The Hangman's Daughter (8 page)

“We?”

The hangman nodded. “I need your help. People don’t like talking to me. The fine people turn up their noses as soon as they see me in the distance. Although…” he added with a smile, “they would turn up their noses at you now.”

Simon looked down at his spotted, foul-smelling doublet. It was still covered with brown spots. A tear in his hose ran from the knee down the left leg. A faded lettuce leaf hung from his hat…to say nothing about the splotches of dried blood. He would need new clothes and had no idea where the money for them would come from. Perhaps if the murderer was caught the council might contribute a few guilders.

Simon thought over the hangman’s proposition. What had he to lose? Not his reputation anymore; that was already ruined. And if he wanted to continue seeing Magdalena in the future, it would be an advantage to be on good terms with her father. And then there were the books. Just now there lay next to the monocle on the table a tattered work of the Jesuit Athanasius Kirchner, who wrote of tiny worms in the blood. That priest had worked with a so-called microscope, which could magnify things many more times presumably than Kuisl’s monocle. The possibility of reading this book at home, alone in bed with a hot cup of coffee…

Simon nodded. “Good, you can count on me. By the way, the book on the…”

The doctor’s son got no further in expressing his wish. The door flew open, and Andreas the jailer staggered into the room, panting for air.

“Forgive me for disturbing you so late,” he gasped. “But it’s urgent. They told me I would find Fronwieser’s son here. Your father needs help!”

Andreas’ face was as white as a sheet. He looked as if he had seen the devil incarnate.

“What in all the world can be so urgent?” asked Simon. Privately he wondered who could have seen him going into the executioner’s house. It seemed that you could not take a step in this town without being observed.

“Grocer Kratz’s son, he’s dying!” exclaimed the jailer Andreas with his last bit of strength. He kept reaching for the little wooden crucifix that hung round his neck.

Jakob Kuisl, who up to that moment had listened in silence, became impatient. He slammed his hand down on the rickety table, so that the monocle and Athanasius’ masterpiece jumped up a little. “An accident? Tell us, then!”

“Everything covered in blood! Oh, God, help us, he has the sign! Just like Grimmer…”

Simon sprang from his stool. He felt fear rising inside him.

Kuisl stared at the physician’s son through clouds of tobacco smoke. “You go there. I’ll have a look at the Stechlin woman. I don’t know if she’s really safe in the prison.”

Simon grabbed his hat and ran out into the street. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Magdalena, who waved to him sleepily from the attic window. He had a feeling they would not have much time to see each other in the next few days.

The man stood at the window, his head only a hand’s width away from the heavy red fabric of the curtain.

Outside night was falling, but what difference did that make? Here in this room it was always dusk, a depressing gray twilight, where even by day the sunlight was feeble. Through his inner eye the man saw the sun over the town. It would rise and set, again and again, nothing would stop it. The man would not let anything stop him either, even if delays occasionally occurred. These delays made him…irritable. He turned around quickly.

“What a useless ass you are! Good for nothing! Why can’t you manage to finish anything properly?”

“I’ll finish it all right.”

In the half-light a second figure could be seen sitting at the table and stabbing about with a knife in a pie as if it were the stomach of a slaughtered pig.

The man at the window drew the curtains still closer together. His fingers clutched the fabric like claws. A wave of pain overcame him. He didn’t have much more time left.

“That business with the children was totally unnecessary. The talk is just beginning now.”

“Nobody will talk. You can count on me.”

“Some people have already become suspicious. We can only hope that the midwife will confess. The hangman has already begun asking stupid questions.”

The figure at the table continued to work the pie into a stew of meat and lumps of pastry. The knife rose and fell frantically.

“Bah, the hangman! Who’s going to believe him?”

“Don’t underestimate Kuisl. He’s as sly as a fox.”

“Then the little fox will run into the trap.”

