The Council of Twelve

by Oliver Pötzsch

  “Oh, who’s this handsome one?” a fat woman cooed, her bosom bulging over a towel like warm bread dough. She patted the bench next to her and winked at Georg. “Come to Trude, darling, and we’ll have so much fun.”

  Georg felt himself tense up. He looked around for Conrad Näher, but didn’t see him anywhere.

  “He’s not for you, Trude,” the bathhouse man said. “Jonas sent him. He wants to shave his red beard.”

  “His red beard? Oh, what a shame,” the fat woman said, pouting. “Such a waste.”

  Accompanied by the giggles and laughs of the other visitors, Georg followed the man through the room. They took another narrow, slippery staircase to a chamber where the steam was too dense for Georg to see anything at first. After a while, he made out benches and tubs and hazy figures in close embrace.

  And, in one of the tubs, Conrad Näher.

  Georg recognized him immediately, even without his clothes on. His graying hair hung into his face in wet strands. He had his eyes closed, and the water in front of him bubbled and stirred. Georg could see a shadow under the water’s surface. Then it slowly emerged.

  At that moment, he knew that there was no way Barbara could marry the Kaufbeuren hangman.

  12

  BOGENHAUSEN, LATE AFTERNOON, FEBRUARY 7, AD 1672

  IN THE CEMETERY OUTSIDE, PEOPLE were still gathered around the empty grave, talking, cursing, and praying. Inside, Simon and Jakob Kuisl desperately waited for a stretcher on which to carry Eva back to Munich.

  Simon used the time to convince the priest that they meant no harm to the girl and that he, a doctor, would take good care of her. Simon prudently decided not to mention that the tall, sullen man by his side was actually an executioner. Nonetheless, the priest remained skeptical. In the end, however, he seemed glad to be rid of the strangers and eager for peace to return to his village.

  Simon was in equal parts relieved and worried about not having found Magdalena in Bogenhausen. He still didn’t know where his wife was. But at least she might still be alive. The woman on the cart Agnes had told him about must have been Eva, not Magdalena. Agnes had been mistaken. That’s what must have happened. But then where was Magdalena? Was she still at the manufactory? But wouldn’t Agnes have known? In any case, it was vitally important for them to return to Munich as fast as possible.

  Finally, two farmers brought a stretcher made of coarse linen and rough-sawn timber poles. They set the construction down outside the door and disappeared quickly, as though they feared the living dead might attack them at any moment.

  “Superstitious rabble,” Kuisl muttered, lifting Eva onto the stretcher as gently as if she were his own granddaughter. “They’d probably burn the body of their own grandmother just because a black raven flew over her tombstone.” Carefully, he draped his coat over the girl.

  Followed by the suspicious gaze of the priest, the hangman and the doctor finally carried the girl over to the main road. Eva didn’t weigh more than a child, but Simon was utterly exhausted from the long run, and the villagers kept trying to block their way.

  “She’s one of the living dead!” screamed the old woman who had nearly died of fear before. “You must drive a stake through her heart, it’s the only way to put unhappy souls like her to rest.”

  “Who’s to say those two aren’t a pair of warlocks who’re going to bring this godforsaken corpse back to life?” a farmer called out, swinging his scythe. Others had armed themselves with pitchforks and flails but stayed in the background, as if they wanted to wait and see whether Eva would reawaken and hurl curses at them.

  Some of the braver ones tried to grab the stretcher from Kuisl and Simon, but after the hangman gave one of them a bloody nose, the others slowly retreated, growling angrily like hungry wolves who found themselves robbed of their prey. As he often did, Simon thought that humans weren’t so different from animals.

  Worse, actually, he couldn’t help thinking. Animals don’t know superstition, only hunger.

  When they reached the edge of the forest, they were finally left alone. The crowd gradually dropped back; a few last angry shouts followed them, then the forest enveloped them in silence. Panting, Simon stopped.

  “It’s going to take us hours to get back to Munich this way,” he moaned. “If I don’t break my back first.”

