The Hangman's Daughter

by Oliver Pötzsch

Jakob Kuisl was struggling for the life of the midwife he had previously tortured. He had cleaned her head wound and applied a bandage of oak bark. Her swollen fingers were covered with a thick yellow ointment. The hangman kept dripping some tincture from a small vial into her mouth, but Martha Stechlin had difficulty swallowing. The reddish-brownish liquid oozed over her lips and trickled to the ground.

  “What is that?” Simon asked, pointing at the vial.

  “It’s an extract of Saint-John’s-wort, nightshade, and several other herbs that you don’t know. It’ll calm her down, but that’s all. Damn it, they should have cleaned the head wound right away. It’s already getting inflamed. Your father is a confounded quack!”

  Simon swallowed, but he couldn’t argue with that.

  “Where did you gather all that knowledge? I mean, you’ve never studied…”

  The hangman laughed out loud as he examined the countless bruises on the midwife’s legs.

  “Studied! Nonsense! You silly physicians think you’re finding the truth at your cold-blooded universities. But there’s nothing there! Nothing but wise books written by wise men who copied from other wise men. But real life, real diseases, that’s what you’ll find out here. Learn from those, not from your books! That’ll teach you more than the entire university library at Ingolstadt!”

  “But you have books in your house as well,” Simon protested.

  “Yes, but what kind of books? Those books that you physicians have banned or chosen to ignore because they don’t fit in with your dusty doctrines. Scultetus, Paré, or old Dioscorides! These are truly learned men! But, no. You prefer to bleed patients, look at piss, and believe in your stinking humors. Blood, phlegm, and bile, that’s all that constitutes the human body in your eyes. If only I got to take a medical exam at one of your universities…”

  He broke off, shaking his head. “But why should I get upset? I’m just supposed to heal the midwife and then kill her, and that’s that.”

  At long last, Jakob Kuisl had finished his examination of the tortured woman. Finally, he tore some linen rags in strips, soaked them in the yellow ointment, and wrapped them around her legs, which looked like one large bruise. All the while he was shaking his head.

  “I only hope I wasn’t too rough with her. But the worst by far is the head injury. We’ll see in the next few hours if her fever goes down or if it rises. If it does rise, then tonight will be Martha’s last night on this earth, I’m afraid.”

  He rose to his feet.

  “At any rate we have to tell Lechner that he won’t get his confession tonight. That buys us time.”

  Jakob Kuisl stooped down to the midwife one more time to place her head on a fresh bale of straw. As he turned toward the door, Simon was still standing hesitantly at the sick woman’s side, and Kuisl impatiently motioned to him to leave.

  “There’s nothing else we can do now. You may speak a prayer in church or say your rosary, if you wish. I for one will take my pipe, have a good smoke in my own backyard, and attempt to think things through. That will be of more help to Martha Stechlin.”

  Without so much as looking back he left the keep.

  When Simon arrived home, his father was sitting in the main room with a goblet of wine, looking quite content. He even managed a smile as his son entered. Simon noticed he was a bit drunk.

  “It’s good you are back again. I’ll need your help. Dengler’s little Maria seems to have a skin disease, and Sepp Bichler—”

  “You haven’t been able to help her,” Simon cut in abruptly.

  Bonifaz Fronwieser looked at him in bewilderment.

  “What’s that you say?”

  “You haven’t been able to help her. You messed up, and as you were at your wit’s end, you called for the hangman.”

  The old physician’s eyes became narrow slits.

  “I didn’t call him, so help me God,” he hissed. “Lechner wanted it. If I had my way, that quack would have been reined in a long time ago! It can’t be tolerated that charlatans like that man are allowed to bring shame upon our trade. A man without university schooling. How ridiculous!”

  “Quack? Charlatan?” Simon found it difficult to keep his voice from breaking. “This man has more knowledge and reason than your entire Ingolstadt crowd! If Martha Stechlin survives, it’s due to him alone and not to you bleeding her, as you did, or sniffing her urine!”

