The Poisoned Pilgrim: A Hangman's Daughter Tale (44 page)

“Water! Lots of water! The man will squirt Mama until she’s all wet,” Peter shouted, holding her hand and hopping up and down excitedly as the stone wall at the forest edge finally appeared.

Grinning, Magdalena recalled how, just two days before, the mythical creature spat a cold stream of water in her face and how she, in a rather unladylike fashion, fell backward on her rump.

“Oh, but this time the man is going to make
you
all wet,” she said, teasing the boy as she pressed the latch on the gate. Secretly she worried that the iron gate might be locked this time, and was pleased when it opened with a soft creak.

Just as on her last visit, Magdalena smelled the exotic fragrance of herbs and flowers. The children ran ahead, shouting, and had soon disappeared among the climbing vines, little walls, and flower beds. From time to time, Magdalena could hear them giggle, and a smile passed over her face. This really was an enchanted place, like one of those forest clearings where fairies and sprites danced—a world far removed from the horrors taking place outside the garden gates.

Expectantly, she approached the middle of the garden where the faun stood staring back at her between a few stone benches, just as it had the last time, with a fresh grin.

On one of the benches sat the Andechs abbot.

He appeared deep in thought, and for a moment, Magdalena thought he might have even fallen asleep. But then Rambeck, aroused by the shouts of the children, raised his head and turned toward Magdalena. When he recognized the hangman’s daughter, he smiled wearily.

“Ah, the young lady from Schongau who’s so interested in herbs,” he said, gesturing for her to take a seat beside him. His eyes radiated a dark melancholy that Magdalena didn’t remember from her last visit. “Do have a seat, and tell me which healing plant you would recommend for melancholy. Certainly you know some magic herbs.”

“Well, valerian, St. John’s wort, and melissa can help with melancholy,” Magdalena replied, bowing slightly before sitting down beside the Andechs abbot. “But best of all, as far as I know, are friends and a good conversation.”

Maurus Rambeck laughed bitterly. “I’m afraid I don’t have any friends at the moment, so we’ll have to settle for conversation.”

“Your Excellency,” Magdalena began hesitantly, “I’m terribly sorry about what happened to your brother. I—”

Rambeck waved her off. “It’s perhaps better this way—it at least puts an end to the waiting and worrying. The last time we spoke I already suspected Markus was dead.”

“Markus?” The hangman’s daughter frowned.

“That used to be his name. When he became a monk, he took the name Virgilius, after the famous Salzburg bishop and scholar.” The abbot crossed himself hastily. “We were both old men. Now, in God’s unfathomable will, he has passed away before me, and I will follow him someday.”

“You were very close, you and your brother?” Magdalena asked cautiously.

The abbot nodded. “Markus was the younger of us two, and as a child, I often had to take care of him. He always had crazy ideas.” A narrow smile appeared on his lips. “That ne’er-do-well simply dropped out of the university in Salzburg and started drifting around… Rome, Madrid, Paris, Alexandria. He was even in the West Indies. I thought I’d never see him again, but then one day he showed up here at the monastery, and I did what I could for him as a simple monk. He seemed…” The abbot hesitated, “well, to have pulled himself together again. But I was wrong.”

The abbot paused for a long time, staring into space. “Sometimes I think all this struggle for knowledge doesn’t really make us happy,” he said finally. “On the contrary, it moves us away from God, from our simple, childlike faith. Markus never had that faith, not even as a monk; he was always restless and at war with himself.”

The sound of bells could be heard far off, mixing with the singing of the faithful.

“Do you hear that?” the abbot asked. “People singing and praying, and they are happy. They don’t need automatons or music boxes, and they don’t want to hear that the earth is a sphere revolving around the sun in an endless universe. All they want is to eat, drink, love, and believe.” He sighed and stood up. “But perhaps we’re living in a new era; as people struggle increasingly for knowledge, they move farther and farther from God.”

Lost in thought, the abbot smoothed down his robe, stared for a while at the grinning faun, then turned from the statue, shaking his head.

“I’ll tear down these idols,” he said softly. “As well as the statues of the Greek gods in the grotto that spin around, playing that cheerful music. Things like this turn us away from the true faith. Perhaps that will bring an end to the curse.”

