The Hangman's Daughter (19 page)

Under the suspicious looks of the market women and craftsmen, the physician and the hangman walked through the entrance gate of the town’s parish church. A cool silence received them as they stepped into the town’s largest house of worship. Simon’s gaze wandered over the tall pillars with their peeling plaster, the darkened windowpanes, and the rotting choir seats. A few solitary candles were burning in dark side aisles and cast their flickering light upon yellowed frescoes.

Much like Schongau, the Church of the Assumption had seen better days. Quite a few Schongauers felt it would have made more sense to put money into the renovation of the church than into the construction of the leper house. The belfry more than anything else looked really dilapidated. In the inns across the street, people already painted dark pictures of what would happen if that tower were to collapse during Mass some day.

Now it was Saturday noon, and only a few old women were sitting in the pews. Once in a while one of them would get up and walk over to the confessional on the right side and emerge after some time, murmuring and running a rosary through her bony fingers. Jakob Kuisl sat in the rear pew observing the old women. When they noticed him they murmured their prayer with ever greater fervor and pressed close against the wall of the main aisle as they scurried past him.

The hangman was not welcome in church. His assigned seat was all the way in the back to the left, and he was always the last to receive communion. Still, Jakob Kuisl made it a point even today to give the old women his friendliest smile. They acknowledged it by crossing themselves and quickly leaving the church.

Simon Fronwieser waited until the last of them had exited the confessional and then stepped inside it himself. The warm voice of the parish priest, Konrad Weber, could be heard through the tight grate of the wooden window.

“
Misereatur tui omnipotens Deus, et dimissis peccatis tuis, perducat te ad vitam.
.. May almighty God have mercy on thee, and having forgiven thee thy sins, bring thee to life…”

“Father, I don’t come to confess,” whispered Simon. “I only need some information.”

The Latin whispering stopped. “Who are you?” asked the priest.

“It’s me, Simon Fronwieser, the surgeon’s son.”

“I don’t see you often at confession, even when I am told that you have every reason for it.”

“Well, I…I shall improve, Father. In fact I’ll be confessing right now. But first I must find out something concerning the leper house. Is it true that old Schreevogl left you the land on the Hohenfurch Road, even though he had actually promised it to his son?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“The destruction at the leper house. I would like to find out what’s behind it.”

For a long time the priest said nothing. Finally he cleared his throat.

“People say that it was the devil,” he whispered.

“And you believe that?”

“Well, the devil can appear in many ways, also in human form. It’ll be Walpurgis Night in a few days, then the Evil One will mate once more with certain godless women. It is said that long ago witches’ sabbaths were held on that piece of land.”

Simon flinched.

“Who says so?”

The priest hesitated before continuing.

“People say so. The spot on which the little church is being built is where sorcerers and witches are said to have caroused in the past. A long time ago there used to be a chapel there, but it fell into ruin just like the former leper house. It’s as if some evil spell lies over the area…” The priest’s voice became a whisper. “They have found an old pagan stone altar there, which fortunately we were able to destroy. This was one more reason for the church to build a new leper house and chapel there. Evil must yield when it is touched by God’s light. We sprinkled holy water over the entire site.”

“Apparently without success,” murmured Simon. Then he continued his questioning: “Had old Schreevogl already left this piece of land to his son? That is, was he already recorded as an heir?”

The priest cleared his throat.

“You knew old Schreevogl? He was a…well, yes, a stubborn old codger. One day he came to see me at the parish house, all upset, and told me that his son did not understand the least thing about business and that he would now like to leave the land down there at the Hohenfurch Road to the church. We changed his will, and the provost witnessed it.”

“And not long after that he died…”

“Yes, from a fever. I gave him last rites myself. Still on his deathbed, he spoke of the piece of land, saying that he hoped we would have much joy from it and would be able to do much good. He never forgave his son. The last person he wanted to see was not Jakob Schreevogl but old Matthias Augustin. Those two had been friends ever since they served together on the town council. They had known each other ever since childhood.”

