The Beggar King

2

SCHONGAU

AUGUST 13, 1662 AD

The oppressive summer air lay over Schongau like a musty blanket.

Magdalena Kuisl ran down the narrow overgrown path from the Tanners’ Quarter to the Lech, her skirt fluttering behind her. Her mother had given her the afternoon off and her strict father was far away, so she raced through the cool, shady land along the river, happy to escape the stuffiness and the stench in town.

Magdalena looked forward to a swim in the river, as the odor of manure, dirt, and mold clung to her matted black hair. She and her mother had been busy in town all morning collecting garbage and shoveling it into their cart. Even the nine-year-old twins, Georg and Barbara, had to help. The work seemed harder than usual because Magdalena’s father had left for Regensburg a few days ago. As the family of the hangman, it was the Kuisls’ job to clear the streets in Schongau of garbage and animal carcasses. Every week mountains of trash piled up at the corners and intersections in town, rotting in the hot sun. Rats with long, smooth tails scampered about on top of the piles, glaring at passersby with evil little eyes. At least Magdalena had the afternoon to herself.

After just a few minutes the hangman’s daughter arrived at the riverbank. She turned to the left, away from the raft landing where there were already a half-dozen rafts tied up. She could hear the shouts and laughter of the raftsmen as they unloaded the barrels, crates, and bales and took them off to the newly rebuilt storage building, the Zimmerstadel, on the pier. She turned off the narrow towpath and made her way through the green underbrush, which now, in midsummer, was shoulder-high. The ground was swampy and slippery, and with each step her bare feet sank in with a slurping sound.

Finally Magdalena reached her favorite spot, a small, shallow cove invisible behind the surrounding willow trees. She climbed down over a large dead root and removed her soiled clothes. Then she scrubbed the dress, apron, and bodice thoroughly, rubbing them over the sharp, wet pebbles. She laid them out to dry on a rock in the warm afternoon sun.

As Magdalena stepped into the water, the current flowing past tugged gently at her ankles and she sank gradually into the mud. A few more steps and she slipped completely into the river. Here in the cove, hollowed out of the river ages ago, the current wasn’t quite so strong. The hangman’s daughter swam out, taking care not to get too close to the whirlpool in the middle of the Lech. The water washed the dirt from her skin and hair, and after a few minutes she felt fresh and rested again. The foul-smelling city was far, far away.

As she swam back to the shore, she noticed her clothes had disappeared.

Magdalena looked around, unsure of what to do. She’d laid her wet clothing out on the rock right there, and now all that remained was a damp spot gradually vanishing in the hot sun.

Had someone followed her here?

She looked up and down the shoreline but couldn’t see her clothes anywhere. She tried to calm down. No doubt some children were just playing a joke on her-nothing more. She sat down on a tree root to dry off in the sun. Lying back with her eyes closed, she waited for the pranksters to start giggling and give themselves away.

All at once she heard a rustling behind her in the bushes.

Before she could jump up, someone wrapped a hairy, sinewy arm around her neck and placed a hand over her mouth. She tried to scream, but not a sound came out.

“Not a word, or I’ll kiss you until your neck is red all over and your father gives you a good spanking.”

Magdalena couldn’t help giggling as she sputtered through the hand held over her mouth.

“Simon! My God, you nearly scared me to death! I thought robbers or murderers…”

Simon kissed her gently on her neck. “Who knows, maybe I am one…” he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink.

“You’re weird, a runt, and a quack, and nothing more. Before you even touch a hair on my head, I’ll wring your neck. God knows why I love you so much.”

She extricated herself from his grip and threw herself at him. In a tight embrace they rolled across the wet pebbles in the cove. Before long she had pinned Simon to the ground with her knees. The medicus was slender and wirier than he was muscular. At just five feet tall, he was one of the smallest men Magdalena had ever known. He had fine features with bright, alert eyes that always seemed to sparkle mischievously, and a well-trimmed black Vandyke beard. His dark hair was lightly oiled and shoulder-length in accord with the latest fashion. In other respects, as well, Simon was well groomed, though at the moment his appearance was somewhat in disarray.

“I–I give up,” he groaned.

“Oh, no you don’t! First you’re going to swear to me there’s no other woman in your life.”

Simon shook his head. “No-nobody else.”

Magdalena rapped him on the head and rolled down next to him. She’d never quite forgiven him for flirting with the redheaded merchant woman more than two years ago, even though Simon had sworn a dozen times there really hadn’t been anything between them. But the day was just too beautiful to waste quarreling. Together they looked up into the branches of the willows swaying back and forth above their heads in the gentle breeze. For a long time they were silent, listening to the wind rustling in the trees.

