To the last second she’d been hoping for a miracle; she’d prayed to each of the Fourteen Holy Helpers to intercede, to keep the mill from exploding, but her miracle hadn’t happened. The building had erupted around her beloved Simon, with whom she had fled to Regensburg to live and grow old.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with sweat, flour, and soil, while all around her shouts went up. Even under the sacks she could hear the muffled babble of many voices and the pounding of men’s feet as they ran to the bridge railing to gape at the crackling, fiery drama.
“It’s the big grain mill on the Wohrd!” Magdalena could hear someone shout. “I bet the flour exploded. My grandfather once told me about something like that happening…”
“No doubt the miller was drunk again…”
“He was smoking! That new, hellish tobacco they’re importing! Lit his pipe and blew himself straight up to heaven, along with home and grain.”
“Step aside, folks! A shipment for city hall, make way!”
The last voice belonged to Silvio, who shouted and cracked his whip as he tried to get through the gathering crowd. Magdalena had heard him bribe the watchman at the ramp with a handful of clinking coins. The people up here were so busy watching and gossiping about the catastrophe that the large wagon barely attracted any attention.
They weren’t stopped at the gate leading from the bridge into the city, either. As the wagon rumbled on through the streets and alleys, Magdalena heard the occasional sound of marching feet-presumably guards rushing to the Wohrd from all parts of the city-and bells ringing somewhere. No one seemed interested in the overloaded wagon carrying Silvio and the five raftsmen. Once in a while a hand pressed to Magdalena’s mouth-apparently to check that she was still breathing-then took the opportunity to grope her breasts or her legs or tighten her bonds.
Finally the wagon came to a halt. Magdalena tried to guess where they were, based on the sounds around them, but except for distant voices and bells she heard nothing. Her whole body itched; bugs crawled through her hair. She couldn’t move a muscle. She lay there like a living sack of grain, breathing in dust, flour, and ground ergot.
“Haaaalt! In the name of the city, come down from the wagon!”
It was the commanding voice of a gate guard, clearly used to giving orders and having them heeded, too. Magdalena held her breath. Could he be her salvation? Perhaps one of the raftsmen had told them, and now the entire city was looking for the poison!
“What is this all about?” Silvio asked indignantly. “Don’t you see we’re in a hurry? Open the gate!”
“I’m sorry, but we have to search every wagon leaving the city,” the watchman replied. “The Regensburg monster has escaped, the one responsible for the double murder in the Wei?gerbergraben. We’ve got to be sure he doesn’t flee the city.”
Magdalena clenched her fists. At least they hadn’t caught her father yet! But why was Silvio trying to leave the city with the wagon? She’d assumed they were on their way to city hall or perhaps the Heuport House. What could the Venetian do with the poisoned flour outside of town?
“A worthy task, constable,” Silvio replied, now distinctly more polite. “But with me that’s really not necessary. My men loaded the sacks themselves. Do you think the Venetian ambassador would provide cover for a murderer?” He laughed softly, and again Magdalena heard coins clinking.
“I–I-didn’t recognize you,” the guard gasped. “Excuse me, Your Eminence. But this is just a modest little wagon, and I would have expected you-”
“A little unannounced trip to the country; I do like to see what my servants are up to. Now would you please let us pass?”
“Well… naturally, Your Excellency. And a good day to you!”
The wagon rolled on again while Magdalena cursed through her gag. That was her last chance! Silvio would soon be force-feeding her the ergot, and what awaited her then? She thought of Resl, the maid of Schongau baker Berchtholdt, imprisoned in her own nightmares, her limbs turning black, crying and howling until the dear Lord released her from her pain at last.
Would that be her fate as well?
After about another quarter-hour the wagon stopped and the raftsmen climbed down, whispering softly to one another. Evidently they’d reached their destination. Bags were hastily offloaded and carried away. Squinting at the blinding sunlight, Magdalena took a while to recognize Silvio standing over her, smiling.
“If you could promise me you’d be quiet, I just might be persuaded to remove your gag,” he said, pushing a lock of sweaty, matted hair from her face. He plucked a bug from her hair and crushed it between his fingers. “Do you think that’s possible?”
Magdalena nodded silently. When the Venetian untied the knot behind her head and pulled the gag out of her mouth, she spat in his face.
“Murderer, damn you! You’ve killed Simon! For that you’ll roast a thousand years in hell. I’ll rip your puny balls right off, I’ll-mmmmhhhh!”
Silvio forced the gag back into her mouth. “That wasn’t our agreement,” he whispered. “So once again, will you keep silent?”
Tears of anger welled up in Magdalena’s eyes, but she nodded a second time. When Silvio removed the dirty rag again, she kept quiet.
“Take this stubborn woman down below!” Silvio ordered. One of the raftsmen tossed Magdalena over his shoulder like just another sack of flour and climbed down from the wagon, panting.
Though she was upside down now, the hangman’s daughter could see that the wagon had come to rest on a wide road that wound through fields and meadows. The city wall lay less than a half-mile behind them. Nearby, on a hill that rose over rolling meadows, stood a strange, three-legged structure. Lifeless bodies hung from it, swaying in the gentle summer breeze. Despite the midsummer heat, Magdalena shivered.
But the raftsman headed off in another direction entirely, along a little path where bushes, red poppies, and yellow broom grew wild, toward a stone staircase that led underground. Silvio, who was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs, opened a heavy iron door and bowed slightly as Magdalena entered a dark room on the raftsman’s back.
“After you,
They were standing in a subterranean room built of huge stone blocks and filled with the sound of splashing water. The broad-shouldered raftsman set Magdalena down roughly on a stone bench and lit a torch. Only now could she see that the splashing came from a small waterfall that cascaded down the wall and emptied into a shallow basin at the back of the room. Stone tablets were mounted on the walls, but it was too dark to read the inscriptions. Behind the basin an arched passageway led to another vaulted area from which a loud rushing sound emanated.
Working silently, the five raftsmen carried the bags of flour past her and Silvio, through the knee-deep basin and into the rear vault. When they finished, the Venetian signaled to them.
“Stand guard up above. Only Jeremias will stay with us.” He pointed at a hefty raftsman to their left, who nodded politely and planted himself next to Magdalena with arms crossed. “Just in case you should refuse to take your water cure,” he reassured the hangman’s daughter. “As you know, patients can be a bit uncooperative at times.”
With a creak, the iron door swung closed.
“Don’t worry.” The Venetian fetched a tin cup from his pocket. “You won’t have to eat any flour. You’ll drink the ergot diluted with water. Sadly, I can’t offer you wine, as that would distort the effect.” Silvio took out a silver teaspoon, scooped some flour from an open sack, and stirred the pale blue powder into the cup.
“We still don’t know exactly how strong the poison is in humans,” he declared, “and above all, how fast it acts. If we dilute the ergot with well water rather than baking it into bread, it will presumably take effect later.” He
