The Hangman’s Daughter

CHAPTER 12

SUNDAY APRIL 29, A.D. 1659 SIX O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING

Slowly dusk settled over the town. Roads and fields still lay in the sunlight, but beneath the thick foliage of oaks and beeches evening had already arrived. Shadows gradually spread into a clearing in the forest where four men sat round a crackling fire. Above the fire, a spit with two rabbits was turning. Grease dropped onto the embers and gave off a smell that made their mouths water. They had eaten nothing all day except a few mouthfuls of bread and some wild plants and were accordingly in an irritable mood.

“How much longer must we sit on our backsides in this damned place?” grumbled one of them, turning the spit. “Let’s go over to France. The war’s still going on over there and they’re looking for people like us.”

“And what about the money, eh?” asked a second man, who was lolling about on the mossy forest ground. “Fifty guilders he promised us for destroying the building site. And another fifty once Braunschweiger got rid of those little bastards. Up to now we’ve only seen about a quarter of the money. And that, even though we have fulfilled our part of the bargain.”

He glanced over at a man who was leaning against a tree a short distance away, but the man didn’t even look up. He was busy doing something with his hand. Something didn’t seem to be right about it, for he squeezed, massaged, and kneaded it. On his head he wore a broad-brimmed hat with a few colorful rooster’s feathers. His clothing consisted of a bloodred doublet, a black coat, and two worn, hip-high leather boots. In contrast to the others, he wore his beard carefully trimmed, so that a pale face with a hooked nose and a long scar was visible above it. He was short, wiry, and muscular.

At last he seemed to be contented with his hand. He smiled, then held it up so that it shone white in the light of the fire. His arm, from the elbow to the fingertips, was composed of pieces of bone held together by copper wires passed through holes drilled in the bone. It looked like the hand of a corpse. Not until now did the devil look over at his companions.

“What did you just say?” he asked quietly.

The soldier by the fire swallowed nervously but continued speaking. “I said that we have done our part. You insisted on killing the little brats yourself. Now they’re still running around free, and we are still waiting for our money…” He looked cautiously at the man with the bony hand.

“Three are dead,” whispered the devil. “The other two are somewhere around here. Don’t worry, I’ll find them.”

“Yes, when the fall comes,” laughed the third man by the fire as he carefully pulled the rabbits off the spit. “But I’m not going to hang around here that long. I’m leaving, and I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ve just about had enough of this, and I’ve had more than enough of you!” He spat toward the tree.

The devil ran over to the man and in a twinkling of an eye had snatched the iron spit from his hand. He held the iron to the soldier’s throat, his face only inches from the other man’s. When the soldier swallowed, the red-hot point of the spit touched his Adam’s apple. He uttered a loud scream, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his neck.

“You stupid bastards!” hissed the devil, without withdrawing the spit as much as a hair’s breadth. “Who got you this job anyway, hey? Who got you grub and booze up till now? Without me you would have starved to death long ago, or you’d be dangling from some tree. I’ll get those little bastards yet, don’t you worry, and until then we are staying here! It would be a pity to lose the money!”

“Let go of Andre, Braunschweiger!” The second man by the fire stood up slowly. He was tall and broad shouldered, and there was a scar across his face. He drew his saber and pointed it in the devil’s direction. Only by looking closely could you see the fear in his eyes. His sword hand trembled slightly.

“We’ve stuck with you long enough,” he hissed. “Your cruelties, your thirst for blood, your torturing, they make me sick! You shouldn’t have killed the boy! Now we have the whole town looking for us!”

The devil whom they called Braunschweiger shrugged his shoulders. “He overheard us, just like the others. He would have betrayed us, and then that lovely money would have been lost. Anyway…” He grinned broadly. “They’re not looking for us. They think a witch killed the children, and perhaps tomorrow they’ll burn her. So then, Hans, put away your saber. Let’s not quarrel.”

“First you’ll put down that spit you have pointed at Andre,” whispered the man called Hans. Not for one second did the muscular soldier let the smaller man out of his sight. He knew how dangerous Braunschweiger could be, in spite of his rather diminutive size. He could probably slice all three of them to pieces right here in the clearing before they could strike a single blow at him.

With a smile, the devil lowered the spit. “Fine,” he said. “Then I can tell you at last about my discovery.”

“Discovery? What discovery?” asked the third man, who had been lying expectantly in the patch of moss up till then. His name was Christoph Holzapfel, and he was, like the other three men, a former soldier. They had been traveling about together for nearly two years, living on murder, robbery, and arson. They could not remember the last time they’d been paid. They were always on the run, no better than hunted animals. But deep inside them there still glowed a spark of decency, something left over from the bedtime stories their mothers had told them and the prayers that the village priest had drummed into their heads. And each of them felt instinctively that in the man they called Braunschweiger this spark of decency was missing. He was as cold as his bony hand that had been made for him after an amputation. Although it couldn’t wield a weapon, it was a useful substitute for one. It instilled fear and horror, and that was what Braunschweiger liked best.

“What discovery are you talking about?” Christoph Holzapfel repeated his question.

The devil smiled. He knew that he had the upper hand again. He stretched out on the moss, tore a leg off the rabbit, and kept talking while nibbling on the leg. “I followed Moneybags. I wanted to know what he intended to do at the building site. He was there again last night, and I was, as well.” He wiped the grease from his lips.

“And?” Andre asked impatiently.

“He was looking for something. Something that must be hidden there.”

“A treasure?”

The devil shrugged. “Maybe. But you want to leave, so I’ll just look for it myself.”

Hans Hohenleitner grinned. “Braunschweiger, you’re the biggest bloodsucker and swine I’ve ever met, but at least you’re a clever swine.”

A sudden noise made them turn round. The snapping of twigs, quiet but not quiet enough for four experienced soldiers. Braunschweiger signaled to them to keep silent, then he slipped into the bushes. A short time afterward they heard a cry, then groaning, panting, and branches crackling. The devil dragged a struggling form into the clearing. When he threw it down by the fire, the soldiers saw that it was the man they were supposed to be working for.

“I was coming to you,” he groaned. “What’s gotten into you to treat me like this?”