After a while Magdalena spoke up. “My father will probably be away for a while.”

The medicus nodded and gazed out at two ducks flapping their wings as they rose from the water. Magdalena had already told him about her father’s trip to visit his ill sister. “What did Lechner have to say about that?” he finally asked. “As the court clerk, he could have simply ordered your father not to leave town-now of all times, in summer when the garbage stinks to high heaven.”

Magdalena laughed. “What was he to do? Father just got up and left. Lechner cursed and swore he’d have him hanged when he came back. It was only then that it occurred to him that my father would have trouble hanging himself.” She sighed. “There will probably be a big fine to pay, and until he comes back, Mother and I will just have to work twice as hard.”

Her eyes took on a dreamy look. “How far away is Regensburg, anyway?” she asked.

“Very far.” Simon grinned as he playfully drew his finger around her belly button. Magdalena was still naked, and droplets of water sparkled on her skin, tanned from her daily trips into the forest to collect herbs.

“Far enough at least that he can’t torment us with his lectures,” the medicus said finally, with a big yawn.

Magdalena flared up. “If there’s a problem, it’s your father who’s always hounding us. Anyway, the purpose for my father’s trip was serious-so stop your silly grinning.”

The hangman’s daughter thought now about the letter from Regensburg that had troubled her father so much. She knew her father had a younger sister in Regensburg, but she never realized how close the two of them had been. Magdalena was only two years old when her aunt fled to Regensburg with a bathhouse owner. They left because of the Great Plague but also because of the daily taunts and hostilities in town. Magdalena had always admired her for her courage.

Silently she threw some pebbles, which skipped a few times before finally being swallowed by the rippling water.

“It’s a mystery to me who’s going to clean up all the garbage in town for the next few weeks in all this hot weather,” she said, more to herself than to Simon. “If the aldermen think I’m going to do it, they have another thing coming. I’d rather spend the rest of the summer in a hole in the ground.”

Simon clapped his hands. “What a great idea! Or we can just stay here in this cove!” He started kissing her cheeks, and Magdalena resisted, though only halfheartedly.

“Stop, Simon! If anyone sees us…”

“Who’s going to see us?” he replied, passing his hand through her wet black hair. “The willows certainly won’t tell on us.”

Magdalena laughed. These few hours spent down at the river or in nearby barns were all they had to show for their love. They’d always dreamed of getting married, but strict town statutes wouldn’t permit that. They’d been courting for years, and their relationship was like a desperate game of hide-and-seek. As the daughter of the hangman, Magdalena wasn’t allowed to associate with the higher classes. Executioners were dishonorable, just like gravediggers, bathhouse owners, barbers, and magicians. Accordingly, marriage to a physician was out of the question, but that didn’t keep the couple from clandestine meetings in the fields and barns around town. In the springtime two years ago, they’d even made a pilgrimage together to Altotting, basically the only longer time they’d been together. In the meantime the affair between the medicus and the hangman’s daughter had become a hot topic of conversation in the Schongau marketplace and taverns. Moreover, Simon’s father, old Bonifaz Fronwieser, was urging his son with increasing insistence to finally settle down with a middle-class girl. That was actually essential in advancing Simon’s career as a doctor, but he kept putting his father off-and meeting secretly with Magdalena.

“Maybe we should go to Regensburg, too,” Simon whispered between kisses. “A serf gains his freedom after living a year and a day in the city. We could start a new life…”

“Oh, come now, Simon.” Magdalena pushed him away. “How often you’ve promised me that! What will become of me, then? Don’t forget I’m dishonorable. I’ll just end up picking up the garbage again, no matter where I am.”

“Nobody knows me there!”

Magdalena shrugged. “And what will I do for work? The cities are full of hungry day laborers and-”

Simon held his finger to her lips. “Just don’t say anything now-let’s forget it all for just a while.” His eyes closed, he bent down and covered her body with kisses.

“Simon… no…” Magdalena whispered, but her resistance was already broken.

At that moment they heard a crackling sound in the willow tree above them.

Magdalena looked up. Something seemed to be moving there in the branches. All of a sudden she felt something warm and slimy hit her and run slowly down her forehead. She put up her hand to feel it and realized it was spit.

She heard giggling and then saw two boys, about twelve years old, quickly climb down the tree. One of them was the youngest son of the alderman and master baker Michael Berchtholdt, with whom Magdalena had often exchanged strong words.

