The Devil's Pawn

by Oliver Pötzsch

  Greta seemed surprised; clearly she’d expected something else.

  “John, are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.

  “He’s your father, isn’t he? You can wait here in Amboise until it’s over. I’m sure it won’t take too—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Greta’s eyes were flashing in a way Johann had always feared in his daughter. “How come you men always think you can make decisions for us? First my father and now you! If you feel like you have to act the hero, very well. But I’m certainly not going to sit here and wait for you.”

  John frowned. “That means you . . . ?”

  Johann groaned. He’d known Greta long enough to know that she would do as she pleased, no matter what. “Won’t you listen to reason, dear?” he said nonetheless. “It is my disease, and I made this pact with Tonio, not you. Go home and—”

  “Home? And where is that supposed to be? I am your daughter, remember?” burst out Greta. “The daughter of the forever roaming Doctor Johann Georg Faustus! I have no home. And Tonio is part of my story, too. You could even say he is also my curse.”

  Johann shook his head hard. “I don’t want you to come with me. It was a mistake to bring you here. It’s much too dangerous. Tonio knows that you’re my daughter. If I fail, he will take his revenge on you. Worse: he will use you for his evil goals. You’re still young, Greta! I have lived my life, and what a life it’s been.” He lowered his voice. “You’ve seen the lines in my hand. You know what they mean.”

  “Didn’t you say yourself that they don’t necessarily have to mean death? And besides, I’m not leaving John.” Greta squeezed John’s hand. “We are together, and we’re just as inseparable as you and Karl. Where John goes, I go, too.”

  Johann studied Greta’s companion coldly. “I don’t want you or your beloved John to come,” he said harshly.

  John glared at him defiantly, his bright-red hair hanging into his eyes.

  “Now listen to me, Herr Doctor, I am well aware of the fact that you don’t like me. But know that the barony of Retz is a dangerous corner. There aren’t just stories about an ogre, there are also other dangers. Huge wolves coming from the mountains, false tracks in the swamps, bands of robbers who live in the woods. The whole area hasn’t fully recovered from the long war against the English.” John continued in a lower voice. “I’ve heard stories about Tiffauges Castle. The current owner is in Italy, fighting for the king. And the steward who’s in charge in his absence, well . . .” He paused. “I don’t know any details, and I’m not a superstitious person. But it seems there really are strange things happening at that castle.”

  “Tonio,” growled Johann. “It’s all connected to Tonio, I’m sure of it.”

  John gave a dismissive wave. “Tonio or not—you need help. I know the area and I know how to defend myself. The dog alone won’t save you.” He grinned. “And by the looks of it, you don’t get a choice.”

  “Then so be it, damn it all. I can hardly tie you both down.” Johann wagged a finger. “But don’t you think for a moment that I will pay you.”

  John smiled with his white teeth and placed his arm firmly around Greta’s shoulders. “Don’t you worry, Doctor. Your daughter’s love is payment enough.”

  Act III

  The Ogre’s Cave

  11

  IN THE WOODS, SOUTH OF THE LOIRE

  MAY, AD 1519

  A SMALL GROUP OF TRAVELERS MOVED STEADILY TO THE southwest through dark oak and chestnut forests.

  Walking at the front was a handsome young man who, despite his plain pilgrim’s garb, appeared learned, like a student or a magister of the liberal arts. He leafed through a book as he walked, balancing some newfangled eye glasses on his nose. Following one step behind was a young woman, her hair modestly hidden beneath a bonnet except for the few unruly strands that insisted on falling into her face. At first glance she appeared to be a pious pilgrim, but a closer inspection revealed a powerful, muscular body and a proud bearing resembling that of a countess. Riding on a donkey behind them was a stooped older man, evidently the father of the two unlike siblings. A strongly built red-haired fellow formed the rear guard, a long knife and a sack dangling from his belt. He seemed to be the family’s hired guard. A huge black dog darted through the thicket.

