the nobles, and nearly sets off a riot. Then you and Paul stalk the doctor and the first burgomaster, listen to their conversation, and get caught doing it?”
“Those two are up to something,” Barbara replied, still out of breath from running. “Listen, if we can figure out what Ransmayer is doing, then—”
“Did you even stop to think that perhaps Ransmayer was just trying to sell some expensive medicine to the burgomaster?” Magdalena interrupted angrily. “After all, the burgomaster is his patient. Everything you tell me about this conversation suggests that’s the case. Ransmayer had expenses and wanted more money. Well? Where is the crime?”
“Barbara is right,” Paul said. “The doctor is an evil man—he says very bad things about Grandpa.”
“Oh, Grandpa can take care of himself,” Magdalena replied. “If need be with a good slap in the face that gets his family in a lot of trouble, right?” she added, with an angry side glance at her father. Then she turned back to Barbara. “We have enough to worry about already, and we don’t need your foolishness on top of it.”