Simon stared at the horse in front of him, and the horse stared back with little, evil eyes. The medicus gulped. Finally, he took the bridle from a hook and opened the door to the stall with soothing gestures and gentle words. Benedikta would just have to wait a bit.
Jakob was still cursing as he made his way up to town with clean hands and a fresh shirt. It always spelled trouble when he was summoned by the court clerk, Johann Lechner. Lechner was considered the big wheel and the secret man behind the scenes in Schongau. On the city council, four aldermen alternated as chair every quarter, but the court clerk was the official representative of the elector’s caretaker in town. And since the caretaker, Count Sandizell, rarely came to town—to say nothing of the elector himself—Lechner could rule like a king without a throne. He was actually only responsible for the elector’s interests but, through careful maneuvering, had always been able to meddle in the affairs of the town.
The hangman entered the town through the Lech Gate and turned right into the Hennengasse. Snowflakes were blowing in his face, making him squint. He stayed clear of the main streets, as he was not a welcome sight in town. The few people he passed in the driving snow looked away and made the sign of the cross, muttering. As executioner, Jakob Kuisl was not allowed to marry in the Christian church, would never receive a Christian burial, and his children would not be baptized. When he drank his beer in the dark taverns behind the Ballenhaus, he sat at a table by himself, ostracized. Nevertheless, people often came to him in secret to be treated for various ills or to obtain surefire magic amulets. Jakob Kuisl sighed. He had long ago given up trying to figure out human behavior.
Finally, the hangman stood before the ducal castle that directly bordered the western city wall. The building was in disrepair: One of the guard towers was missing a roof, and snow was falling directly onto the charred rafters. A bridge with rotting railings spanned a moat overgrown with weeds and led into the interior of the compound.
Just as Kuisl was about to cross the bridge, he heard a whinnying and hoofbeats. From the interior courtyard, a black steed emerged, heading right for the hangman at a fast gallop. The rider was dressed in a black habit and cowl that almost completely concealed his face. He seemed not to notice Jakob Kuisl and continued galloping directly toward him so that he could avoid a collision only by jumping aside at the last moment. A corner of the rider’s coat brushed Kuisl’s face, and just as the hangman’s nose detected the fragrance of an expensive, exotic perfume, the figure disappeared around the next corner. The hangman cursed the unknown rider, then continued the few steps across the bridge to enter the building.
Jakob Kuisl arrived at the clerk’s office on the second floor and was preparing to knock on the massive wooden door when he noticed that it wasn’t closed, just slightly ajar. The door squeaked as it swung inward, and in front of him sat Johann Lechner, armed with a quill pen and ink, reviewing some papers by candlelight while his right hand moved vigorously and erratically across the parchment. For a while, the only thing audible was the scratching of the pen.
“You can take a seat, Kuisl,” the clerk said finally, without looking up. His face was pale, almost waxen, an impression accentuated by his black goatee. He wore a flat, dark velvet cap and a plain jacket that was just as dark. When Lechner finally looked up, Kuisl found himself staring into two black eyes that seemed to be in constant motion and appeared remarkably large in relation to his narrow face behind his pince-nez.
“I said sit down,” the clerk repeated, pointing to a stool in front of the stained oak table that took up practically the entire width of the room. “I have a job for you.”
“Did you finally catch one of the bandits?” Jakob Kuisl grumbled, settling onto the stool. The wooden stool groaned under the weight of his massive frame but didn’t give way.
“Well, not exactly,” the clerk replied, playing with the goose quill in his hand. “That’s the reason I called you.” He leaned back in his chair. “As you may know, a group of citizens has been formed to hunt down this band of murderers, and I’d like you to lead them.”
“Me?” Jakob Kuisl almost choked. “But—”
“I know, as a hangman, you are dishonorable and cannot give orders to citizens,” the clerk interrupted him, “but they’re afraid of you, and they have respect for you. Those are pretty good qualifications for a leader. Besides, you’re the only one I would entrust with a job like this. Didn’t you kill that huge wolf just last year? And the matter with the mercenaries in the spring…You are strong and clever, you can fight, and you know this riffraff better than people like us.”