“Why did you creep up like that, Moneybags?” Christoph grumbled.

“I…I didn’t creep up on you. I have to talk to you. I need your help. You must help me to look for something. This very night. I can’t do it alone.”

For a time there was silence.

“Will we share?” asked Braunschweiger at last.

“Half for you, word of honor.”

Then he told them shortly what he intended to do.

The soldiers nodded. Their leader had been right once again. They would follow him. They could speak later about the sharing.

Martha Stechlin emerged from her swoon, and the pain hit her like a blow. They had crushed all her fingers and inserted splinters with burning sulfur under her fingernails. The midwife had smelled her own flesh burning. But she had remained silent. Again and again Lechner had questioned her and written all the questions word for word in his record of proceedings.

Whether she had murdered the boys Peter Grimmer, Anton Kratz, and Johannes Strasser? Whether she had scratched a devilish sign in the skin of the innocent children? Whether she had burned down the Stadel? Whether she had taken part in witches’ dances and procured other women for the devil? Whether she had put a fatal spell on baker Berchtholdt’s calf?

Her answer was always no. Even when Jakob Kuisl put the leg screws on her, she remained firm. At the end, when the witnesses had withdrawn with a carafe of wine for a short consultation, the hangman came quite close to her and whispered in her ear. “Stay strong, Martha! Say nothing. It’ll soon be over.”

The officials in fact decided not to continue the questioning until the following morning. Since then she had been lying in her cell, half awake and half asleep. Now and then she heard the church bells. Even Georg Riegg in the neighboring cell had stopped his nagging. It was shortly before midnight.

In spite of her pain and fear, Martha Stechlin tried to think. From what the hangman had said and from the questioning and accusations, she tried to form a picture of what had happened. Three children had died and two were missing. All had been with her on the night before the first murder. Jakob Kuisl told her of the strange sign they had found on the bodies. Her mandrake was missing too. Someone must have stolen it.

Who?

She drew the sign with a finger in the dust on the floor of the prison and immediately wiped it away, fearing that someone could discover her doing it. Then she drew it once again.

It was indeed one of the witches’ signs. Who had scratched it on the children? Who knew about it?

Who is the real witch in the town?

Suddenly she had a dreadful suspicion. She rubbed the sign out and then drew it slowly for the third time. Could it possibly be true?

In spite of her pain she couldn’t help laughing to herself. It was so simple. It had been right in front of her the whole time, and she had failed to see it.

The circle with the cross under it…a witches’ sign…

A stone struck her in the middle of the forehead. For a moment everything went black before her eyes.

“Got you, witch!” Georg Riegg’s voice rang through the prison. She could see him indistinctly in the darkness behind the bars on the other side of the chamber, his hand still raised. Near him the imprisoned watchman from the raft landing was snoring. “What the hell is there to laugh at? It’s your fault that we’re stuck in here. Admit it, you set fire to the Stadel and killed the children. Then we’ll have peace in the town at last! You stubborn old sorceress! What are those signs you are drawing there?”

Another stone, big as a fist, struck her on the right ear. She sank to the ground, desperately trying to wipe away the sign again, but her hands would no longer obey her. She started to feel faint, then everything turned black.

The real witch…Must tell Kuisl…Let him know…

The clock in the church tower struck midnight as Martha Stechlin, bleeding, slumped down onto the prison floor. She no longer heard Georg Riegg, still scolding, calling for the watch.

The bell of the town parish church boomed over the roofs of Schongau. It struck twelve times, as two figures, wrapped in their coats, made their way through the mist on their way to the cemetery of Saint Sebastian. Jakob Kuisl had bribed the watchman at the Lech Gate with a bottle of brandy. To Alois, the old night watchman, it was a matter of indifference what the hangman and the young physician were doing out on the streets at this time. And the April nights were cold, so a swig or two of brandy would do him good. So he waved them in and shut the gate carefully behind them. He raised the bottle to his mouth, and immediately the brandy spread a comforting warmth in his stomach.

Once inside the town, the hangman and physician chose the narrow unfrequented way through the Hennengasse. No burgher was permitted out of doors at this time. It was rather unlikely they’d come across one of the two night watchmen, but nevertheless they avoided the market square and the broad Munzstrasse, where during the day and evening most people congregated.

They carried their lanterns under their coats so that there would be no light to attract attention and they would be completely enveloped in the darkness. A few times, Simon tripped against the curb or on piles of garbage left in the street and nearly fell. He cursed under his breath. When once again he stepped into the contents of a chamber pot and was about to let loose a whole string of curses, the hangman turned to him and gripped his shoulder hard.

“Be quiet, for God’s sake! Or do you want the whole neighborhood to know we’re grave robbers?”

Simon swallowed his anger and felt his way on through the darkness. In faraway Paris, he had heard, whole streets were illuminated with lanterns, and at night the whole city was a sea of light. He sighed. It would be many years before people could walk the streets of Schongau after dark without treading into a pile of excrement or banging into the wall of a house. He staggered on, swearing under his breath.

Neither he nor the hangman noticed that a figure was following them at a little distance. It paused at the corners of houses, ducked into niches, and did not creep on farther until the hangman and the physician had resumed their way.

At last Simon saw a flickering light in front of him. Candlelight shone through the windows of Saint Sebastian’s Church, a votive candle left burning at this late hour. The light was just enough for them to see where they were. Next to the church was a heavy iron gate that led to the cemetery. Jakob Kuisl tried the rusty handle and swore. The verger had done his work well; the gate was locked.

“We’ll have to climb over,” he whispered. He threw the small spade, which he had carried with him under his coat, to the other side. Then he pulled himself up the six-foot wall and let himself down on the other side. Simon heard a soft thud. Taking a deep breath, he then pulled his own rather lanky body up onto the wall. Stones and masonry scraped against his expensive doublet, but at last he was sitting astride the wall and looking down into the cemetery below. Small candles were burning by the graves of rich burghers, but otherwise crosses and grave mounds could be seen only indistinctly. In a corner at the back, against the town wall, stood a small charnel house.

