girl seemed to be sleeping now, but with every breath her frail chest rattled.
In a moment of inspiration, Magdalena reached for a chain around her neck decorated with amulets attached at regular intervals: a wolf’s tooth in a tin setting, a bloodstone, a silver arrow like the one that pierced St. Sebastian, a mole’s paw, a rock crystal, a tiny cloth pouch that had been blessed…It was a so-called “Fraisen chain,” a charm necklace meant to ward off evil spirits and black magic. The hangman’s daughter tore the wolf’s tooth off the chain, bent down to the girl, and pressed it into her limp hand. The little girl’s hand closed in her sleep.
“What is it…?” the mother asked anxiously.
“It will protect her,” Magdalena said, trying to console her. “My father cast some powerful charms on it.”
That was not really true, but the hangman’s daughter knew that faith, love, and hope could often do more than the strongest medicine. Her father had given her the charm necklace when she was still a child, and whenever she was afraid or felt threatened, she would clutch it tightly in her hand. It gave her strength, and she hoped that some of this strength would be transferred to the little girl now.
“I will never be able to pay you,” the woman objected. “I am a poor dyer woman.”
Magdalena stopped her with a wave of her hand. “It’s the wolf my father shot last year. We have enough teeth in our house for all of Schongau.” She winked at her conspiratorially. “The important thing is the magic charm it possesses. You won’t betray me, will you?”
The woman shook her head, still speechless over the gift from the hangman’s girl. Then something occurred to her, and her face brightened. “Though I have no money,” she said, “perhaps I can help you. Your father was over in Altenstadt because of the dead priest, wasn’t he?”
Magdalena pricked up her ears. “How do you know…?”
The woman shrugged. “People talk. They say he was poisoned. Now listen…”
She looked around carefully and lowered her voice.
“I went to see Koppmeyer a few days ago-had to give him some dyed fabric for the mass. I’m standing there in front of the rectory and see a man talking with the priest inside. A monk it was, with a black cowl, and under the cowl was a fine, white cloth, not the sort of rags that people like us wear.”
“Please continue,” Magdalena urged her.
“The monk was speaking softly, but very intensely with the priest. I could see that Koppmeyer was really afraid. His eyes were bulging as if they might almost fall out of their sockets. Then the man shouted at him and went outside for his horse. I hurried over to hide behind the woodpile.”
“What did he look like?” Magdalena asked.
“There wasn’t much to see because of his hood and the robe…” The woman hesitated. “But one thing was very strange.”
“What? Tell me!”
“He had to bend forward as he mounted his horse, and underneath his robe I saw a golden chain dangling down with a big, beautiful cross. But it looked different from the crosses we have in church.”
The excitement practically took Magdalena’s breath away. “What…what did it look like?”
“Well, it didn’t have just one crossbeam, it had two; the upper one was shorter, and the whole cross was made of gold. I have never seen one like that before.”
Magdalena thought for a moment but couldn’t remember ever seeing a cross like that, either.
“What happened then?” she finally asked.
The dyer woman shrugged. “I took the cloth to Koppmeyer. He was still pretty upset. He handed me two pennies too much and sent me on my way. I’ve never in my life seen the fat priest so frightened. I mean, the man was as strong as a bear!”
Magdalena nodded. “You have helped me a lot, and I am grateful.” She headed toward the door, deep in thought. “Don’t forget the potion for your daughter,” she said as she left. “If she doesn’t get better in three days, come over and see us at the hangman’s house.” She grinned. “If you dare…But my father kills only people who have done something to deserve it.”
The dyer woman watched as Magdalena vanished into the next alleyway. The girl started to cough again. Praying quietly to herself, the mother returned to the house and to her daughter.
Simon was sitting alongside Benedikta at a table in the back of the tavern at the Goldener Stern Inn, sipping on a mug of mulled wine. His nose had finally stopped bleeding, but he could feel it swelling by the minute. He was probably already completely disfigured. He glanced around at the other guests. Now, as evening set in, the tavern was filling slowly with merchants, wealthy craftsmen, and a few aldermen who would overnight there. The tavern belonged to Karl Semer, the city’s presiding burgomaster. It was the best place in town and thus attracted a wealthy clientele. A fire was burning in the large stone fireplace in the corner, lending a cozy atmosphere to the room, and a chandelier bathed the low, wood-paneled room in a subdued light. The aroma of cinnamon, cloves, and stew hung in the air.
Simon rarely came here, preferring the cheap saloons in the area behind the Ballenhaus, where the wine and the beer were cheaper but also caused bigger hangovers in the morning. He loved it when one of the journeymen or apprentices picked up a fiddle and started to play while the other guests stamped their feet and the girls’ skirts whirled around. Here at Semer’s Tavern, things were much more civilized. At the table next to them, two merchants were talking in hushed tones about their recent sales, and farther back, the alderman Johann Puchner tried flirting with one of the servers by inviting her to join him for a glass of wine. The perky young woman put a glass of the best Alsace wine down in front of him, then disappeared into the kitchen, giggling.
Until that moment, Benedikta had refrained from asking questions, dabbing away now and then at the blood beneath Simon’s nose. She appeared lost in thought as she nipped on her cup of diluted wine and, like Simon, seemed to be carefully observing the other guests. Finally, she turned and spoke to him.
“I have decided to stay in Schongau for a few more days. My manager can handle the business in Landsberg just as well as I can, and besides, I was able to make some good contacts today with a few wine merchants from Augsburg.” She sighed. “But of course it’s primarily my brother that keeps me here. I won’t rest until they catch the damned murderer. Have you been able to learn more about his death?”
Simon hesitated for a moment, then told her about the solution to the riddle, what they had found in the basilica in Altenstadt, and how he planned to search the ruins of the Guelph castle for further clues.
Benedikta’s face darkened. “But what does that all have to do with my brother? It’s not possible that he knew about all these things.”
Simon took a long sip before continuing. “Your brother certainly did not know the entire truth, but he knew about the grave under the church. He told someone about it, and that someone wanted to keep the information to himself.”
“So that no one else would know about it?” Benedikta looked at him in disbelief. “What have you found up to now except a few silly riddles, a joke played by an aging knight?” She shrugged. “Perhaps this Wildgraf was just a man with a sense of humor and all you’ll find in the castle ruins is a coarse rhyme about how nosy some people are.”
Simon shook his head. “The Templars didn’t think that way. They were an order of knights that combined the virtues of a Christian life and knighthood; they didn’t go around tricking people. The first riddle comes from the Revelation of Saint John, and the second refers to an ancient noble family, the Guelphs. It can’t be an accident. It almost looks as if our dead knight wanted to test us to see if we were worthy. Clearly, he was looking for men who were well versed both in the Bible and in the life of the nobility. Templars…” He hesitated, then stopped speaking.
“Is something wrong?” Benedikta looked at him and smiled. “Has the wine gone to your head?”
Simon shook his head, then pulled out the little guide he had borrowed from Jakob Schreevogl and was still carrying around in his jacket pocket.
He laid it on the table and started leafing through it excitedly.
“What is that?” Benedikta asked, trying to get a glimpse.
“It’s a book about the Templars,” Simon replied, but then he stopped flipping through the pages and sighed. “For a moment, I thought I had remembered something, but I must be mistaken.”
He told Benedikta briefly what he knew about the Templars.
“This Friedrich Wildgraf, who was buried down there in the crypt, was a master of the Order of Teutonic
