Death and the Devil

around the corner. He hadn’t realized Urquhart would send the two to the funeral. Not a bad idea. The people had certainly swallowed their account of Gerhard’s death. That would make things more difficult for the redhead.

But not difficult enough.

Matthias shivered at the thought of the damage he might do. They had to find him.

He hurried back to Gerhard’s house. The funeral procession was just starting. The bells of the old cathedral had begun to ring out the death knell. The bier was preceded by monks, deacons and acolytes, the provost of the cathedral chapter, and the suffragan in their vestments, with the processional crucifix, holy water basin, thurible, and candles, even though it was broad daylight. The body was carried by members of the stonemasons’ guild, followed by Guda, the family, and friends. Nuns and lay sisters carrying candles sang psalms and said prayers. One of the nuns pushed another aside to get nearer the body, a routine happening at the funeral of important persons. Those who prayed most for the salvation of the dignitary would have a better chance at the Last Judgment.

Gerhard’s body would lie in state in the cathedral for three days. Monks would sit beside him, reciting the Kyrie and perhaps, even though it was forbidden, one of the pagan songs from the old religion, all the time waving the thurible to mask the inevitable smell. Now, in the cooler days of September, it wasn’t so bad, but three days was still three days.

First, however, there was the requiem mass to get through. That meant listening to interminable sermons, then enduring visions of the end of the world and the Day of Judgment called up by the power of the Dies irae, when the trumpet shall sound and even death will look on in amazement. Since the Franciscans had made this poem—its author was said to have carved the words in stone—part of the mass, it struck fear and terror into the hearts of the faithful with apocalyptic visions, to comfort them in the end with a reminder of the mercy of Jesus.

Matthias took his place in the procession and concentrated on business matters.

At that moment the quarrel blew up.

Whatever Daniel, who unfortunately was walking beside Kuno, may have said, he suddenly slumped to the ground as if felled by an axe. Kuno had punched him. And he was pulling him back to his feet, his face contorted with rage, preparing to hit him again.

Daniel’s nose was bleeding. He ducked and butted Kuno in the stomach. With a yelp, Kuno stumbled backward, gasping for breath. Then he kicked Daniel in the groin, which had the desired effect.

The front half of the procession was continuing on its way, as if nothing had happened; the rear half halted.

Daniel drew his sword. With two strides, Matthias was beside him and knocked it out of his hand. Immediately Kuno attacked. Johann quickly came up from behind and held him, while Matthias immobilized Daniel.

“Let him go,” shouted Kuno.

“That’s enough,” Johann barked.

“No. Let him use his sword. Let everyone see what a gang of murderers he’s in.”

“Imbecile,” hissed Daniel. “You want my sword? You can have it. Right between the eyes would be best, if you ask me.”

Matthias gave him a few quick slaps on the face. “Not another word, do you hear?”

“But he started it. I—”

“You will keep your mouth shut,” growled Matthias, quivering with rage. “Remember this is a funeral, not an ale house, and try not to bring any more dishonor on the name of Overstolz. Or shall we bury the two of you along with Gerhard?”

“He—”

“I don’t give a damn what he did.” He turned to Kuno. “And you, off you go. Don’t let me see you till the funeral’s over. We’ll talk about this later.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Kuno retorted, beside himself. He wriggled out of Johann’s grasp. “And certainly not from that bastard, that ruffian, that killer, that—”

“Oh, yes, you do,” said Johann calmly. “And you obey them, otherwise I’ll see you get a public whipping. And don’t go talking about killers.”

The people behind, clerics, patricians, and burghers, were crowding round, full of curiosity.

“I warn you,” said Johann.

The two faced each other, panting. Kuno was white as a sheet while Daniel’s features were contorted with hatred and loathing.

“Traitor!” said Daniel hoarsely. Without so much as a glance at Kuno, he wiped the blood from his upper lip, picked up his sword, and rejoined the procession, limping.

Kuno watched him go. Then he became aware of all the eyes on him. He straightened up, turned his back on the crowd, and not without a certain dignity, strode away in the opposite direction.

“He loved him, too much,” muttered Johann.

“Yes, he loved Gerhard,” said Matthias out loud, turning to the people around. “And Daniel loved him, too. Love made them blind and each thought he was closest to him. Thus love can engender hatred and turn friends into enemies. Forgive them. Now let us go and pay our last respects to Gerhard.”

Strangely, the crowd seemed happy with the explanation he had quickly cobbled together. As if Daniel had ever felt anything like love for Gerhard! They all set off again together.

Johann moved next to him. “Well lied,” he said.

“Sweet bleeding Jesus!” Matthias exclaimed, contrary to his usual dislike of strong language. “If Kuno goes on like this, we’ll all be saying our last prayers.”

Johann was silent for a while. Eventually he said, “He will not go on like that.”

“It’s easy enough to say that! And what about your mad son who almost split the other madman’s head open? These things have got to stop, Johann.”

“They will stop.”

Matthias muttered a few more curses. The procession was slowly approaching the cathedral. The sound of the bells made their whole bodies vibrate.

They will stop—

Matthias could not let the matter rest. “What do you mean by that?”

“I spoke with Mother yesterday evening. We discussed Kuno. She suggested I read the Bible.”

“Blithildis!?” said Matthias. “What’s wrong with her? She usually gives rather more practical advice than that. I can’t believe she’s getting soft in her old age. After all, it was her idea to—”

“Shh.” Johann placed a finger to his lips.

“Sorry,” Matthias mumbled.

“She recommended the Psalms because there’s a passage she felt fit the situation. How well do you know your Bible?”

“I know my account books better.”

“As was to be expected. Psalm one hundred and nine, verse eight.”

Matthias’s brow furrowed. “No idea.”

“Neither had I. So I went and looked it up to see what Mother’s advice was.”

“And?”

Johann gave a deep sigh. “It is very clear: Let his days be few—”

Matthias let out a low whistle. “That’s what she thinks, is it?”

“—and let another take his office.”

HAYMARKET

Urquhart was standing under the lime trees, watching the market. He knew that his instructions had been too much for the servants’ simple minds. He had positioned them around the city on the chain principle. It was a strategy they used in the Scottish Highlands to communicate over long distances. They were divided into pairs and each kept an area under observation, just within view of the next pair. They carried a torch with them, and when they saw the enemy, one of them held it aloft so that the flame and the inevitable greasy black smoke could be seen from a distance. Sword in hand, the other would approach the enemy, assuming there were not too many, then retreat in order to lure them toward his other comrades. They in their turn would light their torches, that being the signal to close up. Carried out competently, this maneuver allowed a scattered group of warriors slowly to