The Poisoned Pilgrim: A Hangman's Daughter Tale (53 page)

“Here I thought the little bathhouse surgeon would remain stiff forever,” Virgilius said regretfully. He turned to Aurora. “I thought I could make a playmate for you, a puppet for the time when you yourself are no longer a puppet. What do you say?” With a playful, surprised look, he gazed at Aurora, as if awaiting an answer. “Do you think me impolite? I haven’t introduced you yet? Excuse me; you are absolutely right.”

Virgilius bowed slightly in Simon’s direction and pointed at the grinning automaton. “My dear bathhouse surgeon: this is Elisabeth, the most beautiful and charming creature I’ve ever been privileged to meet in my life. I call her Aurora, meaning
dawn.
A suitable name, don’t you think?” He smiled, but Simon could see tears in his eyes.

“Shall I tell him a bit about us, Elisabeth?” Virgilius continued. “Really? Very well, as you wish…” He paused briefly before continuing.

“I met my beloved Dawn when I was a young student at the Benedictine university in Salzburg, where my older brother, Maurus, also studied. He always chided me for neglecting my studies and spending all my time with Elisabeth. The stupid fellow. Even today, he still doesn’t understand what she means to me. She was—no, she
is
my life.”

Virgilius paused for a long time, staring vacantly at the dead skulls, the jewels, the astrolabe, and the music boxes on the shelves.

“What are you saying?” he asked, astonished. “Do you really want me to tell this nice, open-minded bathhouse surgeon our little secret? But… you know how it hurts me to do that.” He nodded with determination. “Very well then, if you say so. I have, in fact, remained silent much too long. It deadens the soul to keep secrets too long, doesn’t it?”

Virgilius’s face suddenly turned grim, as if dark clouds were gathering behind his eyes.

“Elisabeth died,” he said softly. “Just like a rose in winter. It was the Plague that took her from me thirty years ago. I… I tried everything at the time, but all my knowledge, all the cleverness I was so proud of, wasn’t enough to cure her.”

With a sudden sweep of his cane, Virgilius brushed the astrolabe and a few other technical devices off the shelves and onto the floor, where they broke apart with a loud crash that echoed through the subterranean passageways.

“What use is all this damned science if we can’t save the one life that means something to us,” he shouted so loudly that the children started to cry and clung tightly to their father. Tears rolled like little pearls down the watchmaker’s face. “What an evil trick God has played on us by giving us reason but no control. After Elisabeth’s death I traveled the entire world—Africa, Arabia, the distant West Indies—looking for something that would give me back my life. But all I brought back was this… this rubbish.”

Disgusted, the watchmaker took the long pointed horn from the shelf. Simon thought he intended to stab him with it at first, but instead Virgilius just cast it aside carelessly, then proceeded to furiously pound the other shelves with his cane.

“Nothing but rubbish to fill up my little cabinet of curiosities,” he ranted. “Nothing but trash! Things that amuse us. But we’re unable to create natural, living things themselves. Everything is a cheap imitation of God’s works. Everything…”

He paused and suddenly dropped his walking stick. In the
silence that followed, all that could be heard was the wailing of the children, who still clung to their father and stared up anxiously at the angry little hunchback.

“I… I’m sorry, Elisabeth,” he said, again very softly. “I… I didn’t want to frighten the little ones. Can you comfort them again? I know you can.”

He walked over to the puppet and turned a few little wheels in its back. At once Aurora started to play her sad familiar melody again as she rolled around, clattering in a little circle. It looked as if she was going to dance. The children did settle down for a while; Paul even giggled when the puppet winked its metal eyelids.

“I swear by God, I tried to forget Elisabeth,” Virgilius muttered, leaning against the wall next to Simon and staring into space. “All those many summers and winters. But I couldn’t do it. Outwardly, I was calm and reasonable, but inwardly I was still seething. After many years of travel, my brother obtained this position in the monastery for me. As a foolish watchmaker. Maurus no doubt thought I’d finally been cured of my spiritual distress.” He laughed softly. “I started building automata for these dumb monks, toys they could put in their gardens and enjoy. I made a hellish, burning powder, as well as muskets that shot bullets silently, propelled by nothing but air pressure, and chirping birds made of metal. And I did it all to not have to think of
her.
Finally when madness had practically consumed me, I had a stroke of insight that saved me. I built myself a new Aurora. From the deepest recesses of my memory, I built myself an automaton that looked and acted just like her.”