At this moment a light appeared in a house across the way in the Hennengasse. The shutters squeaked as they opened outward. Simon let himself down from the wall and with a stifled cry landed on a freshly made grave mound. He looked up cautiously. A housemaid appeared in the illuminated window opening and tossed out the contents of a chamber pot. She did not appear to have noticed him. A short time later the shutters were closed again. Simon shook the damp earth from his doublet. At least he had fallen softly.

The figure that had followed them hid in the archway and watched the two men in the cemetery from there.

The cemetery of Saint Sebastian was located directly by the town wall and had been laid out only a short time before. Plague and war had seen to it that the old graveyard near the town parish church was no longer sufficient for the town’s needs. Grass and thorny shrubs grew in many places, and between them a muddy footpath led to the individual graves. It was only the rich who could afford a single grave with a carved stone. Their graves lay directly by the wall. Elsewhere crooked wooden crosses stuck up all over the broad field of the cemetery above shapeless mounds of earth. On most of these crosses several names were inscribed. Burials came cheaper if you shared the limited space in the ground with others.

A mound on the right near the charnel house still looked quite fresh. Yesterday morning, after being laid out for two days at their homes, Peter Grimmer and Anton Kratz had been buried. The ceremony was short-the town authorities did not want to risk further disturbances. A Latin prayer from the priest with only the family present, a bit of incense, and a few comforting words, and then the relatives were sent home. For Peter Grimmer and Anton Kratz a common grave was all the families could afford: neither had enough money for an individual burial.

Jakob Kuisl had trudged on ahead with his spade in hand. He stopped near the cross, looking thoughtfully at the names of the dead.

“Johannes will be lying here soon. Sophie and Clara, as well, if we don’t hurry.”

He took the spade and drove it deep into the soil. Simon crossed himself and looked anxiously across at the dark houses in the Hennengasse. “Is this really necessary?” he whispered. “That is desecration of the dead! If we’re caught, you can reckon on having to torture yourself and light your own fire at the stake!”

“Stop talking and help me.”

Jakob Kuisl pointed to the charnel house that had been dedicated only a few weeks before. A shovel was leaning near the door. Simon, shaking his head, took the tool and began to dig next to the hangman. To be safe he crossed himself once more. He was not particularly superstitious, but if God was going to punish anybody with a thunderbolt, then surely it would be someone who dug up the bodies of dead children.

“We won’t have to go down very deep,” whispered Jakob Kuisl. “The grave was almost full.”

After only a few feet they did in fact find a layer of white lime. Under it appeared a small coffin and something wrapped in a bundle of linen, also small.

“I might have known it!” The hangman struck the spade against the stiff little bundle. “They didn’t even get a coffin for Anton Kratz. And the family does have enough money. But the orphans, you can just shove them into a pit like dead animals!”

He shook his head, then lifted the bundle and the coffin with his strong arms and put them on the grass beside the grave. In his huge hands the child’s coffin looked almost like a little tool chest.

“Here!” He held out a scrap of cloth to Simon. “Tie that around your head, they’ll certainly stink pretty bad.” Simon wrapped the cloth around his head and saw the hangman start to work with his hammer and chisel. One by one, he pried the nails out. A short time afterward the lid fell to the side.

Simon picked up his knife and slit the linen sack open lengthwise. Immediately a sickly sweet odor spread out, causing the physician to retch. He had seen many dead bodies in his time and smelled them, too, but these two boys had been dead for more than three days. In spite of the cloth around his face, the stench was so strong that he had to turn aside. He raised the cloth a bit and vomited, then he wiped his mouth, coughing. When he turned around again, the hangman grinned at him.

“I thought as much!”

“What?” Simon inquired in a rasping voice. He looked down at the dead children, who were covered all over with black spots. A wood louse scampered over little Peter’s face.

Contentedly Kuisl took out his pipe and lit it by the light of the lantern. After taking two deep puffs, he pointed to the fingers of the corpses. When Simon still did not react, he poked under Anton Kratz’s fingernails with the point of his knife, then held the blade out for the physician to smell. Simon could make out nothing at first, but when he held the lantern very close to the knife he could see some fine red soil on the point.

He looked questioningly at the hangman.

“So?”

Jakob Kuisl held the knife so close to Simon’s nose that he was frightened and retreated a step.

“Well, can’t you see, you dunce?” hissed the hangman. “The soil is red! It’s the same with Peter and Johannes. All three dead children had scraped about in red soil before they died. And what kind of soil is red? Well? Which soil is red?”

Simon swallowed before he spoke.

“Clay…clay is red,” he whispered.

“And where around here is so much clay that you can bury yourself in it?”

The answer hit Simon like a blow. It was as if two broken parts had come together.

“The pit by the brick kiln just behind the tanners’ quarter! Where all the clay tiles come from! Then…then is the children’s hiding place there, perhaps?”

Jakob Kuisl puffed on his pipe and blew the smoke directly into Simon’s face, so that Simon had to cough. But at least the smoke covered the smell of the corpses.

“Smart quack,” said Kuisl and slapped the coughing Simon on the shoulder.

“And that is exactly where we’re going now, to pay the kids a visit.”

Hastily the hangman filled the grave in again. Then he seized the spade and the lantern and ran to the wall of the cemetery. He was just about to heave his heavy body up the stone wall, when a figure appeared on top of the wall. It stuck out its tongue at him.

“Ha, caught you at grave robbing! You look like the Grim Reaper in person, only a bit fatter.”

“Magdalena, damn it, I-”

Jakob Kuisl snatched at his daughter’s leg, intending to pull her down to him, but with a quick movement she jumped to one side and strutted along the wall. Disdainfully, she looked down on the two grave robbers.

“I figured you would go to the cemetery. Nobody puts one over on me! Well, Father? Did you find the same dirt under the boys’ fingernails as with Johannes?”

The hangman looked angrily across to Simon. “Did you tell?”

The physician held up his hands trying to calm him down. “I never! I only told her about poor Johannes…and that you had examined the fingernails very closely.”

“You idiot! You must not tell women anything, above all my daughter. She’s too good at reading between the lines and figuring things out.”