  “Idiot!” Kuisl snarled. “Do you think I feel like trudging through the snow for hours? I just wanted to get away from those crazy people.” He gestured ahead, where Simon could make out a fork in the path. “The main road to Freising isn’t far away. I’m sure we can find a kindly driver who hasn’t heard about the living dead from Bogenhausen yet and is willing to give us a ride.”

  And indeed, it wasn’t long before a wagon laden with barrels and bales of cloth appeared between the trees. Kuisl stood in the middle of the road and held up both hands, signaling he meant no harm. The driver hastily picked up a loaded crossbow, but relaxed when he saw the stretcher.

  “My daughter has a fever,” Kuisl explained to the old driver, who was wrapped in furs from head to toe. “Would you be so kind as to take us to Munich? She needs a bathhouse surgeon, urgently. My son-in-law is beside himself with worry.”

  The old man nodded and helped them to stow the stretcher between the barrels. “Got a girl around that age myself,” he said. “May God keep our children alive.”

  As the cart creaked toward Munich, Simon watched the still-unconscious Eva, who, as if plagued by evil nightmares, gave small shrieks from time to time. Her face was bathed in sweat despite the cold. Most likely, she had already been ill before someone buried her alive. The exertion from digging herself out had stoked the fever inside her like fire in a stove.

  Simon tried to imagine someone covering him in soil, shovelful by shovelful, until his face was covered and he could no longer breathe. How the wet dirt and clay became heavier and heavier, almost crushing him. How he strained and squirmed but couldn’t move an inch. He shuddered—it was just too horrible.

  “I should have helped her sooner,” Jakob Kuisl said next to him. “When I saw her face behind the barred windows for the last time. I should have kicked the bloody door in, thrown that old bitch against the wall, and gotten the girl out of there—all the girls.”

  “Well, at least there’s still hope for Magdalena now,” Simon said quietly. “She must be somewhere else.”

  He tried to think. If Eva was the girl Uffele and Joseffa had carted away, more questions arose. Why had the two of them buried Eva alive, and in a village several miles away from Munich? If all they wanted was to silence her, then why not simply knock her dead and throw her in the river? It would have been much less conspicuous. So why this terrible execution?

  “Do you think Magdalena is still in the manufactory?” Simon asked his father-in-law as the wagon slowly rolled through snow and mud. Night had fallen by now, and the forest stood like a silent black wall that slowly closed in on them from both sides of the road.

  Jakob Kuisl took his time with his reply. Eventually he said, “By God, I don’t know. Uffele and Joseffa might have carted other girls away, too. But then again, Magdalena might simply be locked up in the basement.”

  “We’d first have to get into that infernal manufactory,” Simon said with a sigh. “But it’s obviously closely guarded by those Venetians, and Loibl can’t help us, either, because Uffele has powerful friends. It’s hopeless.” He lifted both hands. “Sometimes I really wonder what our family has done to deserve such punishment.”

  “Women’s punishments,” Jakob Kuisl said abruptly.

  Simon gave him an irritated look. “Beg your pardon?”

  Kuisl suddenly seemed agitated, his fingers nervously drumming against the wooden side of the cart. “The whole time we’ve been saying these murders are classic executions,” he said with urgency. “But we never thought any further than that. The murderer executes his victims in ways traditionally used for women. Drowning, drowning in a sack, and strangulation are classic punishments f
or women, just like burying alive. Why?”

  “But Elfi was impaled, and the woman in the rock cellar walled in,” Simon replied. “And Master Hans was quartered. How does that fit in?”

  “Hans was executed as a traitor, and the punishment for high treason is quartering. I’m not sure about the impaling and walling in. We’d have to research old books to find out what their meanings used to be. But we don’t have enough time . . . God damn it!” Kuisl angrily punched the side of the cart. “Why can’t all the killing finally come to an end? Why am I, the hangman, always condemned to solve it?” He groaned quietly, and Simon suddenly saw how old his father-in-law had become. In the dusky light, his hair and beard seemed even grayer, the wrinkles in his face even deeper.