  Bonifaz Fronwieser shrugged and took a sip from his goblet. “Anyhow, Lechner didn’t let me have my way. Imagine him even paying attention to that charlatan. Who’d have guessed…” Then a smile spread across his face. It was meant to appear conciliatory.

  “Anyway, I got paid for it. And believe me, if the midwife croaks now, it’s best for her. She’ll have to die at any rate. This way she can avoid more torture and the stake.”

  Simon raised his hand as if to deal him a blow and had difficulty restraining himself.

  “You goddamned…”

  Before he could continue there was a pounding at the door. Outside stood Anna Maria Kuisl. She was breathing hard, and her face was pale. She looked as if she had run the entire way from the Lech Gate quarter.

  “Jakob…Jakob,” she stammered. “He needs you. You have to come at once. When I returned from the river with the children, he was sitting on the bench like a stone statue. I’ve never seen him like that. Gracious God, I hope it’s nothing serious…”

  “What’s happened?” Simon cried out, grabbing for his coat and hat as he rushed out the door.

  “He won’t tell me. But it’s got to do with Magdalena.”

  Simon ran. He didn’t see his father shake his head and carefully close the door. Bonifaz Fronwieser sat down again and continued drinking his pint of wine. You didn’t really get the best quality for three pennies, but at least the stuff helped you forget.

  Deep in thought Jakob Kuisl had walked homeward through the tanners’ quarter down by the river. It was just a few hundred yards more along the main road to his house. Shortly before, he had informed Lechner that the midwife was unable to be questioned. The court clerk had stared at him blankly and then nodded. He wasn’t accusatory, and Jakob Kuisl almost got the impression Lechner had expected as much.

  At last, however, he gave the hangman a piercing glare.

  “You know what comes next, Kuisl, don’t you?”

  “I don’t understand, Your Excellency.”

  “When the Elector’s secretary arrives, you’ll have busy days. Keep yourself ready.”

  “Your Excellency, I trust that we are quite close to the solution…”

  But the clerk had already turned away. He seemed to have lost all interest in the man facing him.

  As the path took a turn around the last few blackberry bushes, Jakob Kuisl could see his backyard, which stretched from the lane all the way down to the pond. The meadow by the pond was heavy with pussy willows. Wolfsbane and daisies were sparkling in the damp meadows and the herbal garden, recently turned over, was steaming in the sun. For the first time this day, a smile played about the hangman’s lips.

  Suddenly his features froze.

  A man was sitting on the bench in front of the hangman’s house. His face was turned toward the sun, and his eyes were closed. When he heard Jakob Kuisl at the garden gate, he blinked as if waking up from a beautiful dream. He was wearing a hat with roosters’ feathers and a bloodred doublet. The hand he used for keeping the sun from his face was bright white.

  The devil looked at Jakob Kuisl and smiled.

  “Ah, the hangman! What a wonderful garden you have here! I’m sure your wife takes good care of it, or little Magdalena, if I’m right.”

  Jakob Kuisl remained motionless at the garden gate. Casually, he picked up a rock from the wall, weighing and hiding it in his hand. One well-aimed throw…

  “Ah, yes, little Magdalena,” the devil continued. “A sprightly lass, ravishingly beautiful. Just like her mother. I wonder if her nipples get hard when one whispers cruel words in her ear. I’ll have to try.�
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  Jakob Kuisl clenched his fist around the rock so hard that the edges cut into his flesh.

  “What do you want?” he murmured.

  The devil rose and walked over to the windowsill, where a jug of water was standing. Slowly he put it to his lips and drank in deep gulps. Drops ran down his beard and dripped to the ground. Only when he had emptied the jug did he set it down, wiping his mouth with his hand.

  “What do I want? The question is rather, what do you want? Do you want to see your daughter again, and in one piece? Or perhaps rather in two halves, like a carcass, after I’ve cut off her chattering lips?”

  Jakob Kuisl raised his hand and hurled the rock directly at the devil’s forehead. In a movement almost too quick to be seen, the devil ducked to the side, and the rock hit the door without doing him any harm.

  For a brief moment the devil appeared startled. Then he smiled again.

  “You’re fast, hangman. I like that. And you’re good at killing. Just like myself.”

