The Hangman's Daughter (10 page)

“So they did,” whispered the clerk as he stooped over the mark. “It does resemble the devil’s sign…” The baker Berchtholdt nodded eagerly and crossed himself. Only Jakob Schreevogl shook his head.

“If this is a witches’ mark, you have to burn me along with her.”

The young patrician had unbuttoned his shirt and pointed to a brown spot on his chest, which was covered with downy hair. Indeed this birthmark too was shaped rather strangely. “I’ve had this thing since the day I was born, and nobody has yet called me a sorcerer.”

The clerk shook his head and turned away from the midwife. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Kuisl, show her the instruments. And explain what we’re going to do if she doesn’t tell us the truth.”

Jakob Kuisl looked deep into Martha Stechlin’s eyes. Then he took the pincers from the brazier and approached her. The miracle had not occurred, and he would have to begin the torturing.

At this very moment, the great bell in the tower started ringing the alarm.

CHAPTER
6

T
HURSDAY
A
PRIL
26,
A.D
. 1659
F
OUR O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON

S
IMON TOOK A DEEP BREATH OF SPRING AIR. FOR
the first time in days, he felt fully free. At a distance he could hear the rushing of the river, and the fields were lovely in their rich green. Snowdrops shone between the birches and beeches, which had already started to blossom. Only in the shady patches between the trees could traces of snow still be seen.

He was strolling with Magdalena through the meadows above the Lech, on a footpath so narrow that he and Magdalena touched each other from time to time as if by chance. Twice she had nearly fallen, and each time she had held on to him for support. Longer than was in fact necessary.

After the conversation in the Stern, Simon had hurried down to the river. He needed a quiet moment to think things over and fresh air to breathe. He should have been mixing tinctures for his father, but that could very well wait until tomorrow. In any case Simon preferred to keep out of his father’s way now. Even at the deathbed of the poor Kratz boy they had not spoken. The old man had still not forgiven him for leaving the house to visit the executioner. Sometime, as Simon knew, his anger would blow over, but until then it would be better not to get in his way too often. Simon sighed. His father came from a different world, a world in which the dissection of corpses was considered blasphemous and the treatment of the sick consisted exclusively of purges, cuppings, and the administration of evil-smelling pills. He remembered something his father had said at the burial of a plague victim: “God decides when we shall die. We should not meddle in His handiwork.”

Simon wanted to do things quite differently. He wanted to meddle in the Lord God’s handiwork.

Down by the Lech Gate he met Magdalena, whose mother had sent her to gather wild garlic in the wetlands. She smiled at him in that way again, and he simply followed her. A few washerwomen were standing on the Lech Bridge; he could feel how they were staring at him, but that didn’t bother him.

All afternoon they rambled through the forest down by the river. When her hand brushed against his again, he suddenly felt hot. His scalp began to tingle. What was it about this girl that disturbed him so? Was it perhaps the charm of what was forbidden? He knew that he and Magdalena could never become a couple. Not in Schongau, not in this stuffy hole, where only a small suspicion was enough to send a woman to the stake. Simon frowned. Dark thoughts arose like thunderclouds.

“Is there something wrong?” Magdalena stopped and looked at him. She sensed that something was troubling him.

“It is…oh, nothing.”

“Tell me, or we’ll go back at once, and I’ll never see you again.”

Simon had to smile. “A terrible threat. Even if I believe you would never do it.”

“You wait and see. Well, then, what is it?”

“It’s…about the boys.”

Magdalena sighed. “I thought as much.” Near the footpath was a tree trunk, blown down in a spring storm. She pushed him toward it and sat down alongside. Her eyes looked into the distance. After a while she began to speak again.

“A terrible thing. I can’t get the boys out of my head either, Peter and Anton. I used to see them in the market square, especially Anton. He didn’t have anybody. As an orphan, you’re worth about as much as a hangman’s child. Nothing at all.”

Magdalena pressed her full lips together until they only formed a thin red line. Simon put his hand on her shoulder, and for a long time they said nothing.

“Did you know that all the orphans used to meet at Stechlin’s?” he finally asked.

Magdalena shook her head.

“Something happened there.” Simon looked out across the forest. A long way away the town walls of Schongau were visible.

After a while he spoke again. “Sophie said that they were all at Stechlin’s the evening before the murder. Then they all went home, except Peter. He went down to the river to meet someone else. Who could that have been? His murderer? Or is Sophie lying?”

