Death and the Devil

strength came flooding in, each arpeggio, each refrain drove the specter of fear a little further away. The faces of the others lost their careworn look and Jacob was fired with the joy of making music as he had not been for a long time. His whistle was a weapon combating despair; it rang out in their hopeless situation as if they had reason to celebrate, scorned danger with mocking trills, dismissed their terrors with a wave of its magic wand, rejoicing and pouring out the song of creation in cascade after cascade, calling up images of glittering stars and showers of pearls, exotic cities with minarets and slim towers of jasper, stories of fantasy and adventure, just as old Bram had taught him, Bram who, though perhaps not a crusader, had been a sorcerer who could conjure joy out of thin air. Jacob helped them recover something of the vitality they felt they had lost in the storm, smoothed the turbulent waves of confusion and revived their spirits until the blood surged through their veins and Goddert broke out into cheerful laughter.

With a guilty start, he let the whistle sink from his lips. The mood immediately cooled a little, but the icy despair had gone.

A satisfied look on his face, Jaspar washed his hands. “Good. He’s sleeping. I could do with a drink. What do you say, Goddert”—he looked at Richmodis and then Jacob—“What does everyone say, shall we have a mug of wine?”

“A mug of wine!”

They filled the mugs and went into the front room, telling one another what had happened. Jaspar pretended he was too exhausted to talk and left it to Jacob to put the others in the picture. But Jacob was well aware of the real purpose behind it. Jaspar had sensed his feeling of isolation and, like a good friend, was drawing him into the group.

When they had finished, they sat in silence for a while, each occupied with their own thoughts.

“Let’s be under no illusion,” said Jaspar eventually. “The situation’s worse than ever.”

“Why?” asked Goddert in astonishment. “Richmodis is here and we can’t bring poor Rolof back to life. It was God’s will.”

“Do stop prattling on about God’s will, for God’s sake,” Jaspar snapped. “I find it remarkable the way God is made responsible for everything.”

“Jaspar’s right,” said Jacob. “If the man who kidnapped Richmodis—and he’s obviously the same man that I saw on the cathedral—if he finds out she’s escaped, he’ll come looking for us. He’s got nothing that gives him a hold over us anymore. It’s back to square one. He has to kill us if he wants to make sure we won’t talk. Sooner or later —”

“Sooner or later he’ll come here,” said Jaspar.

“But he doesn’t know where we live,” said Goddert, a quiver in his voice.

“He found my house, even though I didn’t send a written invitation with a map. Anyway, he talked to Rolof and it’s easy to squeeze things out of him.”

“Was easy,” said Richmodis quietly.

“Yes.” Jaspar’s face was filled with remorse. “Stupid of me. Which reminds me, I really ought to go back and do something about the body. You never know, my housekeeper might take it into her head to get better and do some tidying up. I can already hear her shrieks rousing all the neighbors. And with these women’s imagination the next thing you’ll hear will be: Jaspar Rodenkirchen’s put the evil eye on his servant.”

“Then be quick about it,” said Goddert.

“I can’t, you dimwit.”

“Huh! Coward. I’ll go.” He emptied his mug and struck the table with his fist.

Jaspar looked at him in exasperation. “And what would be the point of that? Do you always think with your belly? What’s the first place the murderer will look for us? He might imagine we’re stupid enough to meet at my place, but I certainly don’t intend to prove him right.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps he’ll go to Kuno’s house first. If Daniel’s told him everything, he’ll be in danger as much as we are. I would have suggested we hide in my church, but I’m afraid Kuno wouldn’t make it that far. Like it or not, we’ve got to stay here.”

“We could carry him,” suggested Jacob.

“Not even if we carry him.”

“It would be pointless anyway,” said Richmodis. “If he knows your house, he’ll know your church.”

“True. Have you any weapons in the house, Goddert?”

Goddert started. “You mean to fight?” he asked, horrified.

“I might have to, mean to or not. Or Jacob might, or Richmodis. Or”—Jaspar bared his teeth in a fearsome grin—“you might! Coward indeed!”

“Just the usual, the armor and two spears.”

“No sword?”

“Yes,” said Richmodis. “We’ve got one. It’s under the chest by the window. We took it off Daniel.”

“Well, that’s something at least.”

“No, it’s nothing. How do you think you’re going to fight such a superior opponent?” asked Goddert.

“Didn’t Richmodis put up a fight?” asked Jacob angrily.

Jaspar grinned. “Listen to our fox bark, Goddert. Do you mean to do nothing to save your fat skin? Has the woad got to your brain, that you’ve forgotten how to fight? Even Abelard could handle a sword, and he was a cleric.”

“Abelard was a philanderer. He became a cleric when his philandering was cut off.”

“Go on, joke about it. He was still more of a man than fat Goddert who won’t fight to save his life. A superior opponent! Perhaps that’s what David should have said when the Philistines pitched their camp in Ephesdammim. Six cubits and a span was Goliath’s height, and he had a helmet of brass on his head and was armed with a coat of mail, the weight of which was five thousand shekels of brass. And David? No armor, just five smooth stones and a sling.”

“That was man against man,” growled Goddert. “Everything was open and aboveboard. The Philistines had no secrets. David knew his opponent, while we’re fighting against a shadow, a phantom with powerful forces behind him.”

“Yes, yes, Goddert, times have changed. Isn’t the Evil One cunning?” He massaged the bridge of his nose. “But what he does not know is the size of the reception party, if he does in fact find us. They’ve lost sight of Jacob and me. I suspect he’ll be looking for Kuno, first and foremost. He seems to be the only one who really knows something and is clearly prepared to spill the beans. Assuming he wakes up again, that is,” he added, lowering his voice.

He stood up. “Goddert,” he said in resolute tones, “you go and shut up the house. Make sure the fiend can’t get in anywhere. Bolt and bar everything, as if you were shutting out the whole world. Then he’s welcome to come.”

Richmodis rested her chin on her hands and gave him a doubtful look. “I saw his eyes,” she said.

Jaspar frowned. “Uh-huh. And what did they say?”

“That there are no closed doors for him.” She hesitated. “Apart from one.”

“Which one?”

“The one inside him.”

RHEINGASSE

“The plan has failed,” said Johann firmly. “We must abandon it.”

“No!” Matthias replied sharply.

The argument had been going back and forth for some time now. After Daniel had returned, wounded and scarcely able to stand, they had hastily called a meeting. None of them could get to sleep that night anyway. They agreed to meet in Rheingasse, on the first floor, where it had all begun. Only Blithildis was absent. It was not that she objected to being carried there in her chair at that time of night; she simply could not understand the fuss. For her there was no doubt that everything would go ahead as she had planned.

Johann, on the other hand, was having more and more doubts.

“Everything’s getting out of hand,” Theoderich agreed. “When I heard we had a hostage, I thought for a moment Urquhart had things back under control. Now we’re up the creek without a paddle.”

“We’ve not achieved anything,” said Heinrich von Mainz gloomily, “not a single thing.”

Matthias leaped up. “That is not true. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Are you suggesting we give up now, so close to success? We’re almost there.”