table, where his wife, Caroline, had already set down a steaming bowl of bone-marrow broth and tripe. As usual, everyone waited for the hard-working father to take the first spoonful; only after he had taken an unenthusiastic taste did the five children pounce on the food like hungry wolves. Lost in thought, Teuber watched his family eat, while he himself could only stir his spoon around in the bowl.
“What’s wrong, Philipp?” his wife asked, holding the bawling youngest child on her lap as she fed him. “If you keep this up, you’ll be nothing more than skin and bones. You haven’t eaten a thing for days. Is it because of this hangman from Schongau?”
Teuber nodded and stared vacantly at the wooden spoon in his bowl, where a gleaming glob of fat floated on the surface. He remained silent.
“Papa, can I have your tripe?” his oldest son asked. It was the redheaded Benjamin who’d taken the letter to Magdalena early that morning. When his father didn’t answer, the boy pointed to the few gray scraps floating in the soup and repeated his question. “Papa, can I-”
“For God’s sake, leave me alone, all of you!”
Teuber pounded the table so hard with his fist that the bowls clattered and the startled youngsters fell silent. “Can’t we
He got up from the table and stomped into the main room, slamming the door behind him. Alone at last, Teuber bent over a wash basin and splashed cold water on his face, as if that could wash away his worries. He shook himself off like a dog and slumped onto a rickety stool in a corner. Then, folding his hands across his broad chest, he stared at a long executioner’s sword on the wall in front of him.
Fitted with a leather grip, its blade was nearly as long as a man is tall. Regensburgers had gruesome stories to tell about it. Market women whispered that the sword quivered for three days before every execution and could be appeased only with blood. Others claimed the steel rattled whenever a death sentence was pronounced. Teuber knew all this was nonsense. It was a good sword, passed down through many generations and carefully forged by human hands to bring a quick and painless death. It was solid handiwork; there was nothing magical about it. Engraved on the blade was a saying the Regensburg executioner often repeated quietly to himself:
ABIDE WITH ME, ALMIGHTY GOD
Although this line was intended for the condemned man, Teuber had the feeling it referred to him now, as well.
After a while his wife opened the door cautiously and sat down beside him. Outside, the children could be heard giggling and roughhousing. They seemed to have gotten over the incident.
“Would you like to talk?” Caroline asked after a while. Silence fell over the room, and only the children’s muffled laughter could be heard from outside.
“He’s just like me,” her husband finally said. “He has a wife and a few children, he does his job, he’s a damn good executioner, and he’s innocent.”
Caroline gave him a skeptical sidelong look. Her once-delicate face was gaunt now, fine lines spread from the corners of her eyes and mouth, and her blond hair had turned gray in many places. Together the Teubers had seen their fair share of hard times. Countless sleepless nights before executions, the screams of the tortured, the disapproving looks of narrow-minded citizens in the street-over a lifetime all this had left its mark, not just on the Regensburg executioner but on his wife as well.
“How do you know he’s innocent?” the executioner’s wife asked finally. “Doesn’t every petty thief claim that?”
Teuber shook his head. “He really is innocent. Someone set him up. The third inquisitor…” He hesitated briefly before continuing. “The dirty swine insists I torture Kuisl more mercilessly than I’ve ever done. He seems to know things about Kuisl that he couldn’t reasonably know. The fiend wants him dead, not because Kuisl has broken the law but because of something that happened between them long, long ago. And I’m his instrument.”
His wife smiled. “Aren’t you always? The instrument, I mean?”
Teuber slapped his broad, muscular thigh in frustration. “Don’t you understand? This time is different! By torturing an innocent man, I’m assisting in someone else’s revenge while the real murderer runs around free! And even more men may die because of it!”
Caroline sighed. “What can you do? If you refuse to torture him, they’ll only replace you with another executioner. The knacker’s son has been waiting for his chance a long time now. And they’ll drive us out of town. Is that what you want?”
Teuber shook his head. “God, no! But maybe there’s another way.”
His wife looked at him sharply. “What do you mean? Tell me!” A light flashed in her eyes, even as they narrowed to little slits. “You don’t intend to…?”
Without a word, Teuber headed for a huge pharmacy cupboard, which was as tall as a man and took up half the back wall. He opened it, pulled a rusty bunch of keys from a hidden drawer, and held the ring out like a monstrance, letting the keys jangle softly.
“The key to the cells in the city hall,” he said softly. “The late mayor, Bartholomaus Marchthaler, God rest his soul, had them made for me many years ago because he was too lazy to accompany me to the torture chamber each time. Since Marchthaler is long gone now, it’s unlikely anyone knows about this set of keys except me-and now you.”
Caroline stood up and took the keys from her husband’s hand. “Do you know how dangerous this is?” she asked. “There are still the guards to consider. If even the slightest suspicion falls on you, they’ll hang you, whip the children and me, and drive us right out of town.”
The Regensburg executioner took his wife by the shoulders, then stroked her cheek clumsily with his huge hand. “We’ve always made our decisions together,” he whispered. “I would never do this if you were against it.”
For a long time all was silent except for the crying of the youngest child, on the other side of the door, who obviously wanted his mother.
“The children adore you,” his wife said abruptly. “If something were to happen to you, they would never forgive you.”
Teuber brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “They would also never forgive me for being an unconscionable, cowardly dog.” He smiled awkwardly. “And you? Could you love a man like that?”
Caroline gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Be quiet, you silly old bear. Is he really innocent?”
Teuber nodded. “As innocent as you and I.”
Caroline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Then do it quickly. The sooner we get this behind us, the better. Now let me go back to the children.”
As she pulled herself from his embrace and left the room, Philipp Teuber watched her brush away a single tear on her cheek. Moments later he heard her in the kitchen scolding the children, who had apparently raided the honeypot.
Teuber stood motionless, turning the keys over in his sweaty palm and balling his fist so hard around them he almost bent the rusty key ring in half. He loved his wife and his children more than anything in the world, but this time he had to follow his conscience.
Once more he glanced at the inscription on the sword:
ABIDE WITH ME, ALMIGHTY GOD
Reciting the words like an incantation, he turned back to the cupboard, where bunches of herbs and aromatic pouches hung along shelves overflowing with little clay pots. He scrutinized the inventory. He’d need some additional ingredients and would have to speak with a few people. There were bribes to be paid and tracks to be covered. All this would take at least a day or two, perhaps even longer if his plans didn’t work out at first.
Teuber hoped fervently that he could finish his work before the Schongau hangman finally broke.
The eye stared at the nearly lifeless body of the prostitute who had spent so many days in the basement of this house. Katharina hadn’t moved for hours; her breathing, spasmodic at first, had become weaker; and now her chest scarcely moved. Her head lay framed in a pool of blood, drying shiny like sealing wax.
The experiment was coming to an end.
The eye had recorded in great detail the decline of Katharina Sonnleitner, veteran Regensburg prostitute and the daughter of a linen dyer. After exactly seven days and four hours of torment, she at last began to tear the clothing from her body and scratch at her skin until she exposed the underlying flesh in places. Katharina had examined the bruises all over her body with fascination, and then she’d tried to bite her fingers off. She’d run from
