DEATH AND THE Devil
FRANK SCHATZING
TRANSLATED BY MIKE MITCHELL
Epigraph
Language does not veil reality, but expresses it.
Prologue
T
10 September
OUTSIDE THE GATES
“I’m cold.”
“You’re always cold. You’re an arrant coward, that’s your problem.”
Heinrich drew his cloak tighter around him and shot his companion an angry glance. “You don’t really mean that, Matthias. It
Matthias shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, then. If you insist—it’s cold.”
“You don’t understand. I feel cold inside.” Heinrich threw his hands out in a theatrical gesture. “That we have to stoop to such means! As God’s my witness, there’s no man less inclined to violence, but—”
“God’s not your witness,” Matthias interrupted.
“What?”
“Why should God waste his precious time on your whining and moaning? To tell the truth, I’m surprised you managed to get on your horse at this time of the night.”
“Now you’re going too far,” Heinrich hissed. “Show a little respect,
“I show everyone the respect they deserve.” Matthias steered his horse around an overturned oxcart that suddenly loomed up out of the darkness. The light was fading rapidly. It had been sunny, but it was September and the days were growing shorter, the evenings cooler. Mists rose, shrouding the world in enigmatic gloom. By now the walls of Cologne were almost half a mile behind them and all they had were their flickering torches. Matthias knew well that Heinrich was almost soiling himself with fear, and that fact gave him a grim satisfaction. Heinrich had his good points, but courage was not one of them.
He decided to ignore him and urged his horse forward.
In general no one would think of leaving the city at this hour, unless they had been thrown out. The area was unsafe. There were bands of thieves and robbers everywhere, despite the Pacification proclaimed by the archbishop of Cologne together with the lords of the surrounding district. That was in 1259, scarcely a year ago. It was all drawn up in a document plastered with seals. If you believed it, travelers and merchants could make their way across the Rhineland without being robbed and killed by brigands. But promises that were more or less kept by day, especially when the merchants’ contributions toward the rather sparse protection was due, did not extend to the night. Only recently the body of a girl had been found, raped and strangled, in the fields not many yards from the Frisian Gate. Her parents were reputable people from a family of armorers who had lived for generations at the sign of the helmet opposite the archbishop’s palace. One rumor had it that the Arch-fiend himself had cast a spell on the girl to lure her out, others suggested that the farmer in whose field she had been found should be broken on the wheel. It was not so much that they thought he was the murderer, but how did the daughter of respectable burghers come to be lying dead on his land? Especially since no one could explain what she was doing out there so late. Once the first wave of indignation had died down, however, it turned out that it was common knowledge she had been going around with minstrels and worse, lardmongers from Grease Lane and scum that should never have been allowed into the city in the first place. Her own fault, then. It was better not to rely on the Pacification.
“Wait!”
Heinrich was a long way behind. Matthias realized he had given his Arab steed his head and slowed it down to a walk until his companion caught up. They had passed several farms now since leaving the city and reached a small wood. The moon cast only a faint light on the land around.
“Shouldn’t we wait somewhere here?” Heinrich’s voice was trembling almost as much as his hands.
“No.” Matthias was peering through the first trees of the wood. The path disappeared into the darkness. “We