The Hangman’s Daughter

CHAPTER 15

MONDAY APRIL 30, A.D. 1659 ELEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING, WALPURGIS NIGHT

Magdalena, too, could see nothing but darkness. Her mouth was filled with the musty taste of the gag, and the ropes were cutting into her wrists and ankles, so that all she could feel was a slight tingle. Her head wound still hurt but had apparently stopped bleeding. A dirty linen rag prevented her from seeing where the men were carrying her. She was slung over the shoulder of one of the soldiers like a dead animal. On top of all of this, the continuous swaying was making her quite nauseous.

The last thing she could remember was that this morning she’d left the town through the Kuh Gate. Where had she been before that? She had been…looking for something. But for what?

The headache returned. She had the feeling that her memory of it was just beyond her reach, but every time she tried to grasp it, the headache struck her forehead like a hammer.

When she had awakened the last time, the man her father called the devil was stooping over her. They were in some barn, and there was a smell of straw and hay. The man placed a piece of moss on her forehead to stem the bleeding, and with his left hand, which was strangely cold, he was caressing her dress. She pretended to be unconscious, but she could hear the soldier’s words quite clearly. He had bent down and whispered into her ear: “Sleep well, little Magdalena. Once I return you’ll be praying that all this may be no more than a dream…Sleep while you still can…”

She had almost screamed with fear but had successfully continued feigning unconsciousness. She kept her eyes firmly shut. Perhaps that would give her a chance to escape.

Her hope vanished when the devil bound and gagged and finally blindfolded her. Obviously he wanted to avoid at all costs her waking up and seeing where he was taking her. Slumped across his back, she had traveled through the forest for quite a while. She smelled the pines and the firs and heard the call of a screech owl. What time might it be? The cool air and the call of the screech owl made her assume that it must be night. Hadn’t the morning sun been shining before she was captured? Had she been unconscious for a whole day?

Or longer, perhaps?

She was trying to stay calm and not tremble, but she was beginning to panic. The man carrying her mustn’t notice that she was awake.

At last she was rudely dropped on the forest floor. After a while, she could hear the voices of men approaching.

“Here’s the girl,” said the devil. “Take her to the assigned meeting point and wait there for me.”

Someone had brushed over her dress with a branch or something similar and pushed it up. She didn’t move.

“Mmm, what a tasty morsel your girl is,” a voice said right above her. “A hangman’s wench, you say? And the playmate of that spindly quack…Oh, she’ll be delighted to make the acquaintance of true men for a change!”

“You leave her alone, understood?” the devil thundered. “She belongs to me. She’s my personal revenge on her father.”

“Her father killed Andre,” another deep voice said. “I’ve known Andre for five years. He was a good friend…I want to have fun with her as well.”

“Right,” the first one piped up again. “You’re going to slit her open anyway. So why shouldn’t we get to play a little before that? We’re entitled to taking our revenge on that dirty cur of a hangman as well!”

The devil’s voice took on a threatening undertone.

“I say leave her alone. When I come back we’re all going to have fun. I promise. But until then, hands off her! She might know something, and I’m going to tickle it out of her. We’ll meet no later than daybreak at the assigned place. And now shove off.”

She could hear footsteps crunching across the forest soil, slowly becoming fainter. Then the devil was gone.

“Crazy idiot,” one of the soldiers murmured. “I don’t know why I keep standing for that sort of thing.”

“’Cause you’re scared, that’s why,” the other one said. “’Cause you’re afraid he’ll beat you up just like Sepp Stetthofer and Martin Landsberger! May God have mercy on their black souls…We’re all of us afraid.”

“Afraid! Nonsense,” the first one said. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, Hans. We’re going to take the girl and clear out of here. Let Braunschweiger dig for his goddamned treasure by himself.”

“And what if he does find it, eh? Let’s stay till dawn. What have we to lose? If he doesn’t return, so what? And if he shows up with the money, we’ll pocket it and leave. No matter what happens, I’m not going to travel with that chiseler anymore after tomorrow morning.”

“Right you are,” the second man growled.

Then he picked up Magdalena, who was still feigning unconsciousness, and flung her over his back. The swaying continued.

Now, dangling from the man’s shoulders, Magdalena was racking her brains. What had happened before the devil knocked her out? She could recall having gone to market to buy food and drink for her father and Simon. There had been a talk with children in the street, but she couldn’t exactly remember what it had been about. After that, all that was left were shreds of memory. Sunlight. People gossiping in the streets. A ransacked room.

Whose room?

The headache returned, and it was so severe that for a brief moment Magdalena thought she’d have to vomit. She swallowed the pungent taste and tried to concentrate on where they were going. Where were the men taking her? They were walking uphill, she could tell that much. She heard how the man beneath her was panting and cursing. The wind was stronger now, so they must have left the forest. Eventually she heard ravens cawing. Something was softly whistling in the wind. She was beginning to have an idea.

The men stopped, dropping her like a bundle of sticks. The ravens were cawing quite close by. Magdalena knew now where she was. She didn’t need to see it at all.

She could smell it.

The black shadow flew toward Simon, putting his hand over his mouth. Simon struggled, trying to free himself. Where was his stiletto, damn it? Just a moment ago he’d struck it against his flint, but now it was lying somewhere out there in the dark and beyond his reach. The hand on his mouth was pressing harder, so that he could hardly breathe anymore. Alongside him, Sophie began to scream again.

Suddenly he heard a familiar voice right at his ear.

“Shut up, for Christ’s sake! He’s right nearby!”

Simon twisted and turned under the strong arm, which finally released him.

“It’s you, Kuisl,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Shh.”

In spite of the darkness, Simon could now distinguish the hangman’s massive form directly in front of him. It seemed oddly stooped over.

“I got him…the lunatic. Think he isn’t…quite dead yet. Have to be…silent…”

Jakob Kuisl spoke haltingly and with difficulty. Simon felt something warm dripping onto his left upper arm. The hangman was injured. He was bleeding, and it wasn’t just a small cut.

“You’re wounded! Can I help you?” he asked, trying to feel for the wound. But the hangman gruffly brushed the physician’s hand aside.

“There’s no…time. The devil can…be here any moment. Oohhhh…” He was holding his side.

“What happened?” Simon asked.

“The devil followed us…stupid fools that we are. I…put out his light and fled. But I also whacked him a couple of times with my cudgel. Dirty bastard, damn him. May he go back to hell, where he came from…” The hangman’s body shook. For a moment Simon thought he was trembling with pain, but then he realized that the huge man was laughing. Suddenly, the hangman fell silent again.