Jakob Kuisl tried once more to grab Magdalena’s leg, but she was already a few steps farther on, balancing on the wall toward the church. The hangman hurried after her.

“Come down from there at once! You’ll wake up the whole neighborhood, and then all hell will break loose!” he whispered hoarsely.

Magdalena grinned down at her father. “I’ll come down, but only if you tell me what you’ve found out up to now. I’m not stupid, you know that, Father. I can help you.”

“Yes, but come down first,” growled Jakob Kuisl.

“Promise?”

“Yes, damn it.”

“Do you swear by the Blessed Virgin?”

“By all the saints and devils, if I must!”

Magdalena jumped down from the wall and landed directly in front of Simon. The hangman raised his hand threateningly, but then let it drop with a sigh.

“And one more thing,” Magdalena whispered. “The next time you are standing in front of a locked gate, just look round a bit. Sometimes you can find things.” She held a big shiny key in her hand.

“Where did you get that?” Simon asked.

“Out of a little hole in the archway. Mother always hides her key in the wall too.”

Deftly, she put the key in the keyhole, turned it once, and with a little squeak the iron gate opened. Without speaking, the hangman pushed past his daughter and hurried in the direction of the Lech Gate.

“Come on!” he hissed. “There isn’t much time!”

Simon had to grin. Then he took Magdalena’s hand and hurried after him.

Sophie held her breath as once again steps passed quite close to her hiding place. She could hear the voices from where she was hiding with Clara, who in the meantime was sleeping peacefully. Since her last attack of fever at noon, Clara’s breathing had steadily become more regular, and it seemed she was on the way to recovery. Sophie envied Clara for sleeping. She herself had hardly been able to close her eyes for four nights. She was tortured by the fear of discovery, and now once more she could hear footsteps and voices. Men were walking overhead and appeared to be looking for something. But they were not the same men as last time.

“There’s no point in doing this, Braunschweiger! We can keep on digging until hell freezes over. The field is much too big!”

“Shut your mouth and keep on looking. There’s a lot of money somewhere around here and I’m not going to let it rot.”

The voices were now directly above her. Sophie held her breath, surprised. She knew one of them. Fear crept slowly from her stomach to her throat, and she was only barely able to keep from screaming.

Another man called out to the first two from a bit farther away. “Have you looked in the chapel? It must be here somewhere! Look for some way in, a hole, a loose flagstone perhaps…”

“We’ll do that in a minute!” said the voice above her. Then it suddenly became quieter. The man seemed to be speaking to the one standing near him. “That lazy dog Moneybags! Sits there under the linden tree and thinks he has to play the supervisor. But just wait. As soon as we’ve found the treasure, I’ll cut his throat myself and sprinkle the blood all around the chapel!”

Sophie pressed her hands to her mouth. She had almost cried out loud. She also recognized the second, more distant voice, the man under the linden. She would never forget either of them.

She remembered.

“Little brat, why was he eavesdropping on us? Now the fish are drinking his blood. Let’s look for the others…”

“Holy Mother of God, did you have to do that? Did you really have to do that? Look at the bloody mess! They’ll be looking for the boy!”

“Oh, nonsense. The river’ll wash that away. We’d better catch the others. They mustn’t escape us.”

“But…they’re only children!”

“Children can tell stories. Do you want them to give you away? Is that what you want?”

“No…of course not.”

“Then don’t make such a fuss. Miserable Moneybags, earning your money with blood but unable to look at it. That’s going to cost you something!”

Miserable Moneybags… Sophie breathed more rapidly. The devil was there, right above them. He had caught three of them, and only she and Clara were left. And now he would catch them.

There was no escape. Surely he could smell them.

“Wait a minute-I have an idea where the treasure could be,” called the voice. “How would it be if…”

At this moment there was a scream outside, and farther away someone groaned in pain.

A little later all hell broke loose. Sophie put her hands to her ears and hoped it was all just a bad dream.

Simon cursed as he slipped once more on the boggy ground of the clay pit and fell into the red mud. His hose was smeared all over with clay and his boots got stuck in it so firmly that he had trouble extricating himself. The hangman and his daughter stood at the edge of the pit and looked questioningly down at him.

“Well?” Jakob Kuisl called down into the pit. His face was lit by a torch so that it glowed as a point of light in the otherwise complete darkness. “Any hollows or niches?”

Simon managed to shake the largest clumps of dirt from his doublet. “Nothing! Not even a mouse hole.” Once again he held up the torch and looked around the pit. The torch let him see just a few yards. All else was swallowed up in darkness. “Children, can you hear me?” he shouted once again. “If you are here any where, let us know! It’s all right. We are on your side!”

Only the noise of a thin stream of water could be heard, otherwise there was silence.

“Damn it!” grumbled Simon. “What a stupid idea, to go looking for the children in the clay pit in the middle of the night! My boots are two slimy clods of dirt, and I might as well throw my doublet away!”

Jakob Kuisl grinned as he heard the young physician cursing.

“Don’t make such a fuss. You know very well that time is short. Let’s have a look in the tile kiln.”

He held the ladder steady while Simon clambered up over the slippery rungs. When he reached the top, Magdalena’s face appeared in front of him. She held the torch so that it shone right in his eyes.

“You do look rather…beaten up,” she giggled. “Why did you keep falling over on your nose?”

With the corner of her apron she wiped the clay from Simon’s forehead. It was useless. The colored soil stuck to his face like paint. Magdalena smiled.

“Perhaps I’ll let you keep a bit of the dirt on your face. You’re a bit too pale around the nose anyway.”

“You be quiet. Otherwise I’ll start asking myself why it was me who had to climb down into this damned pit.”

“Because you are young, and a few tumbles in the mud won’t hurt you,” came the hangman’s voice. “Anyway, you would hardly expect a young, delicate girl to climb down into such a filthy hole.”

Jakob Kuisl had already strolled over to the kiln. The building stood at the edge of a clearing with the forest directly behind it. Kindling wood was piled up in six-foot stacks all over the clearing. The building itself was constructed of solid stone, and a tall chimney came out of the center of the roof. The kiln was situated between the forest and the river and was a good two furlongs from the tanners’ quarter. To the west Simon could now and then see lights from lanterns or torches in the town. Otherwise the darkness around them was complete.

