Magdalena looked at him wide-eyed. “Latin?”
“Yes, just like our priest in the church,” replied Strasser, making the sign of a cross. “God rest his soul. Not that I understood anything, but it sounded like Latin, I swear by the Virgin Mary.”
“Were you able to understand anything at all?”
Strasser stopped to think. “Yes, one phrase, and it came up again and again-crux Christi…” His face brightened. “Yes, crux Christi! That’s what they said!”
“Crux Christi means the cross of Christ,” Magdalena murmured, more to herself. “Not exactly unusual if they were monks. Anything else?”
Strasser turned to leave. “What do I know? Why don’t you just ask them yourself? One of them is standing back there at the bar, and he was just inquiring about your father.”
Magdalena jumped up from the table. “And you’re only telling me that now?”
Franz Strasser raised his hand apologetically. “He only wanted to know who the big man here in town was who smokes that stinking weed.” He grinned. “No doubt he wanted to buy some from Kuisl. I also told him about you.”
“About me?” The hangman’s daughter almost choked on her beer.
“Well, because you do sell herbs, don’t you? And perhaps this tobacco, or whatever it’s called. Come along,” he said, leading the way. “He seems to have a bit of money to spend. You can see he’s a fine gentleman.”
Magdalena jumped up and followed the tavern keeper through the bar, which was becoming more and more crowded. She looked around in hopes of picking the stranger out from the many people from Altenstadt who were there, but when they got to the bar, they found only familiar faces there. A mason tried to grope her, she gave him a smack in the face, and he walked away, moaning.
“Strange,” Strasser mumbled. “He was here just a moment ago.” He stepped behind the bar. “I’m sure he just went to the place that even the Pope has to go to. Just wait a bit.”
Magdalena returned to her seat and sipped absentmindedly on her beer. Three men in black cowls conversing in Latin…The strangers were surely traveling monks, but why, then, the expensive black horses? And why had one of them inquired about her father?
She took another big gulp. The beer was delicious, perhaps somewhat bitter, but it stimulated the senses. Her head felt light, and thoughts came and went before she could get a grip on them. The music and laughter of the men sitting at the bar blurred into a single pulsing hum. Could that be the effect of the alcohol? She really hadn’t had that much to drink…It didn’t matter; she felt free, and a smile spread across her face. She tapped her feet in rhythm with the fiddle and continued drinking her beer.
The man in the black cowl stood outside and watched her through a small crack in the shutters. He’d have to wait until the henbane began to have an effect. Sooner or later, this woman would have to come out, and she would surely need help then. Who could harbor any suspicions at the sight of a gentleman offering to escort a drunken girl home? What was the name of the girl, again?
Magdalena.
His whole body began to tremble, and he couldn’t figure out why.
Jakob Kuisl loved peace and quiet, and nothing was as peaceful as a winter evening after it had snowed all day. It felt as if the snow had swallowed up every sound, leaving emptiness that overcame any thoughts, worries, strivings-leaving only space for quiet meditation. Sometimes Jakob Kuisl wished that eternal winter would come over the world and finally put an end to all its chatter and gossip.
He walked along the snowy road toward Altenstadt. In the distance, he could hear the bells of the basilica sounding. He was looking for his daughter. She had been missing since early that morning, and now it was almost after noon. Magdalena had promised to help her mother mend some old clothes and linens, and Anna Maria Kuisl kept going to the door all morning, looking for her daughter. Her grumbles and complaints gradually turned to anxious silence, and when the hangman finally confessed that he had sent Magdalena to Altenstadt to make some inquiries for him, she threw him out of the house. The words she shouted after him were unmistakable: He couldn’t set foot in the house again unless he came back with Magdalena.
The hangman loved his wife, he respected her, and some people even said he feared her, which was nonsense, of course, because a hangman fears nothing and no one, least of all his wife. But Jakob Kuisl had learned that talking back was pointless and meant only the end of the peace and quiet he longed for so much in his house. And so he left to look for Magdalena.
In Altenstadt, he could hear music coming from the only tavern in town. The windows of Strasser’s Tavern cast a warm glow, and laughter, the stamping of feet, and the sound of an out-of-tune fiddle could be heard. Jakob Kuisl approached, peeking inside through a slit in one of the windows.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
On a table in the middle of the room, a few young men were dancing and singing a crude peasant song in raucous voices. A circle of onlookers gathered around with glasses raised, laughing and cheering them on. Among the young men on the table, a girl was dancing and stretching her arms up in a suggestive pose. Then she tilted her head far back while one of the men poured beer into her mouth from a huge beer stein.
It was Magdalena.
Her eyes were rolling wildly while one fellow reached out lustily toward her skirt and another pulled on the strings of her bodice.
Jakob Kuisl kicked the door and it swung inward with a loud bang. Then he stormed in and headed for the group. He grabbed one of the young men, yanked him off the table, and flung him in the direction of the onlookers, where he landed headfirst against a stool that splintered on impact. A second fellow hit the hangman hard over the head with his mug of beer. That was a serious mistake, as he found out only too soon. Kuisl grabbed him by the arm, pulled him down off the table, slapped him hard, and tossed him backward into two other men, all of whom landed in a tangle of arms and legs on the floor. The mug shattered, and a pool of beer spread across the floor at the feet of the astonished spectators.
Jakob Kuisl picked up his daughter like a sack of flour and threw her over his shoulder. She fought back and screamed as if she had lost her mind, but his grip was as solid as a vise.
“Would anyone else like a good thrashing?” he growled, looking around expectantly. The young men rubbed their aching heads and glanced at one another nervously.
“If anyone touches my daughter again, I’ll break every bone in their body. Do you hear?” he said softly, but firmly now. “She may be a hangman’s girl, but she’s off-limits.”
“But she said herself she wanted to dance,” one of the carpenter’s journeymen said sheepishly. “She probably had a little too much to drink…”
One look from the hangman silenced him. Then Kuisl tossed a few coins at the tavern owner, who had retreated against a wall, along with a few respectful others.
“Here you are, Strasser. For the mug and a new stool. If there’s anything left, treat the boys to a few beers. Now, good-bye.”
The door slammed behind him. What remained was a group of young men who felt as if they were awakening from a dream. After Jakob Kuisl had disappeared around the corner with Magdalena, the men started to whisper to one another, and then general laughter broke out.
“Are you crazy, Father?” Magdalena shouted. By now the two had arrived at the main street. She was still draped over her father’s shoulder like a sack. She spoke with a slight slur. “Stop…Put me down at once!”
The hangman flung his daughter in a wide arc into a snowdrift. Then he came plodding after her and rubbed snow in her face until it glowed bright red. Finally, he took out a vial and poured a bitter liquid down her throat until she started to spit and cough.