The Hangman's Daughter (20 page)

“But then you’d have known that we had been there before,” sighed Martin Hueber. “Also, until just now I really did think these men were yours. They looked like town bailiffs.”

“Like town bailiffs?”

The Augsburg carter was struggling for the right words.

“More or less. After all, it was already getting dark, and they were quite a ways off. I didn’t see much. Now that I think about it, they may have been soldiers.”

Johann Lechner gave him a puzzled look.

“Soldiers…”

“Yes, the colorful clothes, the high boots, the hats. I believe one or two of them were also carrying sabers. I…I’m no longer sure.”

“Well, you really should be sure, Hueber.”

Johann Lechner walked back to the door. “You should be sure, or else we’ll have to help you remember. I’ll give you one more night to think it over. Tomorrow I shall return with quill and parchment, and we’ll set it all down in writing. If some uncertainties still remain, we’ll quickly clear them up. It just so happens that the hangman is not busy right now.”

With those words he closed the door behind him and left the wagon driver alone. Johann Lechner smiled. They would see what the Augsburger would come up with overnight. Even if he was not responsible for the fire, his confession would still be worth its weight in gold. A Fugger wagon driver as the ring-leader of a conspiracy against the wagon drivers of Schongau! The Augsburgers would have to eat humble pie in future negotiations. It might even be possible, under such circumstances, to increase the rates for warehousing Augsburg goods. After all, the Stadel would have to be rebuilt at great cost. It was wonderful how everything was working out. Once the midwife confessed, all would be well again. Fronwieser, that quack, had said that she would be ready for interrogation tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow at the latest.

It would just take time and patience.

The Schreevogl house was in the Bauerngasse, in the Hof Gate quarter, not far from the castle. In this neighborhood stood the houses of the patricians, three-story showpieces with carved balconies and paintings on their facades. The air smelled much better here, mainly because it was far away from the malodorous tanneries down by the Lech. Servant girls were shaking out bedding on the balustrades, while merchants came to the door to supply the cooks with spices, smoked meat, and plucked geese. Simon knocked on the tall door with the brass knob. After a few seconds he could hear steps inside. A maid opened and led him into the entrance hall. A short time later Jakob Schreevogl appeared at the top of the wide spiral staircase. With concern he looked down on Simon.

“Any news about our Clara?” he asked. “My wife is still sick in bed. Under no circumstances do I wish to upset her unnecessarily.”

Simon shook his head. “We were down at the Hohenfurch Road. The building site of the leper house is completely ruined.”

Jakob Schreevogl sighed. “I already know that,” he said and with a gesture invited Simon to have a seat while he himself settled into a cushioned chair in the antechamber. He reached into a bowl of gingerbread cookies and started chewing slowly. “Who would do such a thing? I mean, of course there was opposition to the construction in the council, but from there to go and destroy the entire leper house…”

Simon decided to speak openly with the patrician.

“Is it true that you had already made firm plans for a second kiln on that land before your father left it to the church?” he asked.

Jakob Schreevogl frowned and put the gingerbread back into the bowl. “But I’ve already told you. After the argument with my father he quickly changed his will, and I could bury my plans.”

“And your father, too, shortly thereafter.”

The patrician raised his eyebrows. “What are you implying, Fronwieser?”

“With your father’s death you no longer had any chance of having the will changed again. Now the land belongs to the church. If you want it back, you’d have to buy it back from the church.”

Jakob Schreevogl smiled. “I understand,” he said. “You suspect me of interfering with the construction until the church would give me back the land voluntarily. But you forget that before the council, I had always spoken for the building of the leper house.”

“Yes, but not necessarily on a piece of land that is so important to you,” interrupted Simon.

The patrician shrugged. “I am already conducting negotiations regarding another piece of land. The second kiln will be built but at another location. This particular spot on the Hohenfurch Road wasn’t important enough for me to put my good name at risk for it.”

Simon looked Jakob Schreevogl straight in the eye. He could detect no trace of deception.

“Who, if not you, could be interested in destroying the leper house?” he asked finally.

Schreevogl laughed. “Half the council was against building it: Holzhofer, Püchner, Augustin, and, leading them all in opposition, the presiding burgomaster Karl Semer.” He quickly became serious again. “Which doesn’t mean that I would suspect any one of them of such a thing.”