The man at the window quickly took the few steps to the table and struck him hard in the face with the back of his hand. The other held his cheek for a little, then looked up apprehensively into the face of his assailant. He noticed how his assailant put his hands on his stomach and was panting in pain.

A slight smile played on his lips. This problem would soon resolve itself.

“You will stop this nonsense now,” murmured the older man, grimacing in pain. A steady ache throbbed from inside his abdomen. He leaned forward over the table.

“You leave it alone. I’ll take care of it myself now.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I’ve handed it over to someone else. One who won’t let us interfere with his work anymore.”

“Call him off. It’s enough. When the Stechlin woman confesses, we’ll get our money.”

The older man had to sit down for just a second. It was difficult for him to speak. Damn this body! He needed it still, just until they got hold of the money. Then he could die in peace. His life’s work was in danger and this useless fool was ruining everything. But not as long as he himself could breathe. Not as long…

“This is an excellent pie. Would you like some?”

With his knife, the younger man had speared the pieces of meat spread out on the table and began to eat them with relish.

At the end of his strength, the old man shook his head. The younger man smiled.

“Keep calm, everything will be all right.”

He wiped the gravy out of his beard, took his sword in hand, and hurried to the door.

Without waiting for the jailer, Simon headed to the Kratzes’ house, which stood in a narrow side street in the Lech Gate quarter. Clemens and Agathe Kratz were regarded as hardworking grocers who had acquired a modest fortune over the years. Their five children all went to the local grammar school, and they did not treat their ward Anton, who after the death of his parents had been assigned to them by the town council, any differently than their own four children. Clemens Kratz, the father, sat huddled by the counter. With his right hand he mechanically caressed the shoulder of his wife, who was pressed against him, sobbing. In front of them on the counter lay the body of the boy. Simon did not need to look long at it to determine the cause of death. Someone had cut little Anton’s throat clean through. Clotted blood had dyed his linen shirt red. The eyes of the ten-year-old boy were fixed on the ceiling.

When they found him an hour earlier he had still been breathing noisily, but in minutes the life had ebbed from his little body. The only thing that Bonifaz Fronwieser could do was confirm the death. When Simon came in, the work was already done. His father briefly looked him up and down, and after expressing his sympathy to the Kratzes packed up his instruments and went out without saying goodbye.

After Bonifaz Fronwieser had left the house, Simon sat for a few minutes by the dead child and looked at his white face. The second death in two days…Had the boy known his murderer?

Finally the physician turned to the boy’s father.

“Where did you find him?” he asked.

No answer. The Kratzes were sunk in a world of grief and pain not easily penetrated by the human voice.

“I’m sorry, but where did you find him?” repeated Simon.

Only then did Clemens Kratz look up. The father’s voice was hoarse from much weeping. “Outside on the doorstep. He just wanted to go over quickly to his…friends. When he didn’t come back we opened the door to go and look for him. And there he was, lying in his blood…”

Mother Kratz began to whimper again. On a wooden bench in a back corner sat the four other Kratz children, their eyes wide open with fear. The youngest daughter pressed a doll made of scraps of cloth to her chest.

Simon turned to the children. “Do you know where your brother wanted to go?”

“He isn’t our brother.” The voice of the eldest Kratz boy sounded firm and defiant in spite of his fear. “He’s an orphan.”

And you certainly let him know that often enough,
thought Simon. He sighed. “All right. Once more, then. Do you know where he wanted to go?”

“Just to the others.” The boy looked him straight in the face.

“Which others?”

“The other orphans. They always met down by the Lech Gate. He wanted to go there again. I saw Sophie, the redhead, with him at the four o’clock bells. They were planning something. They had put their heads together like a herd of cattle.”

Simon couldn’t help thinking of the small girl he had only a few hours before rescued from a beating. The red hair, the defiant eyes. At the age of twelve it seemed that Sophie had already made a lot of enemies.