Nodding once more to Magdalena, he moved toward the exit slowly, like an old man. “Farewell, hangman’s daughter,” he murmured as he opened the gate. “I’ll join the others now in the square as a simple believer and pray. You should do the same.”

He looked up one last time, tears shining in his eyes. “Don’t stay too long in this garden,” he warned her. “Believe me, something terribly evil is lurking here.”

The gate creaked closed, and soon the abbot’s footsteps died away. From far off, the sound of the singing pilgrims rose and fell in unison, in a monotonous hum.

Magdalena pulled herself together and looked at the faun. It grinned and appeared to be looking back at her, almost as if it wished to tell her a secret.

Forget the old fool. Stay here with me. I’m not evil, only a stranger. Just like you, hangman’s daughter.

Despite the warmth of the June morning Magdalena began to shiver. The fragrant herbs and flowers, the little walls, the climbing peas and beans suddenly didn’t seem as friendly and inviting as just a few minutes ago. The nasturtium seemed to
writhe about like a snake, and the lizards scurrying over the stones cast sly glances at her; indeed the entire garden suddenly seemed strange and threatening. And something else was troubling her.

She heard the humming of the bumblebees, the chirping of the sparrows in the bushes, the rustling treetops in the nearby valley, and the splashing of a distant fountain.

What she didn’t hear were her children.

My God. Don’t let it have happened.

“Peter? Paul?” she cried anxiously into the rampant greenery. “Where are you?”

There was no answer—only the peaceful hum of bumblebees.

“Children!” Her voice took on a shrill tone now. “Mother is looking for you. Say something!”

Still no answer. Magdalena picked up the hem of her skirt and ran along the little walls, past the climbing trellises that formed a labyrinth here. She slipped, skinning her knee, but felt no pain. Only one thought swirled through her head.

The children are gone. The sorcerer has the children.

She continued calling out. Several times she thought she caught sight of a shadow darting behind a bush or climbing trellis, but when she approached, there was nothing there but more gates and bushes—all the way to the walls at the end of the garden. She ran to the grotto where the statues of the ancient gods were standing in a circle, but the children weren’t there, either.

Finally she hurried to the front gate and ran out into the flowery meadow. The gentle, soothing songs of the faithful could still be heard at the monastery, now mixed with the high, shrill voice of a single monk. The presentation of the three sacred hosts was nearing an end.

“Peter! Paul! My God, say something!”

Magdalena looked around frantically for the heads of the little
children amid all the tall flowers and wild grain in the meadow; she cried and fumed as tears of desperation and fear ran down her cheeks.

But her children were nowhere to be found. Finally, after turning around to glance at the enchanted garden one last time, she ran back to the monastery. She had to find her husband and her father. Perhaps they could help. Perhaps the two children had simply run over to the church looking for their grandfather. Perhaps everything would be all right. Perhaps.

Deep down, Magdalena knew her children were lost.

The church square overflowed with people as Simon stumbled over a sack of mortar left behind by the workers; behind him he could still hear the angry shouts of Karl Semer.

“Stop! Stop those two! They are dishonorable liars and charlatans!”

The medicus held his breath. The many pilgrims around him seemed puzzled. A moment ago, they’d been engrossed in devotions to their god; now reality intruded in the form of two men struggling to make their way through the crowd. Simon could see the bearded head of the Schongau executioner bobbing up and down among all the pilgrims about twenty steps in front of him. The hangman simply shoved the astonished bystanders aside like stalks of corn in a field, and because of his size, he made faster progress than the slender medicus. Simon could hear people shouting at him in astonishment, but no one tried to stop the huge man.

“Kuisl, wait for me, for God’s sake. Just wait!”

Simon cursed under his breath as he got up, pushing aside a heavy man blocking his way. Next to him, a woman shrieked as her rosary fell from her hand.

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to—” Simon started to apologize when a young man punched him in the face.

“You fresh little pansy, who do you think you are, pushing
my fiancée?” the broad-shouldered young fellow growled. He tried to grab the medicus by the collar, but Simon wriggled away, finding a narrow path through the crowd. He was horrified to see that his distance from his father-in-law had grown. By now, Kuisl had reached the edge of the square and was about to flee through the little gate down into the Kien Valley.