The young patrician rose and started to pace back and forth across the room. “I don’t understand you, Fronwieser,” he said. “My Clara has disappeared, two children are dead, the Zimmerstadel has been destroyed, and you are questioning me here about a burned-out building site? What is that supposed to mean?”

“We saw someone at the leper house this morning,” Simon interjected.

“Who?”

“The devil.”

The patrician caught his breath as Simon continued.

“In any case, the one they call the devil now,” he said. “It may be a soldier with a limp. The one who abducted your Clara and who was hanging out with other soldiers at Semer’s inn a few days ago. And who met an apparently important person from the town upstairs in the inn’s conference room.”

Jakob Schreevogl sat down again.

“How do you know that he met someone at Semer’s inn?” he asked.

“A servant girl told me,” Simon replied sharply. “Burgomaster Semer himself claimed to know nothing about it.”

Schreevogl nodded. “And what makes you think that this person was someone important?”

Simon shrugged. “Soldiers are hired for money; that’s their profession. And in order to be able to pay four men, much money is needed. The question is, what were they hired to do?”

He leaned forward.

“Where were you on Friday of last week?” he asked softly.

Jakob Schreevogl remained calm and returned the physician’s gaze.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think I had anything to do with this,” he said sharply. “Don’t forget that it was my daughter who was abducted.”

“Where were you?”

The patrician leaned back and appeared to be reflecting. “I had gone down to the kiln,” he said finally. “The chimney was clogged up, and we worked late into the night cleaning it. You’re welcome to ask my workers.”

“And in the evening, when the Stadel was burning? Where were you then?”

Jakob Schreevogl slammed his hand down on the table so that the gingerbread bowl jumped. “I’ve had enough of your suspicions! My daughter has disappeared, and that’s all that counts for me. I don’t give a damn about your ruined building site. And now get out of my home. Right now!”

Simon tried to calm him. “I’m only following every lead I can find. I have no idea either how all this fits together. But somehow it does, and the devil is the link.”

There was a knock at the door.

Jakob Schreevogl walked the few steps to the door and opened it abruptly.

“What is it?” he asked angrily.

A small boy, about eight years old, was standing outside. Simon had seen him before. He was one of the children of Ganghofer, the baker in the Hennengasse. He stared up fearfully at the patrician.

“Are you the alderman Jakob Schreevogl?” he asked timidly.

“That’s who I am. What’s the matter? Speak quickly!” Schreevogl was about to close the door again.

“The father of Clara Schreevogl?” the boy asked.

The patrician paused. “Yes,” he whispered.

“I’m supposed to tell you that your daughter is all right.”

Schreevogl tore the door open and pulled the boy toward him.

“How do you know that?”

“I…I…am not supposed to tell you. I promised!”

The patrician grabbed the little boy by his soiled shirt collar and pulled him up to look right in his eyes.

“Did you see her? Where is she?” he screamed into his face. The boy struggled and tried to free himself from the man’s grasp.

Simon stepped closer. He held up a shining coin and rolled it back and forth between his fingers. The boy stiffened, and his eyes followed the coin as if he were hypnotized.

“Your promise should not bind you. After all, it was not a Christian oath, was it?” he asked the child in a soothing voice.

The boy shook his head. Jakob Schreevogl carefully set him down and looked expectantly between Simon and the boy.

“Well,” continued Simon. “Who told you that Clara was well?”

“It…it was Sophie,” the boy whispered without taking his eyes off the coin. “The red-haired girl. She told me down by the raft landing, just before I came. I got an apple for bringing you the message.”

Simon brushed his hand across the boy’s head trying to calm him down. “You did very well. And did Sophie also tell you where Clara is now?”

The boy shook his head fearfully. “That’s all she told me. I swear by the Holy Mother of God!”

“And Sophie? Where is she now?” Jakob Schreevogl interrupted.

“She…she left again right away, over the bridge and into the woods. When I looked at her she threw a stone at me. Then I came here right away.”

Simon looked at Jakob Schreevogl from the side. “I believe he’s telling the truth,” he said. Schreevogl nodded.

When Simon tried to give the child his coin, the patrician intervened and reached into his own purse. He pulled out a shiny silver penny and gave it to the boy.