“That’s right.” The father chimed in. “They did in fact often meet at the Stechlin place. Sophie and the Stechlin woman, the same witches’ brood. They are responsible! And they made this Satan’s mark on him, for sure!”

Mother Kratz began to weep again, so that her husband had to comfort her.

Simon went over to the body and turned it carefully onto its stomach. On the right shoulder blade there was in fact the same symbol as had been found on the Grimmer boy. Not quite as clear, certainly. Someone had tried to wipe it off. But the color had already penetrated too deeply under the skin. Indelibly it still appeared on the child’s shoulder.

Simon could sense that Clemens Kratz had come up behind him. Filled with hate, the father stared at the sign.

“The Stechlin woman did that to him. And that Sophie,” he hissed. “For sure. They should burn them—burn them both!”

The physician tried to calm him. “Stechlin is in the keep, she couldn’t have done it. And Sophie is still a child. Do you really believe that a child—”

“The devil has got into that child!” cried Mother Kratz from behind. Her eyes were bloodshot from weeping, her face pale and puffy. “The devil is here in Schongau! And he’ll carry off other children!”

Simon looked once again at the faded mark on the boy’s back. No doubt, someone had tried to remove it, without success.

“Did any of you try to wash this mark off?” he asked them.

Kratz crossed himself.

“We have not touched the devil’s mark, so help me God!” The other members of the family shook their heads and signed the cross too.

Simon sighed inwardly. He wouldn’t get any further here with logical arguments. He took his leave and went out into the darkness. Behind him he could still hear the sobbing of the mother and the murmured prayers of the old grocer.

At the sound of a whistle Simon turned around. His eyes searched the alley. At the corner a small form was leaning against the wall of a house and beckoning to him.

It was Sophie.

Simon looked around, then he entered the narrow alley and bent down to the girl.

“You got away from me last time,” he whispered.

“And I’ll get away from you again this time,” replied Sophie, “but now just listen: a man asked for Anton, just before he was stabbed.”

“A man? But how do you know…?”

Sophie shrugged. A slight smile passed over her lips. Simon wondered for a moment what she would look like in five years’ time.

“We orphans have eyes everywhere. That saves us from beatings.”

“And what did he look like, this man?”

“Tall. With a coat and a broad-brimmed hat. There was a feather in the hat. And across his face there was a long scar.”

“And that’s all?”

“His hand was all bones.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Down by the river he asked a few raftsmen where the Kratzes’ house was. I was hiding behind the trees. He kept his left hand under his coat, but once it slipped out and I saw it shining white in the sun. A skeleton hand.”

Simon bent farther down and put his arm around the girl.

“Sophie, I don’t believe you. It would be best for you to come with me now…”

Sophie tore herself away. Tears of rage filled her eyes.

“Nobody believes me. But it’s true! The man with the hand of bones cut Anton’s throat. He wanted to meet us down at the Lech Gate, and now he’s dead.” The girl’s voice became a whimper.

“Sophie, we can…”

With a quick turn the girl escaped from Simon’s arm and raced away down the alley. After a short distance she had already disappeared into the darkness. As he started to chase after her, Simon realized that the purse with the money for new clothes was missing from his belt.

“You damned little—” He looked at the heap of dirt and rubbish in the alley. Then he decided to dispense with a pursuit this time. Instead he went home, so that he could finally get a good night’s sleep.

CHAPTER
5

T
HURSDAY
A
PRIL
26,
A.D
. 1659
S
EVEN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

M
AGDALENA WAS LOST IN THOUGHT AS SHE WALKED
along the muddy road across the Lech Bridge and toward Peiting. In the bag she had slung across her shoulder she was carrying some dried herbs and the quantity of Our Lady’s Powder she had ground yesterday. A few days ago she had promised to deliver the powder to midwife Daubenberger. The old woman was past her seventieth year and not very steady on her feet. Still, in Peiting and its surroundings she was the village midwife whom one called upon for help with difficult deliveries. Katharina Daubenberger had helped hundreds of children into this world. She was famous for her hands, with which she’d pull the most stubborn little imp into the light of day, and she was regarded as a wise woman, a healer, eyed suspiciously by priest and physician alike. But her diagnoses and her treatments were usually correct. Magdalena’s father had often sought her counsel. His gift of Our Lady’s Powder was a token of gratitude; and he was soon going to need one herb or another from her.

