The Hangman's Daughter

by Oliver Pötzsch

  Simon rose from the bench.

  “I shall go and see Jakob Schreevogl now,” he said. “That is the only lead we’ve got. I am sure something’s fishy with that leper house.”

  “Go ahead and see him,” grunted Kuisl. “As for me, I’m going to smoke a little more of the devil’s tobacco for a while. There’s nothing better to help a person concentrate.”

  The hangman closed his eyes again, breathing in the fragrance of the New World.

  Johann Lechner, the court clerk, was on the way from his office to the Ballenhaus. On his way he noticed with some discomfort the whispering women and the grumbling workmen in the square. As he passed them, he dealt them light shoves and slaps here and there. “Go back to work,” he called out. “There’s a proper way to do everything. It will all be cleared up. Now return to your work, burghers! Or I shall have to have some of you arrested!”

  The burghers slinked off to their workrooms, and the market women resumed sorting out their merchandise. But Johann Lechner knew that they would start gossiping again as soon as his back was turned. He would have to send a few bailiffs to the square to prevent a disturbance. It was high time for this tiresome business to be concluded. And just now it was impossible to talk to the damn midwife! The aldermen were breathing down his neck, wanting to see results. Well, perhaps he would soon be able to show them some. After all, he still had a second trump in his hand.

  The court clerk rushed up the steps of the Ballenhaus to the second floor, where a small room with a locked door was provided for the more prominent burghers, those one did not want to throw into the rat-infested hole in the Faulturm tower or in the dungeon in the keep. A bailiff was posted in front of the door. He greeted Johann Lechner with a nod before opening the massive lock and pushing back the bolt.

  Martin Hueber, the wagon driver from Augsburg, was sprawled over a small table in an alcove, peering through the window at the square below. When he heard the court clerk enter he turned around and greeted him with a smirk.

  “Ah, the court clerk! So have you finally come to your senses? Let me go, and we won’t say another word about this matter.”

  He rose and walked to the door, but Lechner let it slam shut.

  “I believe there must be some kind of misunderstanding here. Martin Hueber, you and your team are suspected of having started the fire at the Stadel.”

  Martin Hueber’s face turned red. He slapped his broad hand on the table.

  “You know that’s not true!”

  “No need to deny it. A few Schongau rafters saw you and your men.”

  Johann Lechner lied without blinking an eye. With great curiosity he awaited the Augsburger’s reaction.

  Martin Hueber took a deep breath, then sat down again, crossing his arms over his wide chest in silence.

  The clerk kept insisting. “Why else would you have been down there at nightfall? You had already unloaded your freight in the afternoon. When the Stadel went up in flames you were suddenly there, so you must have been hanging around beforehand.”

  The wagon driver remained silent. Lechner went back to the door and reached for the handle.

  “All right then. We’ll see if you maintain your silence under torture,” he said as he pushed down the handle. “I shall have you taken to the keep this very day. You’ve already met the hangman down by the raft landing. He’ll be glad to break a few of your bones.”

  Johann Lechner could see the turmoil behind the wagon driver’s brow. He bit his lip, and finally the words burst forth.

  “It’s true, we were there,” he cried, “but not in order to burn down the Stadel! After all, our own merchandise was in there too!”

  Johann Lechner returned to the table.

  “And what was it you wanted there?”

  “We wanted to give the Schongau rafters a thrashing, that’s what we wanted! Up at the Stern that wagon driver of yours, Josef Grimmer, gave one of our men such a beating that he’ll probably never be able to work again! We wanted to make sure that such a thing would never happen again, but by God, we didn’t set fire to the Stadel! I swear it!”

  Fear gleamed in the wagon driver’s eyes. Johann Lechner experienced a warm feeling of satisfaction. He had suspected something, but he had not believed that the Augsburger would cave in so quickly.

  “Hueber, it doesn’t look good for you,” he continued. “Is there anything to support your case?”