“And what about Anton Kratz? Was he with the Stechlin woman too?” Magdalena was leaning against his shoulder now, her hand resting gently on his thigh. But Simon’s thoughts were elsewhere.

“Yes, indeed, Anton too,” he said. “And both of them had this strange sign on their shoulders, scratched into the skin with elderberry juice. On Anton it was a bit faded, as if someone had tried to wash it away.”

“He himself?” Magdalena’s head nestled against his.

Simon continued to gaze into the distance. “Your father found sulfur in Peter’s pocket,” he murmured. “And a mandrake is missing from the midwife’s house.”

Magdalena, surprised, sat up suddenly. As the hangman’s daughter she was well informed about magical ingredients.

“A mandrake? Are you sure?” she asked, obviously alarmed.

Simon jumped up from the tree trunk.

“Witches’ marks, sulfur, a mandrake…It all fits together, don’t you think? As if someone would like us to believe in all this spooky stuff.”

“Or if all this spooky stuff is in fact true,” whispered Magdalena. A cloud had passed over the warm spring sun. She pulled her woolen scarf over her shoulders.

“I visited Goodwife Daubenberger this morning,” she began hesitantly. “She told me about Saint Walburga.”

She told Simon about her conversation with the midwife and that she supposed the murders had some sort of connection with Walpurgis Night, which was just a week away. When she had finished, Simon shook his head.

“I don’t believe in these superstitions,” he said. “Witchcraft and such hocus-pocus. There must be some reason these children had to die.”

Suddenly Simon remembered the man with the bone hand. Both Sophie and the maid from the Stern had spoken of him. Had he really inquired about the merchant’s son? Or was that just one of Sophie’s fantasies? With annoyance he recalled that the girl had stolen quite a large sum of money from him. You couldn’t trust that child as far as you could throw her.

With a sigh he sat down again next to Magdalena on the tree trunk. He was feeling cold too. The hangman’s daughter saw that he was shivering and spread her woolen scarf over his shoulders. She sought his hand, found it, and led it slowly to her bodice.

Simon could not stop thinking about the man with the hand of bone. If he really existed and was responsible for what happened to the children, why had he killed them? What connection was there between the two victims, apart from their having been at Martha Stechlin’s on that night of the full moon?

And above all…

Who else had been with Goodwife Stechlin?

Magdalena looked at the young physician from one side. He had been so reserved all day. She had to know where she stood with him.

“Simon, I…” she began.

At this moment they heard in the distance the high-toned pealing of the alarm bell in the tower, carried to them by the wind. Here in the meadows, far away from the town, it sounded like the whimpering of a child. Something had happened! Simon felt a tightness in his chest. He jumped up and ran in the direction of Schongau. Not until he had run some distance did he notice that Magdalena was not following him.

“Come on, quick!” he cried. “And pray to God that there isn’t another corpse in the river.”

Magdalena sighed, then stood up and ran after Simon.

The hangman came running up the cellar steps of the dungeon, taking several of them at one stride. Behind him he heard the cries of the town clerk and the others, who were also hurrying to get out. The high-pitched tone of the alarm bell resounded through the town.

The bells in the watchtowers were rung only in extreme emergency, in case of an attack or a fire. Kuisl ruled out an invasion of hostile soldiers. There had been peace now for more than ten years. There were indeed still groups of marauding soldiers who concealed themselves in the woods and attacked isolated farmsteads, but Schongau was too big to be attacked by a handful of daring hooligans. There remained only a fire…

Most of the buildings in Schongau were still built of wood, and many roofs were thatched. If the wind was coming from the wrong direction, a smoldering fire could turn into a major conflagration and destroy the whole town. People were terrified of fire, and the hangman, too, was worried about his family.

When Jakob Kuisl reached the outer door of the keep he saw at once that the town was in no immediate danger. A thin column of smoke rose up from the other side of the town wall and spread out to form a cloud. The hangman supposed that the fire was down by the raft landing.

Without waiting for the others he hurried down the Münzstrasse to the Ballenhaus and turned left in the direction of the Lech Gate. Other burghers of Schongau, too, were hurrying to the gate to see what was happening. In the upper stories of the houses with a view over the river, curious people were again opening their shutters, which they had already closed for the night, and were looking down at the spectacle visible on the riverbank.

