“We’ll make it brief, Your Excellency,” Simon said. He introduced himself and Benedikta. When the priest heard the name Koppmeyer, his ears pricked up.
“Andreas Koppmeyer?” he asked. “The priest at Saint Lawrence Church? I have heard of his death. My condolences to his sister. Does anyone know yet what-”
“I would like you to arrange my brother’s funeral,” Benedikta interrupted. “Is that possible?”
“But…of course.” The priest, too, seemed impressed with her genteel, assured manner. As the head of the largest church in the region, he was accustomed to acting in a high-handed, arrogant manner. But this woman demanded respect. A single sentence from her sufficed to shrink him back to normal size.
“I’ll make all the necessary preparations,” he mumbled. “Don’t worry. When do you want the burial to be?”
They agreed it would be on the following Saturday. Finally, Simon asked the priest the question that got to the heart of his visit. “The Saint Lawrence Church…” he began. “Benedikta Koppmeyer, as sister of the deceased, would like to know more about the church he worked in for so many years. And about its past. Are there documents here in the basilica?”
Pastor Ziegler shook his head. “I’m sorry, there aren’t. The church doesn’t belong to Saint Michael’s parish. You would have to inquire in Steingaden.”
“Steingaden?” Simon asked with surprise.
The priest nodded. “The Saint Lawrence Church belongs to the Premonstratensian Diocese in Steingaden. So far as I know, the diocese purchased the church many years ago, and if the Swedes didn’t burn the relevant papers, then they would have to be there still.”
“And who did the church belong to before that?” Simon asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible. “The parish of Saint Michael?”
The priest laughed. “I shall have to disappoint you once again. We really never had anything to do with the Saint Lawrence Church. No, if the rumors are correct, the church formerly belonged to the Knights of the Teutonic Order, the Templars. But that was very long ago. Why are you so interested in that?”
“My brother always loved his church,” Benedikta said. Her smile could have melted the January ice outside. “I only wanted to know more about the place that had meant so much to him. Perhaps you’d learn something you could use for the funeral sermon.”
“Oh, of course.” Elias Ziegler nodded solicitously. “I’ll see what I can do. Does anyone yet know why-”
“Please excuse us now,” Benedikta mumbled. “I am still overwhelmed with grief and need to be left with my prayers.”
The priest nodded respectfully and watched as the two left the vestry and disappeared outside. Then he turned back to sampling the wine. It was too bad he had to use such good wine for the Eucharist, only to transform it into the blood of Christ.
“We must go to Steingaden,” Benedikta whispered as they hastened through the basilica. “Today, if possible.”
“Do you want me to come along?” Simon asked, uncertain what to make of this plan.
“Naturally. I want to know why my brother had to die. Is that so difficult to understand?”
“No, no. But today?” In the meantime, they had left the church and were standing in front by the portal. Snow blew in their faces. Simon pointed up. “It’s snowing again. It will be hard for us to make progress,” he said with concern.
“Well, I have a horse that will get me there safely and comfortably, even through knee-deep snow,” Benedikta said, then looked at him questioningly. “And you? As the town medicus, you must surely have a horse as well. You are the town physician, aren’t you?”
“Ah, sure, sure, but…”
“Well, then that’s that,” Benedikta said before running down the steps. “Let’s leave in two hours.”
Simon looked at her perplexed, then shrugged and followed her.
“Do you always make such rash decisions?” he asked when he caught up with her.
“I wouldn’t be a successful businessperson if I always weighed and debated everything,” she said. “I’ll leave that to the men when they get together for their night out at the pub.”
Simon grinned. “I hope I never have to do business with you. You would probably palm three barrels of overpriced wine off on me in a blink of an eye.” This was the first time Simon had heard her laugh, and he could feel how much he wanted to please this self-confident, worldly woman.
But now he needed a horse, and he had an idea where he could get hold of one.
Not far from St. Michael’s Basilica, Magdalena was standing on a street corner watching as the two walked down the little road on their way back to Schongau. Only a few minutes before, slightly tipsy, the hangman’s daughter had left the house of Balthasar Hemerle, and now she intended to pay a visit to the tavern keeper in Altenstadt to ask him about the strangers who were there the previous Sunday.
The sight of Simon together with the strange woman from the city hit her like a blow to the stomach. The two seemed to be having an animated conversation, and after a while Simon even placed his cloak over Benedikta’s shoulders. Magdalena thought she could hear soft laughter in the distance. And as much as she tried, she was unable to dispel her suspicions.
The alcohol in her body added to that feeling, overwhelming her with a grim wave of hatred, jealousy, and sadness. Furious, she pulled her bodice tighter and trudged off in the direction of the tavern. Her father had suggested she make eyes at the workmen. He could depend on her doing just that.
“You want what?” The hangman took his pipe out of his mouth and gave Simon a look of disbelief. Simon had found the hangman in the stable next to his house, cleaning out fresh, still-steaming manure. At the hangman’s side, the cow, Resl, watched the nervous young medicus with a dumb stare as he tried not to lose his balance while hopping through the clumps of manure and frozen puddles of urine on the ground. Simon was nervously clutching a felt hat with ostrich feathers and was wearing his best Sunday clothes-a wool coat he had hastily brushed off and, under it, petticoat breeches, a shirt with shiny cuffs, and a knee-length jacket of the finest French cloth. Now he was standing in front of the hangman, nervously repeating his question.
“Would it be possible for you to lend me your horse?” he mumbled. “Only until tomorrow.”
Jakob Kuisl looked at him, thinking it over. Then he broke out in laughter. “My old Walli? That dumb critter? She’ll eat your fine hat like celery and throw you before you even know what happened.” He shook his head, grinning.
Simon glanced nervously at the skinny mare sullenly chomping on some hay at the rear of the stable. It was quite possible that the hangman was correct.
“And just where do you intend to go, all dressed up like that? To Venice, to the carnival?” Kuisl asked, examining Simon’s clothing from top to bottom.
“I…I’m going to Steingaden, to the monastery. Maybe I’ll learn something more there about the hidden crypt in the Saint Lawrence Church.”
In halting words, he told the hangman of his visit to St. Michael’s Basilica and what he had learned there. When he was finished, he casually added, “Benedikta Koppmeyer will accompany me, by the way. She wants to learn more about the death of her brother.”
“Ah, I see.” Jakob Kuisl nodded. He spat into the manure, then picked up the rake and started spreading fresh straw in the stable. “That explains the fancy costume. Go ahead, then, and as far as I’m concerned, you can take Walli. I need her only to drive condemned people up the hill to the gallows. And there aren’t any hangings at the moment. But watch out. The beast is as stubborn as a mule-and mean!”