The Dark Monk

by Oliver Pötzsch

  “What do you want from me?” Magdalena asked. “I have no time for your silly talk.”

  The woman’s face suddenly turned dark.

  “My little Lisbeth is sick. I think she has this fever. But we don’t have any money for the doctor. Perhaps you’d like to come in and have a look.”

  She gestured for Magdalena to enter and at the same time curtsied clumsily. Her scornful look had completely vanished, and all that remained was a despairing mother who feared for the life of her child.

  Magdalena shrugged. “I can have a look at her, but I can’t promise anything.”

  Entering the smoke-filled house, she found a kettle standing on a rusty tripod over an open fire and emitting thick, acrid steam. The smoke was so thick that it wasn’t possible to see much more of the cabin. Magdalena could make out a wobbly table, a churn of rancid butter, a stool, and a few sacks filled with straw in a corner. This was the same corner the whining was coming from. Moving closer, Magdalena caught sight of a little child on the ground, a girl perhaps ten years old, with a pale face and sunken cheeks. Rings like black half-moons circled her eyes, which flitted around anxiously. She was coughing, shaking, and spitting up red mucus. The hangman’s daughter realized at once that it was the same fever that had killed so many Schongauers in recent weeks. She bent down over the girl and stroked her hot forehead.

  “Everything will be all right,” she murmured. The child’s eyes closed, and her breathing became more regular.

  “Give me some hot water,” Magdalena called out over her shoulder, and the anxious dyer woman hurried away, then returned with a steaming cup. The hangman’s daughter pulled out a leather purse from a deep pocket in her skirt and shook a gray powder into the cup.

  “Have her drink one swallow of this mornings and evenings for three days,” she said, “but three swallows right now. It’s arnica, evergreen, St. John’s wort, and a few herbs that you don’t know. It will help her sleep and forget the cough. That’s all I can do,” she said with a shrug.

  The dyer woman clutched the cup and looked at Magdalena anxiously. “Will she recover? She’s all I have left. My husband, Josef, died last summer when tanning fumes burned his insides. He was spitting blood at the end, just like Lisbeth now.”

  “Don’t you have any other children?” Magdalena asked sympathetically.

  “Smallpox took every last one, and Lisbeth is the last…”

  The woman’s eyes filled with tears. She pressed her lips together tightly and stared fixedly into space. The girl seemed to be sleeping now, but with every breath her frail chest rattled.

  In a moment of inspiration, Magdalena reached for a chain around her neck decorated with amulets attached at regular intervals: a wolf’s tooth in a tin setting, a bloodstone, a silver arrow like the one that pierced St. Sebastian, a mole’s paw, a rock crystal, a tiny cloth pouch that had been blessed…It was a so-called “Fraisen chain,” a charm necklace meant to ward off evil spirits and black magic. The hangman’s daughter tore the wolf’s tooth off the chain, bent down to the girl, and pressed it into her limp hand. The little girl’s hand closed in her sleep.

  “What is it…?” the mother asked anxiously.

  “It will protect her,” Magdalena said, trying to console her. “My father cast some powerful charms on it.”

  That was not really true, but the hangman’s daughter knew that faith, love, and hope could often do more than the strongest medicine. Her father had given her the charm necklace when she was still a child, and whenever she was afraid or felt threatened, she would clutch it tightly in her hand. It gave her strength, and she hoped that some of this strength would be transferred to the little girl now.

  “I will never be able to pay you,” the woman objected. “I am a poor dyer woman.”

  Magdalena stopped her with a wave of her hand. “It’s the wolf my father shot last year. We have enough teeth in our house for all of Schongau.” She winked at her conspiratorially. “The important thing is the magic charm it possesses. You won’t betray me, will you?”

  The woman shook her head, still speechless over the gift from the hangman’s girl. Then something occurred to her, and her face brightened. “Though I have no money,” she said, “perhaps I can help you. Your father was over in Altenstadt because of the dead priest, wasn’t he?”

  Magdalena pricked up her ears. “How do you know…?”

