and saw the witches’ mark. And then there was all that turmoil and everybody talked of witchcraft…”
She looked at Simon in despair.
“We thought nobody was going to believe us then. They’d take us to be witches and put us to the stake along with Martha. We were so scared!”
Simon stroked her dirty hair.
“It’s all right, Sophie. It’s all right…”
He looked at the little tallow candle flickering by his side. In no more than half an hour it would burn down. Then the only light they’d have would be a tiny ray through the cracks of the flagstone. He considered making a cold compress for Clara’s swollen ankle with a rag torn from his cloak but decided against it. The water that had gathered in little puddles down here was way too dirty. Presumably such a compress would make the girl even sicker. Unlike most physicians of his time, Simon was convinced that dirt caused infection. He had seen too many wounded men with soiled bandages perish miserably.
Suddenly something made him stop and listen. He could hear voices from far off. They came from above. Simon jumped to his feet. There had to be people at the building site! Sophie had stopped crying too. Together they tried to figure out whose voices they were. But they were too soft.
Briefly Simon considered the risk. It was quite possible that the people above them were soldiers or perhaps even the devil himself…That lunatic might have killed the hangman and climbed up through the well. On the other hand, Clara was certainly going to die if nobody got her out of there. He hesitated briefly, then he cupped his hands and shouted up the shaft in a hoarse voice.
“Help! We’re down here! Can anyone hear us?”
The voices overhead fell silent. Had the men walked away? Simon kept shouting. Sophie was now helping him.
“Help! Can’t anyone hear us?” both of them shouted.
Suddenly they heard muffled sounds and heavy footsteps. Several people were talking directly above them. Then there was a scraping sound as the flagstone was pushed to the side, and a beam of light fell on their faces. A head appeared in the opening. The sunlight was almost blinding after so many hours of darkness, and Simon had to blink. Finally he recognized the man.
It was the patrician Jakob Schreevogl.
When the alderman recognized his daughter down there he began to shout. His voice sounded broken.
“My God, Clara, you’re alive! Praise the Blessed Virgin Mary!”
He turned around.
“Quick, a rope! We’ve got to get them out of there!”
A short time later, a rope appeared in the opening and was quickly let down the shaft. Simon tied it into a loop, put it around Clara’s waist, and signaled the men to pull her up. Then it was Sophie’s turn. He was hoisted up last.
Once he’d arrived aboveground, Simon looked around. It took him some time to get oriented. Around him he saw the walls of the new chapel. The shaft was underneath a weathered flagstone right at the center of the building. The masons seemed to have used an ancient foundation for the floor. The physician looked down once more. It was quite possible that at the spot there had already stood a church or another sacred building long ago that had been connected to the underworld by a tunnel. The workman presently employed at the current construction had obviously not noticed the flagstone.
The physician shuddered. An ancient tunnel straight down to hell…And below the devil himself was waiting for the poor sinners.
Further off Simon saw the two sentries of the previous night sitting on a half-finished wall. One of the two had his forehead in a bandage, rubbing his head and still looking dizzy. The other one looked relatively alert although his right eye was badly bruised. Simon had to grin in spite of himself. The hangman had done a good job without causing permanent damage. He was indeed a master of his craft.
In the meantime Jakob Schreevogl was attending to his foster daughter, dripping water into her mouth and mopping her forehead. When the young alderman noticed Simon’s expression he began to talk without interrupting what he was doing.
“After you were at my house yesterday afternoon to ask for the old documents I couldn’t put my mind to rest. I tossed and turned all night. In the morning I went to your place and then to the hangman’s. I met nobody at either, so I came here to the building site.”
He pointed at the two sentries, still sitting on the wall in a stupor.
“I found them behind the woodpile, gagged and tied. Simon, can you tell me what exactly happened here?”
Simon briefly related their discovery in the well, the dwarf’s holes, the hangman’s battle with the soldier, and their escape through the tunnel. He described what the children had seen in that moonlit night a week ago. However, he kept silent about his suspicion that old Schreevogl’s treasure might be down there, and he also didn’t mention that it was Jakob Kuisl who’d knocked out the sentries. The patrician had to assume that the devil had put the bailiffs out of action before he clambered down the well.
Jakob Schreevogl listened intently, his mouth agape. Occasionally, he interjected a brief question or stooped down to attend to Clara.
“So the children painted the witches’ marks on each other to protect themselves against the other children,” he finally said.
He stroked Clara’s burning forehead. She was still asleep and breathing far more regularly now. “My God, Clara, why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you!”
He shot a glare at Sophie before he spoke again.
“Little Anton and Johannes Strasser might have been saved, if only you hadn’t been so pigheaded. What in the world were you thinking, you brats? There’s a lunatic at large, and you just keep playing your games.”
“We shouldn’t scold the children,” said Simon. “They’re young, and they were scared. It’s more important that we get the murderers. Two of them seem to have kidnapped Magdalena! And their chief’s still down there in the tunnels with the hangman!”
He looked over at the well, where smoke was rising from below. What was going on down there? Was Jakob Kuisl dead? Simon suppressed the thought. Instead, he turned to the patrician again.
“I wonder who was the mastermind, the patron. Who is so intent on preventing the leper house from being built that he will even kill children for that?”
Jakob Schreevogl shrugged.
“Well, until a short while ago you even suspected me…Other than that I can only repeat what I told you. Most patricians in the town council, including the burgomasters, were opposed to the building because they were afraid of financial losses. That’s ridiculous, if you remember that even Augsburg has a leper house like that.”
He shook his head and then turned contemplative again.
“But would they destroy the building site and kill witnesses, let alone children? I can’t imagine that in my wildest dreams…”
They were both startled by the sound of loud coughing and turned around.
A pitch-black form emerged from the well, pulling itself up on a rope. The bailiffs picked up their weapons and headed for the well, clutching their halberds in fear. The figure that pulled itself over the edge of the well looked like the devil himself. It was black with soot from head to toe, and only the eyes were shining white. His clothes were singed and bloodstained in many places, and between his teeth he was holding a larchwood cudgel, the tip of which was glowing red. Now he threw it out onto the ground.
“Jesus bloody Christ! Don’t you know your own hangman? Quick, get me some water before I’m completely burned to a crisp.”
The bailiffs withdrew, frightened, while Simon hurried to the well.
“Kuisl, you’re alive! I thought the devil…God, I’m so happy!”
The hangman hoisted himself over the edge of the well.
“Don’t waste your words. The damned swine is where he should’ve been long ago. But my Magdalena is still in the hands of those cutthroats.”
He limped to a water trough to wash himself off. It took some time for the hangman’s face to appear beneath thick layers of soot. He cast a glance at Jakob Schreevogl and the children, and nodded approvingly.