“Sophie?” Jakob Kuisl asked in the darkness.

The girl had been silent up to now. Now her voice came out of the darkness right next to Simon.

“Yes?”

“Tell me, girl, is there another exit?”

“There…there is a tunnel. It leads away from this chamber. But it’s fallen in.” Her voice sounded different, Simon thought. More composed. She sounded like the orphan girl he had gotten to know on the streets of Schongau-a leader who was capable of mastering her fear, at least temporarily.

“We did start clearing away the rocks, because we wanted to know where the corridor went,” she continued. “But we didn’t finish it…”

“Then dig on,” the hangman said. “And light a candle, in God’s name. If this lousy rotten dog comes down we can always blow it out again.”

Simon fumbled around on the ground till he found his stiletto, the flint, and the tinderbox. Soon, Sophie’s tallow candle was burning. It was just a tiny stump, but its dim glow seemed to Simon like broad daylight bursting into the darkness. He looked around in the chamber.

The room wasn’t much different from the others they had been in before. He could make out the hole he had fallen through. Along the walls there were niches that looked like stone chairs. There were also small recesses for holding candles and the like. Above these, all sorts of alchemistic signs had been scrawled into the rock in children’s handwriting. Clara was lying in an oblong, alcovelike niche that looked something like a bench. The girl was breathing heavily and looked pale. When Simon laid his hand on her forehead he felt that she was burning hot.

Only now did he notice the hangman leaning against the stone bench next to the sleeping Clara and ripping strips out of a piece of his coat with his teeth to bandage his broad chest. There was a red, wet stain on his shoulder too. When he saw Simon’s worried look, he only grinned.

“Save your tears, quack. Kuisl’s not dead yet. Others have tried to do that before.” He pointed behind himself. “Better help Sophie clear the corridor.”

Simon looked behind him. Sophie was gone. He looked again and saw that a second corridor led away from one of the niches in the rear. After a few steps it ended in a heap of rubble. Sophie was struggling to drag the rocks out. At one point, there was already a hole in the pile the size of a fist, and he thought he could feel a current of air coming through it. Where did this corridor lead?

As he helped Sophie carry away the rocks, he asked, “The man who’s lying in wait for us down here. He’s the same as the man who chased you as well, right?”

Sophie nodded.

“He killed the others because we saw the men up there at the building site,” she whispered. “And now he wants to kill us as well.”

“What did you see?”

Sophie stopped in the middle of the corridor, facing him. The light of the candle was so dim that he couldn’t see whether she was crying.

“This used to be our secret place,” she began. “Nobody knew it. Here we used to meet every time the other children attacked us. Here we were safe. That night we climbed over the town wall to meet in the well.”

“Why?” Simon asked.

Sophie paid no attention to the question.

“We agreed to meet down here. Suddenly we heard voices. When we climbed out, we saw a man handing money to four other men. It was a small bag. And we heard what he said.”

“What did he say?”

“That the men were to destroy the building site. And if the Schongau workmen built it up again, they should destroy it again and again, until he told them it was enough. But then…”

Her voice faltered.

“What happened then?” Simon asked.

“Then Anton knocked over a pile of rocks, and they noticed us. And then we ran away, and I heard Peter screaming behind me. But I ran on and on until I reached the city wall. Oh, God, we should’ve helped him. We left him alone…” She began to cry again. Simon stroked her bedraggled hair until she calmed down.

His mouth was dry when he finally said, “Sophie, this is important now. Who was the man who handed the others money?”

Sophie was still crying silently. Simon felt the wet tears on her face. He asked again. “Who was the man?”

“I don’t know.”

At first Simon thought he hadn’t heard correctly. Only gradually did he begin to understand what she was saying.

“You…you don’t know?”

Sophie shrugged.

“It was dark. We heard voices. And I did recognize the devil with the men, as he was wearing a red doublet and we saw his bony hand. But the other one, the one who handed them the money-we didn’t recognize him.”

Simon almost had to laugh.

“But…but then it was all for nothing! All the murders, and your game of hide-and-seek…You didn’t recognize the man! He only thought you did! All this didn’t have to happen-all this blood, and all for nothing…”

Sophie nodded.

“I thought it was all a bad dream that would pass. But when I saw the devil in town, and then when Anton was dead, I knew he’d chase us, no matter what we’d seen. So I came here to hide. When I arrived Clara was here already. The devil had nearly gotten her.”

She started to cry again. Simon tried to imagine what the twelve-year-old had gone through in the past few days. He couldn’t. Helplessly he patted her cheek.

“It’ll be over soon, Sophie. We’ll get you out of here. And then everything will be straightened out. All we have to do is…”

He was about to continue when his nose caught a thin but pungent smell that made him stop.

It was the smell of smoke. And it was growing stronger.

Now they heard a voice somewhere above them. It was hoarse and shrill.

“Hey, hangman, can you hear me? I’m not dead yet! How about yourself? I’ve made a nice little fire up here. The oil from your lamp and a few damp beams make great smoke, don’t you think?” The man above them faked a coughing fit. “All I have to do now is wait until you come crawling out of your hole like rats. Of course you can just choke down there as well. What’s it going to be?”

Meanwhile Jakob Kuisl had followed them to the corridor. Dirty strips torn from his coat were wrapped around his torso. Simon couldn’t see blood anymore. The hangman put his finger to his lips.

“You know what, little hangman?” the voice said again, somewhat closer. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m coming down. Smoke or no smoke, I’m not going to miss this chance…”

“Hurry up,” Kuisl hissed. “I’ll go to meet him. Simon, you’ve got to carry Clara. If you can’t clear the corridor quickly enough, or if it’s a dead end, come after me.”

“But the devil?” Simon began.

The hangman was already hoisting himself into the hole that led out of the chamber.

“I’ll push him down to hell. Once and for all.”

Then he disappeared in the shaft.

Magdalena was lying on the ground, unable to move. She was still blindfolded, and the gag in her mouth barely allowed her to breathe. Her nose detected a faint smell of decaying flesh. Something was squeaking at regular intervals. She knew it was the chain that the hanged man was suspended from. Her father had usually seen to it that these chains were always well oiled, but after several months’ exposure to wind, snow, and rain, even the best-oiled chain would eventually rust.