  The woman shrugged. “People talk. They say he was poisoned. Now listen…”

  She looked around carefully and lowered her voice.

  “I went to see Koppmeyer a few days ago—had to give him some dyed fabric for the mass. I’m standing there in front of the rectory and see a man talking with the priest inside. A monk it was, with a black cowl, and under the cowl was a fine, white cloth, not the sort of rags that people like us wear.”

  “Please continue,” Magdalena urged her.

  “The monk was speaking softly, but very intensely with the priest. I could see that Koppmeyer was really afraid. His eyes were bulging as if they might almost fall out of their sockets. Then the man shouted at him and went outside for his horse. I hurried over to hide behind the woodpile.”

  “What did he look like?” Magdalena asked.

  “There wasn’t much to see because of his hood and the robe…” The woman hesitated. “But one thing was very strange.”

  “What? Tell me!”

  “He had to bend forward as he mounted his horse, and underneath his robe I saw a golden chain dangling down with a big, beautiful cross. But it looked different from the crosses we have in church.”

  The excitement practically took Magdalena’s breath away. “What…what did it look like?”

  “Well, it didn’t have just one crossbeam, it had two; the upper one was shorter, and the whole cross was made of gold. I have never seen one like that before.”

  Magdalena thought for a moment but couldn’t remember ever seeing a cross like that, either.

  “What happened then?” she finally asked.

  The dyer woman shrugged. “I took the cloth to Koppmeyer. He was still pretty upset. He handed me two pennies too much and sent me on my way. I’ve never in my life seen the fat priest so frightened. I mean, the man was as strong as a bear!”

  Magdalena nodded. “You have helped me a lot, and I am grateful.” She headed toward the door, deep in thought. “Don’t forget the potion for your daughter,” she said as she left. “If she doesn’t get better in three days, come over and see us at the hangman’s house.” She grinned. “If you dare…But my father kills only people who have done something to deserve it.”

  The dyer woman watched as Magdalena vanished into the next alleyway. The girl started to cough again. Praying quietly to herself, the mother returned to the house and to her daughter.

  Simon was sitting alongside Benedikta at a table in the back of the tavern at the Goldener Stern Inn, sipping on a mug of mulled wine. His nose had finally stopped bleeding, but he could feel it swelling by the minute. He was probably already completely disfigured. He glanced around at the other guests. Now, as evening set in, the tavern was filling slowly with merchants, wealthy craftsmen, and a few aldermen who would overnight there. The tavern belonged to Karl Semer, the city’s presiding burgomaster. It was the best place in town and thus attracted a wealthy clientele. A fire was burning in the large stone fireplace in the corner, lending a cozy atmosphere to the room, and a chandelier bathed the low, wood-paneled room in a subdued light. The aroma of cinnamon, cloves, and stew hung in the air.

  Simon rarely came here, preferring the cheap saloons in the area behind the Ballenhaus, where the wine and the beer were cheaper but also caused bigger hangovers in the morning. He loved it when one of the journeymen or apprentices picked up a fiddle and started to play while the other guests stamped their feet and the girls’ skirts whirled around. Here at Semer’s Tavern, things were much more civilized. At the table next to them, two merchants were talking in hushed tones about their recent sales, and farther b
ack, the alderman Johann Püchner tried flirting with one of the servers by inviting her to join him for a glass of wine. The perky young woman put a glass of the best Alsace wine down in front of him, then disappeared into the kitchen, giggling.

  Until that moment, Benedikta had refrained from asking questions, dabbing away now and then at the blood beneath Simon’s nose. She appeared lost in thought as she nipped on her cup of diluted wine and, like Simon, seemed to be carefully observing the other guests. Finally, she turned and spoke to him.

  “I have decided to stay in Schongau for a few more days. My manager can handle the business in Landsberg just as well as I can, and besides, I was able to make some good contacts today with a few wine merchants from Augsburg.” She sighed. “But of course it’s primarily my brother that keeps me here. I won’t rest until they catch the damned murderer. Have you been able to learn more about his death?”