“This one is for you,” he said. “And another one just like it if you find out where Sophie or my Clara are. We’re not out to harm Sophie, you understand?”

The boy reached for the coin and closed his small fist around it.

“The…the other children say that Sophie is a witch and will soon be burned, together with the Stechlin woman,” he whispered.

“You need not believe everything the other children are saying.” Jakob Schreevogl gave him a little nudge. “Run along now. And remember, this is our secret, right?”

The boy nodded. Seconds later he disappeared around the corner with his treasure.

Jakob Schreevogl closed the door and looked at Simon. “She’s alive,” he whispered. “My Clara is alive! I must immediately tell my wife. Please excuse me.”

He rushed upstairs. Halfway up the stairs he stopped once more and looked down at Simon.

“I have much esteem for you, Fronwieser,” he said. “Now as always. Find the devil, and I shall reward you generously.” He smiled as he continued. “You’re welcome to look around my little private library. I think it contains a few books that may interest you.”

Then he quickly went upstairs into his wife’s bedroom.

CHAPTER
10

S
ATURDAY
A
PRIL
28,
A.D
. 1659
N
OON

F
OR A GOOD HALF MINUTE SIMON STOOD TRANSFIXED
in the hall of the patrician’s house. Thoughts raced through his mind. Finally he came to a decision and ran out into the street, down the Bauerngasse and into the market square. He bumped into a few market women and almost upset a stall with loaves of bread before running down behind the Ballenhaus to the Lech Gate, ignoring the cries and curses behind him. In a few minutes he was on the bridge over the river. He hurried across, leaving the burned-out Stadel on his right, and ran out onto the country road that led from the raft landing to Peiting.

After a short time he reached the edge of the forest. Now, at midday, the road was almost deserted, most of the wagons having already gone down to the river in the early hours of the morning. Birds were quietly chirping and sometimes a twig snapped in the depth of the forest, but otherwise it was peaceful.

“Sophie!”

In the silence Simon’s voice sounded hollow and weak, as if the forest was about to swallow it up after only a few yards.

“Sophie, can you hear me?”

He cursed himself for this idea. Perhaps the girl might have run into the forest from here just half an hour before, but it was not likely that she was still within earshot. She could be far, far away by now. Anyway, why in the world would she
want
to listen to him? It was very possible she was at this moment sitting on a branch somewhere and watching him. Sophie had fled. She was suspected of engaging in witchcraft along with the midwife. As an orphan, without a good reputation or witnesses to speak for her, she was extremely likely to end up being burned at the stake along with the Stechlin woman even though she was only twelve years old. The physician had heard of cases where even much younger children had been put to the stake as witches. Why, then, should Sophie come forward now?

Simon sighed and turned on his heels.

“Stop right there!”

The voice had come from somewhere out in the depths of the forest. Simon stopped and looked back over his shoulder. A stone hit him in the side.

“Ouch! Damn it, Sophie…”

“Don’t turn round,” came Sophie’s voice again. “You needn’t see where I am.”

Simon obeyed, shrugging his shoulders. The place where the pebble had struck him was terribly painful. He had no desire to be injured by another stone.

“The boy tattled, is that right?” asked Sophie. “He told you that I sent him.”

Simon nodded. “Don’t be angry with him,” he said. “I would have guessed it anyway.”

He focused his eyes on a point somewhere in the dense undergrowth in front of him. This helped him to speak to the invisible girl.

“Where is Clara, Sophie?”

“She’s safe. I can’t tell you anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re looking for us. Clara and I are in danger, even in the town. They already got Peter and Anton. You must keep an eye on Johannes Strasser, at the innkeeper’s in Altenstadt—”

“He’s gone missing,” Simon interrupted the girl.

She was silent for a long time. Simon thought he heard her sob quietly.

“Sophie, what happened that night? You were all together, weren’t you? Peter, you, Clara, the other orphans…what happened?”

“I…I can’t tell you.” Sophie’s voice trembled. “It will all come out. We’ll be burned—all of us!”

“Sophie, I swear I will stand up for you,” he said, trying to calm her down. “Nobody’s going to get hurt. Nobody…”

He heard a branch break. The sound came not from behind, where he supposed Sophie was standing or sitting, but from the front. On the left, twenty paces in front of Simon, there was a stack of sticks.

Something was moving behind the pile.

