With a few quick steps Matthias was beside him and dashed the grapes out of his hand. He grabbed Theoderich by the collar. “Urquhart said this Fox, or whatever he calls himself, put his ear to Gerhard’s lips, you idiot,” he snarled. “What if he could still speak? Perhaps he said, yes, one of my murderers is called Theoderich Overstolz, you all know him, he’s a magistrate. And Jacob tells the dean, and the dean works on Urquhart’s witnesses, and tomorrow they come to fetch you—and me as well. And they’ll drag your blind old aunt Blithildis to the place of execution and tie her between two horses, before they hand you over to the executioner.”
Theoderich took a deep breath. “You’re right,” he croaked.
“Good.” Matthias straightened up and wiped his hand on his breeches.
“Matthias, we’re starting to quarrel among ourselves.”
“Don’t be such a baby.”
“That’s not what I’m getting at. Our alliance is in crisis and I can’t see things improving. It’s dangerous. Remember Daniel and Kuno. Even you and Johann don’t always agree.”
Matthias brooded for a few moment. “You’re right,” he said softly. “So close to our goal and we threaten to split apart.” He drew himself up. “Back to this dean. You talked to Bodo—what do you think he’ll do?”
“Try to find the witnesses.”
“Hmm. The witnesses.”
“We haven’t much time. It’s past ten and I don’t know where Urquhart is—”
“But I do. He’s distributed the servants around the city. His own section is the market district. It won’t take me long to find him. There, you see, Theoderich, things aren’t as bad as they seem. Now we know where the Fox is most likely to be hiding, we know who’s protecting him, and we know they’re tracking down the witnesses.”
Matthias smiled to himself. “That should give Urquhart something to work on.”
THE BATHHOUSE
“Aaaaah!” Justinius von Singen sighed.
The girl laughed and poured another stream of warm water over him. She was pretty and well worth the sin.
“O Lord, I thank you,” murmured Justinius, half blissfully, half remorsefully, as his right hand felt the breasts of his ministering angel and his left slipped down her stomach and under the water. At the same time he watched the girl sitting at the edge of the pool, playing her harp and singing to her instrument. She was in the bloom of youth, a veritable goddess, and her thin white dress revealed more than it concealed.
Drunk with joy, Justinius hummed to the music, out of tune, while his eyes wandered from the beautiful harper up to the galleries above the bathers, where men, young and old, some very old, were standing. They occasionally threw down coins and wreaths of flowers and the girls would jump up and, laughing, spread out their dresses to catch them, at the same time revealing their hidden charms. The music, the singing, the murmur of conversation, the splash of water all merged into a timeless stream in which rational thought was swallowed up as he abandoned himself to the siren voice of lust.
Justinius burped and laid his head on the girl’s shoulder.
Little St. Martin’s bathhouse was crowded at that hour. Clerics were there, though they tended to slip in quietly, for the attendants were as experienced in the arts of love as in giving hot and cold baths, massaging, beating the bathers with bundles of twigs, or rubbing them down with brushes made of cardoon bristles, which left them feeling as if liquid fire were running through their veins. At one time there had probably been a curtain separating the men’s from the women’s section, but all that remained were three iron rings in the ceiling.
Now the copper tubs and great brick basins were open to all. Decorated trays floated on the water, loaded with jugs of wine and various delicacies. Justinius had one right by his belly with a chicken on it roasted to such a crisp golden brown that it was a delight to the eye.
The girl giggled even more and pushed his hand away.
“Oooooh,” said Justinius, winking at Andreas, who was sitting on the other side of the basin, taking no notice of anything.
Justinius frowned. Then he sent a huge wave of water splashing over Andreas. “Hey! Why so gloomy?”
“What?” Andreas shook his head. “I’m not gloomy. I just can’t stop thinking about that man who came to see us this morning.”
“Oh, him again.” Justinius sighed. “Don’t I keep telling you not to worry so much? I agreed with you, didn’t I, that we should accept his generous offer and get out of Cologne as quickly as possible?”
“He wants us to make a statement to the council,” Andreas reminded him. “That makes a quick getaway impossible.”
“The council can go hang itself. We tell the man what we know, take the money, and before the council can get off their fat arses we’ll be spending it on a life of luxury in Aachen.” He leaned forward and grinned. “I’ve heard Aachen’s fantastic. Have you been there? What else would you expect from the city where they crown the kings?” He put his head to one side and shrugged. “On the other hand, they say nothing can compare with Cologne, so I can understand your feelings.” He nestled his head against the girl’s shoulder, groaning with pleasure.
Andreas pursed his lips. “I hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right. The big fellow with the long hair gave us something and we did what he asked. Now someone else wants to give us something, so we do what he asks. What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. How did he find out we had anything to do with Blondie?”
“What does it matter? This Jaspar will be here soon. We’ll go into one of the side rooms, do the deal, take the money, tell him what happened and what we know—God knows, I’m an honest man, Andreas—and take ourselves off to some other place where you can get plenty of meat on your dagger. By the time Blondie’s realized we’ve let something slip, we’ll be over the hills and far away.”
“I hope you’re right,” Andreas repeated, a little less tensed up.
“Of course I am. Look around. This is the life! And we’ll live forever, God forgive my sinful tongue.”
The girl laughed. “Here everything’s forgiven,” she said, pouring another bowl of water over him.
Justinius shook himself luxuriously and pulled himself up onto the side. “What manly passion our Creator has implanted in us,” he cried. “Keep yourself in readiness for me, my rose, pearl of this holy city. I will betake myself to the massage couch and when I return you will feel the sword of my desire, O blessed body of the Whore of Babylon.”
Andreas gave him a scornful look. “You should have another look at the scriptures some time,” he said. “That was a load of nonsense.”
Justinius gave a roar of laughter. “Life is a load of nonsense.”
“Yes,” said Andreas, sighing, “for once you might just be right.”
Still laughing, Justinius went to the back of the room and pushed aside a curtain, revealing a small candle-lit cubicle with a wooden table covered in towels and blankets, a tub of steaming water, and some jugs filled with fragrant oil. One could have a massage from the owner and his assistants, or from the girls as long as the curtain remained closed.
Grunting and groaning, Justinius pulled himself onto the table, pressed his belly flat on the soft blankets, and closed his eyes. He had paid for the full treatment. First a good kneading from a pair of strong male hands, then he would roll over on his back and take on the sweet burden of sin in whatever shapely form it should appear. The owner of the bathhouse was discreet and showed a sure touch in his selection of companions for his customers. The surprise was all part of the fun.