The Hangman’s Daughter

CHAPTER 3

WEDNESDAY APRIL 25, A.D. 1659 SEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

Jakob Kuisl wrapped his coat tightly around him and hurried along the Munzgasse, being careful not to step into the garbage and excrement piled up before the entryway of each house. It was early in the morning, the streets were enveloped in fog, and the air was damp and cold. Directly above him a window was opened, and somebody poured the contents of a chamber pot into the street. Kuisl cursed and ducked away as the urine splashed to the ground alongside him.

As Schongau’s executioner, Jakob Kuisl was also responsible for the removal of refuse and sewage, a task that he performed on a weekly basis. Soon he’d be wandering through the lanes with his handcart and shovel again. But today there was no time for it.

Right after the ringing of the morning bells at six o’clock, the town jailer had shown up at Kuisl’s house to tell him that Johann Lechner wanted to see him at once. Kuisl could guess what the court clerk might be wanting. The murder of the boy had been the talk of the town. Rumors of witchcraft and diabolical rites spread faster than the odor of excrement in a small town like Schongau.

Lechner was known as a man who made fast decisions, even on complicated matters. Moreover, the town council would meet today, and the notables would be eager to know the basis of the rumors.

The hangman had a powerful hangover. Last night Josef Grimmer had been at his place to collect his son’s body. The man seemed almost a different person from the Josef Grimmer who had nearly clubbed the midwife to death a few hours before. He bawled like a baby, and only Kuisl’s homemade herbal spirit was able to settle him somewhat. And the executioner shared a couple of glasses with him…

Jakob Kuisl turned to the right into a narrow lane and headed toward the ducal residence. In spite of his headache he had to grin, because the proud title of “residence” couldn’t quite live up to what it promised. The building before him looked more like a hulking, run-down fortress. Not even the oldest Schongauers could remember a day when a duke had actually taken residence there.

And the Elector’s secretary, who represented the interests of His Serene Highness in the town, hardly ever bothered to show himself there. He usually lived in a remote country house near Thierhaupten. Otherwise, the dilapidated building served as the barracks for two dozen soldiers and as the court clerk’s office. In the secretary’s absence, the former represented Ferdinand Maria, Elector of Bavaria, in Schongau.

Johann Lechner was a powerful man. While he was really only in charge of His Highness’s affairs, he had expanded his position over the years, so that now he was able to influence town matters as well. In Schongau, no document, no ordinance, not even the smallest note, could bypass Johann Lechner. Jakob Kuisl was certain that the clerk had been brooding over town files for hours.

The executioner passed through the stone gate on which two rusty gates hung crooked on their hinges, and entered the courtyard. The sentry posts gave him a tired nod and let him pass.

Jakob Kuisl looked around the narrow, dirty courtyard. The Swedes had plundered it for the last time more than ten years ago, and since then the residence had fallen even deeper into decay. All that was left of the fortified tower on the right was a sooty ruin, and the roofs of the stables and the threshing floor were leaky and covered with moss. Broken wagons and all manner of bric-a-brac peered forth between the splintered planks of the walls.

Kuisl climbed the worn steps to the castle, crossed a gloomy corridor, and stopped at a low wooden gate. As he was about to knock, a voice called from within.

“Enter.”

The clerk must have very keen hearing, he thought.

The executioner pushed the door open and stepped into the narrow chamber. Johann Lechner sat at his desk, all but concealed by piles of books and parchments. His right hand was scrawling notes into a register; his left hand directed Kuisl to a seat.

Despite the early morning sun outside the window, the room, lit only by a few sputtering tallow candles, was murky. The executioner took a seat on an uncomfortable wooden stool and waited patiently for the clerk to look up from his writing.

“You know why I’ve called you?”

Johann Lechner gazed at the executioner with piercing eyes. The clerk had the full black beard of his father, who had likewise officiated as Schongau’s court clerk. The same pale face, the same penetrating black eyes. The Lechners were an influential family in this town, and Johann Lechner liked to remind others of it.

Kuisl nodded and began to fill his pipe.

“Stop that,” said the clerk. “You know I don’t like smoking.”

The hangman pocketed his pipe and gave Lechner a provocative glance. It took a while before he spoke to him.

“On account of the Stechlin woman, I assume.”

Johann Lechner nodded. “There’s going to be trouble. In fact, there already is. And it happened only yesterday. People are talking…”

“And what business is that of mine?”

Lechner leaned across the desk and forced himself to smile. He was not quite successful.

“You know her. You have worked together. She brought your children into the world. I want you to talk to her.”

“And what am I supposed to talk about?”

