Death and the Devil

The last few years I’ve just been traveling around. I find it difficult to stay in one place for any length of time.”

“So what brought you back to Cologne?”

“I don’t know. The past? I had a piece of luck when I inherited the lean-to by the Wall. Soon after that I met Maria. She had a real roof over her head, and at first we got on so well I promised Tilman to let him have the shack, because I thought I’d soon be moving in with Maria and her brothel keeper. Well, I was wrong.”

“So now?”

“So now I play my whistle. Not very often, though I do make new ones to sell. Occasionally I find work down at the harbor. And then sometimes—”

“And then sometimes you steal what you need,” Jaspar said. He gave Jacob a long look. “But that’s not the story you were going to tell us. Or, if my instinct does not deceive me, will have to tell us if you’re to get out of the mess you’ve obviously got yourself into. With God’s help, of course. Right. You’ve kept us entertained, Jacob, I’m not ungrateful, and even in Goddert’s tub of a body there beats a true Christian heart. How can we help you— provided, that is, that you haven’t killed someone?”

Jacob felt their eyes on him. He thought about leaving. The image of Maria had come into his mind, Tilman’s grotesquely contorted body. As if he only had to tell what he had seen to condemn his audience to death. All of them sitting there, Richmodis, Jaspar, Goddert. As if nothing could protect them from the short, swift bolts from the miniature crossbow once they had heard his secret. He could not sacrifice more people for the truth.

Run away, then. Once again.

Richmodis seemed to guess his thoughts. “Don’t you trust us?” she asked.

It was a trick. Richmodis knew it and Jacob knew it. The decision was no longer his alone. It would reflect on the trustworthiness of these who had looked after him. She had him trapped.

Jaspar gave Richmodis a quick glance. “Half a story is no story,” he said slowly. Then he raised his eyebrows, as if expecting the worst. “But, of course, if you don’t trust us…”

“Yes,” growled Goddert, “if there’s a lack of trust, you can’t do anything about it.”

Jacob took a deep breath and looked at them, one after the other. “Oh, I do,” he said through clenched teeth, “I do trust you.”

Richmodis gave a little smile of victory. Jaspar and Goddert grinned at each other.

“More than you’re going to like,” Jacob whispered.

RHEINGASSE

There were a dozen men gathered around the table, burly men with horny hands and weather-beaten faces. They stared at the tall figure of Urquhart with a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and respect. Matthias leaned against the door, arms crossed, as Urquhart gave the servants his instructions. After a while he went out, reassured to a certain extent. The horses for him and Johann were ready.

“I don’t think that was a particularly good idea,” said Johann as a groom helped him into the saddle. Like Matthias, he was wearing a long black cloak as a sign of mourning.

“It’s the only idea that makes sense,” replied Matthias.

Johann dismissed the groom with a wave of the hand and waited until he was out of earshot. “Urquhart is an ungodly murderer,” he said irritably. “That we use him is no reason to bring him into the house. Apart from that, I consider it highly dangerous.”

“I know.” Matthias leaped into the saddle and patted his mount’s muscular neck. The horse whinnied. “So what could we have done, in your considered opinion? Arrange a meeting outside the town? Find some quiet spot in the country and recruit twelve volunteers from the surrounding farms? We’d have wasted a whole day. Or do nothing and hope the redheaded bastard will keep his filthy trap shut?”

“That would be risky,” Johann reluctantly agreed.

“Precisely. After Gerhard’s funeral I’ll have a word with Lorenzo and ask him to let us have a few soldiers.”

“Urquhart mustn’t speak—”

“Don’t worry, he won’t. Lorenzo will tell his men the same story that Urquhart’s telling the servants—some rascally redhead relieved the Overstolzes of a gold guilder—and place them at the main gates. Our fox might just have the idea of leaving town.”

“Does Lorenzo have the authority?”

“I selected him because of that, Johann. Anyway, he’ll try. After all, he has to earn all the money we pay him.”

“Hm, well, all right,” growled Johann. “We must tell the others.”

They set their horses going at a slow walk and rode out through the great gate into Rheingasse. The street was crowded, but the people immediately made way when they saw the two patricians in their dark clothes. Many mumbled a quick prayer. The news of Gerhard’s death had reached the farthest corners of the city and everyone knew where the two horsemen were headed.

“Theoderich will call a meeting,” said Matthias, guiding his horse between two apathetic beggars, “but I suspect there will be a full turnout at the funeral.”

“You never know,” muttered Johann.

“You’re right. For example, I saw Daniel this morning behind the stables. Do you think he slept there?”

“I have no idea what Daniel was up to behind the stables,” said Johann testily. He obviously regretted having brought up the subject with his remark.

Matthias frowned. “You ought to keep an eye on him,” he said, the reproach all too evident in his voice.

“Ought I?” Johann’s lips turned down in a mocking grin. “And who keeps an eye on your children? I’ve heard Gertrude say she might just as well have married an ice floe on the Rhine, for all the difference it would have made. Do you show the same warmth toward your children?”

Matthias glowered at him. He knew that among the extensive Overstolz clan he enjoyed the dubious reputation of being without feeling or pity. “That is irrelevant,” he said icily.

“No,” said Johann, sighing, “it’s never relevant, is it? We all know Daniel still hasn’t got over losing the office of magistrate. He was one of the youngest. I can reprimand him, but I can’t condemn him for the bitterness he feels.”

“Always the same old story.” Matthias gave a scornful snort. “Have you forgotten, we bought the post for Daniel. And wasn’t I a magistrate, too? Didn’t Conrad get rid of me in the same insulting way as he did Daniel? Do you see me in the ale houses, in low company, drinking like a fish, swearing, and molesting respectable women?”

Johann did not reply. He had no desire to pursue the subject any further. It had been the sole topic of conversation since the archbishop had relieved almost all the magistrates as well as one of the burgomasters of their posts the previous year. As a result, both Matthias and Daniel had had to accept that their political careers were finished. There were far fewer patricians in the new council, and those who were patricians had to work together with tradesmen and shopkeepers.

“I recently had the pleasure of reading what our friend Gottfried Hagen had to say about the archbishop’s new council,” said Johann, in an attempt to change the subject. “And though it be a sin, still I would hate the asses that have been put at the head of the holy city of Cologne. You can put an ass inside a lion’s skin, it will still bray like an ass.”

Matthias gave a sour grin.

“And he goes on: They tax rich and poor more than ever and share their ill-gotten gains with the bishop. When they must pronounce judgment, they first ask the bishop what judgment would be acceptable to him, so they do not lose his favor. They are always guided by the wishes expressed by the bishop and nothing happens against his will.”

“Gottfried’s right, of course, but if he goes on writing things like that, he’ll end up on the gallows. Bloody fools and arselickers! A magistrate who decides in favor of the noble houses exposes himself to the most vitriolic attacks.”

“It will all change,” said Johann confidently.

They had left the crowded marketplaces behind them. Once they were past the archbishop’s palace, behind which part of the new cathedral chancel could be seen, they would be able to get on more quickly.

“Certainly,” Matthias agreed, “everything will change. I just hope it changes in our favor, that’s all.”

“Why are you so concerned? We’ll find your redhead, don’t worry. Anyway, who’ll believe a beggar?”