When Magdalena passed by the first houses in Peiting, she noticed that the peasants turned around to look at her and were whispering. Some crossed themselves. She was the hangman’s daughter, and the villagers feared her. Many of them suspected she was having it off with Beelzebub. And they had heard that her beauty was based solely on a bargain with the prince of darkness. What he had received in return for it was nothing less than her immortal soul. She let people hold on to their illusions. At least it kept away obnoxious suitors…

Without a second thought for the peasants, she turned into a lane on the right and soon stood before the small, ramshackle house of the midwife.

At once she noticed that something was wrong. The shutters were closed despite the beautiful sunny morning, and some of the herbs and flowers in the little garden in front of the house were trampled. Magdalena approached the door and pushed the latch. The door was locked.

By now she had realized that something was fishy. Goodwife Daubenberger was known for her hospitality. Magdalena had never found her door locked. All of the women in the village could call upon the old midwife anytime.

She knocked vigorously on the heavy wooden door.

“Are you in, Goodwife Daubenberger?” she asked. “It’s me, Magdalena from Schongau! I brought you Our Lady’s Powder.”

After quite a while, the gable window was opened. Katharina Daubenberger looked down at her with a suspicious eye. The old woman looked worried. There were more furrows on her face than ever. She looked pale and tired. When she recognized Magdalena, she forced herself to smile.

“Oh, Magdalena, it’s you,” she called. “That’s kind of you to come. Are you alone?”

Magdalena nodded. Cautiously, the midwife looked in all directions, then she disappeared inside the house. Footsteps could be heard on the stairs and a bolt was pushed back. Finally the door opened. Hurriedly, Goodwife Daubenberger waved her in.

“What’s the matter?” asked Magdalena as she entered. “Did you poison the burgomaster?”

“You ask what’s the matter, you silly goose?” she snapped, stirring the fire in the hearth. “They waylaid me at night, the village lads did. They wanted to burn down my house. If it hadn’t been for the farmer Michael Kössl, I’d be stone dead! He brought them back into line.”

“It’s because of Martha Stechlin, isn’t it?” asked Magdalena as she sat down on a rickety chair near the fireplace. Her legs were weary from the walk. Katharina Daubenberger nodded.

“Now all midwives will be witches again,” she murmured. “Like in my grandmother’s day. Nothing ever changes.”

She sat down beside Magdalena and poured her a cup of something dark and fragrant.

“Drink it,” she said. “Honey water with beer and
aqua ephedrae.
”

“Aqua what?” asked Magdalena.

“Essence of ephedra. That’ll get you back on your feet again.”

Magdalena sipped the hot liquid. It was sweet and invigorating. She felt the strength returning to her legs.

“Do you know what exactly happened in the town?”

Katharina Daubenberger wanted to know.

Magdalena gave the midwife an outline of what she knew. The night before last, as they were walking along the Lech, Simon had told her of the dead boy with the witches’ mark on his shoulder. She also had been able to overhear most of the conversation between her father and the physician through the thin wooden wall of his room on the previous night.

“And now it seems another boy’s been killed, and he had the same sign on his shoulder,” she concluded. “Simon went to see him last night. I haven’t heard from him since then.”

“Elderberry juice scratched into the skin, you say?” asked Goodwife Daubenberger, deep in thought. “That’s strange. You’d think the devil would’ve used blood, wouldn’t you? On the other hand—”

“What?” Magdalena interrupted impatiently.

“Well, the sulfur in the boy’s pocket, and then this sign…”

“Is it really a witches’ sign?” asked Magdalena.