“Kuisl! Wait!”

Breathlessly Simon rushed past a group of pilgrims from Landshut, bumping into their praying leader and sending him sprawling and shouting to the ground with their banner. The richly embroidered flag, which weighed at least thirty pounds, fell on two old women, covering them like a huge bed sheet. Out of the corner of his eye, the medicus could see the two women wailing and struggling to get free from the heavy banner.

Finally Simon reached the wall separating the church square from the forest. Looking back, he was relieved to see that the two Semers were also having trouble making their way through the dense crowd. He was about to heave a big sigh of relief when he spied two of the Andechs hunters coming toward him. The bailiffs had decided not to try to make their way through the crowd in the square but to run around the edge, where there were fewer people. Now the men ran toward Simon, grinning. One already had his crossbow in hand, and the other lowered his spear menacingly.

“In the name of the monastery, stop at once,” the guard with the crossbow ordered.

Simon paid him no heed but turned and ran toward the gate through which Kuisl had just disappeared. There was a soft whirring sound, then a bolt slammed into one of the trees directly above him.

And all this because, once more, my stubborn father-in-law won’t listen to me,
he thought grimly.
Now we’re probably both being sought as false monks. The Weilheim executioner won’t have to complain about a lack of work.

Simon slipped through the open gate and turned right onto the path along the monastery wall. Soon he saw St. Elizabeth’s Chapel in front of him and a path leading down a steep slope into the forested Kien Valley on the left. Turning around, he was horrified to see the hunters had followed him, joined by four others, and were approaching in long strides.

The path continued along the edge of the gorge; to his right were fields and farmland. Where should he go? If he ran out into the open country, the hunters would shoot him down like an animal, but the way into the forest was blocked by the gorge. If he continued running along this path, the bailiffs would likely catch up with him soon. Unlike the slender Schongau medicus, they looked strong and athletic; laughing and shouting, they seemed to enjoy the hunt.

“Look how he runs,” shouted one, alarmingly close by. “Like a rabbit, a frightened little rabbit. Hey, stop, you coward! We’ll catch you anyway!”

The path now took a turn, and for a brief moment, Simon was out of their line of sight. As he desperately looked around for a place to hide, a hand shot out from behind a rock at the edge of the gorge and grabbed him by the collar. Waving his arms around helplessly, he was dragged behind a huge boulder.

“Damn, just what the—” was all he could say before hairy fingers grabbed him by the throat, silencing him.

“Shut your mouth and stop flailing around. You dance around more than a billy goat.”

Simon relaxed when he recognized the voice of his father-in-law. Crouching behind the rock, they were dangerously close to the gorge: only a few fingers’ breadths stood between them and the steep gorge falling a hundred feet down to the river. Kuisl continued to hold Simon tight in his grip, but looking down at the steep slope at his feet, Simon raised no objection.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from the presentation of the hosts?” Simon gasped as he tried to get a firmer footing on the
narrow ledge. “Now we’re both wanted, and I really don’t know how I’m going to get out of this
mmmmmm.
”

The hangman held his hand in front of Simon’s mouth as the steady pounding of the bailiffs’ footsteps approached along the path. Simon could hear their breathing, and for a moment, he felt like an animal at bay. But then they passed, and soon Simon and Kuisl could hear only the twittering of the birds.

Kuisl had closed his eyes. Now he turned silently to Simon.

“There were only two of them,” he whispered. “No doubt the other two are looking for us behind the other boulders along the path. They’ll be here soon. We have no choice but to head down into the gorge.”

“Down?” Simon looked at him in horror, pointing at the cliff that fell off steeply into the gorge. “Do you mean down there?”

“Of course, you idiot. Where else? It isn’t as bad as it looks. There are little trees you can hold onto all the way down.”

Simon couldn’t help thinking of the window ledge outside the count’s office where he’d been standing the day before. Now he would have to tempt fate again. He was a good swimmer, and narrow subterranean passageways were no problem for him, but he’d always had a great fear of heights. And this one was particularly high.