The tile kiln was one of Schongau’s most important buildings. After a few devastating fires in the past, the burghers were now required by law to build their houses with stone and roof them with tile rather than straw. Also, the craftsmen of the stovemakers’ guild fetched their raw materials from here for the manufacture of earthenware products and stoves. During the day, thick smoke almost continually covered the clearing. There was a constant coming and going, with oxcarts transporting the tiles to Altenstadt, Peiting, or Rottenbuch. But now, at night, there was not a soul about. The heavy door leading to the interior of the kiln was shut. Jakob Kuisl walked along the front of the building until he found a window whose shutters hung crooked on their hinges. With a determined tug he ripped off the right-hand shutter and held the torch in to illuminate the interior.

“Children, don’t be afraid!” he called into the dark room. “It’s me, Kuisl from the tanners’ quarter. I know you had nothing to do with the murders.”

“You really think they’ll come out when the hangman calls them?” hissed Magdalena. “Let me in. They’ll not be afraid of me.”

She tucked up her skirt and climbed into the building over the low windowsill.

“A torch,” she whispered.

Without a word Simon passed her his torch. Then she disappeared into the darkness. From listening to her steps the two men could hear how she tiptoed from room to room. At last they could hear the creaking of boards. Magdalena was walking up the stairs.

“The devil’s in that girl,” growled the hangman, sucking his cold pipe. “She’s like her mother, just as stubborn and cheeky. Time she got married and had somebody to keep her mouth shut.”

The physician wanted to reply, but at that moment a crash and a scream were heard above.

“Magdalena!” cried Simon and clambered into the interior, where he landed painfully on the stone floor.

He arose at once, took the torch in his hand, and ran in the direction of the stairs. The hangman followed him. They crossed the room with the kiln and rushed up the stairs to the attic. It smelled of smoke and ashes.

When they arrived upstairs, the air was full of red dust, so that in spite of the torch they could hardly see anything. From the corner on the right they could hear someone groaning quietly. As the dust was slowly settling, Simon could see broken tiles heaped and scattered all over the floor. Along the walls more tiles were piled up to the ceiling. In one place there was a gap. Several hundredweight of burnt clay must have fallen to the floor there. Under a particularly large heap something moved.

“Magdalena!” cried Simon. “Are you all right?”

Magdalena stood up, a red ghost, covered from tip to toe with fine tile dust.

“I think…I’m all right now,” she coughed. “I wanted to push some tiles away. I thought there might be a hiding place behind here.” She had to cough again. Simon and the hangman were now covered with the fine red dust too.

Jakob Kuisl shook his head. “Something’s not right,” he grumbled. “I’ve missed something. The red dirt…it was under their fingernails all right! But the children are not here. Where are they then?”

“Where do they take the tiles to?” asked Magdalena, who meanwhile had brushed herself off as well as she could and was sitting on a pile of broken tiles. “Perhaps the children are there?”

The hangman shook his head again. “That wasn’t brick dust under their fingernails. That was red clay, damp clay. They must have dug in it. Where else is there so much clay?”

Suddenly a thought flashed through Simon’s mind.

“The building site!” he cried. “At the building site!”

The hangman looked up, startled. “What did you say?”

“The leper house, the building site!” repeated Simon. “There were big heaps of clay there. They used it to plaster the walls!”

“Simon’s right!” Magdalena cried and jumped up from the heap of tiles. “I myself have seen the workers with their carts taking clay there. The leper house is the only large building site in Schongau at the moment!”

The hangman kicked a tile against the wall, where it broke into small pieces.

“My God, you’re right! How could I be so stupid as to forget the building site? We were there ourselves and saw the clay!”

He hurried down the stairs. “To the leper house, quickly!” he called as he was running. “Pray God that it isn’t too late!”

From the kiln to the Hohenfurch Road it was a good half hour’s brisk walk. The shortest way was through the forest. Jakob Kuisl chose a narrow path, which resembled a track for animals more than anything. The moonbeams broke only occasionally through the dense pine trees, otherwise an almost impenetrable blackness reigned. It was a mystery to Simon how the hangman managed to find the way. Together with Magdalena he stumbled along, guided by the hangman’s torch. Again and again pine branches struck them in the face. Now and then Simon thought he could hear a cracking of branches in the underbrush nearby. But his own breathing was too loud for him to say definitely if it was his imagination or real footsteps. After just a short time he began to breathe heavily. It was like a few days ago, when he was fleeing from the devil, and he noticed how out of condition he was for such running through the forest. He was a physician, damn it-not a huntsman or a soldier! Magdalena ran on, light-footed, alongside him and because of her he tried not to let it show.

Suddenly they exited the forest and stood out in the open on a field of stubble. The hangman paused to get his bearings, then ran to the left along the edge of the field. “Head east, and then take a sharp right at the oaks!” he called to them. “We’re almost there!” Soon indeed they passed a grove of oak trees and finally stood at the edge of a larger clearing. They could recognize shadowy outlines of buildings. They had arrived at the building site.

Simon halted, panting. Twigs, burrs, and pine needles clung to his coat. He had lost his hat somewhere in the pine thickets. “Next time you take a run through the forest, let me know ahead of time,” he groaned, “so I put on something suitable. That hat cost half a florin, and my boots-”

“Shhh.” The hangman held his big hand over Simon’s mouth. “Stop babbling. Look over there.”

He pointed to the outlines of the building site. Small points of light were moving here and there, and they could hear bits of conversation that drifted over to them.

“We’re not the only ones,” whispered Jakob Kuisl. “I can count four or five torches. And I’ll bet my backside that our friend is here also.”

“You mean, the man you ran after last time?” whispered Magdalena.

The hangman nodded. “The same who almost slit Simon’s throat. The one they call the devil. But this time we’ll get him.” He motioned to the physician to come over. “The torches are spread out all over the site,” he said. “They seem to be looking for something.”

“But what?” Simon asked.

The hangman grinned broadly. “We’re soon going to find out.” He picked a heavy oak branch up from the ground, broke off the twigs, and cradled it in his hand. “We’ll take them singly, one by one.”