Slowly, Virgilius began to rock his head back and forth in time with the melody; then his legs started moving as well. As the hunchbacked little man hobbled around the room, he took the puppet by the arms and spun around with it in a courtly dance.

“One, two… one, two…” he sang in time with the music.

Simon felt the paralysis beginning to wear off; with a struggle he could even wiggle a few fingers. Discreetly he moved his arms and legs and hoped the crazed watchmaker wouldn’t notice.

When the machine’s movements and melody finally slowed down and stopped, Virgilius bowed politely to Aurora and uttered a deep sigh.

“Yes, I know, Elisabeth,” he said with a disparaging wave of his hand. “This is just make-believe. You say you’re not alive, that this clever bathhouse surgeon knows that, as well, but can I tell you what he doesn’t know?” He winked at Simon, who could now move his right arm again.

“What he doesn’t know is that we’ve found a way to bring you back to life,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “That ugly apothecary showed me how. Lightning. Yes, lightning. Even in ancient writings we learn that lightning is the finger of God. For years I’ve been looking for a force that can breathe life back into you, and finally, finally, I found it.” Virgilius closed his eyes and folded his hands as if he were praying.

“What do you say to that, Elisabeth?” he exclaimed. “That this stupid apothecary hadn’t quite thought it all through? That something was missing to bring you back to life?” Virgilius cocked his head to one side as if listening with rapt attention for his lover’s reply. “Shall I really disclose our greatest secret to this bathhouse surgeon?” He burst into a hysterical giggle. “Because he won’t be able to tell anyone anyway? You’re right about that.”

Virgilius proudly limped to the other side of the room. By now Simon was able to move his head far enough to make out a sort of small stone altar in the corner. On top of it stood a gold-rimmed glass with three tiny brownish discs inside.

The three sacred hosts,
Simon realized in a flash.
Virgilius was the one who stole them from the monstrance and brought them here.

“I observed the clouds, dearest Aurora,” Virgilius said, carefully
plucking the hard discs out of the glass. “The weather today is most favorable for us, and so soon after the Festival of the Three Hosts. That’s a good sign. Tonight, faith will finally unite with science.” Virgilius cast a longing though deeply sad look at his stiffly grinning beloved. “Your long wait will be over. You will return to the land of the living.”

The watchmaker crushed the hosts to a fine powder with his fingers, and the remains fluttered into the glass.

Huge black thunderclouds were gathering above Lake Ammer, advancing from the west across the water and extending their long, dark fingers toward the monastery. Even though it was just six in the evening, darkness lay over the mountain, silencing all life. The birds took shelter under branches, the foxes and badgers huddled in their holes, and even the wolves drew in their tails and crowded into packs, as if in this way they might better withstand the imminent danger.

High in the sky, the first bolts of lightning appeared, illuminating the clouds that had risen like towers above the lake. Small waves lapping the shoreline were whipped up by a wind blowing down from the Hoher Peißenberg, bringing a freshness to the air and welcome relief from the oppressive heat of this June day. Trees bent in the wind, groaning and creaking. Though they’d withstood many such storms in the past, this one promised to be especially violent.

One that men would long remember.

In the calm before the storm, the first claps of thunder sounded loud enough to burst the world apart. The sound rolled across the land, whistled through the trees, and battered the walls of the monastery.

Then the rain came.

Count Leopold von Wartenberg stood atop the stairway holding his head erect and watching as his soldiers tied up the two
stunned monks. When the bailiffs finally turned to Kuisl and his daughter, the count raised his hand. Suspiciously he stared down at the Schongau hangman.

“At first I thought these scoundrels had found two willing accomplices for their counterfeiting scheme,” he said softly, as if to himself. “But now I remember how the Schongau burgomaster just today told me how angry he was with his hangman. The hangman, he said, was here on the Holy Mountain despite his dishonorable station, and had been caught snooping around in the monastery. This afternoon, he threw one of the hunters into the gorge while trying to flee.” The count raised an eyebrow and looked Kuisl over from head to foot. “From his description, you could be the hangman. Is that true?”