  Simon thought about how much they had been through together in recent years. They had lost loved ones, and gained many scars and wounds, and Jakob Kuisl had reached an age when most people sat by the stove and watched their grandchildren play in the snow outside the window.

  Instead, he had to search for his daughter, who was possibly trapped in the hands of a deranged murderer.

  “It’s the executions and those damned amulets,” Kuisl grumbled eventually. “They’re like encrypted messages. What in God’s name is he trying to tell us? Why is he always going for the same kinds of punishments?”

  “Because he wants to punish women in particular?” Simon asked.

  “That’s obvious. But why?”

  Jakob Kuisl bent over Eva and untied the leather string around her neck. He looked at the Virgin Mary amulet in his hand.

  “What are you doing in this cold, dirty world, Holy Virgin?” the hangman asked. “What is your secret, gentle Mother?”

  Kuisl stared at the amulet for a long time before putting it away.

  It was still a good hour before the cart finally rolled through the Isar Gate into the city. The gates had long been shut, but the driver seemed to have connections. A few coins changed hands, and the guard opened the gate once more. Simon thought of the black-clad carriage that had raced through Sendlinger Gate a few days ago. The guards had been paid then, too, probably much more than this time.

  This city is like a vain, greedy whore, he thought. She only smiles at those who pay her well.

  At this time of the year, the lanes behind the gate were as black as the bottom of a lake by seven o’clock at night. The bigger streets were partially illuminated by lanterns outside taverns. The night watchman was just calling the last hour before closing time, and soon the only people on the streets would be thieves and other shady characters.

  Simon and Jakob Kuisl carefully lifted the stretcher off the cart and carried Eva through narrow alleyways to the Anger Quarter. A few meowing cats greeted them in the garden of the executioner’s house. Kuisl knocked, and soon a very agitated Michael Deibler opened.

  “Well?” the Munich hangman asked with a husky voice. His eyes darted to the stretcher. “Did you find her?”

  Simon shook his head. “That’s not Magdalena, but the girl urgently needs care and medicines.”

  “Is she alive? Let me take a look,” Walburga called out from behind her husband. When she saw Eva on the stretcher, she seemed speechless. She held one hand to her chest and squeezed a tiny medallion on her necklace, as though she was praying silently.

  “Michl told me about this awful business,” she said eventually, turning to Simon. “What do you think? Is she going to make it?”

  “I don’t think she’s going to die,” Simon replied. “But she’s extremely weak. After all, she was buried alive and dug herself out.”

  “Jesus,” Deibler said. “Buried alive . . .” He looked shaken; his hands trembled as he took a step back.

  “Can she talk?” Walburga asked.

  “Unfortunately not,” Simon said. “Or we’d already know who did this. But we’re relatively certain that it’s the same madman who’s been at work here for years.”

  “Bring the poor thing inside before she freezes to death,” Walburga commanded in a gentle voice. “I’ll take care of her.”

  Jakob Kuisl carefully lifted Eva from the stretcher and carried her to the bed in the apothecary chamber. As soon as he put Eva down, Walburga began rummaging in the cupboards for herbs and medicines. “Linden blossoms with willow bark, dissolved in strong brandy . . . ,” she muttered. “That should get her back on her feet. First of all, we must lower her fever and make sure the wounds on her fingers don’t become infected.” She picked up a small pouch and turned to Simon. “I almost forgot. Your wife told me you loved coffee more than anything. I brought you a handful of those beans from the market yesterday. Would you like me to brew a cup for you? You look like you need it.”

  Simon nodded absentmindedly. “I assume Magdalena hasn’t turned up yet?” he asked without much hope.

  Walburga shook her head as she ground the coffee beans in her mortar. “No, sadly. Neither have Peter and Paul. But I wouldn’t worry too much about those two. They’ll be somewhere outside with the Anger boys.” She looked up briefly and smiled. “By the way, that strange envoy from the Residenz called in again earlier. He wanted to pick up you and Peter for some kind of ball. But you weren’t here, so I sent him away.”