“The doctor is kissing the hangman’s daughter!” the second boy shouted as he ran away. Disgusted, Magdalena wiped the rest of the spit from her forehead. Simon jumped up and shook his fist at the smirking boy.

“You impertinent little brats!” he shouted. “I’m going to break every bone in your bodies!”

“The hangman’s daughter can do that better than you!” cackled the second boy, disappearing into the bush. “Do it on the rack, you scum!”

Then little Berchtholdt stopped short. He turned and looked at Simon defiantly, with clenched teeth, trembling slightly as the medicus charged after him like a madman, his shirt open and his jacket undone.

“It wasn’t me,” he squealed as Simon raised his hand to strike. “It was Benedikt! I swear! Actually, we were just looking for you because-uh-”

Simon had raised his hand to strike the boy when he noticed that young Berchtholdt was staring open-mouthed at the half-naked hangman’s daughter, who was trying to hide as best she could behind a rock while she buttoned up her bodice. The physician gave the boy a gentle poke on the nose strong enough to send the boy reeling backward into the mud.

“Didn’t the priest teach you any sense of decency?” Simon chided. “If you keep staring like that, God will strike you blind. So what are you up to here?”

“My father sent me,” the boy mumbled. “He wants to see the Kuisl girl.”

“Old Berchtholdt?” asked Magdalena, stepping out from behind the rock, now fully dressed. “What could he possibly want from me? Or is he sitting up there somewhere in the tree staring at me, too?”

The Schongau master baker was known around town as a lecherous old philanderer. He’d made a pass at Magdalena some years back and been rebuffed. Since then he’d been spreading gossip that the hangman’s daughter was in league with the devil and had cast a spell on the young medicus. Three years ago the superstitious baker had almost succeeded in having the midwife, Martha Stechlin, burned at the stake for alleged witchcraft-something Magdalena’s father had just barely been able to prevent. Since then Berchtholdt had harbored a deep hatred for the Kuisls and, whenever he could, tried to make life miserable for them.

“It’s on account of his maid, Resl,” the boy said as he continued to stare at Magdalena’s low neckline. “She has a fat stomach and is screaming like crazy.”

“Does she have a child on the way?” Magdalena asked.

Puzzled, the boy just stood there, picking his nose. “No idea. People think the devil has gotten into her. You should have a look, my father says.”

“Aha, so now I’m good enough for him.” She looked at the boy suspiciously. “Doesn’t he want to go see Stechlin?”

“Berchtholdt would rather cut his own guts out than send for the midwife,” interjected Simon, who’d dressed himself in the meantime. “You know, he still thinks Stechlin is a witch and would love to see her burn. Anyway, many people in town think you’re just as good a midwife as she is, maybe even better.”

“Enough of your nonsense!” Magdalena tied her wet hair up into a bun as she continued talking. “I only hope there’s nothing seriously wrong with Berchtholdt’s maid. Now come along, let’s go!”

The hangman’s daughter hurried down the narrow towpath to the Lech Gate, turning around to Simon once more as she ran. “Perhaps we’ll need a professional physician, even if it’s just to go and fetch water.”

As soon as they arrived at the narrow Zankgasse, Magdalena was sure this was no ordinary birth. Through the small bolted windows of the baker’s house the screams sounded more like a cow awaiting slaughter than a woman giving birth. Farmers and workers had come running to the door of the bakery and were whispering anxiously to one another. When Simon and Magdalena approached, the group stepped back reluctantly.

“Here comes the hangman’s daughter to drive the devil out of the baker’s maid,” somebody said.

“I say they’re both witches,” an old woman whispered. “Just wait, and we’ll see them fly out through the chimney.”

Magdalena pushed her way past the gossiping women and tried not to take what they were saying too seriously. As the hangman’s daughter, she was accustomed to people thinking of her as the spawn of Satan, and ever since she started working for the midwife, her reputation had grown even worse. Mostly it was the men who were convinced the hangman’s daughter could prepare magic elixirs and love potions, and in fact, a few of the aldermen had already obtained such preparations from her father. Up to now, however, Magdalena had always refused to swindle people with such nonsense, primarily to avoid arousing even more suspicions about her being the devil’s consort. But to no avail, she had to admit to herself with a sigh.

As the crowd continued whispering and gossiping, she entered the bakery with Simon, where they were received by Michael Berchtholdt, who looked as white as a sheet. As so often, the scrawny little man smelled of brandy, and his eyes were ringed in red circles as if he’d passed a sleepless night. He was rubbing a dry bouquet of mugwort between his fingers to ward off evil spirits. His wife, who was just as skinny, knelt before a crucifix in a corner of the room, murmuring prayers, which were, however, drowned out by the screams of the maid.

