The Hangman's Daughter

dripping from his hand. He had clenched the rock so hard that its edges had dug into his flesh like knives.

Johann Lechner arranged the papers on his desk on the upper floor of the Ballenhaus. He was preparing for the upcoming meeting of the council, which he assumed was to be the last for quite a while. The clerk wasn’t going to kid himself. The upcoming arrival of His Excellency, Count Sandizell, the Elector’s secretary, would spell the end of Johann Lechner’s influence. He was merely acting as a proxy here. Count Sandizell would start all over and certainly not content himself with one single witch. There was unrest in the streets already. Lechner had been told by a number of people that they would take sacred oaths that the Stechlin woman had jinxed their calves, brought hailstorms down upon their crops, and made their wives barren. Only this morning, Agnes from Steingaden had grabbed him by the sleeve in the street and whispered in his ear, her breath reeking of wine, that her neighbor Maria Kohlhaas was also a witch. She herself had seen her fly across the sky on a broomstick the night before. Johann Lechner sighed. If worse came to worse, the hangman would indeed have busy days.

The first aldermen were arriving in the well-heated council chamber. Richly dressed in their robes and fur caps they took their assigned seats. Karl Semer gave Lechner an inquisitive glance. He might have been the town’s presiding burgomaster, but in official business he fully relied on the clerk. This time, however, it seemed that Lechner had failed. Semer pulled him by the sleeve.

“Any news of the Stechlin woman?” he asked. “Has she finally confessed?”

“Just a moment.” Johann Lechner pretended he was signing an important document. The clerk hated these stuffed moneybags, these puppets, who only held their office by virtue of their birth. Lechner’s father had been a court clerk as well and so had his great uncle, but no court clerk before him had ever been that powerful. The post of the district judge had long been vacant, and the Elector’s secretary came to the town only occasionally. Johann Lechner was smart enough to let the patricians keep the illusion that it was they who ruled the town. Who really ruled was he, the clerk. Now, however, his power seemed to be wavering, and the aldermen sensed it.

Johann Lechner continued to arrange his papers. Then he looked up. The patricians looked at him expectantly. To his left and right were the seats of the four burgomasters and the superintendent of the almshouse, and farther on were those of the other members of the inner and outer council.

“Let me get right to the heart of the matter,” Lechner began. “I have called this council meeting because our town is in a state of emergency. Unfortunately we have not so far been able to make the witch Martha Stechlin talk. Only this morning the witch fell back into a swoon. Georg Riegg hit her on the head with a rock and—”

“How is that possible?” old Augustin interrupted, turning toward Lechner, his blind eyes glistening. “Riegg was in jail himself on account of the fire at the Stadel. How can he throw a rock at the Stechlin woman?”

Johann Lechner sighed. “Well, it happened, so let’s leave it at that. Anyway, she hasn’t regained consciousness yet. It’s possible the devil will take her before she can confess her crimes to us.”

“Why can’t we just tell the people that she’s confessed?” burgomaster Semer murmured, mopping his sweaty pate with a silk kerchief. “She’s dying, and so we burn her for the welfare of our town.”

“Your honor,” Johann Lechner hissed. “That would be a lie before God and His Serene Highness, the Elector himself. We have witnesses present at every interrogation. Shall they all swear false oaths?”

“No, no, not at all. I was only thinking…as I said, for the benefit of Schongau…” The first burgomaster’s voice grew fainter and finally trailed off.

“When can we expect the Elector’s secretary to arrive?” old Augustin queried.

“I have sent messengers,” Lechner said. “The way things look, His Excellency Count Sandizell will give us the pleasure of his presence as early as tomorrow morning.”

A groan passed through the council chamber. The patricians knew what was in store for them. The Elector’s secretary complete with his entourage would settle in the town for many days, if not weeks. It would cost the town a fortune! Not to mention the endless interrogations of suspicious burghers concerning witchcraft, and until the true perpetrators had been found, anyone here could really be in league with the devil. Even the aldermen and their wives…During the last great witch hunt, a number of respected burghers’ wives had been among the victims. The devil drew no distinction between a servant girl and a landlady or a midwife and a burgomaster’s daughter.

