“Your father would never do such a thing, not without your consent,” he said, trying to console her.
She pushed him away. “What do you really know about my father!” she cried. “He is the hangman. He tortures and kills, and when he isn’t doing that, he sells love potions to old hags and poison to young sluts to kill the brats inside them. My father is a monster, a fiend! He’ll marry me off for a few guilders and a bottle of brandy without batting an eye! To hell with my father!”
Simon held her tightly and looked into her eyes. “You mustn’t speak like this about your father! You know that it’s not true. Your father is the hangman, but God knows somebody must do it after all! He is a strong and a wise man. And he loves his daughter!”
Crying she clung to Simon’s doublet, shaking her head again and again. “You don’t know him. He is a monster, a monster…”
Simon was standing at the window looking vacantly into the herb garden, where the first green shoots were starting to appear in the brown earth. He felt so helpless. Why couldn’t they simply be happy together? Why were there always people telling them how to live their lives? His father, Magdalena’s father, the whole damn town…
“I just talked with him, with your father…about us,” he began suddenly.
She stopped sobbing and looked up to him questioningly.
“And what did he say?”
Her eyes were so full of hope that he impulsively decided to lie.
“He…he said that he would think it over. That first he wanted to see if I was good for anything. Once the matter with Martha Stechlin was settled, he would make up his mind. He won’t exclude the possibility, that’s what he said.”
“But…but that’s wonderful!”
Magdalena wiped the tears from her face and smiled at him with puffy eyes.
“That means all you have to do is help him get Martha Stechlin out of the keep.” With every word her voice became firmer. “Once he sees that you’ve got something inside your head he will also trust you with his daughter. That has always been what counted for my father. That a person should have something inside his head. And that’s what you are going to prove to him now.”
Simon nodded but avoided looking directly at her. In the meantime Magdalena had again gotten a hold of herself. She poured a goblet of wine and emptied it in one gulp.
“What did you find out this morning?” she asked, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.
Simon told her about the death of the Strasser boy, and that the midwife had regained consciousness. He also told Magdalena of her father’s hints and their planned meeting in the coming night. She listened attentively and only here and there interjected a short question.
“And you say Strasser had noticed that Johannes had often been covered with clay?”
Simon nodded. “That’s what he said. And then your father gave him such a funny look.”
“Did you get to look at the dead boy’s fingernails?”
He shook his head. “No, but I believe your father did.”
Magdalena smiled. Simon suddenly thought he was looking into her father’s face.
“What are you grinning about? Do tell me!”
“I think I know what my father wants to do with you tonight.”
“And what is that?”
“Well, he probably wants to have another look at the fingernails of the other boys.”
“But they were buried long ago in the cemetery at Saint Sebastian’s!”
Magdalena gave him a wicked grin. “And now you know why you’ll only get going at midnight tonight.”
Simon’s face turned white. He had to sit down.
“You…you think?”
Magdalena poured herself another goblet of wine. She took a deep gulp before continuing.
“Let’s just hope the two boys are really dead. Who knows, the devil might’ve really gotten into them. Best take a crucifix along. You never know…”
Then she quickly kissed him on the mouth. She tasted of wine and earth. It was better than coffee.
CHAPTER
12
SUNDAY
APRIL 29, A.D. 1659
SIX O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING
SLOWLY DUSK SETTLED OVER THE TOWN. ROADS and fields still lay in the sunlight, but beneath the thick foliage of oaks and beeches evening had already arrived. Shadows gradually spread into a clearing in the forest where four men sat round a crackling fire. Above the fire, a spit with two rabbits was turning. Grease dropped onto the embers and gave off a smell that made their mouths water. They had eaten nothing all day except a few mouthfuls of bread and some wild plants and were accordingly in an irritable mood.
“How much longer must we sit on our backsides in this damned place?” grumbled one of them, turning the spit. “Let’s go over to France. The war’s still going on over there and they’re looking for people like us.”
“And what about the money, eh?” asked a second man, who was lolling about on the mossy forest ground. “Fifty guilders he promised us for destroying the building site. And another fifty once Braunschweiger got rid of those little bastards. Up to now we’ve only seen about a quarter of the money. And that, even though
He glanced over at a man who was leaning against a tree a short distance away, but the man didn’t even look up. He was busy doing something with his hand. Something didn’t seem to be right about it, for he squeezed, massaged, and kneaded it. On his head he wore a broad-brimmed hat with a few colorful rooster’s feathers. His clothing consisted of a bloodred doublet, a black coat, and two worn, hip-high leather boots. In contrast to the others, he wore his beard carefully trimmed, so that a pale face with a hooked nose and a long scar was visible above it. He was short, wiry, and muscular.
At last he seemed to be contented with his hand. He smiled, then held it up so that it shone white in the light of the fire. His arm, from the elbow to the fingertips, was composed of pieces of bone held together by copper wires passed through holes drilled in the bone. It looked like the hand of a corpse. Not until now did the devil look over at his companions.
“What did you just say?” he asked quietly.
The soldier by the fire swallowed nervously but continued speaking. “I said that
“Three are dead,” whispered the devil. “The other two are somewhere around here. Don’t worry, I’ll find them.”
“Yes, when the fall comes,” laughed the third man by the fire as he carefully pulled the rabbits off the spit. “But I’m not going to hang around here that long. I’m leaving, and I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ve just about had enough of this, and I’ve had more than enough of you!” He spat toward the tree.
The devil ran over to the man and in a twinkling of an eye had snatched the iron spit from his hand. He held the iron to the soldier’s throat, his face only inches from the other man’s. When the soldier swallowed, the red-hot point of the spit touched his Adam’s apple. He uttered a loud scream, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his