“And even on his deathbed he did not take back the donation?”

The priest’s face was now close to the wooden lattice.

“What should I have done?” he asked. “Tell the old man to change his mind? I was glad that I could finally get that piece of land without spending a single guilder. The way it is situated makes it ideal for a leper house. Far enough from the town and yet close to the road…”

“Who do you think destroyed the building site?”

Father Konrad Weber fell silent once more. Just when Simon thought that he would say nothing more, he spoke up once again, in a very low voice.

“If the destruction goes on like this I won’t be able to defend my decision to build the leper house before the council much longer. Too many are opposed. Even the provost feels that we cannot afford such a building. We shall have to resell the land again.”

“To whom?”

Again, silence.

“To whom, Father?”

“Until now, nobody has shown any interest. But I could well imagine that young Schreevogl might soon show up at the parish house…”

Simon stood up in the narrow confessional and turned away.

“Thank you very much, Father.”

“Simon?”

“Yes, Father?”

“The confession.”

With a sigh Simon sat down once more and listened to the priest’s monotonous words.

“
Indulgentiam, absolutionem et remissionem peccatorum tuorum tribuat tibi omnipotens et misericors Dominus
…May the almighty and merciful Lord grant thee pardon, absolution, and remission of thy sins…”

It was going to be a long day.

When Simon finally left the confessional, Father Konrad Weber paused for a moment. He felt as if he had forgotten something. Something that was on his tongue just before and he couldn’t remember it now. After thinking about it for a short while, he returned to his prayers. Perhaps it would come to him later.

Simon sighed as he stepped from the dark church out into the open air. The sun had moved over the rooftops by now. Jakob Kuisl had gone to sit on a bench near the cemetery and was sucking on his pipe. With eyes closed, he was enjoying the first warm day of spring and the excellent tobacco he had found at the building site. He had left the cool church a while ago, and when he saw Simon approaching, he blinked.

“Well?”

Simon sat down next to him on the bench. “I believe we have a clue,” he said. Then he told him of his conversation with the priest.

Lost in thought, the hangman chewed on his pipe. “All this talk about witches and sorcerers is pure nonsense as far as I am concerned. But the fact that old Schreevogl practically disinherited his son, that’s worth thinking about. So you think young Schreevogl could have messed up the building site in order to get his land back?”

Simon nodded. “It’s possible. After all, he had wanted to build a second kiln there, as he told me himself. And he’s ambitious.”

Suddenly Simon remembered something.

“Resl, the waitress at Semer’s inn, told me about the soldiers meeting someone upstairs at the inn,” he exclaimed. “One of them was limping, she said. That must have been the devil we saw today. Perhaps it was Jakob Schreevogl who met with the devil and the other soldiers up there at the inn.”

“And what does all of that have to do with the fire at the Stadel, with the symbols and with the dead children?” Jakob Kuisl asked while he continued sucking on his pipe.

“Perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps the Stadel mess and the children are really the work of the Augsburgers. And young Schreevogl only took advantage of all the excitement in order to destroy the building site without being noticed.”

“While his ward was being abducted?” The hangman rose, shaking his head. “That makes no sense! If you ask me, there are just too many coincidences all at once. Somehow it ought to fit together: the fire, the children, the symbols, the ruined leper house. Yet we don’t know how…”

Simon rubbed his temples. The incense and the priest’s Latin babbling had given him a headache.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he said. “And time’s short. How much longer will Goodwife Stechlin remain unconscious?”

The hangman looked up to the belfry, where the sun had already passed the crest of the roof.

“Two days at the most. And then Count Sandizell will arrive, the representative of the Elector. If we don’t have the true culprit by then, they won’t screw around for long, and the midwife will be done for. They’ll want to get rid of the count and his entourage as quickly as possible. He only costs them money.”

Simon rose from the bench.

“I shall go and see Jakob Schreevogl now,” he said. “That is the only lead we’ve got. I am sure something’s fishy with that leper house.”

