forth on her knees and tearing at her hair. “He’s eating her alive from the inside out. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…”
Her prayers turned into a wailing monotone as Michael Berchtholdt stared silently at his maid thrashing around in spasms.
“It looks like Resl took something to abort the child,” Magdalena whispered to Simon so the others couldn’t hear. “Perhaps castoreum, or rue.” All of a sudden she frowned. “Wait-she didn’t…”
Magdalena cautiously approached Resl Kirchlechner and felt the pustules on her arm. When the maid started thrashing around again, the hangman’s daughter jumped back. “I think I know what it is now,” she whispered. “It must be Saint Anthony’s Fire. Resl probably took ergot to abort the child.”
Simon nodded. “I don’t know much about it, but I think you’re right. The pustules… the black fingertips… and then the feverish dreams. Everything points to that. My God, the poor girl…”
Magdalena squeezed his hand and then cursed under her breath. As a midwife, she knew about ergot, a fungus that grew on rye and other kinds of grain and was used now and then to abort a pregnancy. But ergot could be taken only in small doses or it would cause cramps and horrible visions of witches, devils, and demons. The victims’ fingers and toes turned black and finally fell off, and because they felt like they were being burned by fire inside, the sickness was called Saint Anthony’s Fire.
Simon turned to Michael Berchtholdt. “This girl isn’t possessed by the devil,” he replied, pointing to the girl’s swollen belly. “Resl took ergot, and I wonder who might have given it to her.”
“I–I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the master baker stuttered. “It may be that Resl has been fooling around with some young fellow and-”
“No, with Satan!” his wife interrupted. “She’s been carrying on with Satan!”
“Nonsense!” Magdalena whispered softly enough so Berchtholdt couldn’t hear it. She dabbed the face of the screaming maid with a damp cloth and tried to comfort her. But all of a sudden Magdalena couldn’t stand it any longer. Her eyes flashed as she turned around and glared furiously at the baker.
“Nonsense! It’s not Satan,” she growled. “Everybody in town knows that you’ve been running after Resl! Everybody!”
“What are you trying to say?” Michael Berchtholdt asked softly. His facial features looked even sharper than usual. “Are you saying that maybe I-”
“You impregnated your own maid!” Magdalena blurted out. “And so that nobody would find out, you gave her the ergot. That’s what happened, isn’t it?”
Berchtholdt’s face turned beet red. “How dare you talk about me like that, you fresh little hangman’s girl!” he gasped finally. “You’re forgetting that I sit on the city council and all I have to do is to give the word and you Kuisls can pack your things and leave. All it takes is one word from me!”
“Ha! And who will give your wife her little sleeping potion then?” Magdalena jumped up and pointed at the praying Maria Berchtholdt. “How often has she come to my father for a little potion to calm down her husband at home so he will nod off after drinking his wine?”
The baker glared in disbelief at his wife, who looked down at the ground, embarrassed, her hands folded. “Maria, is that right?”
“Quiet!” Simon said. “It’s disgraceful to quarrel like this while the poor girl is probably dying. If we are to help, we at least have to know how much ergot she took and who gave it to her.” He looked at Michael Berchtholdt in desperation. “For God’s sake, say something! Did you give the medication to the girl?”
The master baker remained defiantly silent, but then his wife spoke up in a soft voice. “It’s true,” she whispered. “It would be a lie to say anything else. God help you, Michael! You, and all of us!”
The baker struggled for words but gave in at last. He slumped over, sighing, and ran his hand through his hair, which was thinning and matted with flour. “Well, yes, then, I–I gave it to her,” he stammered. “I–I told her to take it all at once just to make sure it worked.”
“All at once?” Magdalena looked at him in horror. “And how much was that?”
Berchtholdt shrugged. “A little bag, perhaps as large as my fist.”
Simon gripped his forehead and groaned. “Then there’s no way we can save her. All we can do is try to relieve her pain.” With clenched fists he advanced toward Michael Berchtholdt. “Who in God’s name gave you so much ergot?” he shouted. “Who, damn it! What quack?”
The baker retreated toward the doorway and finally mumbled something so softly that Simon couldn’t understand him at first. “It was your father.”
The young medicus stood there dumbfounded. “My father?”
Berchtholdt nodded. “The stuff cost me two guilders, but your father said it was the surest way.”
Simon had trouble speaking. “Did my father at least tell you how much to give her?”
“Actually he didn’t.” The baker shrugged. “He just said it would be better to take too much than too little, just to make sure it worked. So I just gave her all of it.”
Simon was tempted to seize the baker by the throat, but at that moment the maid began to scream again- this time longer and higher pitched than before. Resl reared up so far it seemed her spine would break. Her pale thighs were spread far apart, and the white sheets between them were stained with blood. The next moment the maid slumped down, and a bloody little body the size of a cat fell from the bench onto the floor.
A stillbirth.
Simon rushed over to the maid and felt her neck for a pulse. Her face was now relaxed and peaceful, and her dead eyes appeared to stare down at the bloody straw spread out on the floor. The medicus closed her eyes and laid her out gently on the bench.
“She’s in a better place now,” he mused, making the sign of the cross. “With no more pain, or demons, or people who would do her harm.”
For a moment all was silent, except for the whimpering of the baker’s wife. Finally Michael Berchtholdt came to his senses. He walked over to the fetus still lying on the floor next to the stove, picked it up gingerly, and walked out through the back door into the garden. When he returned a while later, he wiped his muddy hands on his trousers and attempted a slight smile that froze midway in a grimace.
“Resl is dead, and that’s a shame,” he said in a soft voice. “I’ll see to it that she gets a decent burial in Saint Sebastian’s Cemetery with a priest, funeral meal, and all the trappings. I’ll also see that her parents are taken care of financially. As for everything else-” He gave an embarrassed smile. “-we don’t want word to get around that the devil possessed our maid. That could end badly. And as the young physician here can certainly attest, Resl had a high fever-that can lead to bad dreams, can’t it?” The baker looked at Simon expectantly.
“You don’t seriously believe that-” the medicus began, but Berchtholdt raised his hand, interrupting him.
“I know your house calls are expensive. How much? Tell me-five guilders? Ten? How much do you ask?” He pulled a trunk out from behind the table and began to rummage through it.
“Just keep your money and choke on it!” Magdalena shouted, slamming the lid closed on Berchtholdt’s fingers. He pulled them out, whining and clenching his teeth. His wife looked back and forth from one to the other as if they were ghosts. Simon assumed the shock was too much for her. Maria Berchtholdt had decided to withdraw into her own world.
“I’m going to tell everyone-everyone! — that you jumped on your maid like a randy old goat and let her die of ergot poisoning,” the hangman’s daughter whispered. “It’s always we women who are expected to pay for men’s lechery. Well, not this time!”
The baker’s little weasel eyes took on a glassy sheen. “Aha, and who is going to believe you?” he asked. “A hangman’s daughter and the horny son of an army doctor. What a pair! Go on, go and tell the people, and I promise I’ll make your life hell!”
“My life is hell already.” Magdalena turned to go and beckoned Simon to follow.
With a facetious bow the medicus took leave of the alderman and master baker Michael Berchtholdt. “If the hemorrhoids in your ass itch or your bowels get plugged up,” Simon said in a cloying tone, “you know where you can find me.”
They walked out together and were met by a group of curious onlookers. Behind them they could still hear Michael Berchtholdt’s muffled cries and shrill curses. Magdalena stopped for a moment and looked into the faces of the bystanders, who were staring back at them with expressions of disapproval and disgust.
Magdalena was no longer certain anyone would believe them. The farmers and workers moved aside to make