  Simon hesitated for a moment, then told her about the solution to the riddle, what they had found in the basilica in Altenstadt, and how he planned to search the ruins of the Guelph castle for further clues.

  Benedikta’s face darkened. “But what does that all have to do with my brother? It’s not possible that he knew about all these things.”

  Simon took a long sip before continuing. “Your brother certainly did not know the entire truth, but he knew about the grave under the church. He told someone about it, and that someone wanted to keep the information to himself.”

  “So that no one else would know about it?” Benedikta looked at him in disbelief. “What have you found up to now except a few silly riddles, a joke played by an aging knight?” She shrugged. “Perhaps this Wildgraf was just a man with a sense of humor and all you’ll find in the castle ruins is a coarse rhyme about how nosy some people are.”

  Simon shook his head. “The Templars didn’t think that way. They were an order of knights that combined the virtues of a Christian life and knighthood; they didn’t go around tricking people. The first riddle comes from the Revelation of Saint John, and the second refers to an ancient noble family, the Guelphs. It can’t be an accident. It almost looks as if our dead knight wanted to test us to see if we were worthy. Clearly, he was looking for men who were well versed both in the Bible and in the life of the nobility. Templars…” He hesitated, then stopped speaking.

  “Is something wrong?” Benedikta looked at him and smiled. “Has the wine gone to your head?”

  Simon shook his head, then pulled out the little guide he had borrowed from Jakob Schreevogl and was still carrying around in his jacket pocket.

  He laid it on the table and started leafing through it excitedly.

  “What is that?” Benedikta asked, trying to get a glimpse.

  “It’s a book about the Templars,” Simon replied, but then he stopped flipping through the pages and sighed. “For a moment, I thought I had remembered something, but I must be mistaken.”

  He told Benedikta briefly what he knew about the Templars.

  “This Friedrich Wildgraf, who was buried down there in the crypt, was a master of the Order of Teutonic Knights,” he concluded. “According to the contract we saw in Steingaden, he was the commander for the entire German Empire. He was a member of the inner circle of power. But in just a few years, the Templars were pursued and wiped out all over Europe. Their huge fortune, however, vanished…” He looked Benedikta straight in the eye before continuing. “Why would a powerful master of the order pose riddles like this if not to conceal something? First there was the quotation on the sarcophagus, now the clue in the basilica…There must be a reason for all that!”

  “Do you think…?”

  Simon nodded. “I think Friedrich Wildgraf may have hidden the Templars’ treasure somewhere around here. Or at least a part of it.”

  “A treasure?” Benedikta picked up her handkerchief and wiped a few drops of wine from her lips. “Why would the Templars want to hide something in this godforsaken spot, of all places? According to what you have told me, they had headquarters in Paris, in Jerusalem, in Rome! What would lead them to the Priests’ Corner, of all places”—she spat the name out like a piece of rotten fruit—“to bury a treasure in the remotest part of Bavaria?”

  Simon pounded his fist on the table. “That’s just the point! Nobody would think to look for the treasure here. The French king probably couldn’t have found the Priests’ Corner on a map, even if the duke had drawn a circle around it. Mountains, forests, swamps, and a few illiterate, but well-mannered peasants—the perfect hiding place!”

  Benedikta was silent for a while; then she nodded slowly. “Perhaps you’re right.” Her eyes, so often alert, took on a glassy sheen. “How much do you think…?”

  “Money?” Simon shrugged. “It’s hard to say, but in any case, more than we can imagine. Don’t forget, the French king ordered the extermination of the Templars just because of this fortune. Even if only a part of it is here…” He broke off in the middle of his sentence and looked around. “In any case,” he whispered, “we had better be careful. People have been killed for a lot less money.”

  “But people have also risked their lives for far less,” Benedikta replied with a wink. “Don’t ever tell a businesswoman about hidden treasures; you’ll have a hard time getting rid of her. In my opinion, we should take this risk,” she said, raising her wine glass. “To your health! A la vôtre!”