  The wagon driver thought briefly, then nodded.

  “Yes, there is something. When we were down by the landing we saw a few men run away, about four or five of them. We thought they were yours. Just a little while later the Stadel was burning.”

  The court clerk shook his head sadly, like a father who is immensely disappointed with his son.

  “Why didn’t you tell us this earlier? It would have saved you a lot of suffering.”

  “But then you’d have known that we had been there before,” sighed Martin Hueber. “Also, until just now I really did think these men were yours. They looked like town bailiffs.”

  “Like town bailiffs?”

  The Augsburg carter was struggling for the right words.

  “More or less. After all, it was already getting dark, and they were quite a ways off. I didn’t see much. Now that I think about it, they may have been soldiers.”

  Johann Lechner gave him a puzzled look.

  “Soldiers…”

  “Yes, the colorful clothes, the high boots, the hats. I believe one or two of them were also carrying sabers. I…I’m no longer sure.”

  “Well, you really should be sure, Hueber.”

  Johann Lechner walked back to the door. “You should be sure, or else we’ll have to help you remember. I’ll give you one more night to think it over. Tomorrow I shall return with quill and parchment, and we’ll set it all down in writing. If some uncertainties still remain, we’ll quickly clear them up. It just so happens that the hangman is not busy right now.”

  With those words he closed the door behind him and left the wagon driver alone. Johann Lechner smiled. They would see what the Augsburger would come up with overnight. Even if he was not responsible for the fire, his confession would still be worth its weight in gold. A Fugger wagon driver as the ring-leader of a conspiracy against the wagon drivers of Schongau! The Augsburgers would have to eat humble pie in future negotiations. It might even be possible, under such circumstances, to increase the rates for warehousing Augsburg goods. After all, the Stadel would have to be rebuilt at great cost. It was wonderful how everything was working out. Once the midwife confessed, all would be well again. Fronwieser, that quack, had said that she would be ready for interrogation tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow at the latest.

  It would just take time and patience.

  The Schreevogl house was in the Bauerngasse, in the Hof Gate quarter, not far from the castle. In this neighborhood stood the houses of the patricians, three-story showpieces with carved balconies and paintings on their facades. The air smelled much better here, mainly because it was far away from the malodorous tanneries down by the Lech. Servant girls were shaking out bedding on the balustrades, while merchants came to the door to supply the cooks with spices, smoked meat, and plucked geese. Simon knocked on the tall door with the brass knob. After a few seconds he could hear steps inside. A maid opened and led him into the entrance hall. A short time later Jakob Schreevogl appeared at the top of the wide spiral staircase. With concern he looked down on Simon.

  “Any news about our Clara?” he asked. “My wife is still sick in bed. Under no circumstances do I wish to upset her unnecessarily.”

  Simon shook his head. “We were down at the Hohenfurch Road. The building site of the leper house is completely ruined.”

  Jakob Schreevogl sighed. “I already know that,” he said and with a gesture invited Simon to have a seat while he himself settled into a cushioned chair in the antechamber. He reached into a bowl of gingerbread cookies and started chewing slowly. “Who would do such a thing? I mean, of
course there was opposition to the construction in the council, but from there to go and destroy the entire leper house…”

  Simon decided to speak openly with the patrician.

  “Is it true that you had already made firm plans for a second kiln on that land before your father left it to the church?” he asked.

  Jakob Schreevogl frowned and put the gingerbread back into the bowl. “But I’ve already told you. After the argument with my father he quickly changed his will, and I could bury my plans.”

  “And your father, too, shortly thereafter.”

  The patrician raised his eyebrows. “What are you implying, Fronwieser?”

  “With your father’s death you no longer had any chance of having the will changed again. Now the land belongs to the church. If you want it back, you’d have to buy it back from the church.”

