“That’s what I said, too. But in the first place, Urquhart thinks there are certain people who would be quite happy to listen to the biggest scoundrel in the city, and in the second, I’m concerned about our alliance. I’m sorry that it has to be your son who causes me most concern. After Kuno, that is.”
Johann felt his heart sink.
“You know it yourself, Johann,” Matthias added.
Johann nodded gloomily. “Daniel will obey me. I promise.”
Matthias looked at him. Then he attempted a placatory smile. “Don’t misunderstand me, Johann. How you bring up your son is your own business. But we’re engaged in a hazardous venture. You and I see things clearly. Hatred hasn’t clouded our judgment. Heinrich is just a coward, I can live with that. But Daniel and Kuno have a tendency to extreme emotional outbursts and their dislike of each other is growing stronger by the hour.”
“I know.”
“We must keep the two of them apart as much as we can.”
“That will hardly be possible. Look.”
Matthias followed the direction Johann’s finger was pointing. They were in Marzellenstra?e now, not far from Gerhard Morart’s large house. Old and young, rich and poor had come to pay their last respects to the architect. They included an array of patricians such as was seldom seen, expressing the general admiration for a man who wanted to build the perfect church and whom God, in His mercy, had taken up to the paradise he deserved.
Kuno was among them.
And coming down Marzellenstra?e from the other side was Daniel, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.
Trouble was not very far away.
SEVERINSTRA?E
Jacob was exhausted.
He stood at the window watching Richmodis take her unwilling father, complaining all the time and dragging his feet, back to their house. Goddert had been fired up by Jacob’s story. Horrified and outraged at what he had heard, he was all for setting off in pursuit of the demon at once, of informing the magistrates and constables, no, better the governor and the executioner or, no, why not go straight to the archbishop, who could summon a posse of clerics to crush the Devil beneath the weight of their prayers.
“We’re not going to crush anything today,” was all Jaspar had said.
“And why not?” snapped Goddert. “Are you too scared?”
“No, too sensible. You can pray till the roof falls on your head, I’m going to use mine.”
“Huh! You couldn’t even use your head for a tonsure! If this poor, oppressed soul here”—he pointed at Jacob with a dramatic gesture—“is being pursued by the Devil or one of his demons, then we must call on the Lord without delay, if not just for his sake, then for the sake of Gerhard Morart.”
“That is based on the assumption that the poor oppressed soul here is right. Who says it was the Devil? Or that Jacob is telling the truth? Were you there?”
“Were you there when they cut down poor Archbishop Engelbert? You still can’t deny he was murdered.”
“What I can’t deny is that you’re a stupid ass, Goddert. Gerhard Morart, God rest his soul, fell from a great height and broke every bone in his body, which does not prove conclusively it was the Devil. Engelbert’s body, on the other hand, had precisely forty-seven wounds—”
“More than three hundred it was!”
“—as Caesarius von Heisterbach wrote in his
“He was a devil!”
“He was Engelbert’s nephew, pea brain! I have to admit, though, that Engelbert wasn’t poor. He was a robber and bully, like our Conrad. It was not without reason that the pope excommunicated him.”
“That just shows your lack of respect toward your superiors in the Church. You’d also have to admit that Engelbert led the crusade against the Waldenses and Albigensians—”
“Because he liked fighting.”
“To do penance, you mudslinger!”
“Nonsense. He couldn’t tell the difference between a penance and a pig.”
“Better than you, he could!”
And so on and so on.
Like a herd of stampeding horses, the disputation was leaving the original topic farther and farther behind. Jacob’s brain was numb with exhaustion.
Richmodis stroked his hair. “Don’t let Jaspar fool you,” she said softly. “He argues for the fun of it, but when things get serious his mind’s as sharp as a razor.”
“I hope so.” Jacob sighed. “I can’t stand much more of that kind of conversation.”
She looked at him with a sympathetic, almost tender look in her eyes. Jacob felt a sudden fear she might go and he would never see her again.
“I’ll come and see you as soon as I can,” she said, as if she could read his thoughts. They were probably written all over his face.
“Do you believe me?” Jacob asked.
She thought for a moment. “Yes, I think I do.”
“Let’s have a drink,” Goddert shouted, the formula that brought their disputations to a conclusion.
Richmodis jumped up, before her uncle had the chance to give his standard response. “No! No more drinks. We’re going home, if you know where that is.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
Goddert accepted his lot, though with bad grace, muttering incomprehensibly to himself. He’d probably soon be sleeping off the drink. The way he waddled down the street reminded Jacob of the dancing bears you sometimes saw in Old Market Square. Beside him Richmodis looked like his trainer. The wind was toying with her brown hair.
“A pretty child, isn’t she?” Jaspar’s voice came from behind him.
“She has a pretty nose,” Jacob replied. He turned away from the window, went over to the tiled stove and slumped onto the bench. Maria had been pretty, too. She could have been beautiful. Could have become beautiful if she hadn’t—Jacob shook his head. He must put these thoughts out of his mind.
Jaspar observed him in silence.
“You don’t believe me,” Jacob said.
“Well, now.” Jaspar massaged his nose. “There are whole worlds between believing and disbelieving. I believe you when you say you saw something. But was it really there?”
“It was there.”
“Perhaps you got hold of the wrong end of the stick.”
“Then the wrong end of the stick killed Gerhard Morart. Killed Maria and Tilman. Almost killed me. What more do you want?”
Jaspar frowned. “The truth.”
“That is the truth.”
“Is it? I would say it’s what you saw. Nowadays the truth tends to be trumpeted abroad all too quickly, especially when it concerns the Devil. Was it the Devil?”
Jacob looked him up and down. “If you don’t believe me,” he said calmly, “why don’t you throw me out?”
Jaspar seemed both irritated and amused at the same time. “I don’t know.”
“Good.” Jacob stood up. “Or not good. Whatever. Thank you for your time.”
“You’re going?”
“Yes.”
“I think that would be unwise.”
“Why?”
Jaspar came over and stood so close to Jacob the tips of their noses were almost touching. There was a glint
