The Devil's Pawn

by Oliver Pötzsch

  “Yes, yes, so much work.” Father Jerome gave a shrug. “Sir Albert is normally the duke’s master of hunt, but the duke has been in Italy since the Battle of Marignano, and Sir Albert has been running things at Tiffauges since.” He chuckled softly. “The duke probably didn’t consider the fact that Albert is a better huntsman than administrator. I like to think he would be pleased to know that his humble chaplain goes over his bills and the lists of his estates. Especially since Sir Albert can barely read.”

  Father Jerome smiled once more, his black eyes glistening like cold crystals. He gestured at the long table covered with silver platters of cold meats, cheese, bread, and smoked fish, as well as a large wine carafe. “Why don’t we sit? You must be hungry, venerable doctor, and you can tell me over dinner what brings you to Tiffauges.”

  They sat down and Johann helped himself to meat and wine. Karl briefly panicked at the thought that the food might be poisoned, but then he realized that there was no reason to kill them like this.

  They were prisoners already.

  As they ate in silence, Karl studied the priest. The man sat opposite them at the table and merely sipped on his cup of wine. If the old midwife had spoken the truth, then Father Jerome was the same man who’d called upon the devil with Gilles de Rais about a hundred years ago. Back then he called himself François Prelati and used to be something like the playmate of the dark marshal.

  But maybe that was just another rumor. Karl knew from painful experience that heretics and sodomites were often lumped together. Still, he had to admit that something was gravely amiss in this castle. Clearly, the chaplain had seized control at Tiffauges—that must have been what the guards had hinted at. But that didn’t mean that the man in front of them was an undying monster. In any case, he was extremely polite.

  “How do you enjoy France, Doctor?” asked Father Jerome, eyeing Johann with curiosity.

  “It’s a beautiful country if you have an eye for castles, an ear for music, and a palate for fine food,” answered Johann between mouthfuls. He seemed very calm and focused, as during a difficult game of chess.

  Father Jerome laughed, causing the steward to start up briefly before falling back asleep. “You’re right. But I believe you are not here because of the good food.” With an expression of concern, the father gestured at Johann’s lifeless arm and slumping shoulder. “I’m inclined to believe you are seriously ill. Have you traveled to France in the hope of a cure? We have excellent doctors, especially in university cities like Avignon and Paris. Brittany, however, is truly like the end of the world in that regard.”

  “I am indeed searching for a cure.” Johann looked up from his meal. “I had hoped to meet your master here.”

  “Duke Louis de Vendôme? Well, like I said, he’s in Milan and—”

  “I meant your other master.”

  Father Jerome looked stupefied. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Then his expression brightened. “Oh, you are speaking of the uppermost lord, the ruler of us all, whom I serve as chaplain.” He grinned. “Well, you didn’t have to travel to Tiffauges to speak with him. You can pray to my lord from anywhere and hope to be healed.”

  “And yet I would like to meet him face to face. Would that be possible?”

  “Hmm, he doesn’t show himself to many, only to very few select people and those who serve him wholeheartedly. You should know that, Doctor. Only those who meditate and pray deeply—”

  “Tell him I want to see him,” interrupted Johann.

  Father Jerome laughed again, and it was a soft, jingling laugh that made the dogs prick up their ears. “What makes you think that I, of all people, can get in contact with the great lord? I’m just a little priest, the chaplain of Tiffauges, nothing more.”

  “Oh, I know you can do it.” For the first time Johann smiled, too, but his smile was as cold as ice. “You are his most faithful servant, are you not?” He rose. “I would like to retire now. It was a long day and my limbs are sore.”

  Father Jerome also stood up. Karl watched the two unequal men. So far, neither man had shown his true face. It was like a charade, and the audience waited to see who would first tear off the mask of the other.

  “I will show you to your rooms,” said Father Jerome, walking toward the door. “Let us hope that the lord in his grace hears your pleas. A bedtime prayer certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

  Behind them, the steward snored on.