  “Just as well,” Kuisl said and nodded grimly. “We really have enough on our plates without playing the fool for those fops at the moment. I never liked my grandson going there in the first place, and my son-in-law searching for a goddamned lapdog.”

  Simon wanted to object, but he had to concede that they had more important things to worry about right now.

  “Perhaps it’s better the boys aren’t here right now,” he said. “Their mother is missing, after all, and it’s enough if we worry about her. But Barbara and Georg should know. Are they here?”

  “Hmm, I haven’t seen Barbara today,” replied Michael Deibler, who was still standing on the threshold, lost in thought. “Damned cold!” He rubbed his arms and closed the door behind him. “But Georg is here, he arrived home about half an hour ago. I told him about Magdalena, and he’s been sitting in the living room ever since, downing one beer after another.”

  Just then Georg staggered into the hallway. He looked questioningly at Simon and Kuisl, his face ashen. “Well? Is she . . .”

  “The woman in the grave wasn’t Magdalena,” Kuisl said. “That’s the good news. The bad news is we still don’t know where she is or how she’s doing.”

  They all went into the warm living room while Walburga continued to care for the unconscious Eva in the apothecary chamber.

  In the corner of the room, below the family shrine, stood a cradle painted with colorful though slightly faded flowers. Inside, Sophia slept peacefully. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good to see that at least one member of the Kuisl family was well looked after.

  “I found the cradle in the attic,” Deibler explained with a tired smile. “Walburga and I weren’t fortunate enough to have children of our own. Once, many years ago, God gave us a beautiful little baby, but took it back soon after birth.” He shook himself as though trying to get rid of unhappy memories. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways. Well, the cradle is from back then. I’m glad to see it used for your Sophia.”

  “Luckily she’s too little to understand what’s going on.” With a nod, Simon turned back to his brother-in-law, who was sitting at the table in silence again. Georg’s eyes were slightly reddened, and he clung to his beer mug like a person drowning. Simon thought of the coffee next door. He hoped Walburga was brewing him a cupful. He needed to think, and he preferred to do so with coffee, not with alcohol.

  “We don’t know where Magdalena is,” Kuisl said once everyone was seated. “But perhaps a different lead might help us.” He looked at Georg. “Speak, son. What about Näher? Did you find him? Could he know something about Magdalena?”

  Georg took another sip of his beer, then he said in a monotone, “Näher won’t marry Barbara.”

  Kuisl looked at him in surprise. “Why not? Everyt
hing was going well, they went for a walk, he gave her a present, did all the right things. And Barbara didn’t seem disinclined. At least she wasn’t crying afterward.” His face darkened. “Or has she changed her mind again? That girl really is the most pigheaded—”

  “Näher won’t marry Barbara because he’s a sodomite.”

  The room fell silent. It took a while before everyone grasped the meaning of Georg’s words.

  “He . . . he’s what?” Simon asked eventually.

  Georg sighed. “He’s a sodomite. He does it with other men, not just here in Munich, but in Kaufbeuren as well.” He wiped the foam from his mouth, then continued. “Conrad Näher would have married Barbara, and they might even have had children. But the marriage would have just been a front. Apparently there have been rumors about him for a while, so when his wife died, he needed to quickly find someone new so the gossiping would stop.”

  “And my Barbara was supposed to be that new wife.” Kuisl’s eyes narrowed. “That . . . that dirty bastard.”

  Simon was about to reply when the door opened.

  “Sorry to disturb,” Walburga said, carrying a steaming cup that smelled delicious to Simon. Despite their desperate situation, he couldn’t help but smile.

  “You really made coffee. Thank you so much, that’s much appreciated.”

  Walburga shrugged. “If only I could heal Eva with coffee. But I’m afraid it’ll take more than that. At least she seems to be sleeping peacefully now. I better stay with her for a while longer.”

  She closed the door behind her, and Simon took a long drink. The coffee was excellent. Perhaps a tad bitter, but he was hardly going to ask for expensive sugar in a hangman’s house. The brew helped him digest the news he’d just heard.