Georg Brandner, on whose remains the ravens were feeding up there, had been one of the many robber chiefs in the area. Toward the end of January, he and his gang had finally fallen into the trap set up for them by the bailiffs of the Elector’s secretary. The robbers and their whole extended family, women and children, had dug themselves into a cave in the Ammer Valley. After a three-day siege they finally surrendered. They’d negotiated with the bailiffs safe conduct for their families, and they’d given up without resistance. The young robbers, children all of them, had their right hands chopped off and were banished from the country. The four main perpetrators were hanged on the gallows hill of Schongau. There wasn’t much of an audience there. It was too cold for that. The snow was knee-deep. Therefore there was some dignity in the execution. No hurling of rotten fruit and not much abusive language. Magdalena’s father made the men climb a ladder one by one, tied a rope around their necks, and pulled the ladder away. The robbers kicked their legs for a little while and wet their breeches, and that was that. The families of three of the men were permitted to cut them down and take them home. Brandner, however, was left hanging in chains as a warning. That was almost three months ago. At first, the cold had preserved him rather well. But by now his right leg had fallen off, and the rest didn’t really look human anymore.

At least the robber chief had had a wonderful view at the hour of his death. The gallows hill was a mound north of the town from which one could see a good part of the Alps on clear days. It was in a solitary location between fields and forests, so that all travelers could see from afar what the town of Schongau had in store for highwaymen. The remains of the robber chief were an excellent deterrent for any other riffraff.

Magdalena felt the wind tugging at her clothes up there. She heard the men laughing not far from her. They seemed to be playing dice and drinking, but Magdalena couldn’t hear what they were talking about. She cursed herself in her mind. This was indeed a well-chosen hiding place. Even if the Elector’s secretary and his troops were to show up in a few hours, the soldiers had nothing to fear up here. The gallows hill was considered a cursed place. It had been the site of hangings since time immemorial. The souls of the hanged men haunted this place, and the earth was littered with their bones. Anyone who had no urgent business there avoided the mound.

And although it was clearly visible even from far off, it was a perfect hiding place. Anyone who wanted to conceal himself in the undergrowth a few yards down could be sure he wouldn’t easily be found.

Magdalena rubbed her hands together, trying to loosen the ropes. How long had she been doing that now? One hour? Two hours? Already, some birds were twittering. Morning was approaching. But exactly what hour was it? She’d lost all sense of time.

By and by she noticed that the ropes weren’t cutting into her flesh that deeply anymore. They were slackening. Carefully, she moved to the side a little until she felt a pointed rock under her. It was poking her ribs quite painfully. She shifted her body until the rock was directly beneath her wrists and began rubbing. After a while she felt the fibers of the rope coming apart. If she kept rubbing long and hard enough, she’d get her hands free.

And then?

Because she was blindfolded she hadn’t yet seen the two soldiers, but as she was being carried she realized that at least one of them must be a powerful man. Besides, they were sure to be armed, and they were fast. How could she escape them?

When she had almost cut through the rope, the voices suddenly fell silent. There were footsteps approaching. Immediately she pretended she was unconscious again. The steps came to a halt next to her, and a gush of cold water splashed in her face. She snorted and gasped for air.

“I’ve won you, girl. At dice…” a deep voice said above her, and someone kicked her side. “Come, wake up, and we’ll have some fun together. If you’re nice to us, we might let you go before Braunschweiger shows up. But before you’ve got to be nice to Christoph here as well.”

“Hurry up, Hans,” the other voice mumbled from afar with a heavy tongue. “It’ll be daylight soon, and the rotten bastard will be here any moment. Then we’ll whack him over the head and clear out of here!”

“Exactly, girl,” Hans said. He had stooped down to her and was whispering in her ear. His breath smelled of brandy and tobacco smoke. Magdalena noticed he was dead drunk. “It’s your lucky day today. We’re going to do that bloodsucker Braunschweiger in today. Then he won’t be able to slice you up. And then we get away with the treasure. But first we’re going to have it off with you properly. That’ll be better than when your spindly physician slobbers over you…”

He pushed his hand under her skirts.

At the same moment Magdalena had finished loosening the final cords of the rope. Without any further thought, she flung her right knee upward, slamming it into the soldier’s groin. With a muffled cry of pain he collapsed.

“You wicked hangman’s wench…”

She ripped the gag and blindfold off her face. Dawn was breaking. It was still rather dark, but through the mists she could distinguish the soldier’s outline as a gray lump on the ground in front of her. Magdalena rubbed her eyes. She had been blindfolded for such a long time that her eyes only gradually grew accustomed to the faint light. She looked in all directions like a hunted animal.

Above her rose the gallows hill. She saw the mortal remains of Georg Brandner swaying in the wind. About twenty paces from her she could see a small fire glimmering in the woods and a man getting to his feet and running toward her. The soldier was somewhat unsteady on his feet but approaching her at an alarming speed.

“Wait, Hans! I’ll get the bitch!”

She was just going to run when she felt a blow to the back of her head. The man on the ground beside her must have gotten to his feet and hit her with a branch or the like. Pain darted like arrows through her head. For an instant she thought she’d go blind, then her sight came back, she stumbled forward, slipped, and felt herself roll down the hill. Twigs and brambles tugged at her hair, she tasted dirt and grass, then she scrambled to her feet again and stumbled into the undergrowth. Behind her she could hear shouting and fast steps approaching.

As she ran toward the mist-covered fields under the cover of the low shrubs, she felt memories of the previous day returning.

She could see everything quite clearly now.

In spite of her pain and fear she had to laugh. She was running for her life, the two soldiers in close pursuit. She was giggling and crying at the same time. The solution was so simple. It was a pity that she might not be able to share it with anyone.

The smoke grew denser and Simon had to cough repeatedly. Clouds of smoke were wafting into the corridor, enveloping Sophie, who was helping him lug one rock after the other from the entryway. They had wrapped wet rags around their mouths and noses, but those didn’t help much. Simon’s eyes were burning. Time and again he had to stop and mop his face. That cost him valuable time. Again and again he looked over at Clara, who was rolling about in feverish cramps in the alcove. For the sick girl the smoke must have been hell.

The hangman had disappeared a while ago. All they could hear now was their own panting and coughing. The hole, which had been no bigger than a fist, had grown considerably. Simon looked at it with increasing impatience. Sophie, who was twelve and rather slight, might be able to push herself through, but it wasn’t big enough for him yet. As the physician moved a particularly big rock to the side, the opening they’d made with such effort collapsed, and they had to start again. At long last the gap was big enough for him to maneuver Clara through. A breeze of fresh air came in from the far side. Simon filled his lungs with it, then he hurried over to the chamber to pick up Clara.