  A soft whistle rang out. Greta looked back and saw that John was asking the group to stop. The Scotsman pointed at Little Satan, who was emerging from the underbrush with a fat pheasant in his mouth; the dog placed it on the ground in front of John. The bird still flapped a little, so John picked it up and wrung its neck with a swift movement.

  “My compliments on your dog. He hunts better than any terrier.” John laughed as he stuffed the pheasant into the full sack. “Three rabbits and now this in one day—the black devil truly is an outstanding huntsman.” He winked at Greta. “Better than our young scholar, who’s more likely to stumble over a rabbit while he studies his books.” He gave Karl a mocking grin. “Is that perhaps because of those round things in front of your eyes?”

  “These round things, as you call them, help me to excel in other areas,” retorted Karl. “Not everyone is a born hunter. And since we are supposed to be a group of pilgrims, it probably doesn’t hurt if at least one of us makes a contemplative impression instead of murdering animals all day long.”

  Greta smirked. John and Karl taunting each other had become a normal part of their daily routine. Greta suspected that they liked each other well enough, even if Karl was possibly a little envious. John was everything Karl was not: manly, loud, and hands-on, while Karl possessed a higher education and tact, which John lacked. Greta loved them both, but John was the man she desired.

  She still didn’t fully understand why John had offered to accompany her father. She thought it must be his sense of honor that forbade him from letting a sick old man who happened to be the father of his beloved walk into the wilderness by himself. And she, too, had realized that she wasn’t ready to leave Johann.

  I also want to find out the truth about Tonio. Because Tonio is part of my life, too.

  Greta groaned and pushed her hands into her lower back; they’d been walking all day. “Do we have to camp in the woods again tonight?” she asked tiredly.

  “We’ll see.” John moved his head from side to side. “There aren’t a lot of inns around here. But I’m hoping we’ll find one tomorrow night. There is a pilgrims’ hostel at Azay-le-Rideau.”

  “I told you we should have gone by boat,” said Johann grumpily. He swayed back and forth on his donkey like a sack of flour. “It would have been much more pleasant. And at Tours—”

  “They would have already been expecting the honorable doctor,” said John. “The traders, at the very least, will all know by now that the famous Doctor Faustus is visiting the beautiful Loire Valley. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been quite so loudmouthed outside Leonardo’s house at Amboise—especially in front of a bunch of fellow travelers. But it’s too late to cry about that now. If we want to stand a chance of remaining unrecognized, then we must travel through the woods. And that is what you want—to stay unrecognized—isn’t it?”

  Johann said nothing, and Greta could tell by his face that he knew very well John was right, even if he didn’t want to admit it. The doctor had traveled to many places before, but this area was completely new to him. Johann was well aware of the dangers lurking in the woods along the Loire, even with Little Satan at their side. John’s protection was necessary.

  Greta had told her father and Karl about John’s real profession, which didn’t particularly improve Johann’s opinion of his daughter’s lover. And yet the two men had formed a sort of truce, probably in part because Johann didn’t want to spoil things between him and his daughter. But it was clear to see what he thought of Greta’s relationship with John. Even now, on this arduous and perhaps final journey together, the doctor visibly struggled to accept that his daughter had found her love. During the evenings by the campfire, especially, he somet
imes failed to swallow back a nasty comment, which had led to more than one argument between him and Greta.

  They had been traveling through the forests of France for over a week now, always in the direction of Tiffauges. They spent some nights at inns and others in the woods, making rather slow progress. Johann’s paralysis had worsened, spanning his entire left side and down his leg so that he now walked with a limp. He could no longer cover great distances on foot, and that was why the donkey had been the best choice; they certainly couldn’t afford four horses. From time to time Johann’s head tilted to one side like a puppet, and his face cramped up, making him look even grimmer than usual. At least his condition bore the advantage that everyone believed their pilgrimage story—clearly, they were on their way to Fontevrault Abbey because the sick old man on the donkey hoped for a miracle. The barony of Retz and Tiffauges Castle weren’t far from there.