  Suddenly his face contorted into a hideous grimace. For a moment Jakob Kuisl thought the man in front of him was going stark mad. But then the devil got a hold of himself again. His face became blank.

  Kuisl took a long look at him. He…knew that man. He just didn’t remember from where he knew him. He racked his brain, searching it for that face. Where had he seen the man before? In the war? On a battlefield?

  The sound of the breaking ceramic jug startled him from his thoughts. The devil had casually thrown it behind himself.

  “Enough small talk,” he whispered. “This is my offer. You show me where the treasure is, and I return your daughter. If not…” He slowly licked his lips.

  Jakob Kuisl shook his head. “I don’t know where the treasure is.”

  “Then find out,” the devil hissed. “You’re usually so smart. Think of something. We dug up the entire building site and didn’t find anything. But the treasure has to be there.”

  Jakob Kuisl’s mouth was dry. He tried to remain calm. He had to stall the devil. If only he could get closer…

  “Don’t even think of it, hangman,” the devil whispered. “My friends are taking good care of the little hangman’s daughter. If I’m not back within the next half hour, they’re going to do to her precisely what I told them to do. There are two of them, and they will have great fun.”

  Jakob Kuisl raised his hands to calm him.

  “What about the bailiffs?” he asked, trying to buy time. His throat was hoarse. “There are sentries at the building site both day and night.”

  “That’s your problem.” The devil turned to go. “Same time tomorrow I’ll be back. By then you have the treasure or else…”

  He shrugged, almost apologetically. Then he ambled off toward the pond.

  “What about your patron?” the hangman shouted after him. “Who is behind all this?”

  The devil turned around one more time. “You really want to know? There’s enough trouble in your town as it is, don’t you think? Maybe I’ll tell you once you hand me the treasure. Maybe the man will be dead by then, however.”

  He strode off across the damp green meadows, leaped over a wall, and soon vanished in the thick forest by the river.

  Jakob Kuisl fell onto the bench and stared into space. It took him some time to notice the blood that was dripping from his hand. He had clenched the rock so hard that its edges had dug into his flesh like knives.

  Johann Lechner arranged the papers on his desk on the upper floor of the Ballenhaus. He was preparing for the upcoming meeting of the council, which he assumed was to be the last for quite a while. The clerk wasn’t going to kid himself. The upcoming arrival of His Excellency, Count Sandizell, the Elector’s secretary, would spell the end of Johann Lechner’s influence. He was merely acting as a proxy here. Count Sandizell would start all over and certainly not content himself with one single witch. There was unrest in the streets already. Lechner had been told by a number of people that they would take sacred oaths that the Stechlin woman had jinxed their calves, brought hailstorms down upon their crops, and made their wives barren. Only this morning, Agnes from Steingaden had grabbed him by the sleeve in the street and whispered in his ear, her breath reeking of wine, that her neighbor Maria Kohlhaas was also a witch. She herself had seen her fly across the sky on a broomstick the night before. Johann Lechner sighed. If worse came to worse, the hangman would indeed have busy days.

  The first aldermen were arriving in the well-heated council chamber. Richly dressed in their robes and fur caps they took their assigned seats. Karl Semer gave Lechner an inquisitive glance. He might have been the town’s presiding burgomaster, but in official business he fully relied on the clerk. This time, however, it seemed that Lechner had failed. Semer pulled him by the sleeve.

  “Any news of the Stechlin woman?” he asked. “Has she finally confessed?”

  “Just a moment.” Johann Lechner pretended he was signing an important document. The clerk hated these stuffed moneybags, these puppets, who only held their office by virtue of their birth. Lechner’s father had been a court clerk as well and so had his great uncle, but no court clerk before him had ever been that powerful. The post of the district judge had long been vacant, and the Elector’s secretary came to the town only occasionally. Johann Lechner was smart enough to let the patricians keep the illusion that it was they who ruled the town. Who really ruled was he, the clerk. Now, however, his power seemed to be wavering, and the aldermen sensed it.