The girl was as light as a bunch of dry sticks. Still, he found it difficult to push her through the gap.

“I’ll go ahead and see if the corridor leads out,” he said to Sophie breathlessly, when he realized he wouldn’t get far like that. “Once I’m through I’ll pull Clara after me, and you push from behind. We have to lift her up a little, so she isn’t dragged along the rocky ground. Do you understand?”

Sophie nodded. Her eyes were sooty slits between her soiled hair and the rag that covered her mouth. Once more Simon admired how calm she was. But maybe it was a result of the trauma she had been through. This girl had seen too many dreadful things in the past few days.

The hole they had made was big enough for Simon to fit his shoulders through. At one time, the corridor must have collapsed here. The physician prayed that it wouldn’t give in once more. He gritted his teeth. But what were his alternatives? Behind him were fire, smoke, and a raving mad soldier. Compared to that, a collapsed passageway seemed almost trivial.

He held the lantern out in front of him until he felt that the corridor was getting wider again. He moved his lantern around so he could see in all directions. The tunnel did indeed continue. It was tall enough for him to run through if he stooped. Again, small sooty niches lined the walls at regular intervals. A few paces ahead, there was a bend in the corridor, so he couldn’t see any farther ahead, but a fresh breeze was coming toward him.

Quickly Simon turned around and looked back through the hole.

“You can push Clara through the opening now,” he called to Sophie.

From the other side of the opening he heard groans and scraping noises. Then Clara’s head peeked through. She was on her stomach, her pale face turned to the side. She was still unconscious and didn’t seem to notice what was going on. Simon brushed over her sweaty hair.

It’s most likely a blessing for the child. She’ll think it’s all just a bad dream.

At last he grabbed Clara’s shoulders and carefully pulled her to his side of the opening. Although he was cautious, her dress trailed over the rocky ground and was torn open, so that her shoulders were bared.

On her right shoulder blade was the mark. For the first time, Simon looked at it from above.

Simon’s head was reeling. Smoke and fear were suddenly far from his mind. He saw only the sign. Before his mind’s eye he could see all those alchemical symbols that he had gotten to know at the university.

Water, earth, air, fire, copper, lead, ammonia, ash, gold, silver, cobalt, tin, magnesium, mercury, salmiac, saltpeter, salt, sulfur, bezoar, vitriol, hematite…

Hematite. Could it be that easy? Had they simply focused on one single idea without taking into consideration other possibilities? Had the whole thing been one big misunderstanding?

There was no time for further thought. Above his head he heard an ominous crunching sound. Sand trickled down on him. Quickly, he grabbed Clara by her shoulders and pulled her all the way through to his side.

“Quick, Sophie!” he shouted through the hole. Clouds of smoke were billowing from the opening and getting thicker by the moment. “The corridor’s falling in!”

A few seconds later Sophie’s head appeared in the opening. Simon was tempted to glance at her shoulder, but he quickly changed his mind when a large rock crashed on the ground right alongside him. He helped Sophie through the hole. Then when the girl was able to scramble to her feet by herself, he flung the unconscious Clara over his shoulder and ran along the corridor, stooped over.

Looking back once more, he saw by the light of his lantern how thick smoke was filling the corridor. Then the roof fell in.

Jakob Kuisl pulled himself into the vertical shaft, fighting against the smoke, keeping his eyes closed. He couldn’t see in the dark in any case, and when his eyes were closed they didn’t sting as much from the smoke. From time to time he opened them just a bit and could see a faint glow at the end of the shaft above him. The smoke left him with hardly any air to breathe. He pushed himself up the steep passageway, struggling forward inch by inch with his powerful arms. Finally he felt the edge of the tunnel opening. Panting and groaning he hoisted himself into the chamber, rolled to the side, and opened his eyes.

When Jakob Kuisl squinted he recognized a knee-high hole to his right and another chest-high passageway leading upward. This was the shaft he had tumbled down after his struggle with the devil. The fire seemed to be coming from up there. But by now dense smoke was filling the chamber as well.

Jakob Kuisl’s eyes filled with tears again. He wiped his face with sooty fingers. Just as he was about to examine the small passage to the right, he heard a sound from above.

A soft scraping.

Something was slowly sliding down the shaft. He thought he could hear hectic breathing.

The hangman positioned himself at the side of the shaft, raising his larchwood cudgel. The scraping sound came closer and closer, the sliding noise increased. By the flickering light of the fire he could see something slipping from the shaft and shooting past him. With a scream Jakob Kuisl assaulted it, swinging his cudgel.

Only too late did he realize that it was nothing more than a fragment of the decaying ladder.

At the same moment he heard a hissing sound behind him. He ducked to the side, but the blade went through his coat sleeve and sliced into his left forearm. He felt a dull, throbbing pain. He dropped to the ground, sensing something like a large bird sailing over him.

When the hangman got to his feet again and opened his eyes, he saw an enormous shadow on the wall across from him. The fire made the devil’s frame appear twice its size, and his torso was spread across the ceiling. With his long fingers he seemed to be reaching for the hangman.

Jakob Kuisl blinked until he could make out the soldier at the center of the shadow. The smoke was so heavy now that he could only see the devil as though through a haze. That was all he could see until the devil raised his torch to his head.

His enemy’s face was red with blood, which was streaming across his brow. His flashing eyes seemed to reflect the light from his torch and his white teeth glistened like those of a beast of prey.

“I’m…still here…hangman,” he whispered. “This is it! You or me…”

Kuisl crouched, ready to pounce, clasping his cudgel. His left arm was in terrible pain, but he didn’t show it.

“Where did you take my daughter?” he growled. “Out with it! Or I’ll kill you like a rabid dog.”

The devil laughed. As he raised his bony hand to a salute, Jakob Kuisl saw that two fingers were missing. Still, though, the torch was attached to the iron ring on the metacarpal bone.

“You’d…like to know…little hangman. A good place…The best place for a hangman’s wench…By now the ravens may be pecking out her eyes…”

The hangman raised the cudgel threateningly before he spoke.

“I’ll crush you like a rat…”

A smile played around the devil’s lips.

“That’s good,” he purred. “You’re like myself…Killing, that’s our business…we’re…more alike than you’d think.”

“Like hell we are,” Jakob Kuisl whispered.

With these words he leaped into the smoke, right at the devil.