“We?”

“Sure.” The hangman nodded. “I can’t do it alone. There are too many. Have you got your knife on you?”

Simon fumbled at his belt. Then, trembling, he pulled out his stiletto, which flashed in the moonlight.

“Good,” growled Kuisl. “Magdalena, you run back to the town and wake Lechner at the castle. Tell him that the building site is being destroyed again. We need help, as quickly as possible.”

“But-” The hangman’s daughter was about to protest.

“No argument, or you’ll marry the hangman from Steingaden tomorrow morning. And now, run!”

Magdalena pouted. But then she vanished into the shadows of the forest.

The hangman gave a signal to Simon and ran, bent over, along the edge of the wood. Simon hurried after him. After about two hundred paces they came across a pile of tree trunks that the workers had deposited near the forest’s edge. The pile reached some distance into the clearing. Using the cover of the trunks, the hangman and the physician crept closer to the half-finished building. Now they could see that there were in fact five men, who appeared to be searching for something with lanterns and torches. One man sat on a boulder near the linden tree in the middle of the clearing, two were leaning by the well, and the other two were in other parts of the site.

“I’m getting tired of freezing my behind off here in the dark!” shouted one of the men, who was inside a big square of walls. “We’ve been searching here almost all night now. Let’s come back again tomorrow, by daylight!”

“In the daytime the place is swarming with workers, you idiot,” hissed one of the men by the well. “Why do you think we’re doing all this at night? Why did we knock everything down after sunset? We’ll go on looking, and if Moneybags has lied to us and there’s nothing buried here, then I’ll smash his skull on this well like a raw egg!”

Simon pricked his ears. Something, then, was buried there. But what?

The hangman nudged him on the shoulder.

“We can’t wait any longer for the bailiffs,” he whispered. “We don’t know how much longer they’ll stay here. I’m going to run over to that side wall and get one of them. You stay here. If you see anyone coming toward me, whistle like a jaybird. Can you do that?”

Simon shook his head.

“Damn it, then just whistle as best you can. They won’t notice it.”

Jakob Kuisl looked round for the last time, then hurried with long strides toward the wall and took cover behind it. The men had noticed nothing.

More shouting could be heard, now farther away, so that Simon found it increasingly difficult to understand them. He saw that the hangman, stooping, ran along the side of the wall, directly toward the man inside the square, who was trying to pry up the flagstones with a wooden stick. Jakob Kuisl was only a few strides away from him. Suddenly the man turned round. Something had aroused his attention. The hangman let himself fall to the ground. Simon blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, the darkness had swallowed Jakob.

He was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard a sound in front of him. The second man, who had been walking around the site, was suddenly standing right before him. He looked just as surprised as Simon was. The man had evidently been looking for a hiding place on the far side of the pile of logs. Now he had turned the corner and stumbled right into Simon.

“What the devil?”

More he could not say, for Simon had seized a stick and had struck the man’s legs from under him. The man fell over on his side. Before he could pick himself up, Simon was upon him pummeling him with his fists. The face of his adversary was bearded and scarred, and the blows seemed to bounce off him as if from a rock. With a sudden movement he grabbed the physician, held him up for a second, and flung him forward. At the same time he raised his right hand to strike a blow.

He hit Simon on the side of the head, and Simon fainted. When he came to, the man was sitting on his chest and throttling him with both hands, while his face was contorted into an ugly grin. Simon saw the rotten stumps of teeth and beard stubble, red, brown, and black like a mown field in October. Blood was dripping on him from the man’s nose. Simon saw every detail with a clarity as never before. In vain he struggled for air, he felt that he was nearing his end. Scraps of thoughts and memories whirled wildly through his head.

Must pull…the knife…from the belt.

He fumbled for his knife even as he started to lose consciousness again. At last he found the hilt. Just before he lapsed into final unconsciousness he drew out the stiletto and lunged. He felt the blade slide into something soft.

A scream brought Simon back to the present. He rolled quickly to one side, gasping for air. The bearded man lay near him, rubbing his thigh. Blood was spreading over his hose. Simon had wounded him in the leg, but it was obvious the injury was not severe. The man was looking at him already and grinning. He drew himself up, ready to attack again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a stone lying on the ground and bent over to pick it up. For one moment his face was turned away, and in this moment Simon threw himself on him with the knife. The man cried out in astonishment. He had expected the weedy-looking youth to just run away, and this sudden attack surprised him. Now Simon sat astride his opponent’s broad chest, holding his knife in his raised right hand, poised to attack. Beneath him the man’s eyes filled with terror. When he opened his mouth to scream again, Simon knew that he had to strike immediately. He could not risk the man being heard by the others. He felt the hilt in his hand, the hard wood, the sweat on his fingers. He felt the man writhing under him, looking certain death in the eyes.

Simon noticed his arm becoming as heavy as lead. He…could not strike. He had never killed. That was a threshold he couldn’t cross.

“Ambush!” screamed the man under him. “Here I am, here behind the pile of logs…”

The oak cudgel whizzed right past Simon and struck the man in the middle of the forehead. The second blow crushed the skull and blood and white matter oozed out. The face changed to a bloody mush. A strong hand pulled Simon off the body.

“Damn! Why didn’t you finish him off before he began to scream? Now they know where we are.”

The hangman threw the bloodstained branch to one side and dragged Simon behind the woodpile. The physician could not answer. The face of the dead man had burned itself into his memory like a picture.

Soon afterward they heard voices coming closer.

“Andre, was that you? What’s happened?”

“We must get away from here,” whispered the hangman. “There are still four of them, and they’re likely to be experienced soldiers. They understand about fighting.” He grabbed the half-unconscious Simon and dragged him to the edge of the wood. Then they let themselves drop into a bush and watched what happened next.

It only took the men a short time to find the body. There were loud cries, someone screamed. Then they swarmed in all directions. Watching the torches, Simon could see that they always stayed in pairs. They went along the edge of the wood and poked their torches into dark places. Once they passed within a few steps of their bush. But it was too dark and they could not see anything. Finally they gathered together again by the corpse. As Simon was getting ready to breathe again, he saw that one of the points of light was approaching their hiding place. It was one man alone. From his gait he could see that the man had a limp.