  Jakob Schreevogl smiled. “I understand,” he said. “You suspect me of interfering with the construction until the church would give me back the land voluntarily. But you forget that before the council, I had always spoken for the building of the leper house.”

  “Yes, but not necessarily on a piece of land that is so important to you,” interrupted Simon.

  The patrician shrugged. “I am already conducting negotiations regarding another piece of land. The second kiln will be built but at another location. This particular spot on the Hohenfurch Road wasn’t important enough for me to put my good name at risk for it.”

  Simon looked Jakob Schreevogl straight in the eye. He could detect no trace of deception.

  “Who, if not you, could be interested in destroying the leper house?” he asked finally.

  Schreevogl laughed. “Half the council was against building it: Holzhofer, Püchner, Augustin, and, leading them all in opposition, the presiding burgomaster Karl Semer.” He quickly became serious again. “Which doesn’t mean that I would suspect any one of them of such a thing.”

  The young patrician rose and started to pace back and forth across the room. “I don’t understand you, Fronwieser,” he said. “My Clara has disappeared, two children are dead, the Zimmerstadel has been destroyed, and you are questioning me here about a burned-out building site? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “We saw someone at the leper house this morning,” Simon interjected.

  “Who?”

  “The devil.”

  The patrician caught his breath as Simon continued.

  “In any case, the one they call the devil now,” he said. “It may be a soldier with a limp. The one who abducted your Clara and who was hanging out with other soldiers at Semer’s inn a few days ago. And who met an apparently important person from the town upstairs in the inn’s conference room.”

  Jakob Schreevogl sat down again.

  “How do you know that he met someone at Semer’s inn?” he asked.

  “A servant girl told me,” Simon replied sharply. “Burgomaster Semer himself claimed to know nothing about it.”

  Schreevogl nodded. “And what makes you think that this person was someone important?”

  Simon shrugged. “Soldiers are hired for money; that’s their profession. And in order to be able to pay four men, much money is needed. The question is, what were they hired to do?”

  He leaned forward.

  “Where were you on Friday of last week?” he asked softly.

  Jakob Schreevogl remained calm and returned the physician’s gaze.

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think I had anything to do with this,” he said sharply. “Don’t forget that it was my daughter who was abducted.”

  “Where were you?”

  The patrician leaned back and appeared to be reflecting. “I had gone down to the kiln,” he said finally. “The chimney was clogged up, and we worked late into the night cleaning it. You’re welcome to ask my workers.”

  “And in the evening, when the Stadel was burning? Where were you then?”

  Jakob Schreevogl slammed his hand down on the table so that the gingerbread bowl jumped. “I’ve had enough of your suspicions! My daughter has disappeared, and that’s all that counts for me. I don’t give a damn about your ruined building site. And now get out of my home. Right now!”

  Simon tried to calm him. “I’m only following every lead I can find. I have no idea either how all this fits together. But somehow it does, and the devil is the link.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Jakob Schreevogl walked the few steps to the door and opened it abruptly.

  “What is it?” he asked angrily.

  A small boy, about eight years old, was standing outside. Simon had seen him before. He was one of the children of Ganghofer, the baker in the Hennengasse. He stared up fearfully at the patrician.

  “Are you the alderman Jakob Schreevogl?” he asked timidly.

  “That’s who I am. What’s the matter? Speak quickly!” Schreevogl was about to close the door again.

  “The father of Clara Schreevogl?” the boy asked.

  The patrician paused. “Yes,” he whispered.

  “I’m supposed to tell you that your daughter is all right.”

  Schreevogl tore the door open and pulled the boy toward him.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I…I…am not supposed to tell you. I promised!”

  The patrician grabbed the little boy by his soiled shirt collar and pulled him up to look right in his eyes.

  “Did you see her? Where is she?” he screamed into his face. The boy struggled and tried to free himself from the man’s grasp.

  Simon stepped closer. He held up a shining coin and rolled it back and forth between his fingers. The boy stiffened, and his eyes followed the coin as if he were hypnotized.