Jakob Kuisl ran through the Lech Gate and saw down at the raft landing that the Zimmerstadel had caught fire. The roof of the huge warehouse was ablaze. A small group of raftsmen had formed a bucket brigade and were pouring water on the flames. Others hurried to take crates and barrels out of the building. There was a rustling and cracking, and it did not seem to the hangman that the warehouse could be saved. Just the same, he ran toward the bridge to offer his help. He knew that a small fortune would be lost with every crate that went up in flames. Wool, silk, wine, spices…The Zimmerstadel held everything that was waiting to be shipped elsewhere in addition to serving as an overflow when there was no more room in the Ballenhaus.

When Kuisl got beyond the town gate, he stopped in his tracks. From up here he was able to see the entire landing area. Down by the dock a crowd of men could be seen engaged in a wild melee. Fists flew, some men already lay on the ground, and others were fighting with long boat poles. Kuisl recognized some of the wagon drivers and raftsmen, but there were strangers among them as well.

The evening sun was sinking behind the woods, and the men and the flames appeared in a surreal light. Jakob Kuisl couldn’t believe his eyes: these men were fighting, while only a few yards away the Zimmerstadel was in flames!

“Have you gone mad!” he cried and ran down the last few steps to the bridge. “Stop it! The Stadel’s on fire!”

The men did not seem to even notice him. They rolled on the ground. Some were bleeding from the forehead, and others had cuts and bruises on their faces. With his strong arms the hangman seized two of the men who were fighting and pulled them apart. Kuisl recognized one of the men, with a torn doublet, from various drunken brawls in the inns behind the market square. It was Georg Riegg of the Schongau wagon drivers. He was a noted ruffian but enjoyed a good reputation among his men. The other man seemed to be a stranger to the town. His lip was bleeding, and there was a deep cut over his right eyebrow.

“Stop it, I say!” Kuisl shook the pair until they took notice of him. “Go and help save the Stadel!”

“The Augsburgers started the fire. They can put it out!” Georg Riegg spat in the face of his adversary, who raised his fist for another blow.

Kuisl quickly grabbed them both by the hair and shook them before he spoke again. “What did you say?”

“He’s talking nonsense!” said the stranger. His accent revealed him as an Augsburger. He waved his arms wildly toward the burning Stadel. “Your watchmen were careless, and now we have to take the blame. But count us out! You’ll have to pay for the damage!”

Jakob Kuisl was aware of a movement behind him. He turned and saw from the corner of his eye a rafting pole poised to strike him. Instinctively he let the two ruffians drop and at the same time grabbed the shaft. With a jerk he pushed it away, so that the man at the other end fell screaming into the Lech. From his left side came another attacker, a solidly built raftsman, whom Kuisl recognized as one of the Augsburg guild. With a shout the raftsman charged at him. At the last moment Kuisl dodged and gave the man a strong blow from behind. Groaning, the Augsburger fell to the ground but got up a few seconds later to attack once more. He swung and missed. The next time he struck, the hangman caught his hand and squeezed until the man’s fingers began to crack. Step by step he forced the Augsburger toward the end of the pier. Finally he pushed him into the water and let go. With a splash the man disappeared in the river and resurfaced farther down the landing, where he tried to hold on to a wooden pile.

“Stop! In the name of the law, stop it!”

Johann Lechner had arrived at the landing with the watchmen. The four bailiffs, with other Schongauers, pulled the combatants apart.

“You there, get over to the Stadel! Take the buckets with you!” With curt orders the court clerk brought the situation under control, although it was now too late. The roof had fallen in, and every entrance to the interior of the building was blocked by red-hot beams. Whatever remained of the goods in there would sooner or later be reduced to ashes—hundreds of guilders’, worth. Charred chests and bales were piled up near the ruins of the Stadel, some of them still smoldering. A smell of scorched cinnamon hung in the air.

The bailiffs had herded the participants in the brawl into a corner of the landing and divided them into two groups, Schongauers and Augsburgers. Men on both sides glowered at each other, but seemed too exhausted to continue.

Jakob Kuisl could see Josef Berchtholdt, the brother of the master baker, among the Schongau fighters. His brother Michael was holding a damp cloth to Josef’s swollen left eye and hurling wild curses in the direction of the Augsburgers. The other two witnesses to the examination in the dungeon had disappeared into the crowd.

Meanwhile Bonifaz Fronwieser, Simon’s father, had also appeared, after being summoned by the court clerk. With water and linen bandages he began to treat the worst injuries. One of the Schongau wagon drivers had a stab wound to his upper arm. And among the Augsburgers, too, someone was bleeding from a wound in the thigh.