“Let’s say it’s a wise woman’s sign. An ancient sign. As far as I know, it shows a hand mirror, the mirror of a very old and powerful goddess.”

The old midwife rose to her feet and walked to the fireplace to put on another log.

“At any rate it’s going to cause us a great deal of trouble. If matters go on like this, I’ll move in with my daughter-in-law in Peissenberg until this nightmare’s over.”

Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. She had caught sight of a tattered calendar lying on the mantel.

“Of course,” she murmured. “However could I forget that?”

“What is it?” asked Magdalena, moving closer to her. Meanwhile the midwife had picked up the calendar and was leafing through it frantically.

“Here,” she said finally, pointing at a faded image of an abbess holding a pitcher and a book. “Saint Walburga. Patron of the sick and of women in childbed. Her day is next week.”

“So?”

Magdalena had no idea what the midwife was trying to say. Puzzled, she looked at the stained print. The page was charred in one corner. The woman in the picture had a halo; her eyes were cast down modestly.

“Well,” Goodwife Daubenberger began her lecture. “The day of Saint Walburga is May first. The night preceding it is therefore called Walpurgis Night…”

“Witches’ night,” Magdalena whispered.

The midwife nodded and continued.

“If we want to believe the peasants of Peiting, that’s the night when the witches meet in the forest up at Hohenfurch to woo Satan. The sign right at this time may just be a coincidence, but it is strange in any case.”

“You think?”

Katharina Daubenberger shrugged.

“I don’t think anything. But it’s just one week till Walpurgis Night. And didn’t you find another dead boy with just the same mark only yesterday?”

She hurried to the room next door. When Magdalena followed her she saw how the midwife hurriedly shoved some garments and blankets into a knapsack.

“What’re you doing?” she asked in surprise.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” the old woman wheezed. “I’m packing. I’m going to my daughter-in-law’s in Peissenberg. If the killing continues, I don’t want to be around. On Walpurgis Night at the very latest the lads will set my house on fire. If there’s really a witch around here, I don’t want anyone to think it’s me. And if there isn’t one, there’ll always be the need for a culprit.”

She looked at Magdalena and shrugged.

“And now get out of here. Better for you to be gone. You’re the hangman’s daughter, and in their eyes you’re just as loathsome as a witch.”

Without turning around, Magdalena hurried out. On her way down to the Lech, past the barns and farms, she felt that there was a pair of suspicious eyes staring at her from every window.

It was about ten o’clock in the morning. Simon was sitting at one of the tables in the back of the Stern Inn, lost in thought and stirring a stew of mutton and carrots. He didn’t really have much of an appetite, although he hadn’t eaten anything since last night. But the memories of that night—the sight of young Kratz, his parents’ tears, and the turmoil in the neighborhood—had turned his stomach into a tight lump that wouldn’t accept any food whatsoever. However, in the Stern he at least had some peace to think through everything that had happened yesterday.

The physician let his eyes roam through the lounge. There were over a dozen inns in Schongau, but the Stern was doubtlessly the best in town. The oaken tables were clean and smoothly planed, and chandeliers with fresh candles hung from the ceiling. Several maids watched over the few wealthy patrons, continually filling their goblets with wine from glass decanters.

At this time of day, the inn was frequented by only a few wagon drivers from Augsburg who had dropped off their cargo at the Ballenhaus early in the morning.

From Schongau, they would continue their journey to Steingaden and Füssen and across the Alps to Venice.

The drivers were smoking their pipes and had already drunk their fair fill of wine.

Simon could hear their loud laughter.

Seeing the drivers, Simon remembered the brawl the raftsmen on the Lech had told him about. Josef Grimmer had started an argument with some of his competitors from Augsburg. Was it because of this that his son had to die? But what about the other dead boy, then? And that man with the hand of bone whom Sophie had spoke of?