Without looking back again, Magdalena raced down the slope. Branches were hitting her face. Her legs kept getting caught in brambles, which tore at her dress. Behind her she could hear the soldiers’ heavy breathing. First the men had called out her name from time to time, but now the race had turned into a wild but silent chase. Like hunting dogs they’d picked up her scent and wouldn’t stop until they had the animal at bay.

Magdalena cast a glance over her shoulder. The men were within twenty paces of her. Here, a quarter of a mile beneath the gallows hill, there wasn’t much vegetation. Instead of undergrowth, brown fields spread before her. There was no chance of hiding anywhere. Her only chance was in the trees on the steep banks of the Lech. If she could reach the firs and birches, there might be a chance of hiding in a grove of trees. But that was still a long way off, and the men seemed to be gaining on her.

As she ran, Magdalena frantically looked left and right to see if any peasants were already in the fields sowing. But at this early hour not a soul was to be seen. There were also no travelers yet on the Hohenfurch Road, which could be seen now and then between the hills on her left. No one to ask for help. And even if there were, so what? A single woman, pursued by two armed men-what peasant or merchant would risk his life for a hangman’s wench? Most likely they would keep staring straight ahead, urging their oxen to move even faster.

Magdalena was used to running. Ever since her childhood she had walked long distances, often barefoot, to call upon the midwives in neighboring villages. Many times she had run along the muddy or dusty roads, just for the joy of it, until her lungs started aching. She had endurance and stamina, and by now she had found her own rhythm. But the men chasing her didn’t seem to be willing to give up. Apparently, they had hunted down people before, and they seemed to enjoy it. Their pace was regular and determined.

Magdalena crossed the road and headed for the forest of firs on the high bank of the Lech. The forest was no more than a thin green line beyond the fields. Magdalena wasn’t sure she’d make it that far. She had a taste of iron and blood in her mouth.

As she ran, thoughts swirled in her mind like so many ghosts. Her memory had come back. Now she knew where she had previously seen the witches’ mark that was depicted on the dead children’s shoulders. When she stepped into the midwife’s house yesterday, she had noticed pottery shards on the floor. Those were the shards of clay jars that had been standing on one of Martha Stechlin’s shelves-jars of those drugs that a midwife needed for her trade: mosses for staunching hemorrhages, herbal painkillers, but also powdered minerals, which she mixed into the infusions she prepared for pregnant and sick women. Engraved on some of the shards were alchemical symbols that the great Paracelsus had used and that midwifes liked to use as well.

On one shard Magdalena had seen the witches’ mark.

At first she’d been stunned. What was this sign doing in the midwife’s house? Was she a witch, after all? But as Magdalena turned the shard back and forth in her hands, she saw the symbol upside down.

And suddenly the witches’ mark had become a harmless alchemical symbol.

Hematite. Bloodstone…

It was ground to a powder that was administered to staunch bleeding in childbirth. A harmless little drug, recognized as such also among learned doctors, although Magdalena had her doubts concerning its efficacy.

In spite of her fear she almost had to laugh. The witches’ sign had been nothing but the symbol for hematite turned upside down!

Magdalena remembered how Simon had described to her the mark on the children’s shoulders. Both the physician and her father had always looked at it in such a way that it resembled a witches’ mark. But when looked at from above it turned into a quite harmless alchemical symbol…

Was it the children themselves who had scratched the marks on their shoulders with elderberry juice? They had been at Martha Stechlin’s place a lot, so Sophie, Peter, and the others must have seen the symbol on the jar. But why would they do such a thing? Or had it been the midwife, after all? That made even less sense. Why should she draw the symbol of hematite on the children’s shoulders? So it was the children after all…

As the thoughts swirled through Magdalena’s head, she came closer and closer to the forest. What had at first been a narrow, dark green strip in the early morning light was now a broad band of birches, firs, and beeches not far ahead of her. Magdalena ran straight for it. The men had gained on her again. There were only ten paces between her and them now. She could hear their panting. Closer and closer. One of them burst in an insane laugh as he ran.

“Hangman’s wench, I like how you run. I enjoy hunting for my deer before I eat it…”

The other one started to laugh too.

“We’ll have you in a minute. No girl has gotten away from us yet!”

Magdalena had almost reached the forest on the high bank. A swampy meadow extended between her and the protective trees. Little puddles appeared between the beeches and willows where the last snow had melted and soon her feet sank ankle-deep in the soft mud. In the distance she could hear the Lech roar.

Jumping carefully, the hangman’s daughter tried to hop from one tuft of grass to the other in the bog. She came to a place with a particularly wide gap between two of these little mounds, and she slipped and landed with both feet in the swamp. She struggled desperately to free her legs from the mud.

She was stuck!

The men were close behind. Seeing that their prey had been snared they howled with delight, circling the mudhole and leering, looking for a way to reach their prey without getting their feet wet. Magdalena pulled herself with her hands onto one of the grassy mounds. There was a sucking, slurping sound when the slush let go of her legs. One of the soldiers in front of her leaped at her head-on. At the last moment she ducked to the side and the man landed in the bog with a splash. Before he could scramble up, Magdalena slipped out between the two men and headed for the forest.

Entering the shadows of the trees, she realized at once that she had no chance. The trees were spaced much too far apart and there was almost no undergrowth to hide in. And yet she kept running, even if it was pointless, as the men had almost caught up with her. Before much more time had passed, the chase would be over. The roaring of the river grew louder. The steep embankment had to be dead ahead of her. The end of her escape…

Suddenly her left foot stepped into space. She leapt back, watching small pebbles tumbling downward. She pushed aside the branches of a willow and saw an almost vertical incline that led down to the riverbank.

Reeling on the edge of the chasm, Magdalena saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. One of the soldiers suddenly appeared behind the willow, reaching for her. Without further hesitation Magdalena plunged into the chasm. She tumbled over rocks and boulders, reached out for bare roots, and turned head over heels more than once. For a brief moment, she fainted. When she finally came to again, she was lying on her stomach in a hazel bush that had stopped her fall just a few yards above the riverbed. Directly beneath her lay a stretch of gravelly riverbank.

Doubled up with pain, she lay there a moment, then carefully turned her head and looked up. Far above, she could see the men. They were obviously looking for a way to get down to the river. One of the soldiers was already busy tying a rope to a tree trunk that jutted out over the chasm.

Magdalena clambered free from the hazel bush and crawled down the last few yards to the riverbank.