At the edge of the forest, not far from their bush, he halted and raised his nose in the air. It looked as if he was sniffing. His voice reached them clearly.

“I know that was you, hangman,” hissed the limping man. “And I know that you are somewhere out there. Believe me, I’ll have my revenge. I’ll cut off your nose, ears, and lips. The tortures you have inflicted on others are nothing to those you yourself will suffer. You’ll beg me to smash your skull in, just as you have done to Andre.”

The man turned abruptly around and was swallowed by darkness.

Not until some time had passed did Simon dare to breathe freely.

“Who…who was that?” he asked.

The hangman stood up and brushed the leaves from his coat. “That was the devil. And he’s got away from us. All because you crapped your pants!”

Automatically, Simon turned away from him. He felt that he was not only afraid of the devil but also of the man next to him.

“I…I can’t kill,” he whispered. “I’m a physician. I’ve learned to heal people, not to kill them.”

The hangman smiled sadly.

“There you are. But we are supposed to be able to do it. And when we do it, then you are horrified. Stupid lot, you’re all the same.”

He stomped off into the forest. Suddenly Simon was alone.

Magdalena knocked frantically at the little manhole down by the Lech Gate. The opening was just high and wide enough for one person to fit through it. In this way the watchmen didn’t need to open the whole gate for latecomers, thus risking an attack.

“It’s the middle of the night! Come back tomorrow; the gate opens when the bell strikes six,” growled a voice from the other side.

“Alois, it’s me! Magdalena Kuisl. Open, it’s important!”

“What’s next? First I let you in, then out again, and now you want to come in again. Forget about it, Magdalena, nobody comes into the town before the morning.”

“Alois, down at the building site on the Hohenfurch Road there is more destruction in progress. Strangers are there! My father and Simon are watching them, but they can’t hold out long! We need the bailiffs!”

The manhole creaked open. A weary watchman stared at her. He stank of brandy and sleep. “I can’t help you there. You must go to Lechner.”

Only a short time later Magdalena stood before the gate of the ducal castle. The guards let her in but would not allow her to wake the court clerk. She shouted and scolded, until at last a window opened on the second floor of the residence.

“What’s all the racket down there, damn it?”

Lechner, in his nightgown, blinked sleepily down at her from his window. Magdalena seized her chance and told the clerk briefly what had happened. When she had finished her story, he nodded.

“I’m coming down right away. Wait there.”

Some time later they were walking with the night watchmen and the guards along the Augsburg Road toward the Hohenfurch Road. The men were armed with pikes and two muskets. They looked tired and did not give the impression that it was their greatest desire to get up before dawn to hunt for a few marauding soldiers. Johann Lechner had hurriedly put on his doublet and cloak, and his hair was tousled under his official cap. He looked suspiciously at Magdalena.

“I only hope you are telling the truth. Otherwise both of you-you and your father-can look out for trouble. And anyway, what is the hangman doing outside on the Hohenfurch Road at this time? Respectable burghers stay at home! Lately, your father has had a bit too much to say for my taste. He should torment and hang, and otherwise keep his mouth shut, by God!”

Magdalena bowed her head humbly.

“We were gathering herbs in the woods. Haircap moss and mugwort. You know, they can only be picked by moonlight.”

“Devilish stuff, that! And what was Fronwieser’s son doing there? I don’t believe one word of it, hangman’s daughter!”

In the meantime dawn started to break. The watchmen extinguished their lanterns as they approached the misty clearing near the road. Further back on a pile of wood sat the hangman and the physician.

Johann Lechner stamped up to the two men. “Well? Where are your vandals? I can’t see anything. And the building site looks exactly as it did yesterday!”

Jakob Kuisl rose. “They fled before they could destroy anything. I hit one of them in the face.”

“Oh, yes. And where is he now?” probed the clerk.

“He…didn’t look well. The others took him with them.”

“Kuisl, give me one reason why I should believe this story.”

“Tell me one reason why I should otherwise call you out here in the middle of the night.”

The hangman now approached the clerk.

“There were five,” said Kuisl emphatically. “Four of them were soldiers. The fifth was…somebody else. Their patron, I assume. And I believe he comes from the town.”

The clerk smiled. “I don’t suppose you recognized him, by any chance?”

“It was too dark,” Simon now joined the discussion. “But the others talked about him. They called him Moneybags. He must be a rich burgher.”

“And why should this rich burgher commission a couple of soldiers to vandalize the building site of the leper house?” Lechner interrupted.

“They didn’t damage it. They were looking for something,” said Simon.

“What now? Did they destroy the building site, or were they looking for something? First you said that they were going to destroy it.”

“Damn it, Lechner,” growled Jakob Kuisl. “Don’t be so slow-witted! Someone hired these men to upset everything here, something that would hinder the workers, so that their patron could look for what is hidden here in peace!”

“But that’s nonsense!” interrupted Johann Lechner. “They didn’t gain anything by damaging things. The work is still proceeding in spite of everything.”

“There were delays, though,” added Simon.

Jakob Kuisl fell silent. The clerk was just about to turn away when the hangman suddenly spoke again.

“The foundations.”

“What?”

“The patron must suppose that the treasure, or whatever it is, lies under the foundations. When the building work here is finished he won’t be able to get at it anymore. Then buildings of stone will stand here, all mortared and walled up, so he has to interfere with the work and in the meantime turn over every bit of earth until he finds what he is looking for.”

“That’s right!” cried Simon. “When we were here the first time, parts of the foundation were dug out knee-deep. Someone had put the flagstones neatly aside. And tonight, too, one of the men was prying up the flagstones with a pole!”

Johann Lechner shook his head.

“Tales of treasure hunters and a mysterious search at midnight…Do you expect me to believe that?” He waved his hand over the clearing. “What thing of any value could be hidden here? The land belongs to the church, as you know. If there were anything to be found here, the parish priest would have discovered it in his documents. Every bit of church land is exactly recorded: the floor plan, position, previous history…”

“Not this one,” Jakob Kuisl interrupted him. “This site was presented to the church by old Schreevogl, only a short time ago, to ease his entrance into paradise. The church knows nothing about this land, nothing at all.”