Resl Kirchlechner lay by the fire on a bench covered with dirty straw. She writhed in pain as if a fire burned inside her. Her face, hands, and legs were covered with red pustules, and the tips of her fingers had turned a shiny black. Her belly was distended into a little round ball and almost looked like a foreign object on her otherwise spindly body. Magdalena presumed that, until now, the maid had wrapped her dress tightly around herself to conceal the pregnancy.

At just that moment, the young woman sat up as if someone had rammed a broomstick up her back. Her eyes were vacant and her dry lips opened as she let out a long, drawn-out scream.

“He’s in me!” she gasped. “My God, he’s eating through my body and tearing out my soul!” A loud moan followed. “Oh… I can feel his teeth. I can hear his lips smacking as he gnaws through my belly! I want to spit him out like a rotten piece of fruit!” She made a retching sound as if preparing to regurgitate something large and undigested.

“My God, what is that?” Simon asked in horror from the doorway.

“Can’t you see? The devil is in her!” Maria Berchtholdt moaned from the corner of the room, rocking back and forth on her knees and tearing at her hair. “He’s eating her alive from the inside out. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…”

Her prayers turned into a wailing monotone as Michael Berchtholdt stared silently at his maid thrashing around in spasms.

“It looks like Resl took something to abort the child,” Magdalena whispered to Simon so the others couldn’t hear. “Perhaps castoreum, or rue.” All of a sudden she frowned. “Wait-she didn’t…”

Magdalena cautiously approached Resl Kirchlechner and felt the pustules on her arm. When the maid started thrashing around again, the hangman’s daughter jumped back. “I think I know what it is now,” she whispered. “It must be Saint Anthony’s Fire. Resl probably took ergot to abort the child.”

Simon nodded. “I don’t know much about it, but I think you’re right. The pustules… the black fingertips… and then the feverish dreams. Everything points to that. My God, the poor girl…”

Magdalena squeezed his hand and then cursed under her breath. As a midwife, she knew about ergot, a fungus that grew on rye and other kinds of grain and was used now and then to abort a pregnancy. But ergot could be taken only in small doses or it would cause cramps and horrible visions of witches, devils, and demons. The victims’ fingers and toes turned black and finally fell off, and because they felt like they were being burned by fire inside, the sickness was called Saint Anthony’s Fire.

Simon turned to Michael Berchtholdt. “This girl isn’t possessed by the devil,” he replied, pointing to the girl’s swollen belly. “Resl took ergot, and I wonder who might have given it to her.”

“I–I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the master baker stuttered. “It may be that Resl has been fooling around with some young fellow and-”

“No, with Satan!” his wife interrupted. “She’s been carrying on with Satan!”

“Nonsense!” Magdalena whispered softly enough so Berchtholdt couldn’t hear it. She dabbed the face of the screaming maid with a damp cloth and tried to comfort her. But all of a sudden Magdalena couldn’t stand it any longer. Her eyes flashed as she turned around and glared furiously at the baker.

“Nonsense! It’s not Satan,” she growled. “Everybody in town knows that you’ve been running after Resl! Everybody!”

“What are you trying to say?” Michael Berchtholdt asked softly. His facial features looked even sharper than usual. “Are you saying that maybe I-”

“You impregnated your own maid!” Magdalena blurted out. “And so that nobody would find out, you gave her the ergot. That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

Berchtholdt’s face turned beet red. “How dare you talk about me like that, you fresh little hangman’s girl!” he gasped finally. “You’re forgetting that I sit on the city council and all I have to do is to give the word and you Kuisls can pack your things and leave. All it takes is one word from me!”

“Ha! And who will give your wife her little sleeping potion then?” Magdalena jumped up and pointed at the praying Maria Berchtholdt. “How often has she come to my father for a little potion to calm down her husband at home so he will nod off after drinking his wine?”

The baker glared in disbelief at his wife, who looked down at the ground, embarrassed, her hands folded. “Maria, is that right?”

“Quiet!” Simon said. “It’s disgraceful to quarrel like this while the poor girl is probably dying. If we are to help, we at least have to know how much ergot she took and who gave it to her.” He looked at Michael Berchtholdt in desperation. “For God’s sake, say something! Did you give the medication to the girl?”

The master baker remained defiantly silent, but then his wife spoke up in a soft voice. “It’s true,” she whispered. “It would be a lie to say anything else. God help you, Michael! You, and all of us!”

