neck.
“You stupid bastards!” hissed the devil, without withdrawing the spit as much as a hair’s breadth. “Who got you this job anyway, hey? Who got you grub and booze up till now? Without me you would have starved to death long ago, or you’d be dangling from some tree. I’ll get those little bastards yet, don’t you worry, and until then we are staying here! It would be a pity to lose the money!”
“Let go of Andre, Braunschweiger!” The second man by the fire stood up slowly. He was tall and broad shouldered, and there was a scar across his face. He drew his saber and pointed it in the devil’s direction. Only by looking closely could you see the fear in his eyes. His sword hand trembled slightly.
“We’ve stuck with you long enough,” he hissed. “Your cruelties, your thirst for blood, your torturing, they make me sick! You shouldn’t have killed the boy! Now we have the whole town looking for us!”
The devil whom they called Braunschweiger shrugged his shoulders. “He overheard us, just like the others. He would have betrayed us, and then that lovely money would have been lost. Anyway…” He grinned broadly. “They’re not looking for us. They think a witch killed the children, and perhaps tomorrow they’ll burn her. So then, Hans, put away your saber. Let’s not quarrel.”
“First you’ll put down that spit you have pointed at Andre,” whispered the man called Hans. Not for one second did the muscular soldier let the smaller man out of his sight. He knew how dangerous Braunschweiger could be, in spite of his rather diminutive size. He could probably slice all three of them to pieces right here in the clearing before they could strike a single blow at him.
With a smile, the devil lowered the spit. “Fine,” he said. “Then I can tell you at last about my discovery.”
“Discovery? What discovery?” asked the third man, who had been lying expectantly in the patch of moss up till then. His name was Christoph Holzapfel, and he was, like the other three men, a former soldier. They had been traveling about together for nearly two years, living on murder, robbery, and arson. They could not remember the last time they’d been paid. They were always on the run, no better than hunted animals. But deep inside them there still glowed a spark of decency, something left over from the bedtime stories their mothers had told them and the prayers that the village priest had drummed into their heads. And each of them felt instinctively that in the man they called Braunschweiger this spark of decency was missing. He was as cold as his bony hand that had been made for him after an amputation. Although it couldn’t wield a weapon, it was a useful substitute for one. It instilled fear and horror, and that was what Braunschweiger liked best.
“What discovery are you talking about?” Christoph Holzapfel repeated his question.
The devil smiled. He knew that he had the upper hand again. He stretched out on the moss, tore a leg off the rabbit, and kept talking while nibbling on the leg. “I followed Moneybags. I wanted to know what he intended to do at the building site. He was there again last night, and I was, as well.” He wiped the grease from his lips.
“And?” Andre asked impatiently.
“He was looking for something. Something that must be hidden there.”
“A treasure?”
The devil shrugged. “Maybe. But you want to leave, so I’ll just look for it myself.”
Hans Hohenleitner grinned. “Braunschweiger, you’re the biggest bloodsucker and swine I’ve ever met, but at least you’re a clever swine.”
A sudden noise made them turn round. The snapping of twigs, quiet but not quiet enough for four experienced soldiers. Braunschweiger signaled to them to keep silent, then he slipped into the bushes. A short time afterward they heard a cry, then groaning, panting, and branches crackling. The devil dragged a struggling form into the clearing. When he threw it down by the fire, the soldiers saw that it was the man they were supposed to be working for.
“I was coming to you,” he groaned. “What’s gotten into you to treat me like this?”
“Why did you creep up like that, Moneybags?” Christoph grumbled.
“I…I didn’t creep up on you. I have to talk to you. I need your help. You must help me to look for something. This very night. I can’t do it alone.”
For a time there was silence.
“Will we share?” asked Braunschweiger at last.
“Half for you, word of honor.”
Then he told them shortly what he intended to do.
The soldiers nodded. Their leader had been right once again. They would follow him. They could speak later about the sharing.
Martha Stechlin emerged from her swoon, and the pain hit her like a blow. They had crushed all her fingers and inserted splinters with burning sulfur under her fingernails. The midwife had smelled her own flesh burning. But she had remained silent. Again and again Lechner had questioned her and written all the questions word for word in his record of proceedings.
Her answer was always no. Even when Jakob Kuisl put the leg screws on her, she remained firm. At the end, when the witnesses had withdrawn with a carafe of wine for a short consultation, the hangman came quite close to her and whispered in her ear. “Stay strong, Martha! Say nothing. It’ll soon be over.”
The officials in fact decided not to continue the questioning until the following morning. Since then she had been lying in her cell, half awake and half asleep. Now and then she heard the church bells. Even Georg Riegg in the neighboring cell had stopped his nagging. It was shortly before midnight.
In spite of her pain and fear, Martha Stechlin tried to think. From what the hangman had said and from the questioning and accusations, she tried to form a picture of what had happened. Three children had died and two were missing. All had been with her on the night before the first murder. Jakob Kuisl told her of the strange sign they had found on the bodies. Her mandrake was missing too. Someone must have stolen it.
She drew the sign with a finger in the dust on the floor of the prison and immediately wiped it away, fearing that someone could discover her doing it. Then she drew it once again.
It was indeed one of the witches’ signs. Who had scratched it on the children? Who knew about it?
Suddenly she had a dreadful suspicion. She rubbed the sign out and then drew it slowly for the third time. Could it possibly be true?
In spite of her pain she couldn’t help laughing to herself. It was so simple. It had been right in front of her the whole time, and she had failed to see it.
The circle with the cross under it…a witches’ sign…
A stone struck her in the middle of the forehead. For a moment everything went black before her eyes.
“Got you, witch!” Georg Riegg’s voice rang through the prison. She could see him indistinctly in the darkness behind the bars on the other side of the chamber, his hand still raised. Near him the imprisoned watchman from the raft landing was snoring. “What the hell is there to laugh at? It’s your fault that we’re stuck in here. Admit it, you set fire to the Stadel and killed the children. Then we’ll have peace in the town at last! You stubborn old sorceress! What are those signs you are drawing there?”
Another stone, big as a fist, struck her on the right ear. She sank to the ground, desperately trying to wipe away the sign again, but her hands would no longer obey her. She started to feel faint, then everything turned black.
The real witch…Must tell Kuisl…Let him know…
The clock in the church tower struck midnight as Martha Stechlin, bleeding, slumped down onto the prison floor. She no longer heard Georg Riegg, still scolding, calling for the watch.
The bell of the town parish church boomed over the roofs of Schongau. It struck twelve times, as two figures, wrapped in their coats, made their way through the mist on their way to the cemetery of Saint Sebastian. Jakob Kuisl had bribed the watchman at the Lech Gate with a bottle of brandy. To Alois, the old night watchman, it was a matter of indifference what the hangman and the young physician were doing out on the streets at this time. And