  After another two hours of hiking, they finally made camp. John plucked the pheasant, stuffed it with wild carrots and herbs, and roasted it together with the skinned rabbits on a spit. When he divided up the delicious-smelling meat, he tossed a few lumps to Little Satan, who devoured them happily. The dog obeyed John almost as readily as he obeyed Johann, which didn’t help to improve the doctor’s mood.

  As the branches cracked in the fire and everyone’s faces were shiny with fat, John told the others what he knew about this area.

  “This land was a war zone for decades, almost an entire century,” he began. “When Charles IV died as the last Capetian king without a male heir, an argument over the succession of the French crown broke out. The English laid their claim and occupied the entire north of the country. The border was right here, along the Loire.” John lowered his voice. “People say this region bled more than any other in France. They say the ghosts of the dead soldiers still haunt these woods.”

  “Cut out the ridiculous ghost stories,” said Johann. “You’re our guide, not a juggler or jester.”

  “Oh, perhaps the doctor would like to tell us his own ghost story?” jeered John. “About a knight who is over a hundred years old and still roams the Loire Valley?”

  “I have to agree with John,” said Karl. “What you need is real medicine, not the castle of a villain who died a hundred years ago. The whole thing is . . . absurd!” He shook his head. “You are a man of reason, of intellect, and now you’re looking for the devil on earth. I had hoped fervently that Leonardo would steer you back onto the right track.”

  Karl still regretted deeply having left the great Leonardo behind on his deathbed. He would have liked to stay at Cloux for much longer, but instead, they were chasing a phantom.

  Or Satan himself.

  Greta, on the other hand, had come to believe her father. There were too many events that couldn’t be explained with reason alone, as Karl insisted. She prayed every day now, thinking about her mother, who had found God toward the end of her life—and still had to burn at the stake like Jeanne d’Arc, companion of Gilles de Rais.

  God and the devil always form a unity, thought Greta. Like two sides of a coin. What side is my father on?

  The honest truth was, she didn’t know.

  Around noon the following day they came to a small abbey with lodgings. It had been raining heavily since morning, and they were glad to warm their limbs for a little while and dry their soaked coats by the fire. A handful of other travelers had also sought shelter in the narrow, smoky pub room. They were served steaming mutton stew, cheese, and a slightly sour but drinkable wine. Greta noticed the other guests repeatedly turning their heads to stare at her father. His paralysis was obvious now, and his crooked neck and shaking hand when he lifted the spoon to his mouth turned him into a leper, an untouchable. It seemed to her like the people sensed that the man in their midst was cursed. Johann, however, didn’t deign to look at anyone in the room. After he’d finished his meal, he picked up one of his books with shaking hands and awkwardly started to read it. It was the Figura Umana, which Faust had stitched back together at Cloux. The tattered work was the last reminder he had of the great Leonardo da Vinci.

  They dozed by the fire. Evidently, the chimney hadn’t been cleaned in a while; the smoke escaped very poorly. Greta eventually decided to go outside for some fresh air. She stepped out the door and peered through the rain. Over by the stables she saw John with several men. Greta blinked. She could have been mistaken, but two of the men looked almost identical to John’s former crew members. When John spotted Greta in the door, he quickly walked away from the men with a nod and hurried over to her. He hugged her tightly.

  “They are carpenters from Tours who are here to put a new roof on the abbey,” he explained. “They, too, have heard stories of missing or dead children, especially in the barony of Retz.” John shook his head. “Hell, I’d really like to know who is behind it.”

  “If it isn’t an ogre, then who?” asked Greta.

  “My guess is that it’s a gang of slave traders. They might abduct children to sell them to the Ottomans, and whoever is too weak they kill. It wouldn’t be the first time—the Atlantic isn’t far.” John frowned. “But then again, it might actually be connected with Tiffauges. Those carpenters reckon the steward allowed some strange people into the castle, and since then nothing is the way it used to be.”

  “Those men from Tours do seem to know a lot,” said Greta.

  John laughed dismissively. “I’m sure much of it is just talk. But one thing is true: there are a lot of wolves in this area. They’ve become a real pest in recent years. We must be careful.”

