Greta wore her black-and-white habit and kept her eyes lowered. Karl had seen her enter the fortress before in the last few days, and Johann had also spotted his daughter during his watch. But they hadn’t spoken to her and made sure she didn’t notice them. Karl knew why Greta was visiting Castel Sant’Angelo. It was to see her little son. Greta had found comfort in faith, but her faith was obsessive.
Obsessed by God or by the devil, thought Karl. By love or by hatred. What is the difference?
He ducked behind a few passersby so that Greta wouldn’t see him. She walked past him without looking up and exchanged a few words with the guards at the gate, who let her through right away. Clearly the men were used to her visits.
More uneventful waiting stretched on. Every now and then an ecclesiastic dignitary would come or go, though Lahnstein wasn’t among them.
But someone else appeared.
Karl started from his daydreaming when out of the gate stepped a man who couldn’t be overlooked: Hagen.
He towered over the guards by almost two heads. Karl shuddered at the sight of the giant, who was carrying not his longsword but, dangling from his belt, a hunting dagger as long as his forearm. Instead of the colorful garb of the Swiss guard, he was clad in a long brown coat with a hood, making him look like a caricature of an itinerant preacher. Karl remembered with horror how Hagen had hunted them back in France at Chinon Castle. He was a bloodhound who never gave up once he had caught a scent. Karl had been surprised that Hagen hadn’t routed them out at their new lodgings near Circus Maximus yet. Was he on his way to find them now?
Karl decided to turn the tables and follow Hagen. That at least seemed more promising than sitting here and freezing his backside off. He might be able to determine how close Hagen was to finding them.
It was easy to keep track of the hulk. He plowed through the crowds on the bridge, and people readily gave way to him. Karl kept a good ten paces between him and Hagen, but this didn’t seem necessary, as the tall man didn’t look back once. Karl followed him to the east, past the Pantheon, a heathen temple that was now used as a church, and past the crumbling Colosseum, where loud traveling merchants hawked their goods. Then their surroundings became quieter and more sparsely populated. An icy wind swept through the lanes covered in trash and debris. Increasingly often there were overgrown fields between the houses, where poor people tried to find a few last turnips even now, at the end of November. Karl sought cover behind broken remains of walls and ruins, hoping he wouldn’t lose Hagen in the thickening evening fog.
After a while they came to an expansive area that seemed to serve as a quarry. Walls and buildings rose in between rectangular holes in the ground lined with Roman cement. It took Karl a few moments to figure out that the holes must have been basins. He was probably looking at one of the former thermal baths Faust had told him about. In ancient times, there must have been enough room here for several hundred people. Now leaves were drifting on foul-smelling puddles. Frogs croaked, and water lilies and swamp plants covered the steps and the fading mosaics in the basins.
What in God’s name was Hagen doing here?
For the first time the giant turned around, as if he had heard Karl’s thoughts. Karl ducked behind a wall. When he peered back over it, Hagen had vanished.
Damn!
Cursing under his breath, Karl hurried to the spot where he’d last seen Hagen. Dusk had set in, and in the twilight Karl could make out some steps that led down between two crumbling walls. He could hear the echo of voices from below.
Karl hesitated only for a moment before climbing down. At the bottom of the steps was a walkway whose walls were covered in soot and saltpeter—probably part of the old heating system. It ended after just a few steps in front of a rusty iron door that stood ajar. Light streamed from inside, and now Karl could hear the voices clearly. They belonged to Hagen and another man.
“Porca miseria! It wasn’t easy to find all these things,” moaned the other man in Italian. “Especially the bezoar.”
“My master pays you well,” growled Hagen. “And what about the mandragora? Is it truly from a gallows hill?”
“Very difficult to come by these days, very difficult. But you’re in luck. Here it is, freshly harvested from below the swaying remains of a hanged man. And I also managed to find everything else.”
“That’s good,” said Hagen.
“And my payment?” asked the other man. “I had high expenses.”
“Oh yes, payment.” Hagen laughed softly. “Of course you shall have your payment. The heavens will reward you.”
The following sounds made Karl’s blood curdle. A blade swooshed out of its scabbard, fabric ripped, then someone gargled and groaned.
“Gesù e Maria,” gasped the man.
“You shall meet them shortly. Give them my regards.”
A dull crash followed as something heavy fell to the ground. Then something clanked, something shattered, and heavy footsteps crossed the room.
And neared the door.
Karl almost reacted too late. He was running back toward the steps when he realized that he would never make it to the top. Hagen would see him in the light of the moon! At the end of the corridor, near the foot of the stairs, lay a pile of fallen, moss-covered stone blocks. Karl darted behind them and, seconds later, heard Hagen storming up the stairs beside him, and then there was another crashing sound.
God in heaven, please make sure that he hasn’t seen me.
Karl’s heart was beating in his throat. But the steps faded without slowing, and eventually there was silence. He slowly counted to a hundred before rising and sneaking
