The Poisoned Pilgrim: A Hangman's Daughter Tale (62 page)

They were all there except his wife, Anna-Maria. The worn stool she’d always sat on—where she’d groused, hugged, darned socks, and sung songs—was empty.

Kuisl felt a pang in his heart as painful as if he’d been run through with a sword in battle.

It can’t be. Oh, great God, if you really exist, tell me this isn’t true. It’s an evil prank. I pray to you, and you slap me in the face…

“It happened just yesterday,” Magdalena whispered in a low voice. “This plague cost many in Schongau their lives, and she was one of the last.”

“I… I should have stayed here. I could have helped her.” His broad shoulders slumped. Suddenly he looked very old.

“Nonsense, Father,” said Magdalena, shaking her head vigorously. “Don’t you think Martha tried everything? God gives us life, and he takes it away. Death was just too strong. All we can do is pray…” She stopped short, tears running down her face as Simon squeezed her hand.

“Would you like to see her?” the medicus asked his father-in-law gently. “She’s in the other room.”

Kuisl nodded, then turned away silently and moved into the next room. No one followed him.

As if she were just sleeping, Anna-Maria lay with closed eyes in the large bed they’d shared for so long. Her hair was still long and black, with only a few strains of gray. Someone had combed her hair and dressed her in a white lace nightshirt. A few flies buzzed through the room, alighting on her waxen face, and Kuisl brushed them away. Then he knelt beside the bed and took his wife’s hand.

“My Anna,” he murmured, gently stroking her cheeks. “What am I to do now that you’re no longer here? Who’s going
to scold me when I’ve had too much to drink? Who will pray for me in the church? Who…” He stopped short and bit his lip. They’d been married more than thirty years. As a mercenary, he’d brought Anna back from one of the wars, and together they’d grown old. Tears ran down his scarred face—the first tears in many, many years.

He couldn’t help thinking again about what the mad woman in the Kien Valley had told him a week ago.

Repent, hangman! Soon misfortune will strike you like a bolt from the blue.

Was this the misfortune that would strike him? Was this the punishment for all the dead who had paved his way through life? Could God be so gruesome?

He heard a faint sound from the neighboring room. Magdalena had come in behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“I… must tell you something,” she began hesitantly. “I don’t know if this is the right moment, but I’m sure Mother would have wanted it this way.”

Kuisl remained silent, only his raised head revealing that he was listening.

“It’s just…” Magdalena started to say. “Well… Peter and Paul will soon be sharing the little room upstairs with someone. I’m… I’m going to have another child.”

The hangman didn’t respond, but Magdalena could sense his mighty frame begin to tremble.

“Martha examined me, and she’s quite sure,” she said with a smile. “I was feeling ill a few days ago, do you remember? And now we know why I was constantly nauseated.”

Now that she’d broken the news, words poured out like a warm summer rain.

“And this time, Martha thinks it will be a girl,” she continued. “What do you think? Would you like to have a little granddaughter?”

Kuisl snorted. It seemed to Magdalena he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

“As if one of you wasn’t enough,” he grumbled finally.

The hangman squeezed the hand of his wife one final time, then turned and embraced Magdalena so firmly she could hardly breathe.

This is the fourth book in the Hangman’s Daughter saga and the first set in my hometown. Perhaps for this reason I’m especially fond of it. I spent my childhood and youth near the Bavarian lakes southwest of Munich—the Wörthsee, Pilsensee, and the Weßlinger See—as well as on the Ammersee (Lake Ammer). The Andechs Monastery was always a landmark for us, a needle pointing upward from the hilly countryside at the center of our little world.

Many of my first stories originated in the forests and lakes of this region and are interwoven with old sagas and legends of my homeland. The little town Ellwang, for example, was thought to have been so remote it was the only village spared in the Thirty Years’ War—the Swedes simply had been unable to find it. And the abandoned town of Ramsee, whose ruins lie in the forest south of Andechs, was my model for the village destroyed by the mercenaries in the third novel in the Hangman’s Daughter series,
The Beggar King.