“Why don’t you appoint one of the aldermen as a leader?” the hangman joked. “They know how to push people around.”
Johann Lechner laughed. “You mean Semer? Or old Hardenberg? I might as well send my mother. Fat, effeminate moneybags! Even the Swedes wouldn’t have accepted them as hostages. No, Kuisl, you’re the one. You have proved often enough that you’re good for more than just stringing people up. And as far as giving orders…” He grinned at the hangman. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell the gentlemen that the executioner is calling the shots this time. It will be good for them. Do you still have your weapon from the war? You were in the war, weren’t you?”
Jakob Kuisl nodded. Images floated through his mind like poisonous clouds. More than you can imagine, he thought.
“Fine,” said the clerk. “The hunt will begin the day after tomorrow at eight in the morning. I’ve got to let everyone know first. Please show up at the marketplace at the appointed time. You’ll receive a half guilder each day, plus a guilder for each robber you catch.” Lechner hunched down again over his documents. “You can go now.”
Jakob Kuisl started to reply, but when he saw the intense expression on the clerk’s face, he knew objections were pointless. As he turned to go, he suddenly heard Lechner’s voice again behind him.
“Oh, hangman! One moment!” When Jakob turned around, he saw the clerk was staring at him directly through his pince-nez. “I’ve heard that the priest in Altenstadt passed away and that you yourself were there shortly thereafter. Did anything happen there that seemed…strange?”
The hangman cursed to himself. How had the clerk learned so quickly about the events in the St. Lawrence Church? Obviously, nothing escaped Lechner. Jakob Kuisl reflected for a moment and then decided to tell the truth.
“It looks like someone poisoned the priest.”
“Poisoned?” The clerk frowned. “Hmm, that’s not good news. But if I know you, you already have a suspicion about who it could have been.”
Jakob Kuisl shook his head. “No, sir. I have no idea.”
“That’s all right. The people of Altenstadt need to figure that out themselves.” He frowned again. “Do you think maybe the fat priest just overate again?”
“No, sir. I believe—”
“Believing is something you do in church,” Lechner interrupted him. “I want you to concern yourself only with this band of murderers out there. Exclusively, do you understand? That’s an order. The city needs your expertise and your strength, not in Altenstadt, but here in Schongau. Everything else can wait. Is that clear?”
Jakob Kuisl remained silent.
“I want to know if that’s clear.”
The hangman nodded and, without another word, disappeared into the dark hallway. Behind him, he could once again hear the scratching of the quill pen.
Furtively, the clerk carefully extracted a document from the pile of papers he had concealed just before the hangman entered, and glanced at it once more. The seal seemed genuine, and the man who had delivered the letter believable.
Lechner scratched the tip of his nose with the goose feather. It wouldn’t be wise to refuse the request of such a powerful person, even if he couldn’t figure out the meaning of this official document. Lechner actually wanted only to ask the hangman about the murder of Father Koppmeyer, but the stranger he’d just seen made it unmistakably clear that further investigation into the
Koppmeyer case was not desired. To support his demand, he had left behind a tidy sum. Lechner toyed nervously with the coins in his desk drawer. They felt cool and solid. The money would come in handy for necessary repairs in the city, above all to the ducal palace, which was in a pitiful shape. And the stranger had held out the prospect of more money if the hangman kept his mouth shut…
Just the same, it troubled Lechner. Why would such a powerful person be interested in preventing the Schongau hangman from snooping around in Altenstadt? Well, Lechner would have to make his own inquiries, and in the meanwhile, he’d just have to keep the hangman busy doing something else. Lechner chuckled to himself. The idea that Jakob Kuisl would soon be bossing around the fat old aldermen was just too precious. That alone was worth the little lie.
Benedikta was waiting impatiently in the driving snow in front of the Goldener Stern Tavern, just next to the Ballenhaus. Her horse, a splendid sorrel, pranced around nervously. When the merchant woman caught sight of Simon, a narrow smile crossed her lips.
“Do you usually travel on foot rather than by horse, Doctor?” she asked.