“Make her confess.”

“Make her what?”

Lechner leaned even farther across the desk. Their faces were within inches of each other now.

“You heard me right. Make her confess.”

“But nothing’s been proved. A few women have gossiped. The boy was at her place a few times. That’s all.”

“The matter must be disposed of.” Johann Lechner sat back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the armrests. “There has been too much talk as it is. If we let it drag on, then we’ll have a situation like in your grandfather’s days. Then you’ll be one busy man.”

The hangman nodded. He knew what Lechner was talking about. Nearly seventy years ago during the famous Schongau witch trial, dozens of women had been burned at the stake. What had started as an angry outburst and a few unexplained deaths had ended in mass hysteria, with everyone accusing everyone else.

Back then, his grandfather Jorg Abriel had beheaded more than sixty women, and afterward their bodies were burned. This had made Master Jorg rich and famous. On some of the suspects, they had found so-called witches’ marks, or birthmarks, whose shape determined whether the wretched women lived or died. This time, an obviously heretical sign was involved. Not even Kuisl could say this didn’t look like witchcraft.

The court clerk was right. The people would keep looking for signs. And even if there were no more deaths, there would be no end to the suspicion. A wildfire that could lay the whole of Schongau in ashes. Unless someone confessed and agreed to take the blame.

Martha Stechlin…

Jakob Kuisl shrugged. “I don’t think the Stechlin woman has anything to do with the murder. Anyone could’ve done it. Perhaps strangers. The boy was floating in the river. The devil knows who stabbed him, perhaps marauding soldiers.”

“And the sign? The boy’s father described the sign to me. Didn’t it look like that?” Johann Lechner handed him a drawing. It showed the circle with the inverted cross. “You know what that is,” hissed the clerk. “Witchcraft.”

The hangman nodded. “But that doesn’t mean that the Stechlin woman…”

“Midwives are expert in such matters!” Lechner had raised his voice more than he usually did. “I have always warned against permitting such women in our town. They are keepers of secret lore, and they ruin our wives and children! There’ve always been children around her lately, haven’t there? Peter among them. And now they find him in the river, dead.”

Jakob Kuisl longed for his pipe. He would have loved to clear the room of evil thoughts with its smoke. He was fully aware of the aldermen’s prejudice against midwives. Martha Stechlin was the first midwife whom the town had officially appointed. These women with their feminine wisdom had always been suspect to men. They knew potions and herbs; they touched women in indecent spots; and they knew how to get rid of the fruit of the womb, that gift of God. Many midwives had been burned as witches by men. Jakob Kuisl, too, knew all about potions and was suspected of sorcery. But he was a man. And he was the executioner.

“I want you to go to the Stechlin woman and make her confess,” Johann Lechner said. He turned to his notes again and was scribbling. The matter was finished for him.

“And if she won’t confess?” asked Kuisl.

“Then you show her your instruments. Once she sees the thumbscrews she’s bound to soften.”

“You need the council’s approval for that,” whispered the hangman. “I can’t do it alone, and neither can you.”

Lechner smiled. “As you know, the council meets today. I’m certain that the burgomaster and the other notables will follow my suggestion.”

Jakob Kuisl reflected. If the council agreed today to begin torture, the trial would proceed like clockwork, and the end would be torture and probably death at the stake. Both were the executioner’s responsibility.

“Tell her that we’ll begin the questioning tomorrow,” said Lechner, as he continued scribbling in one of the files on his desk. “Then she has time to think it over. If she insists on being stubborn, however, well…well, we’ll need your help.”

His pen continued scratching across the paper. In the market square, the church bell struck eight. Johann Lechner looked up.

“That’ll do. You may leave now.”

The hangman rose and turned to the door. As he pushed the handle, he heard once more the clerk’s voice behind him.

“Oh, Kuisl.” He turned around. The clerk spoke without looking up. “I’m aware you know her well. Make her talk. That’ll save her and you unnecessary suffering.”

Jakob Kuisl shook his head. “She didn’t do it. Believe me.”

Now Johann Lechner looked at him again straight in the eye.

“I don’t think that she did it, either, but it’s what’s best for our town, believe me.”

The hangman didn’t reply. He ducked under the low doorway and let the door fall shut behind him.