The baker struggled for words but gave in at last. He slumped over, sighing, and ran his hand through his hair, which was thinning and matted with flour. “Well, yes, then, I–I gave it to her,” he stammered. “I–I told her to take it all at once just to make sure it worked.”

“All at once?” Magdalena looked at him in horror. “And how much was that?”

Berchtholdt shrugged. “A little bag, perhaps as large as my fist.”

Simon gripped his forehead and groaned. “Then there’s no way we can save her. All we can do is try to relieve her pain.” With clenched fists he advanced toward Michael Berchtholdt. “Who in God’s name gave you so much ergot?” he shouted. “Who, damn it! What quack?”

The baker retreated toward the doorway and finally mumbled something so softly that Simon couldn’t understand him at first. “It was your father.”

The young medicus stood there dumbfounded. “My father?”

Berchtholdt nodded. “The stuff cost me two guilders, but your father said it was the surest way.”

Simon had trouble speaking. “Did my father at least tell you how much to give her?”

“Actually he didn’t.” The baker shrugged. “He just said it would be better to take too much than too little, just to make sure it worked. So I just gave her all of it.”

Simon was tempted to seize the baker by the throat, but at that moment the maid began to scream again-this time longer and higher pitched than before. Resl reared up so far it seemed her spine would break. Her pale thighs were spread far apart, and the white sheets between them were stained with blood. The next moment the maid slumped down, and a bloody little body the size of a cat fell from the bench onto the floor.

A stillbirth.

Simon rushed over to the maid and felt her neck for a pulse. Her face was now relaxed and peaceful, and her dead eyes appeared to stare down at the bloody straw spread out on the floor. The medicus closed her eyes and laid her out gently on the bench.

“She’s in a better place now,” he mused, making the sign of the cross. “With no more pain, or demons, or people who would do her harm.”

For a moment all was silent, except for the whimpering of the baker’s wife. Finally Michael Berchtholdt came to his senses. He walked over to the fetus still lying on the floor next to the stove, picked it up gingerly, and walked out through the back door into the garden. When he returned a while later, he wiped his muddy hands on his trousers and attempted a slight smile that froze midway in a grimace.

“Resl is dead, and that’s a shame,” he said in a soft voice. “I’ll see to it that she gets a decent burial in Saint Sebastian’s Cemetery with a priest, funeral meal, and all the trappings. I’ll also see that her parents are taken care of financially. As for everything else-” He gave an embarrassed smile. “-we don’t want word to get around that the devil possessed our maid. That could end badly. And as the young physician here can certainly attest, Resl had a high fever-that can lead to bad dreams, can’t it?” The baker looked at Simon expectantly.

“You don’t seriously believe that-” the medicus began, but Berchtholdt raised his hand, interrupting him.

“I know your house calls are expensive. How much? Tell me-five guilders? Ten? How much do you ask?” He pulled a trunk out from behind the table and began to rummage through it.

“Just keep your money and choke on it!” Magdalena shouted, slamming the lid closed on Berchtholdt’s fingers. He pulled them out, whining and clenching his teeth. His wife looked back and forth from one to the other as if they were ghosts. Simon assumed the shock was too much for her. Maria Berchtholdt had decided to withdraw into her own world.

“I’m going to tell everyone-everyone! — that you jumped on your maid like a randy old goat and let her die of ergot poisoning,” the hangman’s daughter whispered. “It’s always we women who are expected to pay for men’s lechery. Well, not this time!”

The baker’s little weasel eyes took on a glassy sheen. “Aha, and who is going to believe you?” he asked. “A hangman’s daughter and the horny son of an army doctor. What a pair! Go on, go and tell the people, and I promise I’ll make your life hell!”

“My life is hell already.” Magdalena turned to go and beckoned Simon to follow.

With a facetious bow the medicus took leave of the alderman and master baker Michael Berchtholdt. “If the hemorrhoids in your ass itch or your bowels get plugged up,” Simon said in a cloying tone, “you know where you can find me.”

They walked out together and were met by a group of curious onlookers. Behind them they could still hear Michael Berchtholdt’s muffled cries and shrill curses. Magdalena stopped for a moment and looked into the faces of the bystanders, who were staring back at them with expressions of disapproval and disgust.

A hangman’s daughter and the horny son of an army doctor. What a pair…

Magdalena was no longer certain anyone would believe them. The farmers and workers moved aside to make way for them, as if they had some infectious disease.

As Magdalena and Simon headed down toward the Lech Gate, they could feel the looks directed at their backs for a long time.