In fact, Simon didn’t make the best impression sitting on his nag. On the short trip from the Lech River up to town, the beast had almost thrown him twice. Putting on the bridle had been a struggle, and Walli had bitten his hand several times. Sweat was pouring down his brow, and his hat, with the coquettish ostrich feather, sat at a crooked angle on his head. He had even slipped once in the stable, and now a light yellow-brown spot adorned his jacket. Nevertheless, Simon tried to laugh.
“Walli is a horse with a mind of her own,” he said as the horse attempted to rear up again and tugged at the reins. “And I have a special liking for stubborn women.”
The merchant woman smiled. “That’s commendable, but perhaps the horse needs to have a little woman-to-woman talk.”
Benedikta dismounted and slowly approached the snorting horse. When she reached the horse, she held her by the head, pulled her mane down, and whispered in her ear. At once, the horse settled down, stopped snorting, and stood there calmly.
“How…how did you ever do that?” Simon asked incredulously.
“Just un secret de femmes, a secret between us women.”
Benedikta smiled and swung up onto her horse again. “We have to leave,” she said, “or we’ll never get to Steingaden before nightfall. It’s already noon.”
They rode out through the Lech Gate in the direction of Peiting. The snow was heavier now, and Simon had to squint to see the road in front of them, orienting himself by the wagon tracks that were now almost covered again with snow. On the gently ascending road, they met the occasional hiker or team of oxen, but once they had passed the houses of Peiting, they were finally alone. Stillness prevailed as the snow dampened all sounds.
The few towns they went through seemed inhospitable. The windows and doors were closed, and only occasionally could they see light shining through a crack in the window or a shy child peering around the corner of a house. At regular intervals, the two riders passed small frozen ponds, where frightened ducks flapped up out of the reeds and disappeared into the winter sky.
Alongside him, Benedikta was humming a little French song.
Belle qui tiens ma vie, captive dans tes yeux…
Simon noticed how hearing her voice warmed the cockles of his heart. True, he understood only half the words, but the mere sound of the foreign tongue was enough to overwhelm him with wanderlust. Here in the Priests’ Corner, everything was so…God-fearing. So rigid and sleepy. Nothing changed. In Paris, on the other hand, people knew how to live! He heard there were theaters and tailors on every street corner; that people smelled of perfume, lavender, and forget-me-nots; and the best doctors in all of Europe taught at the Sorbonne!
He was so lost in thought that he didn’t see the highwaymen until they were almost standing in front of them.
Three figures stood waiting at the side of the road in the heavily falling snow. Two of them were leaning on long, rough-hewn clubs, and the third had a dagger dangling at his hip. Now Simon noticed a fourth man. He was crouching in a thicket, his musket supported casually on the branch of a tree and pointed at them. All four of them looked famished. Their faces were drawn, and little icicles hung from their shaggy beards. They were dressed in threadbare jackets and soiled army coats, and the boots on their feet were nothing but shreds.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” asked the man holding the dagger, with a salacious grin. He was evidently the leader. “A pretty woman and her beau traveling all alone, and both dressed so elegantly!” He made a low bow, and the others broke out in raucous laughter. By now Simon was cursing his dandyish attire. Here in the forest, he probably looked like a pheasant searching for a mate.
“How about a little charity for a few poor sinners who had a hard time in the war and can’t afford such finery?” the leader said. Still bowing, he held one hand out as he fingered the dagger with his other.
Simon could see one of the robbers at the side of the road looking Benedikta up and down and running his tongue over his lips, while the man with the musket examined Simon’s expensive coat. His eyes reminded the medicus of a wild beast’s, expressionless and lustful, lacking even a spark of humanity. Simon opened his mouth to defend the woman at his side—if not with a weapon, then with words—but all that came out was a hoarse squawk. He knew that these men would rob them and slaughter them like animals, but first, one after the other, they would attack and violate Benedikta. He reached into his coat pocket for the sharp stiletto he always carried with him, along with some medical paraphernalia, but what good would a knife be against four armed robbers? To make matters worse, Walli began prancing around nervously, and he wouldn’t be able to restrain the old mare much longer.