  As if to prove his point, they suddenly heard a howling from the woods, followed shortly by the howling of a second creature.

  John nodded grimly. “We’ll spend the night here. I don’t want to take any risks.”

  When they set off the next morning, the rain had stopped. The sun broke through the clouds, and it wasn’t long before the forest was as muggy as a midsummer day. Damp haze rose up among the tree trunks, and the mosquitoes nearly ate them alive. Karl’s blood was apparently the sweetest, as he was worst affected.

  Karl asked himself for the hundredth time what he was doing here. The doctor suffered from some kind of terrible disease, and they were making their way through the wilderness in search of the castle where a ghost was supposed to live, an undying mass murderer who’d been hanged a long time ago. This was all complete madness! And still he followed the doctor because . . . because he couldn’t help it.

  Because I love him.

  Karl would stay with Faust until his dying breath. He had sworn it to himself after Leonardo hadn’t been able to help them. The great Leonardo. Karl could have learned so much from him. The brushwork alone, the play with light. A few times Karl had been lucky enough to observe while the master painted. Was Leonardo still alive? He had written his will on the eve of their departure.

  From the inn they followed the road west but soon left it, turning onto a narrow, overgrown path that Karl would never have found on his own. He admired John Reed, who seemed very much at home in this wilderness and who was superior to him in many other areas, too. His admiration was tainted with a quiet jealousy. He and Greta had always been best friends, and it hurt him to watch how she moved further and further away from him now. But he understood. Greta had changed a fair bit in the last few weeks. She had become even more withdrawn and serious than before. Wearing the pilgrim’s garb, she indeed looked like a future nun who would take her vows at Fontevrault Abbey.

  Soon Karl’s freshly dried clothes were drenched again, this time from his own sweat. The ground was marshy, and in places the track was covered in ankle-deep water. The few villages they passed in the following hours were drab backwaters inhabited by dull-eyed peasants in torn clothes who stared at them like the undead.

  When they set up camp in an overgrown clearing that night, everyone was so exhausted that they soon fell asleep. Karl, who had volunteered for the first watch, struggled to keep his eyes open. After a while he heard the
howling of wolves, and this time it sounded much closer than the night before. He thought he also heard a low growling not far from their clearing. It was probably Little Satan; Karl hadn’t seen the dog in a while. He picked up a burning log and cautiously walked toward the black wall of trees. A pair of eyes glowed between the branches. Karl hurled the log at them and the eyes vanished. But instead he saw something else.

  A man was standing among the trees.

  Karl could clearly see the outline of a man half-hidden behind a tree only a few steps away from him. Before Karl could say anything, the man saw him and disappeared with lightning speed behind the tree trunks. Karl heard a rustling, but then it was as if the man had never been there. His heart racing, Karl rushed back to the camp and awakened John.

  “I saw someone,” he whispered urgently. “Right by the edge of the clearing!”

  John was instantly awake. He picked up his long knife and stood quietly.

  “You stay here,” he whispered. “Wake the others. I’m going to take a look.”

  A moment later John had vanished into the woods. Again the wolves howled, and there was a rustling and cracking in the undergrowth. Karl listened. Was it John or someone else?

  Or something else, thought Karl. Then he called himself a fool. All this talk of an undead knight was messing with his mind.

  He sneaked over to Greta and shook her awake, and then he woke Johann. Together they sat and listened but couldn’t hear anything apart from the howling of the wolves. They sat this way for a long while, listening in silence, but John didn’t return. The minutes seemed to stretch forever.

  “What could have happened to him?” asked Greta, her face pale, her hair tousled. “Why isn’t he coming back?”

  “I don’t know, damn it!” said Karl. “I only know that someone was in the forest—some man.”

  “Tonio?” asked Johann. “Do you think it might have been Tonio?”

  “It was too dark. And besides . . .” Karl fell silent when they heard footsteps. Branches snapped. Karl was about to call out to John with relief, but then he stopped. What they heard were clearly the sounds of several people. Karl realized that the dog still hadn’t returned.