  Johann struggled to fall asleep that night. He was lying in a musty four-poster bed covered with cobwebs on the second floor of the keep. Stretched above him was a dusty, threadbare baldachin, and the old boards of the bed creaked with every movement. The room was hot and stuffy. Johann wondered who had last slept in this bed—Gilles de Rais himself, together with Prelati the priest, who now called himself Father Jerome? Poitou, Henriet, La Meffraye? Or another one of his many hunters and bloodsuckers? Or perhaps even a child, lured here with sweets and then slaughtered like a lamb by Gilles de Rais? What had these walls witnessed?

  Karl was in the chamber next to his, separated only by a thin door. Before they had gone to bed, they had given the agreed-upon signal with the torch in the window. Even if Johann was feeling afraid, he didn’t think he was in any imminent danger. Not yet. Standing by the window earlier, gazing down at the lights of the small town, he had noticed a large black bird rising up from the castle’s battlements. Probably a raven.

  Send my greetings to your master. I am waiting for him!

  Johann knew: wherever Tonio was, he would come. Father Jerome might have been a false priest, but he wouldn’t make the mistake of keeping Johann’s presence from his master. If Tonio wasn’t at the castle, he probably wasn’t far. Johann found the thought strangely reassuring. He felt as though he had been running all his life without knowing where he was headed. Now he had finally arrived.

  I’m here, Tonio.

  As Johann slowly nodded off, his thoughts turned to Greta. He never should have brought her this far. Maybe it really was better if John Reed was by her side, even if Johann couldn’t stand the loudmouthed fellow. John would be able to protect Greta now that Johann no longer could. He would have preferred for the two of them to depart right away. Now he could only hope that nothing happened to her—after all, lurking out there were still Lahnstein, Hagen, and the mercenaries he and Karl had only just managed to get away from.

  John. Greta. Margarethe.

  Slowly, Johann slid into the realm of dreams where his beloved Margarethe reached out her hand for him, where his mother in Knittlingen sang a Palatinate lullaby, and where old Father Antonius at Maulbronn Monastery handed him a volume of Greek fables. His old friend Valentin stood outside the monastery and waved to him; he had forgiven Johann—they all had forgiven him.

  When Johann opened his eyes, he saw a tall figure standing by his bed. Was he still dreaming? He tried to sit up but his limbs wouldn’t move—not just his left arm, but his whole body. He felt as if he were buried alive. Behind the figure, a door was ajar, and it wasn’t the door to Karl’s chamber but a different one, one that had been hidden behind one of the tapestries. The figure bent down to him, staring at him from dead black eyes that gleamed like the eyes of a large insect. Long, clawlike fingers crawled across his body.

  Cold sweat stood on Johann’s forehead, and his heart raced. He wanted to move, wanted to lift at least one hand, one finger, but he couldn’t. He felt a rough tongue on his face as if an ancient reptile was licking him, smelling him.

  You’re mine, Faustusss. You’re mine, little Faustusss.

  Then Johann fell into a deep unconsciousness and awoke only when it was bright daylight.

  Greta and John also struggled to find rest that night. They had built a shelter deep in the woods, covering a hollow in the ground with branches and leaves, where they cuddled together like two young cats. The pale moon shone above them. Greta knew she should have been afraid of wild animals, or of the soldiers who might still be searching for them, but once again she felt s
afe at John’s side—as safe as she used to feel with Johann when she was younger.

  Pensively, she played with the small amulet the midwife had given her. The alabaster angel was warm, as if it were alive. A thousand thoughts went through her mind: How was her father doing right now, had he already encountered Tonio, what would happen to him and Karl behind the walls of Tiffauges? Johann had given the signal they had agreed upon, and so she guessed everything was going to plan so far. But Greta felt guilty, because her fear for Karl and her father had moved to the back of her mind. Instead she felt closer to John than ever before. They were lying on their backs beside each other, gazing up at the moon. She squeezed his hand.

  “What happens to us now?” she asked hesitantly. “You’ve fulfilled your promise of bringing us here. My father is where he wanted to be.”