The hangman let his eyes range over the clearing. The lower walls of the little chapel, the foundations for the hospital, the well, the linden tree, a frame of beams for a stable yet to be built, piles of wood…

Something is hidden here.

The court clerk gave him a benign smile. “Kuisl, Kuisl, stick to what you can do and leave all the rest to us members of the council. Do you understand? Otherwise I’ll have to come and have a closer look at your house. People say you sell love potions and other witches’ brews…”

Simon joined in. “But sir, he’s right. The site…”

Johann Lechner turned around and looked at him angrily.

“As for you, Fronwieser, shut your insolent mouth, will you? Your little affair with this hangman’s wench…” He looked across at Magdalena, who quickly turned her head away. “It’s illegal and a disgrace, not only for your father. There are some aldermen who would like to see you both in the pillory. What a picture! The hangman putting the mask of shame on his own daughter! Up to now I have shown some restraint, out of consideration for your father, Fronwieser, and also for the executioner, whom I have respected up to now.”

At the words “hangman’s wench,” Jakob Kuisl jumped up, but Magdalena held him back. “Leave him, Father,” she whispered. “You’ll only make things much worse for us.”

Johann Lechner looked over the site once more and signaled to the watchmen to return.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” he said, without turning around. “I think that there were in fact soldiers here. I’m even prepared to believe that some crazy Schongau patrician hired them to destroy the leper house. Because he was afraid that travelers would avoid the town. But what I do not believe is your tall tale about a buried treasure. And I do not wish to know who this patrician is. Quite enough dirt has been stirred up already. From now on a watch will be set here every night. The building work will continue as the council decided. As for you, Kuisl…” Not until now did he turn to the hangman. “You will come with me and do that for which God has ordained you. You will torture the Stechlin woman until she confesses to the murder of the children. That is the only thing of any importance. And not a few lousy soldiers on a ruined building site.”

He was turning to go when one of the bailiffs plucked at his sleeve. It was Benedict Cost, who had been on duty in the keep this same night. “Sir, the Stechlin woman,” he began.

Johann Lechner stopped. “Well, what about her?”

“She…she’s unconscious and badly injured. At midnight she was drawing signs on the floor of her cell, and then Georg Riegg threw a stone at her, and now you can’t get a peep out of her. We sent old Fronwieser to her to see if he could bring her around.”

A red flush came over Johann Lechner’s face. “And why haven’t you told me this until now?” he hissed.

“We…we didn’t want to wake you,” stammered Benedict Cost. “We thought it could wait until the next day. I was going to tell you early this morning-”

“Wait until the morning?” Johann Lechner had difficulty keeping his voice calm. “In one or two days the Elector’s secretary will be here with bag and baggage, and then all hell will break loose. If we can’t produce a culprit, he’ll undertake the search himself. And then God help us! It won’t be just one witch that he’ll find, you can be sure of that!”

Abruptly he turned away and hurried back to the road that led to Schongau. The watchmen followed him.

“Kuisl!” he called back when he reached the road. “You will come with me, and the others too! We’re going to squeeze a confession out of the Stechlin woman. And if necessary I’ll force speech out of a dead woman today!”

Slowly, the mists of the morning rose.

As the last of them left the site, a quiet sound of weeping was heard from somewhere.

Martha Stechlin was still unconscious and therefore not in a condition to be questioned. She had a high fever and was mumbling in her sleep as Bonifaz Fronwieser held his ear to her chest.

“The sign…the children…all deception…” She uttered scraps of words.

The old physician shook his head. He looked up submissively at Johann Lechner, who was leaning against the cell door and observing the medical examination with increasing impatience.

“Well?” inquired Lechner.

Bonifaz Fronwieser shrugged. “It doesn’t look good. This woman has a high fever. She’s probably going to die before she regains consciousness again. I’ll bleed her, and-”

Johann Lechner gestured dismissively. “Oh, leave that rubbish. Then she’ll die on us all the sooner. I know you quacks. Isn’t there another way to bring her around for a short time, at least? After she’s confessed she can die, as far as I’m concerned, but first we must have her confession!”

Bonifaz Fronwieser was thinking. “There are certain remedies, which I unfortunately don’t have at my disposal.”

Impatiently Johann Lechner drummed against the cell bars with his fingers. “And who has these certain remedies?”

“Well, the hangman, I suppose. But that is devil’s stuff. Draw a large quantity of blood and the midwife-”

“Watchman!” Johann Lechner was already on the way out. “Bring the hangman to me. He must bring the Stechlin woman around, and quickly. That’s an order!”

Hurried steps departed in the direction of the tanners’ quarter.

Bonifaz Fronwieser approached the clerk apprehensively. “Can I be of assistance to you in any other way?”

Lechner only shook his head shortly. He was deep in thought. “Go. I’ll call for you when I need you.”

“Your pardon, sir, but my fee.”

With a sigh, Johann Lechner pressed a few coins into the physician’s hand. Then he turned back to the interior of the keep.

The midwife lay on the floor of her cell, breathing with difficulty. Near her, now almost illegible, the sign was still on the ground.

“Satan’s whore,” hissed Lechner. “Say what you know, and then go to hell.” He kicked the midwife in the side, so that she rolled, groaning, onto her back. Then he wiped out the witches’ sign and crossed himself.

Behind him someone rattled the iron bars. “I saw her draw that sign!” cried Georg Riegg. “And I threw a stone at her straight away, to stop her putting a spell on us. You can rely on old Riegg, can’t you, sir?”

Johann Lechner spun round. “You miserable bungler! It’ll be your fault if the whole town burns down! If you hadn’t hurt her, she could sing her devil’s song now, and we’d have peace at last! But, no, now the Elector’s secretary is coming. And just when the town has no more money anyway. You stupid fool!”

“I…don’t understand.”

But Johann Lechner was not listening to him anymore. He had already walked out onto the street. If the hangman could not bring the Stechlin woman around by midday, he would have to call a council meeting. Things were getting out of his control.