I can’t begin to say how often I’ve hiked up to the monastery—first as a child to play minigolf, then as a young man to drink beer, and finally, as an adult for prayer and reflection. The
latter two aren’t always easy up there, as the streams of tourists are fierce, especially on weekends. The air there is fragrant with
schweinebraten,
beer mash, and grilled fish on a stick; your children tug at your hand, demanding the ice cream you promised; and noisy American tourists or giggling Japanese stagger about from the strong beer. It’s not an accident that the double bock beer, with its alcohol content higher than 7 percent, is no longer served in one-liter mugs in Andechs. I know from experience that paradise begins after three liters, and is quickly followed by the hell of headaches, sweat, and a sour stomach.

But come on a quiet day in midweek, quietly order your half liter of beer, and let your thoughts wander as you look out at the church and the Alps, and you’ll understand why the dear Lord chose this spot for his monastery.

One beautiful Tuesday, while I was researching this book in the monastery beer garden, I saw an older gentleman in a traditional Bavarian
Trachtenjanker
jacket reading the newspaper. Suddenly he looked up, grinned with all three of his teeth, and toasted me with the universal Bavarian blessing.

Mei, grad schee is
…
What a wonderful day it is!

I smiled and nodded silently. Then I ordered a second beer and took out my notebook.

My best ideas came to me that day.

If, after reading this novel, you want to undertake a pilgrimage to Andechs, be prepared: a number of things have changed on the Holy Mountain since the seventeenth century. There was a secularization of church property at the beginning of the nineteenth century, a difficult time for this monastery, but even more important, a fire on May 3, 1669, that destroyed almost all the buildings. Only after the fire did the rebuilding occur in the Baroque style you can see on every Bavarian postcard. For those reasons, I allowed myself a bit more freedom in the descriptions here than in previous novels.

To show you that I’ve nevertheless based much of the novel on historical fact, I’ve prepared a little monastery guide that will give you enough material for your discussions at the beer garden.

Spoiler alert! Don’t read the guide until you’ve finished the novel!

Or are you the kind of person who reads a book from back to front? Well, the main thing is that you learn about this wonderful monastery, with its long history—and drink a beer or two to my homeland. Just be careful with the double bock beer!

Once again, many people have contributed to making this book possible. First of all, I’d like to thank Elfride Kordwig, who guided me through the monastery and lent me books that gave me a magnificent overview. (And again, apologies for missing our appointment! I had the worst toothache in my life…)

I’d also like to thank an Andechs monk who wishes to remain anonymous. He revealed to me some important details about life in the monastery. Further thanks to the local Erling historian Karl Strauß; Joachim Heberlein of the Weilheim Local History and Museum Club; Helmut Schmidbauer from Schongau (above all for the tip about the holy foreskin!); my brothers, Marian and Florian, as well as my father, for medical advice; my mother for the hiking tips and books about our region; my editor, Uta Rupprecht, for every successful battle with words; my agent, Gerd Rumler, for his encouragement; and my wife, Katrin, who fell asleep only once while reading this manuscript and contributed a number of valuable ideas.

And naturally, thanks to my children, who climbed the steep path up to Andechs without complaining (for the most part) when their father had to check one more insignificant detail. Before we go again, we’ll get ice cream; I promise!

A
NDECHS
M
ONASTERY
G
UIDE

Andechs:
This name derives either from the Roman word
dak-sia,
meaning
yew,
or the Celtic word
aks,
meaning steep cliff. The first mention of the word dates from the second century.

Andechs Castle:
The Andechs castle was the ancestral seat of the Andechs-Meranier (q.v.). The fortress was built in the second century not far from the monastery, and was almost completely razed by the Wittelsbachs in the first half of the thirteenth century. Whether the fortress was overcome by treason—as in my novel—or was surrendered without a fight is unknown.

Andechs Chronicle:
The little
Andechser Chronik,
by Willibald Mathäser (published by the Süddeutscher Verlag in the Sammlung Bavarica), was the model for the chronicle in the novel. It still offers the best overview of the monastery’s history.