“Go ahead and see him,” grunted Kuisl. “As for me, I’m going to smoke a little more of the devil’s tobacco for a while. There’s nothing better to help a person concentrate.”

The hangman closed his eyes again, breathing in the fragrance of the New World.

Johann Lechner, the court clerk, was on the way from his office to the Ballenhaus. On his way he noticed with some discomfort the whispering women and the grumbling workmen in the square. As he passed them, he dealt them light shoves and slaps here and there. “Go back to work,” he called out. “There’s a proper way to do everything. It will all be cleared up. Now return to your work, burghers! Or I shall have to have some of you arrested!”

The burghers slinked off to their workrooms, and the market women resumed sorting out their merchandise. But Johann Lechner knew that they would start gossiping again as soon as his back was turned. He would have to send a few bailiffs to the square to prevent a disturbance. It was high time for this tiresome business to be concluded. And just now it was impossible to talk to the damn midwife! The aldermen were breathing down his neck, wanting to see results. Well, perhaps he would soon be able to show them some. After all, he still had a second trump in his hand.

The court clerk rushed up the steps of the Ballenhaus to the second floor, where a small room with a locked door was provided for the more prominent burghers, those one did not want to throw into the rat-infested hole in the Faulturm tower or in the dungeon in the keep. A bailiff was posted in front of the door. He greeted Johann Lechner with a nod before opening the massive lock and pushing back the bolt.

Martin Hueber, the wagon driver from Augsburg, was sprawled over a small table in an alcove, peering through the window at the square below. When he heard the court clerk enter he turned around and greeted him with a smirk.

“Ah, the court clerk! So have you finally come to your senses? Let me go, and we won’t say another word about this matter.”

He rose and walked to the door, but Lechner let it slam shut.

“I believe there must be some kind of misunderstanding here. Martin Hueber, you and your team are suspected of having started the fire at the Stadel.”

Martin Hueber’s face turned red. He slapped his broad hand on the table.

“You know that’s not true!”

“No need to deny it. A few Schongau rafters saw you and your men.”

Johann Lechner lied without blinking an eye. With great curiosity he awaited the Augsburger’s reaction.

Martin Hueber took a deep breath, then sat down again, crossing his arms over his wide chest in silence.

The clerk kept insisting. “Why else would you have been down there at nightfall? You had already unloaded your freight in the afternoon. When the Stadel went up in flames you were suddenly there, so you must have been hanging around beforehand.”

The wagon driver remained silent. Lechner went back to the door and reached for the handle.

“All right then. We’ll see if you maintain your silence under torture,” he said as he pushed down the handle. “I shall have you taken to the keep this very day. You’ve already met the hangman down by the raft landing. He’ll be glad to break a few of your bones.”

Johann Lechner could see the turmoil behind the wagon driver’s brow. He bit his lip, and finally the words burst forth.

“It’s true, we were there,” he cried, “but not in order to burn down the Stadel! After all, our own merchandise was in there too!”

Johann Lechner returned to the table.

“And what was it you wanted there?”

“We wanted to give the Schongau rafters a thrashing, that’s what we wanted! Up at the Stern that wagon driver of yours, Josef Grimmer, gave one of our men such a beating that he’ll probably never be able to work again! We wanted to make sure that such a thing would never happen again, but by God, we didn’t set fire to the Stadel! I swear it!”

Fear gleamed in the wagon driver’s eyes. Johann Lechner experienced a warm feeling of satisfaction. He had suspected something, but he had not believed that the Augsburger would cave in so quickly.

“Hueber, it doesn’t look good for you,” he continued. “Is there anything to support your case?”

The wagon driver thought briefly, then nodded.

“Yes, there is something. When we were down by the landing we saw a few men run away, about four or five of them. We thought they were yours. Just a little while later the Stadel was burning.”

The court clerk shook his head sadly, like a father who is immensely disappointed with his son.

“Why didn’t you tell us this earlier? It would have saved you a lot of suffering.”