  “And now you think I’ll disappear again?” John laughed. “Let me put your mind at rest. I won’t leave you. Ever. Remember—I gave your father my word that I would look after you. That means for the rest of our lives.”

  “You’ve broken your word before.”

  “Those days are over, Greta. Since I met you, everything is . . .” He faltered. “Everything is different. Honestly. I want to be with you and nowhere else. Besides—there is no way back for me. If the king finds me, he’ll probably have me quartered in Paris as a warning to anyone who might betray him. I am a wanted criminal, a traitor.”

  “And soon to be a father,” said Greta, snuggling up close to him so that she could hear his heart.

  He sat up and stared at her. “What did you just say?”

  “I haven’t bled for two months in a row now. I know that doesn’t mean much, but—”

  “Greta! This . . . this is . . .” John shook his head in disbelief. For the first time he seemed lost for words. Then he covered her face in kisses until she laughed and pushed him away.

  Greta had been wondering if and when she should tell him. It was still too soon, really, but the moment had carried her away.

  “Stop it—you’re tickling me!” she giggled when his tongue played with her ear. “It must have happened back in Blois—remember?”

  He grinned. “Oh yes, I remember. Let me think—I think I did this . . . and then this . . .”

  He rolled on top of her, and her resistance soon died off. His lips traveled from her face to her neck, then down to her breasts, and then farther down. When he pushed up her skirts, she closed her eyes and suddenly seemed to hear and feel everything around her much more clearly. Her own breathing, the sounds of the forest, the hooting of an owl, the rustling of the leaves in the wind, the tickling of the forest floor on her naked skin.

  She lived fully in the moment with no fears and no worries. And while John kissed her in the most forbidden places, she felt happier than she had in many years. John was her man, he would be the father of her children, and they would travel the lands together without a destination.

  16

  THE FOLLOWING DAYS WERE ONE LONG WAIT FOR JOHANN. Tonio didn’t show, but Johann knew he would come. The only question was when.

  On the morning following the first night, he had woken bathed in sweat. He still wasn’t sure if he had dreamed it or if Tonio—or someone else—had visited his bedside. As soon as he’d risen, he had searched the walls for secret doors but hadn’t found any. There was only the door leading to Karl’s room. Had it been this door after all?

  During the day he and Karl explored the vast castle complex. No one stopped them; guards would watch Faust and Karl closely but always let them pass as if they’d been ordered to. The castle was a huge maze of chambers, tunnels, barbicans, towers, walls, and bastions, built to withstand any siege. The mighty donjon formed the heart of the castle and was intended as a last retreat should the walls ever be breached. Another central building was the two-story manor house, which sat roughly in the center of the plateau and was framed by several storage sheds and the horse stables. Usually the duke resided here, but he hadn’t been in Tiffauges for years.

  The strangest building, thought Johann, was the church next to the donjon. It would appear that part of the nave had been torn down to give more space to the keep. The chapel looked oddly shortened, but on the inside its former glory was still visible. A triumphal arch separated the apse from the nave; beautifully carved wooden statues of saints stood in the side aisles, and there were an ancient baptismal font and paling frescoes whose color was flaking off. A service led by the chaplain took place here every morning, and it was always accompanied by the sound of an organ, but Johann never saw the organ or the organist.

  Faust and Karl rarely encountered the steward of Tiffauges. Sir Albert spent most of his time in the donjon, drinking in the downstairs hall and staring holes into the air. He looked like a walking corpse. His dogs alone forced him to go outside from time to time. The guards greeted their master respectfully enough when he staggered past them, but they mocked him behind his back and made faces. Father Jerome, on the other hand, they met with true respect, or even fear. When the priest walked past them, they looked at the ground and muttered some words that Johann couldn’t understand. Usually, he and Karl would only see the priest and Sir Albert during dinner in the hall.

