“Oh, hangman! One moment!” When Jakob turned around, he saw the clerk was staring at him directly through his pince-nez. “I’ve heard that the priest in Altenstadt passed away and that you yourself were there shortly thereafter. Did anything happen there that seemed…strange?”
The hangman cursed to himself. How had the clerk learned so quickly about the events in the St. Lawrence Church? Obviously, nothing escaped Lechner. Jakob Kuisl reflected for a moment and then decided to tell the truth.
“It looks like someone poisoned the priest.”
“Poisoned?” The clerk frowned. “Hmm, that’s not good news. But if I know you, you already have a suspicion about who it could have been.”
Jakob Kuisl shook his head. “No, sir. I have no idea.”
“That’s all right. The people of Altenstadt need to figure that out themselves.” He frowned again. “Do you think maybe the fat priest just overate again?”
“No, sir. I believe-”
“Believing is something you do in church,” Lechner interrupted him. “I want you to concern yourself only with this band of murderers out there. Exclusively, do you understand? That’s an order. The city needs your expertise and your strength, not in Altenstadt, but here in Schongau. Everything else can wait. Is that clear?”
Jakob Kuisl remained silent.
“I want to know if that’s clear.”
The hangman nodded and, without another word, disappeared into the dark hallway. Behind him, he could once again hear the scratching of the quill pen.
Furtively, the clerk carefully extracted a document from the pile of papers he had concealed just before the hangman entered, and glanced at it once more. The seal seemed genuine, and the man who had delivered the letter believable.
Lechner scratched the tip of his nose with the goose feather. It wouldn’t be wise to refuse the request of such a powerful person, even if he couldn’t figure out the meaning of this official document. Lechner actually wanted only to ask the hangman about the murder of Father Koppmeyer, but the stranger he’d just seen made it unmistakably clear that further investigation into the Koppmeyer case was not desired. To support his demand, he had left behind a tidy sum. Lechner toyed nervously with the coins in his desk drawer. They felt cool and solid. The money would come in handy for necessary repairs in the city, above all to the ducal palace, which was in a pitiful shape. And the stranger had held out the prospect of more money if the hangman kept his mouth shut…
Just the same, it troubled Lechner. Why would such a powerful person be interested in preventing the Schongau hangman from snooping around in Altenstadt? Well, Lechner would have to make his own inquiries, and in the meanwhile, he’d just have to keep the hangman busy doing something else. Lechner chuckled to himself. The idea that Jakob Kuisl would soon be bossing around the fat old aldermen was just too precious. That alone was worth the little lie.
Benedikta was waiting impatiently in the driving snow in front of the Goldener Stern Tavern, just next to the Ballenhaus. Her horse, a splendid sorrel, pranced around nervously. When the merchant woman caught sight of Simon, a narrow smile crossed her lips.
“Do you usually travel on foot rather than by horse, Doctor?” she asked.
In fact, Simon didn’t make the best impression sitting on his nag. On the short trip from the Lech River up to town, the beast had almost thrown him twice. Putting on the bridle had been a struggle, and Walli had bitten his hand several times. Sweat was pouring down his brow, and his hat, with the coquettish ostrich feather, sat at a crooked angle on his head. He had even slipped once in the stable, and now a light yellow-brown spot adorned his jacket. Nevertheless, Simon tried to laugh.
“Walli is a horse with a mind of her own,” he said as the horse attempted to rear up again and tugged at the reins. “And I have a special liking for stubborn women.”
The merchant woman smiled. “That’s commendable, but perhaps the horse needs to have a little woman-to-woman talk.”
Benedikta dismounted and slowly approached the snorting horse. When she reached the horse, she held her by the head, pulled her mane down, and whispered in her ear. At once, the horse settled down, stopped snorting, and stood there calmly.
“How…how did you ever do that?” Simon asked incredulously.
“Just un secret de femmes, a secret between us women.”
Benedikta smiled and swung up onto her horse again. “We have to leave,” she said, “or we’ll never get to Steingaden before nightfall. It’s already noon.”
They rode out through the Lech Gate in the direction of Peiting. The snow was heavier now, and Simon had to squint to see the road in front of them, orienting himself by the wagon tracks that were now almost covered again with snow. On the gently ascending road, they met the occasional hiker or team of oxen, but once they had passed the houses of Peiting, they were finally alone. Stillness prevailed as the snow dampened all sounds.
The few towns they went through seemed inhospitable. The windows and doors were closed, and only occasionally could they see light shining through a crack in the window or a shy child peering around the corner of a house. At regular intervals, the two riders passed small frozen ponds, where frightened ducks flapped up out of the reeds and disappeared into the winter sky.
Alongside him, Benedikta was humming a little French song.
Belle qui tiens ma vie, captive dans tes yeux…
Simon noticed how hearing her voice warmed the cockles of his heart. True, he understood only half the words, but the mere sound of the foreign tongue was enough to overwhelm him with wanderlust. Here in the Priests’ Corner, everything was so…God-fearing. So rigid and sleepy. Nothing changed. In Paris, on the other hand, people knew how to live! He heard there were theaters and tailors on every street corner; that people smelled of perfume, lavender, and forget-me-nots; and the best doctors in all of Europe taught at the Sorbonne!
He was so lost in thought that he didn’t see the highwaymen until they were almost standing in front of them.
Three figures stood waiting at the side of the road in the heavily falling snow. Two of them were leaning on long, rough-hewn clubs, and the third had a dagger dangling at his hip. Now Simon noticed a fourth man. He was crouching in a thicket, his musket supported casually on the branch of a tree and pointed at them. All four of them looked famished. Their faces were drawn, and little icicles hung from their shaggy beards. They were dressed in threadbare jackets and soiled army coats, and the boots on their feet were nothing but shreds.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” asked the man holding the dagger, with a salacious grin. He was evidently the leader. “A pretty woman and her beau traveling all alone, and both dressed so elegantly!” He made a low bow, and the others broke out in raucous laughter. By now Simon was cursing his dandyish attire. Here in the forest, he probably looked like a pheasant searching for a mate.
“How about a little charity for a few poor sinners who had a hard time in the war and can’t afford such finery?” the leader said. Still bowing, he held one hand out as he fingered the dagger with his other.
Simon could see one of the robbers at the side of the road looking Benedikta up and down and running his tongue over his lips, while the man with the musket examined Simon’s expensive coat. His eyes reminded the medicus of a wild beast’s, expressionless and lustful, lacking even a spark of humanity. Simon opened his mouth to defend the woman at his side-if not with a weapon, then with words-but all that came out was a hoarse squawk. He knew that these men would rob them and slaughter them like animals, but first, one after the other, they would attack and violate Benedikta. He reached into his coat pocket for the sharp stiletto he always carried with him, along with some medical paraphernalia, but what good would a knife be against four armed robbers? To make matters worse, Walli began prancing around nervously, and he wouldn’t be able to restrain the old mare much longer.