Here at this bend the Lech was rushing along at a dangerous speed. There were white eddies at the river’s center, while along the banks the water was foaming, washing over small trees on the edge. At the end of April the water was still so high in the meadows along the river that some of the birches were underwater. More than a dozen felled tree trunks had gotten entangled and were now caught between the beeches. Angrily, the Lech was pushing against this obstruction. The trunks were shifting and moving, and it wouldn’t be long before the flood of water would carry them off.

Between the trunks, a boat was bobbing.

Magdalena could hardly believe her luck. The old rowboat must have pulled loose farther upstream. Now it was trapped between the trunks, helplessly spinning between the whirling eddies. Looking closer, she could see a pair of oars lying in the hull.

She looked around. One of the soldiers was already letting himself down to the bank on his rope. It wouldn’t be much longer before he reached her. The other one was probably still looking for another way down the slope. Magdalena looked at the trunks in front of her, then said a brief prayer, kicked off her shoes, and leaped onto the nearest trunk.

The log underneath swayed and rocked, but she kept her balance. Magdalena stepped delicately along the trunk and onto another gigantic log. It was spinning around rather dangerously, all the while drifting off to one side. She was agile enough to keep her balance despite the spinning. Looking back for a moment she noticed the soldier who’d let himself down on the rope standing at the riverbank, unsure what to do. When he caught sight of the boat, he, too, started walking cautiously from one log to the next.

Magdalena’s backward glance had almost caused her to lose her balance. She slipped on the wet log and could only catch herself at the last moment before falling into the water. Now she was standing astride two logs, one foot on each of them. Beneath her, white water was foaming and gurgling. She knew if she fell in that she’d be crushed by the huge tree trunks like grain between two millstones.

She moved ahead cautiously. The soldier pursuing her had already covered some distance across the logs, and Magdalena saw the anxious, concentrated look on his face. It was Hans, the soldier who had first tried to rape her. The man was afraid, deathly afraid, there was no doubt about it, but it was too late for him to turn back now.

Deftly she leaped onto the last trunk that separated her from the boat. When she had almost reached the vessel, she heard a scream behind her. She turned around and saw the soldier hopping about on his log like a tightrope walker. For a brief moment he seemed to be suspended in midair. Then he toppled sideways and disappeared in the water. With a crunching noise, logs shifted over the spot where he had disappeared. Magdalena thought she caught a glimpse of a head bobbing up between the tree trunks. And then he was gone.

Above her, on the steep embankment, stood the second soldier, looking undecided at the raging waters down below. After a while he turned and disappeared between the trees.

With one last leap Magdalena reached the boat. She grabbed the side and pulled herself up. The inside was wet, with more than a half foot of water at the bottom, but luckily the boat didn’t seem to be leaking. With a shiver, she collapsed and started to cry quietly.

When the morning sun had warmed her up a little, she sat up, grabbed the oars, and rowed downstream toward Kinsau.

When the corridor behind them collapsed, Simon threw himself over little Clara to protect her. Then he said a prayer. He heard a grinding sound and then a crash. Rocks thudded to the ground to his right and left. Huge clumps of clay fell on his back, then there was a final trickle of rock, and then silence.

Simon was surprised that the candle he had been clutching in his right hand hadn’t gone out. Carefully, he knelt down to survey the corridor. The cloud of smoke and dust slowly settled, and he could see a few yards by the light of his candle.

Behind him Sophie lay huddled on the ground. She was covered by dirt and small lumps of clay as well as a brownish layer of dust, but beneath it Simon noticed a slight trembling. She seemed to be alive. Behind the girl was only darkness and rocks. Simon nodded grimly. There was no way back. But at least no more smoke could reach them now.

“Sophie? Good heavens, are you hurt?” he whispered to her.

The girl shook her head and sat up. Her face was deathly pale, but other than that she seemed to be all right.

“The corridor…it…collapsed,” she mumbled.

The physician looked up cautiously. The roof directly above him seemed solid. There were no beams or joists, but smooth, stable clay. Its round shape that came to a point at the top lent further stability to the tunnel. Simon had seen things like that in a book on mining. The men who had built these corridors had been masters of their craft. How long did it take them to create this maze? Years? Decades? The collapse just now must have been due to the humidity that made the hard clay crumble. Water must have seeped in somewhere. Other than that, the tunnels were in perfect shape.

Simon was still amazed at the construction. Why on earth did these people spend so much energy creating a maze that had no obvious purpose? That it made no sense as an underground hiding place had just been convincingly demonstrated by the fire. Whoever built a fire in one of the upper chambers could be sure that people would come scampering like rats from the smoke-filled corridors to the surface. Or that they’d choke down there.

Unless this tunnel led to the outside somewhere…

Simon took Sophie by the hands.

“We’ve got to go on before the entire corridor comes down. It has to lead to the outside somewhere.”

Sophie looked at him, her eyes wide with fear. She seemed to be frozen, rigid with shock.

“Sophie, can you hear me?”

No response.

“Sophie!”

He gave her a ringing slap in the face. The girl came to.

“What…what?”

“We’ve got to get out of here. Pull yourself together. You go ahead with the candle, and be careful it doesn’t go out.” He gave her an intense look before continuing. “I’ll take Clara and stay right behind you. Understand?”

Sophie nodded, and they set out.

The corridor took a slight turn before it straightened out again. Then it began to rise, almost unnoticeably at first, then steeper and steeper. First they could only crawl on all fours, but then the corridor became wider and higher. Finally they could walk, stooped over. Simon carried Clara on his back, her arms dangling on both sides of his shoulders. She was so light that he barely noticed her weight.

Suddenly Simon felt a draft coming from up ahead. He took a deep breath. It smelled of fresh air, of forest, tree sap, and springtime. Never before had air seemed so precious to him.

A few moments later the tunnel ended.

Simon couldn’t believe it. He took the candle from Sophie and looked around in a panic. No passageway. Not even a hole.

It took him a while to discover a narrow shaft that led vertically upward.

About fifteen feet above them, daylight was falling in through narrow cracks. Up above, well beyond their reach, was a flagstone. Even if Simon had taken Sophie on his shoulders she couldn’t have reached the heavy slab of stone. And she certainly wouldn’t have been able to lift it.

They were trapped.

Gently, Simon let the unconscious Clara slide to the ground and sat down beside her. This wasn’t the first time today that he felt the urge to cry, or at least to shout at the top of his lungs.

“Sophie, I think we can’t get out of here…”

Sophie snuggled up and put her head in his lap. Her hands clung to his legs. She was trembling.

Suddenly Simon remembered the mark. He tugged at Sophie’s dress to reveal her shoulder.

On her right shoulder blade was the witches’ mark.