Andechs-Meranier:
After the murder of the king of Bamberg (q.v.), this powerful noble family forfeited its once dominant position in Bavaria to the Wittelsbachs and died out in the mid-thirteenth century.

Apothecary:
Constructed in 1763 facing the Andechs Church, the apothecary was closed during the secularization period and serves today as a parish office. Almost none of the former furnishings are preserved. Whether an apothecary was located in Andechs in the seventeenth century—and where one might have stood—is unknown.

Automata:
These existed in antiquity, and were in fact all the rage among nobility during the early modern period. Usually they were
artistically crafted clocks or music boxes, but there were also humanlike puppets, like the Bremer Complimentarius in the seventeenth century—an iron sentinel that could open its visor and salute visitors at the Bremen city hall.

Bamberg Regicide:
On June 21, 1208, the German King Philipp von Swabia, of the House of the Hohenstaufen, was murdered by Otto VIII of Wittelsbach, Duke of Bavaria. The wedding of Philipp’s niece, Beatrix, to Duke Otto von Andechs-Meranien took place the same day. Oddly, it was not the Wittelsbachs but the Andechs-Meranien dynasty who was accused of the plot. Many details remain unknown.

Benedictine University:
This university was founded in 1622 in Salzburg, annexed by Bavaria in 1810, and reestablished as a modern university in 1962. At a very early date, classes were held here in theology and philosophy but also in law and medicine.

Count von Cäsana und Colle:
From 1656 to 1688, this Weilheim district judge had jurisdiction over major cases in Andechs—i.e., all punishments involving mutilation, torture, and death.

Curiosity Cabinets:
These popular collections of strange objects were common among noblemen in the Renaissance and Baroque eras, and for the most part, were assembled through voyages of exploration. The curiosity cabinets were precursors of our public museums. A good example can be found today in the Castle Trausnitz in Landshut.

Devil’s Rock:
In my novel, this odd conglomerate rock formation in the Kien Valley serves as the entrance to the cave of the mad hermit woman (q.v.). It’s often referred to as “The Devil’s Chancel,” and some say a hermit’s cave was once actually located there.

Elizabeth Fountain:
This healing spring was downhill from the church near the monastery wall. The chapel that once stood there was demolished in 1805. Pilgrims used to stop here to rest and wash their eyes.

Festival of the Three Hosts:
At this well-known pilgrimage festival at Andechs, which takes place the fourth Sunday after Pentecost, the three sacred hosts (q.v.) are still presented to the faithful.

Friesenegger, Maurus
(1590–1655): This Andechs abbot wrote one of the best-known diaries about the Thirty Years’ War, which evokes the horrors of this period like no other work. A must for all amateur historians, it was recently republished by the Allitera Verlag in their monacensia edition.

Garden:
The real monastery herb garden is located west of and behind the church and is not accessible to the public. Anyone looking for the monastery garden described in my novel will be disappointed; it exists only in my imagination.

Golem:
The Hebrew word for
unformed
or
embryo,
this creature was made from mud and clay and, according to Jewish legend, was brought to life by a rabbi to follow the commands of its master.

Hermit:
At the end of the seventeenth century a woman named Kuttenmiedl was said to have lived in a cave in the upper Kien Valley. A pious hermit, she often appears in frightening children’s stories, and she served as a model for the blind old woman in my story.

Holy Chapel:
This chapel on the second floor of the Andechs church houses the three holy hosts and other religious treasures. The chapel is secured with three iron bars, which in earlier times could be opened only with three different keys. During the great conflagration of 1669, the fire miraculously stopped directly in front of the chapel. The interior can be visited today only on a specially guided tour.

Jesuit’s Powder:
Also called Peruvian Bark or cinchona, this medication was used to reduce fever. Powder made from the bark of the cinchona tree is known today as quinine. The botanical term
Cinchona
supposedly dates back to the countess of Cinchon, who fell ill with malaria in 1639 and was cured by a Jesuit priest.