  “Your promise should not bind you. After all, it was not a Christian oath, was it?” he asked the child in a soothing voice.

  The boy shook his head. Jakob Schreevogl carefully set him down and looked expectantly between Simon and the boy.

  “Well,” continued Simon. “Who told you that Clara was well?”

  “It…it was Sophie,” the boy whispered without taking his eyes off the coin. “The red-haired girl. She told me down by the raft landing, just before I came. I got an apple for bringing you the message.”

  Simon brushed his hand across the boy’s head trying to calm him down. “You did very well. And did Sophie also tell you where Clara is now?”

  The boy shook his head fearfully. “That’s all she told me. I swear by the Holy Mother of God!”

  “And Sophie? Where is she now?” Jakob Schreevogl interrupted.

  “She…she left again right away, over the bridge and into the woods. When I looked at her she threw a stone at me. Then I came here right away.”

  Simon looked at Jakob Schreevogl from the side. “I believe he’s telling the truth,” he said. Schreevogl nodded.

  When Simon tried to give the child his coin, the patrician intervened and reached into his own purse. He pulled out a shiny silver penny and gave it to the boy.

  “This one is for you,” he said. “And another one just like it if you find out where Sophie or my Clara are. We’re not out to harm Sophie, you understand?”

  The boy reached for the coin and closed his small fist around it.

  “The…the other children say that Sophie is a witch and will soon be burned, together with the Stechlin woman,” he whispered.

  “You need not believe everything the other children are saying.” Jakob Schreevogl gave him a little nudge. “Run along now. And remember, this is our secret, right?”

  The boy nodded. Seconds later he disappeared around the corner with his treasure.

  Jakob Schreevogl closed the door and looked at Simon. “She’s alive,” he whispered. “My Clara is alive! I must immediately tell my wife. Please excuse me.”

  He rushed upstairs. Halfway up the stairs he stopped once more and looked down at Simon.

  “I have much esteem for you, Fronwieser,” he said. “Now as always. Find th
e devil, and I shall reward you generously.” He smiled as he continued. “You’re welcome to look around my little private library. I think it contains a few books that may interest you.”

  Then he quickly went upstairs into his wife’s bedroom.

  CHAPTER

  10

  SATURDAY

  APRIL 28, A.D. 1659

  NOON

  FOR A GOOD HALF MINUTE SIMON STOOD TRANSFIXED in the hall of the patrician’s house. Thoughts raced through his mind. Finally he came to a decision and ran out into the street, down the Bauerngasse and into the market square. He bumped into a few market women and almost upset a stall with loaves of bread before running down behind the Ballenhaus to the Lech Gate, ignoring the cries and curses behind him. In a few minutes he was on the bridge over the river. He hurried across, leaving the burned-out Stadel on his right, and ran out onto the country road that led from the raft landing to Peiting.

  After a short time he reached the edge of the forest. Now, at midday, the road was almost deserted, most of the wagons having already gone down to the river in the early hours of the morning. Birds were quietly chirping and sometimes a twig snapped in the depth of the forest, but otherwise it was peaceful.

  “Sophie!”

  In the silence Simon’s voice sounded hollow and weak, as if the forest was about to swallow it up after only a few yards.

  “Sophie, can you hear me?”

  He cursed himself for this idea. Perhaps the girl might have run into the forest from here just half an hour before, but it was not likely that she was still within earshot. She could be far, far away by now. Anyway, why in the world would she want to listen to him? It was very possible she was at this moment sitting on a branch somewhere and watching him. Sophie had fled. She was suspected of engaging in witchcraft along with the midwife. As an orphan, without a good reputation or witnesses to speak for her, she was extremely likely to end up being burned at the stake along with the Stechlin woman even though she was only twelve years old. The physician had heard of cases where even much younger children had been put to the stake as witches. Why, then, should Sophie come forward now?