He fell silent for a long time.

“You children painted these marks yourselves, didn’t you?” he finally asked. “Hematite, a simple powder…You must have seen the symbol somewhere at Goodwife Stechlin’s, and then you scratched it into your skin with elderberry juice. It was just a game…”

Sophie nodded, pressing her head into Simon’s lap.

“Elderberry juice!” Simon continued. “How in the world could we have been so stupid! What kind of a devil would use a children’s beverage to write his marks? But why, Sophie? Why?”

Sophie’s body trembled. She was weeping into Simon’s lap. After a while she spoke without raising her head.

“They beat us, they kicked us, they bit us…Wherever they saw us they spat on us and made fun of us.”

“Who?” Simon asked, irritation in his voice.

“The other children! Because we’re orphans, because we have no families! So anyone can walk all over us.”

“But why the mark?”

For the first time Sophie looked up.

“We saw it on a shelf at Martha’s place. On a jar. It looked a bit like…witchcraft. We thought if we had the mark on us it would protect us like magic. Nobody’d be able to hurt us then.”

“Magic to protect you…a charm,” Simon mumbled. “A silly children’s prank, nothing more…”

“Martha told us about that kind of protective magic,” Sophie continued. “She said there are spells to ward off death, illness, or hailstorms. But she didn’t tell us about any of these. People would say she’s a witch…”

“Oh my God,” Simon whispered. “And that’s exactly what happened.”

“So we came down here to our hiding place, at the full moon, to make sure the magic would work. We scratched the mark into one another’s skins and swore we’d stick together forever. That we’d always help one another and spit on and detest the others…”

“And then you heard the men.”

Sophie nodded.

“The magic didn’t work. The men saw us, and we didn’t help one another. We ran away, and they clubbed Peter to death like a dog…”

She began to cry again. Simon caressed her until she calmed down, and her crying became just an occasional sob.

At her side, Clara was groaning in her sleep. Simon felt her forehead. It was still burning hot. The physician wasn’t sure if Clara would survive long down here. What the girl needed was a warm bed, cold compresses, and linden blossom tea to reduce the fever. Besides, her leg wound required attention.

Simon called for help, cautiously at first, but then louder and louder.

When nobody answered his repeated calls, he gave up, sitting down again on the rocky, damp ground. Where were the sentries? Still lying on the ground, bound and gagged? Had they been able to free themselves, and were they perhaps already on their way to the town to report the attack? But what if the devil had killed them? It was the first of May today. There was dancing and carousing up there in the town, and it was quite possible that it would be tomorrow or even the day after tomorrow before someone would come by. By then, Clara would have died of fever.

To drive away the dark thoughts the physician kept asking Sophie for more details. He kept thinking of new things that he or the hangman had discovered and that suddenly made sense now.

“The sulfur we found in Peter’s pocket-that’s part of your hocus-pocus as well?”

Sophie nodded.

“We got it from one of Martha’s jars. We thought if witches used sulfur for casting their spells, it would probably work for us as well. Peter stuffed his pockets with it. He said it would make such a nice stink…”

“You stole the mandrake from the midwife, didn’t you?” Simon continued. “Because you needed it for your magic games.”

“I found it at Martha’s,” Sophie admitted. “She once told me about the miraculous power of the mandrake root, and I believed if I soaked it in milk for three days it would turn into a little man who’d protect us…But it just stank, nothing more. I used the rest to make a potion for Clara down here.”

The physician glanced at the unconscious girl. It was almost a miracle that she had survived that drastic cure. But perhaps the mandrake root had done some good as well. After all, Clara had been asleep for days now, and that had given her body enough time to regenerate.

He turned back to Sophie.

“And that’s why you didn’t go to the court clerk or one of the aldermen to report what you saw,” he observed. “Because you thought they’d suspect you of witchcraft on account of the mark.”

Sophie nodded.

“When that thing with Peter happened, we were going to,” she said. “So help me God, we wanted to go to Lechner right after the ten o’clock bell to confess the whole matter. But then you men found Peter down at the Lech and saw the witches’ mark. And then there was all that turmoil and everybody talked of witchcraft…”

She looked at Simon in despair.

“We thought nobody was going to believe us then. They’d take us to be witches and put us to the stake along with Martha. We were so scared!”

Simon stroked her dirty hair.

“It’s all right, Sophie. It’s all right…”

He looked at the little tallow candle flickering by his side. In no more than half an hour it would burn down. Then the only light they’d have would be a tiny ray through the cracks of the flagstone. He considered making a cold compress for Clara’s swollen ankle with a rag torn from his cloak but decided against it. The water that had gathered in little puddles down here was way too dirty. Presumably such a compress would make the girl even sicker. Unlike most physicians of his time, Simon was convinced that dirt caused infection. He had seen too many wounded men with soiled bandages perish miserably.

Suddenly something made him stop and listen. He could hear voices from far off. They came from above. Simon jumped to his feet. There had to be people at the building site! Sophie had stopped crying too. Together they tried to figure out whose voices they were. But they were too soft.

Briefly Simon considered the risk. It was quite possible that the people above them were soldiers or perhaps even the devil himself…That lunatic might have killed the hangman and climbed up through the well. On the other hand, Clara was certainly going to die if nobody got her out of there. He hesitated briefly, then he cupped his hands and shouted up the shaft in a hoarse voice.

“Help! We’re down here! Can anyone hear us?”

The voices overhead fell silent. Had the men walked away? Simon kept shouting. Sophie was now helping him.

“Help! Can’t anyone hear us?” both of them shouted.

Suddenly they heard muffled sounds and heavy footsteps. Several people were talking directly above them. Then there was a scraping sound as the flagstone was pushed to the side, and a beam of light fell on their faces. A head appeared in the opening. The sunlight was almost blinding after so many hours of darkness, and Simon had to blink. Finally he recognized the man.

It was the patrician Jakob Schreevogl.

When the alderman recognized his daughter down there he began to shout. His voice sounded broken.

“My God, Clara, you’re alive! Praise the Blessed Virgin Mary!”

He turned around.

“Quick, a rope! We’ve got to get them out of there!”

A short time later, a rope appeared in the opening and was quickly let down the shaft. Simon tied it into a loop, put it around Clara’s waist, and signaled the men to pull her up. Then it was Sophie’s turn. He was hoisted up last.