Simon heard a thump behind him and steps hurrying away. Sophie was escaping.

Just a moment later a figure dashed out from behind the pile. The person was wearing a coat and a broad-brimmed hat. At first Simon thought it was the hangman, but then the figure drew a saber from under his coat. For one short moment the sun shone through the thick branches of the forest, and the saber glittered in the light. As the figure rushed toward him, Simon noticed something clutching the saber, something white.

It was the hand of the devil, a hand of bone.

Simon suddenly felt as if time had arrested. Every gesture and detail burned itself into his brain. His feet seemed glued to the earth, as if stuck in a swamp. Not until the devil was ten strides from him could he move again. Terrified, he turned and ran to the edge of the forest. Behind him he heard the steps of the devil, a rhythmic crunching of gravel and earth. Soon he could hear the breath of his pursuer drawing closer.

Simon dared not turn around for fear this would slow him down. He ran and ran, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and he knew that he would not be able to maintain this pace much longer. The man behind him was used to running, his breath was regular and even, very soon he would catch up. And the edge of the forest was still not in sight. All he could see was dense woods and shadows.

The sound of breathing came even closer. Simon cursed himself for his idea of going into the forest alone. The devil had seen him and the hangman at the building site. They had pursued him, and they had provoked him, and now the devil was at his heels. Simon had no illusions. When the man caught up with him he would kill him, as quickly and casually as one would kill a bothersome fly.

At last the forest seemed to brighten in front of him. Simon’s heart raced. That must be the edge of the forest! The path went down into a hollow before it finally left the forest and led down to the river. Light broke through the treetops, the shadows retreated. Simon staggered on a few yards, then dazzling sunlight surrounded him. He had reached the end of the forest. He staggered over a bank and saw the raft landing beneath him. People were standing on the riverbank, and oxen were drawing a wagon up the hill toward the forest. Only now did he dare to look around. The figure behind him had vanished. The edge of the forest appeared to be nothing more than a black ribbon in the midday sun.

But he still felt he was in danger. After taking a few deep breaths, he ran on unsteadily toward the raft landing, looking behind him all the way. As he turned his head once again toward the forest, he collided with someone in front of him.

“Simon?”

It was Magdalena. She had a basket in her hand filled with wild herbs. She looked at him, in astonishment.

“What’s happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Simon pushed her down the few remaining yards to the raft landing and collapsed onto a stack of beams. Not until he was here amid the busy activity of the raftsmen and wagon drivers did he really feel safe.

“He…was after me,” he stammered at last, when his breathing was more or less regular again.

“Who was?” Magdalena asked anxiously and sat down beside him.

“The devil.”

Magdalena laughed, but her laughter did not sound genuine. “Simon, don’t talk nonsense,” she said finally. “You’ve been tippling, in the midday sun!”

Simon shook his head. Then he told her everything that had happened since the morning: the destruction at the building site, the pursuit with her father in the woods, the conversations with the parish priest, Schreevogl, and Sophie, and finally his flight down to the raft landing. When he had finished, Magdalena looked at him with worried eyes.

“But why did the devil pick on you?” she asked. “You don’t have anything to do with it, do you?”

Simon shrugged. “Probably because we are on his heels and because we almost got him.” He looked at Magdalena very earnestly. “Your father is in danger too.”

Magdalena grinned. “I’d like to see the devil try to punch my father. My father’s the hangman, don’t forget that.”

Simon got up from the pile of wood. “Magdalena, this is no joke,” he cried. “This man, or whatever he is, has presumably murdered a few children! He wanted to kill me, and perhaps he’s observing us at this very minute.”

Magdalena looked around. Right in front of them, wagon drivers were loading two rafts with cases and barrels and lashing them into place. Further on, a few men were clearing away the charred remains of the Zimmerstadel, and elsewhere new beams were already being put up. One of the men occasionally turned to look at them and then whispered to his neighbor.

Simon could well imagine what they were whispering: the hangman’s whore and her lover boy…the physician’s son, who goes to bed with the hangman’s wench and doesn’t believe that the devil is making his rounds in Schongau, or that the midwife must be burned.

Simon sighed. Magdalena’s reputation was ruined anyway, and by now, his as well. He put his hand against her cheek and looked deep into her eyes.