When the hangman’s footsteps in the street had faded away, the clerk returned to his files. He tried to concentrate on the parchments before him, but that was difficult. Before him lay an official complaint from the city of Augsburg. Thomas Pfanzelt, a Schongau master raftsman, had transported a large pack of wool that belonged to Augsburg merchants together with a heavy grindstone. Owing to its weight the cargo had fallen into the Lech. Now the Augsburgers demanded compensation. Lechner sighed. The everlasting quarrels between the Augsburgers and the Schongauers were getting on his nerves. And especially today he couldn’t be bothered with such petty grievances. His town was on fire! Johann Lechner could almost see how fear and hatred were eating their way from the outskirts to the very center of Schongau. There had been whispering in the inns last night already, both in the Stern and the Sonnenbrau. People were talking about devil worship, witches’ sabbaths, and ritual murder. After all the plagues, wars, and storms, the situation was explosive. The city was a powder keg, and Martha Stechlin could be the fuse. Lechner twisted his quill nervously between his fingers. We have to extinguish the fuse before disaster strikes…

The clerk knew Jakob Kuisl as a clever and considerate man, but the question couldn’t be whether or not the Stechlin woman was guilty. The town’s welfare was a weightier matter. A short trial would help bring a long-sought-for peace back to the town.

Johann Lechner gathered his parchment scrolls, stashed them in the shelves along the wall, and set out for the Ballenhaus. The grand council meeting would begin in half an hour and there were still things to do. He had requested the town crier to summon all members of the council: the inner council and the outer council, as well as the six commoners. Lechner wanted to get everyone behind this.

After crossing the market square, which was busy at this hour, the clerk entered the Ballenhaus. The storage hall was more than twenty feet high, and inside it crates and sacks were piled high awaiting transport to distant cities and countries. Blocks of sandstone and trass were stacked in one corner and the fragrance of cinnamon and coriander filled the air.

Lechner climbed the wide, wooden stairway to the upper floor. As the official representative of the Elector he had no business in the town council, but since the Great War the patricians had become accustomed to having a strong arm in upholding law and order. So they gave the clerk full authority. It was almost natural that by now he chaired the council meetings. Johann Lechner was a man of power, and he had no intention of yielding it.

The door to the council chamber was open and the clerk was surprised to see that he was not as usual the first to arrive. Karl Semer, the presiding burgomaster, and the alderman Jakob Schreevogl had come before him and seemed engaged in lively conversation.

“And I am telling you that the Augsburgers are going to build a new road, and then we’ll be sitting here like a fish on dry land,” Semer shouted at Schreevogl, who kept shaking his head. The young man had joined the council just six months before, replacing his late father. Several times already this tall patrician had clashed with the burgomaster. Unlike his father, who had been close friends with Semer and the other council members, he had a will of his own. And he wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated by Semer now.

“They can’t do that, and you know it. They have tried already once, and the Elector stopped them.”

But Semer would have none of that. “That was before the war! The Elector has other things on his mind now! Believe an old soldier, the Augsburgers are going to build their road and then we’ll have these goddamn lepers to deal with, not to mention this terrible murder story…The merchants will avoid us like the plague!”

Johann Lechner cleared his throat as he entered and stepped to the head of the U-shaped oak table that occupied the entire room. Semer, the burgomaster, hurried to greet him.

“Good that you are here, Lechner. I have tried to persuade young Schreevogl here to change his plans concerning the house for lepers. And right away! The Augsburg merchants are digging our graves, and if news should spread that we have at our very gates…”

Johann Lechner shrugged.

“The leper house is a church matter. You can speak with the priest, but I don’t believe you’ll have any luck. And now will you please excuse me?”

The clerk pushed past the stout burgomaster and unlocked the door that led to the back room. Here, an open cabinet with pigeonholes and drawers crammed with parchments towered to the ceiling. Johann Lechner climbed onto a stool and pulled out the papers that would be needed for the meeting.

As he was doing this, his eye fell on the file concerning the leper house. Last year the church had decided to build a new home for lepers outside of town on the road to Hohenfurch. The old one had collapsed decades ago, but the disease had not subsided. Lechner shuddered at the thought of the vicious epidemic. Next to the plague, leprosy was the most dreaded of afflictions. Those who contacted it rotted alive-nose, ears, and fingers would drop off like decayed fruit. At the end, the face would be nothing but a mass of flesh with no resemblance to anything human. As the disease was highly contagious, the poor souls were usually chased out of town or had to carry bells or clappers so that people could hear them from afar and avoid them. As an expression of mercy, but also to prevent further infection, many towns built so-called leprosaria, which were ghettos outside the city walls where the sick eked out their miserable existence. Schongau, too, was planning to build such a leper house. For the past six months there had been much activity at the construction site on the road to Hohenfurch, but the council was still arguing over that particular decision.