Kuisl folded his arms in front of his broad chest. “I am the one, but I have nothing to do with the dark deeds of these charlatans. I’m only looking for my grandchildren.”

Grinning, the count turned to his soldiers. “Did you hear that? He’s only looking for his grandchildren. Unfortunately the sweet little things have lost their way in the subterranean passageways—the same ones, by chance, in which the counterfeiters were up to no good.” The guards roared, but Count Wartenberg interrupted their laughter with an abrupt gesture. “Nonsense. Do you really think I’ll fall for these lies,
hangman?
”

“But it’s the truth,” Magdalena interrupted. “My children were abducted by this sorcerer. They’re probably still down here somewhere and—”

“Just a moment,” the count said, raising his hand for silence. “What is all this talk about a sorcerer? If there really is one, then it’s this apothecary waiting to be burned at the stake in Weilheim. Who are you, anyway, woman?”

Magdalena straightened up in anger and stuck out her chin. “I’m Magdalena of Schongau,” she replied coolly. “Daughter of the hangman Jakob Kuisl and wife of the bathhouse surgeon
Simon Fronwieser. People say we’re dishonorable, but we do have names.”

“Fronwieser?” For the first time there was a note of astonishment in the count’s voice. “The Fronwieser who cured my son?”

Magdalena smiled wanly. “I’m happy to hear that the little lad is doing better.”

“Well, he’s not cured yet, but the fever is actually going down. Unfortunately I had to leave his bedside a few hours ago on account of these gallows birds.” Wartenberg slowly descended the stairs. The two Benedictines were now lying on the ground, tied up, the guards’ boots pressing their faces into the dirt so they could hardly breathe. The crossbow bolt was still protruding from Brother Jeremias’s upper arm.

“For years we’ve known that something fishy was going on with the Andechs relics,” the count continued as he examined the tables loaded with cheap metal and the encrusted crucible. “There were rumors, stories, but no proof. Nevertheless, we Wittelsbachs couldn’t allow the electorate’s greatest treasure, which actually belongs to us, to be drained off through dubious channels. The elector asked me to look into this, but I couldn’t find anything in the holy chapel, nor could I the second time I asked to be admitted. But then I discovered a map in the librarian’s cell…”

Brother Benedikt’s head quickly shot up. His cheeks were smeared with mud, and blood ran down over his face, but beneath it all, his eyes flashed wildly.

“So you stole my map,” he hissed. “I thought the sorcerer did, but it was just one of you Wittelsbach snoops.”

“Silence, monk!” The count kicked the old man in the side so that he gasped and writhed about. “Think instead about what the Weilheim executioner will be doing with you soon. The punishment for falsifying relics is torture on the rack, but if you don’t
hold your tongue, I’ll make sure Master Hans pulls out your guts first.” He pointed at the lifeless Brother Eckhart whose head lay in a pool of blood. “Your friend can count himself lucky to be spared all this.”

Brother Benedikt coughed but remained silent. The prior who lay tied up next to him seemed to have already resigned himself to his fate, closing his eyes tightly as if he were already in another world. He murmured a Latin prayer as the blood oozed out of his wound and formed a dark stain on his robe.

“I’ll admit the map made me curious,” Wartenberg continued without bothering to look at either of the monks anymore. “So I went looking until I finally found the underground passage leading from the beer cellar to this place. And what did I find at the end? A huge counterfeiting workshop. All I needed to do was to catch the perpetrators in the act. When they slipped away and came down here, we followed them. But two other people were here…”

Now he turned back to Magdalena and her father. “Your husband, this little bathhouse surgeon, did good work, hangman’s daughter,” he said. “For this reason, I’m prepared to listen to you. Also because I want to know how you got here without our noticing it. But be brief and think carefully about what you say.”

“Damn it, I’ll do that if only for the sake of my children, you pompous ass,” she murmured softly enough that only her father beside her could hear. Then in a much louder voice she continued: “The apothecary Brother Johannes is innocent. The real sorcerer is somewhere down below.”

Briefly she told him about the ransom note she’d received from the unknown person, and about the search through the underground passages.