“Your father told me that you found a mandrake in the forest,” he said. “You probably saved Martha Stechlin’s life with it.”

Magdalena grinned.

“That’s a fair exchange. After all, she gave me my life. I was a real pain when I was born, my mother says. I was the wrong way around and didn’t want to come out. If it hadn’t been for Martha Stechlin, I wouldn’t be here. Now I can pay her back.”

Then she became serious again.

“We must go to my father and warn him,” she whispered. “Perhaps he’ll think of some way that we can catch the devil.”

Simon shook his head. “Above all we must find out who took part in the meeting with this so-called devil and the other soldiers at Semer’s inn. I’m sure this person is the key to everything else.”

Both fell silent in thought.

“Why did the devil come back?”

“What?” Simon was startled out of his thoughts.

“Why did he come back to the building site?” Magdalena asked once more. “If he and his men were really responsible for the destruction there, why did he go there once again? They had already done everything they wanted to.”

Simon frowned. “Perhaps because he’d lost something, perhaps the tobacco pouch that your father found. He didn’t want people to discover that and draw conclusions.”

Magdalena shook her head.

“I don’t believe that. There was no monogram on the pouch, nothing that might have given him away. It must have been something else…”

“Perhaps he was looking for something,” Simon suggested. “Something that he didn’t find the first time.”

Magdalena was deep in thought.

“Something draws him to the building site,” she said. “Goodwife Daubenberger told me that witches used to dance there, and soon it will be Walpurgis Night again…Perhaps he really is the devil.”

Both fell silent again. The sun was almost too hot for April. It warmed the stack of beams they were sitting on. From a distance they heard the voices of the raftsmen as they drifted down the river toward Augsburg. The water glittered like liquid gold. Suddenly it was all too much for Simon—the flight, all the questions, the brooding, the fear…

He jumped up, took Magdalena’s basket, and ran upriver.

“Where are you going?” she called.

“To look for herbs, with you. Come on, the sun is shining, and I know a nice cozy place.”

“And what about my father?”

He swung her basket and smiled at her.

“He can wait a bit. You said yourself that he fears neither death nor the devil.”

Under the disapproving looks of the wagon drivers she ran after him.

Dusk stretched out its fingers from the west and settled on the woods around Schongau. The Hohenfurch Road lay in complete darkness, and so the man who now approached from the west could scarcely be discerned among the bushes at the edge of the clearing. He had decided against taking the road and had gone through the high thickets parallel to it. It took almost twice as long that way, but he could be sure that nobody would see him. The gates of the town had been closed half an hour ago and the probability that he would meet anyone out here was extremely small. But the man did not want to run any risk.

His shoulders ached from carrying the shovel. Sweat streamed over his forehead; thorns and thistles clung to his coat and left small tears in many places. The man cursed. What drove him on was the certainty that all this would soon be over. Then he could come and go as he pleased and there would be nobody to tell him what to do. Sometime in a distant future he would tell his grandchildren about it, and they would understand. They would realize that it was for their sake that he had done all this, for the survival of their family, their
dynasty.
That it was he who had saved the family. But then it occurred to him that he had already gone too far. He couldn’t tell anyone about it anymore. Too much had already happened, too much that was dirty and bloody. He would have to take the secret with him to the grave.

A twig cracked in the darkness, a flapping noise could be heard. The man stopped and held his breath. Carefully he pulled out the small lantern that he had concealed under his coat until then and pointed it in the direction of the sound. Not far from him, an owl flew up into the air and across the clearing. He smiled. Fear had almost made a fool of him.

He looked around on all sides for the last time, then he entered the building site and hurried to the construction in the middle.

Where should he begin? He walked round the foundation walls that had been destroyed and looked for a clue. When he found nothing, he climbed over a heap of stones into the interior and struck a flagstone on the ground with his shovel. The metallic noise seemed to go right through him. He had a feeling they could hear it all the way to Schongau, and he stopped at once.

Finally he climbed a small wall adjacent to the main building and gazed over the clearing. The leper house, the chapel, heaps of beams, a well, sacks of lime, a few upset buckets…

His eye fell on an old linden tree in the middle of the clearing. Its branches reached almost down to the ground. For some reason the builders had left it standing. Perhaps the church did not want to chop it down, thinking of a future use as shade for the invalids.