Simon sipped at his mug of weak beer, thinking. For a long time now, the Augsburgers had been planning a new trading route on the Swabian side of the Lech to avoid Schongau’s transportation monopoly. So far, the Duke had always thwarted their plans. But there was no doubt that in the long run things were in their favor. If Schongau were avoided on account of diabolical activities, more and more merchants would be in favor of a new route. Furthermore, Schongau was currently planning a leper house. Not a few of the aldermen believed that it could frighten away merchants.

Was the man with the bony hand perhaps an emissary sent by Augsburg to spread fear and chaos?

“This one’s on the house.”

Awakened from his thoughts, Simon looked up. Burgomaster Karl Semer himself was standing before him. He plunked down a tankard of bock beer on the table so that the foam splattered. Simon eyed the landlord. It was not a regular occurrence that the presiding burgomaster of Schongau visited the lounge of his inn in person. Simon couldn’t remember if he’d ever been addressed by Semer, except that one time when Semer’s son had been in bed with a fever. But then the burgomaster had treated him condescendingly, like a vagrant barber, and had rather reluctantly handed him a couple of hellers. Now, however, he smiled in a friendly way and took a seat at his table. He beckoned to one of the maids with his chubby ringed fingers and ordered another beer. Then he raised his tankard to Simon.

“I’ve heard of the Kratz boy’s death. Nasty business, that. Looks like the Stechlin woman has an accomplice here in town. But we’ll find that out soon enough. Today we’re going to show her the instruments.”

“How can you be so sure it was really the Stechlin woman?” asked Simon without raising his tankard.

Semer took a hearty swig of the dark beer and wiped his beard.

“We have witnesses who’ve seen her celebrate satanic rites with the children. And on the rack at the very least she’ll confess her sins, I’m sure of that.”

“I hear there was a brawl with the Augsburgers in your inn,” Simon replied. “Old man Grimmer supposedly gave a few of them a good beating…”

For a moment, Karl Semer looked irritated, then he snorted disdainfully.

“Nothing special. Happens every day. You can ask Resl here. She was waitressing that day.”

He beckoned to the girl to come to the table. Resl was about twenty and not really a stunning beauty with her big round eyes and her crooked nose. She lowered her head bashfully. Simon knew that she had often looked at him dreamily. The maids still considered him one of the most desirable men in town. Besides, he was still a bachelor.

Karl Semer invited the maid to sit down at the table with them.

“Tell us about that brawl with the Augsburgers the other day, Resl.”

The maid shrugged. Then she produced a shy smile, while she regarded Simon from the side.

“It was a couple of men from Augsburg. They were drinking too much and started criticizing our raftsmen. That they didn’t tie down the goods properly and damaged them. That they drink liquor while they’re working, and that Grimmer lost an entire cargo owing to that.”

“Well, and what did Grimmer say to that?” asked Simon.

“He kicked up a fuss and whacked one of the Augsburgers right in the face. And then the dust started flying here. Our men threw them all outside. Then there was order again.”

Karl Semer smirked at the physician and took another swig.

“As you see, nothing special.”

Suddenly Simon had an idea. “Resl, on that day, did you happen to see a tall man with a feather in his hat and a scar on his face?”

To his astonishment the maid nodded.

“Yes, there was such a one. He was sitting back there in the corner with two others. Gloomy-looking men. I think they were soldiers. They had sabers, and the tall one, he had a long scar that went all across his face. And he limped a little. He looked like the devil had sent him here…”

“Were they involved in the brawl?”

The maid shook her head.

“No, they only watched, they did. But after the fight they left pretty quickly. They did—”

“That’ll do, Resl. You may go back to work,” the burgomaster intervened.

When the maid had left, he looked at Simon angrily.

“What sort of questions are those? Where does that get us? It was the Stechlin woman, and that’s that. What we need is peace and quiet back in our town, and you and your questions will only cause further anxiety. Keep your hands off that business, Fronwieser. That’ll only lead to more problems.”