  Johann Lechner continued to arrange his papers. Then he looked up. The patricians looked at him expectantly. To his left and right were the seats of the four burgomasters and the superintendent of the almshouse, and farther on were those of the other members of the inner and outer council.

  “Let me get right to the heart of the matter,” Lechner began. “I have called this council meeting because our town is in a state of emergency. Unfortunately we have not so far been able to make the witch Martha Stechlin talk. Only this morning the witch fell back into a swoon. Georg Riegg hit her on the head with a rock and—”

  “How is that possible?” old Augustin interrupted, turning toward Lechner, his blind eyes glistening. “Riegg was in jail himself on account of the fire at the Stadel. How can he throw a rock at the Stechlin woman?”

  Johann Lechner sighed. “Well, it happened, so let’s leave it at that. Anyway, she hasn’t regained consciousness yet. It’s possible the devil will take her before she can confess her crimes to us.”

  “Why can’t we just tell the people that she’s confessed?” burgomaster Semer murmured, mopping his sweaty pate with a silk kerchief. “She’s dying, and so we burn her for the welfare of our town.”

  “Your honor,” Johann Lechner hissed. “That would be a lie before God and His Serene Highness, the Elector himself. We have witnesses present at every interrogation. Shall they all swear false oaths?”

  “No, no, not at all. I was only thinking…as I said, for the benefit of Schongau…” The first burgomaster’s voice grew fainter and finally trailed off.

  “When can we expect the Elector’s secretary to arrive?” old Augustin queried.

  “I have sent messengers,” Lechner said. “The way things look, His Excellency Count Sandizell will give us the pleasure of his presence as early as tomorrow morning.”

  A groan passed through the council chamber. The patricians knew what was in store for them. The Elector’s secretary complete with his entourage would settle in the town for many days, if not weeks. It would cost the town a fortune! Not to mention the endless interrogations of suspicious burghers concerning witchcraft, and until the true perpetrators had been found, anyone here could really be in league with the devil. Even the aldermen and their wives…During the last great witch hunt, a number of respected burghers’ wives had been among the victims. The devil drew no distinction between a servant girl and a landlady or a midwife and a burgomaster’s daughter.

  “What about that Augsburg wagon driver we arrested o
n account of the fire at the Stadel?” the second burgomaster Johann Püchner asked, nervously drumming his fingers on the table. “Is he involved in the matter at all?”

  Johann Lechner shook his head.

  “I interrogated him myself. He’s innocent. Therefore I released him this morning after giving him a severe warning. At least the Augsburgers won’t give us trouble anytime soon. They got what was coming to them. But the Augsburg wagon driver did see that soldiers were fooling around at the Stadel…”

  “Soldiers? What kind of soldiers?” old Augustin asked. “This story is getting more confusing by the minute. Please explain yourself, Lechner.”

  Johann Lechner briefly contemplated telling the aldermen about his discussion with the hangman down by the building site. Then he decided against it. Matters were complicated enough. He shrugged.

  “Well, it seems as though a gang of marauding rogues have set fire to our storage shed. The same rogues also destroyed the building site for the leper house.”

  “And now they’re roaming around killing little children and painting a witches’ mark on their shoulders,” old Augustin interrupted, impatiently rapping his stick on the expensive cherrywood floor. “Is this what you’re trying to tell us? Lechner, pull yourself together. We have the witch! All we need now is her confession!”

  “You’re misunderstanding me,” the court clerk said, trying to calm the irate patrician. “These soldiers most likely caused the fires. But of course it’s the devil and his helpmate who are responsible for the death of our children. The evidence is clear. We have found magic herbs in the Stechlin woman’s house, the children frequently called on her, and there are burghers who will testify that she introduced the children to the art of sorcery…All we need is her confession. And you know as well as I that the Constitutio Criminalis Carolina stipulates that only someone who confesses may be sentenced.”

  “You need not lecture me on the Criminal Code of Emperor Charles. I know it sufficiently well,” Matthias Augustin murmured, his blind eyes roaming in the distance and his nostrils dilating, as though he could perceive a distant stench. “I smell it again, the flesh of the burning women, just like it was seventy years ago. By the way, a district judge’s wife died at the stake then…”