When Johann Lechner returned to the council chamber, most members of the council had already arrived. They were standing together in small groups talking and engaged in heated debates. Each one had heard his own version of the story about the boy’s murder. Even after Johann Lechner had rung his chairman’s bell, it took them a while until each had found his seat. According to custom, the presiding burgomaster and the clerk sat at the head of the table. At their right were the seats of the inner council, six men from the most respected families of Schongau. This council also supplied the four burgomasters, who took quarterly turns in office. The established families had shared in filling the mayoral office for centuries. Officially they were elected by the entire council, but it was the custom that the most influential families also supplied the burgomaster.

On the left sat the six members of the outer council, which likewise consisted of powerful patricians. And finally, the wall was lined with the commoners’ seats. The clerk looked around. Town authority was centered here. Carters, merchants, brewers, gingerbread bakers, furriers, millers, tanners, stovemakers, and clothmakers…all these Semers, Schreevogls, Augustins, and Hardenbergs, who had for centuries decided on the town’s welfare. Serious men in their dark garments with white ruffs and Vandykes, with fat faces and round bellies, tugging at their waistcoats decorated with golden chains. They looked as if they came from a different era. The war brought ruin to Germany, but it couldn’t do any harm to these men. Lechner couldn’t suppress a smile. Fat will always float to the top.

Everyone was greatly agitated. They knew the boy’s death could harm their own businesses. The peace of their little town was at stake. The chattering in the wood-paneled council chamber reminded the clerk of the buzzing of angry bees.

“Silence please! Silence!”

Lechner swung his bell one more time. Then he slammed his hand down on the table and the room finally fell silent. The clerk picked up a quill to take minutes of the meeting. Karl Semer, the burgomaster, looked around with a worried face. Then he addressed the members of the council.

“You’ve all heard of yesterday’s dreadful incident, a terrible crime that has to be solved as fast as possible. I have agreed with the clerk that this is the first item on today’s agenda. Everything else can wait. I hope that’s in our common interest.”

The aldermen nodded gravely. The sooner the case was solved, the sooner they could return to real business.

Burgomaster Semer continued, “Fortunately it looks as if we’ve already found the culprit. The Stechlin midwife is already in prison. The executioner will pay her a visit soon, and then she’ll have to talk.”

“What makes her a suspect?”

With some irritation the aldermen turned to look at young Schreevogl. It was not customary to interrupt the presiding burgomaster that early. Especially when one had just been on the council for a short time. Ferdinand, Jakob Schreevogl’s father, had been a powerful alderman-a little odd, perhaps, but influential. His son had yet to win his spurs. In contrast to the others, the young patrician wore no ruff but a wide lace collar. His hair, according to the latest fashion, fell on his shoulders in locks. His entire appearance was an insult to each and every long-serving alderman.

“What makes her a suspect? Well, that is simple, that is simple…” Burgomaster Semer was rattled. Picking up a handkerchief, he dabbed small beads of sweat from his balding forehead. His broad chest was heaving beneath his gold-braided vest. He was a brewer and the landlord of the largest inn in town, and he was not used to being contradicted. He turned to the clerk on his left for help. With relish, Johann Lechner came to his aid.

“She had been seen several times with the boy prior to the night of the murder. Furthermore, there are women who testify to having seen her perform witches’ sabbaths in her house with Peter and other children.”

“Who testifies to that?”

Young Schreevogl wouldn’t give up. And in fact Johann Lechner wasn’t able to name a single one of these women at that point. However, the night watchmen had informed him that such rumors were circulating in the taverns. And he knew the usual suspects. It would be easy to round up a few witnesses.

“Let’s wait for the trial. I don’t want to get ahead of the facts,” he said.

“Maybe the Stechlin woman will kill these witnesses by witchcraft from her prison cell if she finds out who is accusing her,” another alderman piped up. It was the baker Michael Berchtholdt, a member of the outer council. Lechner took him to be capable of spreading precisely this kind of rumor. Other men nodded-they had heard of such things.

“Oh, nonsense! That’s absurd. The Stechlin woman is a midwife and nothing else.” Jakob Schreevogl had jumped to his feet. “Remember what happened here seventy years ago. One half of the town accused the other half of witchcraft. Streams of blood flowed. Do you want to repeat that?”

Some of the commoners began to whisper. Back then it had hit the less affluent burghers most-the peasants, the milkmaids, the farmhands…But there had been some innkeepers’ and even judges’ wives among the accused. And under torture they had confessed that they had conjured up hailstorms and desecrated the host, indeed that they had even killed their own grandchildren. The fear was still deep-rooted. Johann Lechner remembered that his father had often talked of it. The shame of Schongau. It would be in the history books forever…

“I hardly believe that you remember these things. And now sit down, little Schreevogl,” a soft but piercing voice said. It was clear that the owner of this voice was used to giving orders and not inclined to be toyed with by a young whippersnapper.