  They explored the castle thoroughly, including the smoky kitchen, several high-ceilinged halls, and numerous elegantly furnished chambers that appeared to be reserved for special guests. Johann even discovered a small library in one of the towers at the rear, which seemed to have been built more recently. The only building he and Karl weren’t permitted to enter unaccompanied was the church. It was only open during the morning services and remained locked at all other times. When he and Karl approached the church door, two or three guards would appear immediately and position themselves outside the entrance.

  “Shouldn’t a house of God always be open?” Johann asked Father Jerome on the second day following their arrival, as they stood in front of the shelves in the library. Even though temperatures outside were summery and muggy, it was pleasantly cool behind the castle’s thick walls. Once again the priest had appeared out of nowhere like a ghost. Johann wondered if there were secret doors in the library. This castle appeared to be one big secret.

  “Parts of the church are currently under repair,” explained Father Jerome with a shrug. “It is too dangerous to allow believers inside unaccompanied.”

  “Strange—I didn’t notice any repairs during the service,” replied Johann.

  “They can’t be seen from the nave. But the building is still . . . unsafe.” Father Jerome’s smile always looked somewhat predatory in his pockmarked face. “Very much so, believe me.” He made a sweeping gesture at the shelves full of dusty books, folders, and parchment scrolls. “You like our humble library? Maybe you’ll find something on your mysterious illness.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I have found some very rare works. Roger Bacon’s Opus Majus, for example, and some older writs by Albertus Magnus. As you can see, my assistant is smitten.” Johann nodded in the direction of Karl, who was sitting at a desk with his glasses on his nose, engrossed in a heavy tome that was chained to the table. “All these are works, by the way, which I had the pleasure of admiring in another library, too,” continued Johann evenly. “That was in Venice a long time ago, at the house of a certain Signore Barbarese. I don’t suppose you know him?”

  Father Jerome’s smile froze. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Pity. I think you would have liked him, even if his attitude toward the church was . . . well, peculiar. He always followed his motto, Homo Deus est. Have you heard it before?”

  “‘Man is God’? I don’t imagine the church would have liked that.” Father Jerome frowned. “Although it is a tempting thought. What if man, not God, steered the fate of the world?”

  “Or someone else,” suggested Johann. “Oh, by the way, I noticed that there are no Christian works whatsoever in this library. Not even a Bible.”

  “They must all be in the church. It contain
s its own library. Would you like me to have some pious works brought to you? For prayer and reflection? I believe we own some highly edifying chapters by Saint Francis that might be of help.”

  Johann shook his head. “I don’t believe that will be necessary. I hope your lord will speak to me when he’s ready.”

  “We shall see.” Father Jerome bowed his head and left the library.

  Thus the days passed. They didn’t see Hagen and his mercenaries again. Johann and the priest circled one another like two old beasts of prey, both waiting for the other to take the fatal leap. The daily routine at the castle went on, and every night Johann and Karl gave the light signals from Johann’s window. On the evening of the fifth day, when they sat in the great hall with the steward and the chaplain, Father Jerome addressed Johann after their meal. He seemed to have waited for Sir Albert to fall asleep after his fourth goblet of wine. Johann thought the steward looked even more deeply asleep than usual.

  “I have good news, Doctor,” said Father Jerome. “I prayed at church for a long time today, and a miracle happened. The lord spoke to me!” He leaned forward, and his voice became quiet and hissing like the whisper of a snake. “And he wants to speak with you. He wants to see you.”

  “When?” asked Johann, pushing his plate away.

  Father Jerome winked at him. “This very night. We have prepared a special mass for the occasion.” He glanced at the snoring steward. “Unfortunately, Sir Albert won’t be able to attend, as you can see. But there’ll be other guests, and they look forward to making your acquaintance. You are a famous man, Doctor Faustus.” The priest stood up. “I still have much to prepare for mass. I expect both of you in the church at midnight sharp.”

  A short while later, Johann paced his room restlessly. At regular intervals, the bell of the town’s church chimed a quarter of a mile away, its heavy, dull sound announcing the slow passing of time. Nine o’clock, ten o’clock, eleven o’clock. The wait seemed to drag on endlessly.