  “A la vôtre,” replied Simon, and they clinked glasses. This woman from Landsberg surprised him again and again, but she was right: If only a fraction of the Templars’ treasure were buried somewhere in the Priests’ Corner, he would never have to worry about his future again. He would be able to buy crates full of coats, petticoat breeches, new shoes, hats with peacock feathers, a fast horse, and a trunk full of the latest medical instruments. His standing in town would change dramatically, and not only that…Who could forbid him then from marrying the hangman’s daughter? He would build a house for Magdalena and himself! Who knows, maybe they would open an apothecary together in Schongau. He, the physician, and she, the wife, an expert in the healing herbs and poisons in the region—a perfect couple!

  He was so absorbed in the joyful anticipation of his future life that he didn’t notice a haggard figure in the back of the tavern standing up and heading toward the door. As the man left the tavern, he exuded a soft aroma like a gentle whiff of spring.

  6

  MAGDALENA STOOD IN the biting cold in front of the parish church and pulled her woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders. After her visit with the dyer woman, she had wandered aimlessly through the narrow streets. Where could she go? After her angry outburst, Simon would certainly be looking for her at her parents’ house. But even now, after her anger had somewhat subsided, she didn’t want to see him. Perhaps at that very moment he was standing in front of their house in the Tanners’ Quarter and worrying about her. As well he should! How dare he rave to her about this woman! It would be good for him to fret a little. Perhaps it would awaken his guilty conscience. Nobody could treat a Kuisl that way!

  Deep in thought, she wandered across the market square. Night was falling and a traveling merchant was hawking scissors, knives, and all sorts of bric-a-brac. The fragrance of honey-roasted hazelnuts filled the air. Magdalena looked around, rubbing her hands together to keep warm. It was snowing lightly now, but at this time of day, there were only a few Schongau residents passing through the square, anyway. Wrapped in more or less ragged clothing, they walked stooped over so snow wouldn’t blow directly in their eyes. Magdalena looked into their empty, gaunt faces. The Great War had ended just a few years before and people were still suffering the consequences. The residents of the once-wealthy city had fallen victim to pestilence, sickness, and hunger. Even now, only the snow covered the crumbling masonry on the walls and the frozen piles of excrement in the streets. Interspersed among the houses were ruins of buildings whose roofs had caved in, silent witnesses to whole families wiped out by the plague. In recent decades, the city had
lost more than a third of its inhabitants to the plague, and almost every family had mourned the loss of at least one member. As a child, Magdalena had often seen carts filled with dozens of corpses heading toward the new St. Sebastian Cemetery. The old cemetery by the parish church had filled up long ago and now this new fever had come over the city!

  On the spur of the moment, Magdalena decided to go to Semer’s tavern. She still had a few coins in her pocket, and a warm drink would certainly do her some good after all the day’s aggravation. The very thought of it raised her spirits. Her hand was already on the doorknob when she glanced through the bull’s-eye window to the left of the entrance.

  What she saw hit her like a slap in the face.

  Behind the glass, slightly blurred, she could make out Simon and Benedikta sitting at a table. The two seemed engrossed in something or other, and in the dim light of the candles, she thought she could see Simon put his arm around her. Magdalena shuddered. At first she was tempted to tear open the door, grab a heavy mug off one of the shelves, and throw it at Simon. But instead, she just ran across the marketplace, unable to think clearly, tears running down her cheeks before turning to ice.

  When she came to her senses, she was standing near the Kuh Gate. The midwife’s house was just a few yards away, and without giving it a further thought, she tore open the door and stormed in.

  Martha Stechlin looked up in astonishment. She was sitting at a table in the main room, crushing some dried herbs in a mortar. She was about to give the young woman a tongue-lashing but changed her mind when she noticed how pale Magdalena was and how she was trembling.

  “Girl, what is wrong with you?” she asked with concern. “This isn’t because of the Steigenberg woman, is it? You don’t have to worry; the child is well and you don’t have to…”

  Magdalena shook her head, then broke down in tears again. The midwife guided her over to the table, sat her down gently on one of the wooden stools, and stroked her hair.