“What about that Augsburg wagon driver we arrested on account of the fire at the Stadel?” the second burgomaster Johann Puchner asked, nervously drumming his fingers on the table. “Is he involved in the matter at all?”

Johann Lechner shook his head.

“I interrogated him myself. He’s innocent. Therefore I released him this morning after giving him a severe warning. At least the Augsburgers won’t give us trouble anytime soon. They got what was coming to them. But the Augsburg wagon driver did see that soldiers were fooling around at the Stadel…”

“Soldiers? What kind of soldiers?” old Augustin asked. “This story is getting more confusing by the minute. Please explain yourself, Lechner.”

Johann Lechner briefly contemplated telling the aldermen about his discussion with the hangman down by the building site. Then he decided against it. Matters were complicated enough. He shrugged.

“Well, it seems as though a gang of marauding rogues have set fire to our storage shed. The same rogues also destroyed the building site for the leper house.”

“And now they’re roaming around killing little children and painting a witches’ mark on their shoulders,” old Augustin interrupted, impatiently rapping his stick on the expensive cherrywood floor. “Is this what you’re trying to tell us? Lechner, pull yourself together. We have the witch! All we need now is her confession!”

“You’re misunderstanding me,” the court clerk said, trying to calm the irate patrician. “These soldiers most likely caused the fires. But of course it’s the devil and his helpmate who are responsible for the death of our children. The evidence is clear. We have found magic herbs in the Stechlin woman’s house, the children frequently called on her, and there are burghers who will testify that she introduced the children to the art of sorcery…All we need is her confession. And you know as well as I that the Constitutio Criminalis Carolina stipulates that only someone who confesses may be sentenced.”

“You need not lecture me on the Criminal Code of Emperor Charles. I know it sufficiently well,” Matthias Augustin murmured, his blind eyes roaming in the distance and his nostrils dilating, as though he could perceive a distant stench. “I smell it again, the flesh of the burning women, just like it was seventy years ago. By the way, a district judge’s wife died at the stake then…”

Hawklike, the blind man swung suddenly around toward the court clerk. Lechner turned to his documents again and replied quietly, “As you know, my wife died three years ago, and she is beyond all suspicion. If that’s what you’re alluding to.”

“And what if we subject the witch to the water test?” suggested the superintendent of the almshouse, Wilhelm Hardenberg. “They did that in Augsburg a few years ago. The witch’s thumbs are tied to her toes and then she’s thrown into the water. If she floats to the surface, it’s because the devil is helping her, and she’s a witch. If she sinks, she’s innocent, but you’re rid of her anyway.”

“Damn it, Hardenberg,” old Augustin yelled. “Are you deaf? The Stechlin woman’s unconscious! She’ll sink like a stone! Who’s going to believe in this water test? Certainly not the Elector’s secretary!”

For the first time, young Jakob Schreevogl spoke now. “Why do you consider it such a bizarre idea, Augustin, that the soldiers might have murdered the children? Several witnesses observed a person leaping out of a window of my house at the time my Clara vanished. The man was wearing a bloodred doublet and a feathered hat, such as soldiers often wear. And he had a limp.”

“The devil!” Berchtholdt the baker started up, crossing himself. So far, it seemed, he had been sleeping off last night’s brandy. “Holy Virgin Mary, help us!”

Some other aldermen murmured quick prayers and crossed themselves.

“You’re just taking the easy way out blaming it all on that devil of yours,” said Jakob Schreevogl amid the general grumbling. “He’s a solution for it all,” he interjected. “But one thing I know for certain!” He rose to his feet and looked around angrily. “My Clara wasn’t abducted by a monster with cloven feet but by a flesh-and-blood human being. The devil wouldn’t be stopped by a locked door, nor does he jump out of windows. He doesn’t wear a cheap soldier’s hat, and he doesn’t meet soldiers in Semer’s inn for a mug of beer.”

“Whatever gives you the idea that the devil frequents my house?” cried burgomaster Semer, jumping up. His face had turned bright red, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. “That is an insolent lie, and you’re going to pay for it!”