At eighty-one years, Matthias Augustin was the oldest member of the council. He had ruled the wagon drivers of Schongau for decades. Meanwhile he was nearly blind, but his word was still heeded in the town. Together with the Semers, the Puchners, the Holzhofers, and the Schreevogls, he belonged to the innermost circle of power.

The old man’s eyes were focused on a point in the distance. He seemed to be looking right into the past.

“I can remember,” he murmured. The room had fallen dead silent. “I was a small boy then. But I know how the fires burned. I can still smell the flesh. Dozens died at the stake in that nasty trial, innocent people too. No one trusted anyone anymore. Believe me, I don’t want to see that again. And that’s why the Stechlin woman must confess.”

Young Schreevogl had resumed his seat. At Augustin’s last words, he sucked the air noisily through his teeth.

“She has to confess,” Augustin continued, “because a rumor is like smoke. It will spread, it will seep through closed doors and latched shutters, and in the end the whole town will smell of it. Let us put an end to the whole matter as soon as we can.”

Burgomaster Semer nodded, and the other members of the inner council murmured in agreement.

“He’s right.” Johann Puchner leaned back in his chair. His mill had been razed to the ground when the Swedes ransacked the town, and only recently had it risen again in its old splendor. “We have to keep the people calm. I was at the raft landing last night. There is a lot of unrest there.”

“That’s right. I talked with my men yesterday as well.” Matthias Holzhofer was another powerful merchant who had rafts that traveled all the way to the Black Sea. He played with the cuffs on his doublet as he was thinking aloud. “But they rather suspect the Augsburg raftsmen. After all, old Grimmer liked to pick a quarrel with them. They might want to harm us, to scare the people, so that they don’t land at our rafting place anymore.”

“Then the Stechlin woman has saved her head, and your whole nice plan is ruined,” Jakob Schreevogl put in. He was sitting at the table with his arms crossed.

One of the commoners along the wall cleared his throat. It rarely happened that one of those men spoke in assembly. It was old Pogner, deputy of the grocers’ guild, who murmured, “There has been a brawl between Grimmer and a few of the Augsburg carters. I was present in the Stern myself when it happened.”

Burgomaster Semer felt that his honor as an innkeeper was at stake.

“There are no brawls in my inn,” he said soothingly. “There may have been a small quarrel, that’s all.”

“A small quarrel?” Now Pogner came to life. “Ask your Resl, she was there. They pretty much smashed one another’s noses, they did. The blood was streaming across the tables. And one of the Augsburgers got such a licking from Grimmer that he still can hardly walk. And he cursed him as he was getting away. I think they want to take revenge, that’s what I think.”

“Nonsense.” Matthias Augustin, almost blind, shook his head. “You can say a lot about the Augsburgers, but murder…I don’t think they’d go that far. Stick with the Stechlin woman, and act fast before hell breaks loose here.”

“I have given the order to start with the questioning tomorrow,” Lechner said. “The executioner will show the midwife the instruments of torture. In a week or less the matter will be taken care of.” He looked up to the carved pinewood ceiling. Reliefs of scrolls indicated that laws were made in this hall.

“Mustn’t we consult the Elector’s secretary in a case like this?” asked Jakob Schreevogl. “After all, we are talking about murder. The town hasn’t even got the authority to pronounce a sentence here on its own.”

Johann Lechner smiled. True, a capital sentence was the responsibility of the Elector’s representative. However, as was so often the case, Wolf Dietrich von Sandizell was sojourning at Pichl, his country house near Thierhaupten, far from Schongau. And until he showed up, Lechner was his sole proxy within the town walls.

“I have already dispatched a messenger to ask Sandizell to come here within the week and chair the trial,” he explained. “I wrote him that we will have found a culprit by then. If not, the Elector’s secretary will have to remain in town a little longer with his entourage…” the clerk added maliciously.

The aldermen groaned inwardly. The Elector’s secretary with his entourage! With horses, servants, soldiers…That meant a lot of expenses. They were already mentally counting the guilders and pence that each of the visiting bigwigs was going to squander on food and drink every day until the sentence was pronounced. All the more important, then, to present a culprit to the secretary when he arrived. Then they’d get off relatively cheaply…

“We agree,” said burgomaster Semer, mopping his balding forehead. “Start questioning her tomorrow.”

“Very well.” Johann Lechner opened the next register book. “Let’s move on to other business. There’s a lot to do today.”