“Get out of my way, or I’ll slit you open from your belly right up to your throat, espèce de pourriture! You piece of garbage!”
Simon thought at first that he had heard wrong, but it was, in fact, Benedikta who had spoken. Coolly, she eyed the leader of the gang of robbers in front of her, hands resting calmly on the pommel of her saddle, watching and waiting.
The robbers were just as astonished at her audacity. The head of the gang opened his mouth wide, but a moment passed before he could say anything. “You arrogant little bitch,” he grumbled finally. “You’ll be whimpering when I’m through with you. And then my comrades will get their turn, and this little peacock can sit there and watch.”
“For the last time, I’ll tell you to step aside.” Benedikta’s voice remained cool. Her horse snorted, and a cloud of steam emerged from its nostrils.
“That’s enough, you damned whore.” The robber chief reached out to seize the reins of her horse. “I’ll show you what—”
The shot resounded like the crack of a whip through the snowy forest. For a moment, the robber could only stand there, mouth open, looking at the hole in his chest. The bullet had shredded the coat, the jacket, and the flesh beneath it, and a thin jet of blood spurted out. With a gurgling sound in his throat, the dying man tipped backward.
Simon looked around frantically to see where the shot had come from, and only then did he notice the smoking pistol in Benedikta’s hand. She must have pulled it out from under her coat in a fraction of a second. And it was loaded!
In the next instant, a number of things happened simultaneously. Spurring her horse on, Benedikta sped down the road, Simon heard a shot and felt something cold whistle past his left cheek, the two robbers ran toward him swinging their cudgels and screaming, and Walli, terrified by the uproar, whinnied and rose up on her hind legs.
“Benedikta!” Simon shouted, struggling to stay in the saddle. “Wait for me!”
He managed to hold on as the horse bolted, branches lacerating his face, and he felt a heavy blow on his thigh where one of the robbers must have hit him with a cudgel. A sinewy, grimy hand reached for his horse’s reins, and instinctively, Simon pulled out his stiletto and plunged it into the h
and. He heard screaming, the hand disappeared, and Walli galloped off.
Only now did the medicus dare to sit up a bit in the saddle and look around. The road had disappeared, and Walli was galloping, as if possessed, deeper and deeper into the forest. Pine branches struck Simon in the face. He struggled to turn around, hoping to at least see behind him, but he couldn’t find a road, not even a path, and it seemed as if Benedikta had vanished from the face of the earth! He was alone in the forest on a horse that seemed headed straight for hell. For a moment, he looked down and considered jumping, but when he saw the ground rushing past, he just clung tighter to his horse. Where was Benedikta? Again, he looked around frantically. The pine trees behind him seem to get thicker and thicker. He noticed that he had lost his expensive hat. It had cost two guilders! But then it occurred to him that, perhaps, in the future, he wouldn’t need a hat anyway because his head would be gone…
As he was about to turn around again, he heard a soft hiss; then something hit him in the side of the head.
The world turned black, and Simon could feel himself falling into the snow. It felt strangely warm, like a bed of feathers, he thought. Hands seemed to reach out for him, but then he was swallowed up in a dark, billowing cloud.
4
MAGDALENA STOMPED TOWARD the door to Strasser’s Tavern. She could still feel the effects of the strong mulled wine at the carpenter’s house, but she would need a lot more alcohol to forget seeing Simon and Benedikta together. How could he do something like that to her? A slut from the city! But perhaps she was being unfair to Benedikta; perhaps they had just happened to meet in the basilica and had been heading back to Schongau together and nothing more. But why, then, did Simon place his coat over her shoulders? And the way he laughed…
She opened the door to the tavern and was met by a warm, sticky mass of air. A fiddle was playing and someone was marking time to it with his foot. More than a dozen workmen had already gathered for lunch in the gloomy, low-ceilinged room lit by only a few torches. Some of the masons she had queried just the day before were among them. They looked at Magdalena suspiciously, then returned to their mugs of beer. A young fellow was sitting at a wobbly table in the middle of the room playing a fiddle while a few bystanders stood around clapping and dancing.
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