Once he’d arrived aboveground, Simon looked around. It took him some time to get oriented. Around him he saw the walls of the new chapel. The shaft was underneath a weathered flagstone right at the center of the building. The masons seemed to have used an ancient foundation for the floor. The physician looked down once more. It was quite possible that at the spot there had already stood a church or another sacred building long ago that had been connected to the underworld by a tunnel. The workman presently employed at the current construction had obviously not noticed the flagstone.

The physician shuddered. An ancient tunnel straight down to hell…And below the devil himself was waiting for the poor sinners.

Further off Simon saw the two sentries of the previous night sitting on a half-finished wall. One of the two had his forehead in a bandage, rubbing his head and still looking dizzy. The other one looked relatively alert although his right eye was badly bruised. Simon had to grin in spite of himself. The hangman had done a good job without causing permanent damage. He was indeed a master of his craft.

In the meantime Jakob Schreevogl was attending to his foster daughter, dripping water into her mouth and mopping her forehead. When the young alderman noticed Simon’s expression he began to talk without interrupting what he was doing.

“After you were at my house yesterday afternoon to ask for the old documents I couldn’t put my mind to rest. I tossed and turned all night. In the morning I went to your place and then to the hangman’s. I met nobody at either, so I came here to the building site.”

He pointed at the two sentries, still sitting on the wall in a stupor.

“I found them behind the woodpile, gagged and tied. Simon, can you tell me what exactly happened here?”

Simon briefly related their discovery in the well, the dwarf’s holes, the hangman’s battle with the soldier, and their escape through the tunnel. He described what the children had seen in that moonlit night a week ago. However, he kept silent about his suspicion that old Schreevogl’s treasure might be down there, and he also didn’t mention that it was Jakob Kuisl who’d knocked out the sentries. The patrician had to assume that the devil had put the bailiffs out of action before he clambered down the well.

Jakob Schreevogl listened intently, his mouth agape. Occasionally, he interjected a brief question or stooped down to attend to Clara.

“So the children painted the witches’ marks on each other to protect themselves against the other children,” he finally said.

He stroked Clara’s burning forehead. She was still asleep and breathing far more regularly now. “My God, Clara, why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you!”

He shot a glare at Sophie before he spoke again.

“Little Anton and Johannes Strasser might have been saved, if only you hadn’t been so pigheaded. What in the world were you thinking, you brats? There’s a lunatic at large, and you just keep playing your games.”

“We shouldn’t scold the children,” said Simon. “They’re young, and they were scared. It’s more important that we get the murderers. Two of them seem to have kidnapped Magdalena! And their chief’s still down there in the tunnels with the hangman!”

He looked over at the well, where smoke was rising from below. What was going on down there? Was Jakob Kuisl dead? Simon suppressed the thought. Instead, he turned to the patrician again.

“I wonder who was the mastermind, the patron. Who is so intent on preventing the leper house from being built that he will even kill children for that?”

Jakob Schreevogl shrugged.

“Well, until a short while ago you even suspected me…Other than that I can only repeat what I told you. Most patricians in the town council, including the burgomasters, were opposed to the building because they were afraid of financial losses. That’s ridiculous, if you remember that even Augsburg has a leper house like that.”

He shook his head and then turned contemplative again.

“But would they destroy the building site and kill witnesses, let alone children? I can’t imagine that in my wildest dreams…”

They were both startled by the sound of loud coughing and turned around.

A pitch-black form emerged from the well, pulling itself up on a rope. The bailiffs picked up their weapons and headed for the well, clutching their halberds in fear. The figure that pulled itself over the edge of the well looked like the devil himself. It was black with soot from head to toe, and only the eyes were shining white. His clothes were singed and bloodstained in many places, and between his teeth he was holding a larchwood cudgel, the tip of which was glowing red. Now he threw it out onto the ground.

“Jesus bloody Christ! Don’t you know your own hangman? Quick, get me some water before I’m completely burned to a crisp.”

The bailiffs withdrew, frightened, while Simon hurried to the well.

“Kuisl, you’re alive! I thought the devil…God, I’m so happy!”

The hangman hoisted himself over the edge of the well.

“Don’t waste your words. The damned swine is where he should’ve been long ago. But my Magdalena is still in the hands of those cutthroats.”

He limped to a water trough to wash himself off. It took some time for the hangman’s face to appear beneath thick layers of soot. He cast a glance at Jakob Schreevogl and the children, and nodded approvingly.

“You saved her. Well done,” he growled. “Go back to Schongau now with them and the alderman, and we’ll meet at my house. I’m going to look for my daughter.”

He picked up his cudgel and headed for the Hohenfurch Road.

“You know where she is?” Simon called after him.

The hangman nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“He told me. Toward the end. Eventually you can get anyone to talk…”

Simon gulped.

“What about the bailiffs?” he called after Jakob Kuisl, who had already reached the road that led to Hohenfurch. “Won’t you take them to…help you?”

The last words he said only to himself. The hangman had already disappeared around the corner. He was very, very angry.

Magdalena was stumbling along the road to Schongau. Her clothes were torn and wet, and she was shaking violently. Her head was still aching, too, and she was tormented by thirst and the fact that she hadn’t slept all night. Again and again she kept looking around to see if the second soldier might be following her after all, but there was no one on the road-not even a peasant who could have given her a ride on his oxcart. Ahead of her, Schongau with its protecting walls sat proudly on its hill. To her right was the gallows hill, now deserted. Soon, very soon, she’d be home.

Suddenly she saw in front of her a small dot in the distance, a person with a limp hurrying toward her. The form grew larger, and when she blinked she realized that it was her father.

Jakob Kuisl ran the last few yards, even though it was difficult for him. He had a deep cut in the right side of his chest and one in his left upper arm. He had lost a good deal of blood, and he had twisted his right ankle during the struggle down in the tunnel. But considering all that, he was feeling remarkably well. The hangman had sustained graver injuries during the Great War.

He wrapped his arms around his daughter and patted her head. She almost disappeared within his broad chest.

“The things you do, Magdalena!” he whispered almost tenderly. “Getting yourself caught by a dumb soldier…”

“I won’t do it again, Father,” she answered. “Promise.”

For a while they held each other in silence. Then she looked him in the eyes.

“Father?”

“Yes, Magdalena?”

“About me marrying Hans Kuisl, the Steingaden hangman, you know…Are you going to think that over again?”

For a moment Jakob Kuisl was silent, and then he smiled.

“Yes, I’m going to think that over. But now let’s go home.”

He wrapped his massive arm around his daughter again, and then side by side they walked toward the town, which was just awakening to a new day as the sun rose above it in the east.