Then Johann Lechner called out, “In the name of the power vested in me and as representative of His Noble Majesty Ferdinand Maria, I herewith announce that the execution can begin!”
The moment of silence was past, and the crowd howled. The robbers’ wives ducked as snowballs started to fly again. They withdrew with the children behind the gallows, protected from the angry crowd by two bailiffs. With the exception of Hans Scheller’s wife, the council had given all the women permission to bury their husbands, a concession made at the request of the hangman. In fact, Jakob Kuisl had the first rights to the men’s clothing and bodies and could have made a tidy sum through the sale of human fat, hides, and four pairs of the thieves’ thumbs.
The crowd was getting more and more agitated, surging against the makeshift roped-off area around the execution site. Jakob Kuisl looked into their foaming mouths contorted with hatred and their predatory eyes glazed from the hot mulled wine.
I’m looking into an abyss, he thought.
Snowballs and pieces of ice were still flying. A clump struck one of the robbers in the face so that his skin split open and bright-red blood trickled into the snow. The robber seemed oblivious to the pain after two mugs of wine. He staggered a bit, but even the bawling of his little son wouldn’t bring him back to reality.
Johann Lechner took his place next to the wooden platform. “Let’s go,” he whispered in the hangman’s ear, “the people want to see blood. If you don’t hurry up, it will be yours they see.”
Kuisl nodded. It wasn’t uncommon for a crowd to lynch a hangman if the execution didn’t go according to plan. If the executioner slipped up, if his blow missed the target, or if, in the excitement, he simply slaughtered the condemned men, he could be quickly strung up on the nearest tree. Or even on the gallows.
Jakob Kuisl clenched his fists and cracked his knuckles-his ritual at the start of every execution. Then he put on his gloves, walked to the gallows, and went to work.
The hanging of the four condemned robbers went quickly and silently. The hangman went about his task as if he were just roofing a house or constructing a table. He climbed up the gallows ladder with each of the condemned men, placed the noose around his neck, tied the rope to the crossbeam, climbed back down again, and pulled the ladder away.
The men wriggled around briefly, wet spots appeared on their trousers, then they swayed back and forth like scarecrows in the wind. Only the fourth robber writhed a bit longer, much to the Schongauers’ amusement, but soon enough it was all over for him as well.
None of this was new to the crowd. They saw something like this at least once a year. But this was only the prologue; the main attraction was yet to come.
The hangman looked at Hans Scheller, who clenched his fists and nodded imperceptibly. Then Scheller climbed up the stairs to the wooden platform.
A drawn-out, ecstatic cry went through the crowd as Hans Scheller reached the top and turned around to scan the surrounding countryside-the mountains, the forests, the gentle hills. He closed his eyes briefly and breathed in the cold January air.
There are worse places to die, the hangman thought. A battlefield, for example.
With the iron rod in hand, Kuisl now stepped onto the wooden platform and motioned for Scheller to lie down. In one corner lay a heavy wagon wheel encased in iron, which the robber chief would be bound to later. Wooden wedges were set on the floor of the platform at regular intervals so that Scheller’s limbs wouldn’t lie flat and would break more easily. The hangman would begin with the lower part of the legs, then slowly work his way up. The last blow to the cervical vertebra was the so-called coup de grâce. For especially abhorrent crimes, this blow was avoided and the condemned man left on the wheel to die out in the open.
“One moment, Kuisl,” Hans Scheller said to Kuisl up on the platform. “I want to thank you for-”
The hangman waved him off. “Never mind. Take the poison and keep your mouth shut.”
Scheller shook his head. “There’s something else you ought to know. When we surprised those three other highwaymen, I didn’t just find the perfume, but something else, too. I had forgotten, but it came to me again last night.”
The executioner turned away from Scheller and looked down at the surging crowd. The people were getting impatient.
“Hey, Kuisl, what’s wrong up there?” some of them shouted. “You’re supposed to break his bones, not hear his confession!”
The first pieces of ice struck the hangman. Jakob Kuisl wiped the slush from his face and looked impatiently at the robber chief. “Spit it out, if it’s bothering you, but make it quick.”
Hans Scheller told the executioner what he’d found at the highwaymen’s campfire. The hangman listened without batting an eye. For the people down below, it had to look like the robber chief was begging for mercy one last time. When he finished, Scheller bowed his head and whispered a short prayer.
“Thank you,” Jakob Kuisl said softly. “If there is a just God, others will soon follow you. Now, put an end to it.”
Hans Scheller opened his fist, put the little poison pill in his mouth, and bit down. There was a soft crunching sound, and he had just enough time to lie down before darkness raced upon him like a summer thunderstorm.
Magdalena pushed aside the silken altar cloth and shook out the contents of the leather bag-a colorful collection of black and red berries, little bouquets of herbs, and pressed blossoms. Even the bezoar had survived the long trip! Unfortunately, the little bag was damp and crushed from being transported under her skirt for so long, and the herbs inside didn’t look very usable-some had even begun to take on a moldy sheen. Nevertheless, Magdalena hoped they would serve her purpose.
Basically, all she needed were two ingredients.
When she found the bag under the pew, she thought back on everything the Augsburg pharmacist Nepomuk Biermann had put together for her before Brother Jakobus appeared. Most of these ingredients she had been able to put in her pockets, along with some herbs lying out on the counter for another customer. Magdalena tried to remember which plants Biermann had already packed in the bag for her.
Ergot, artemisia, St. John’s wort, daphne, belladona, and thorn apple…
Belladona and thorn apple.
A few moments later, she found the small dried berries between two little bunches of herbs. Small and deadly. She grinned. Both belladonna and thorn apple were known among midwives and hangmen as medicines, but also as poisons that could bring swift and certain death. Possession alone was a punishable offense, as they could allegedly be used to make a salve that Satan’s playmates used to coat their brooms. Magdalena didn’t know if that was true, but she did know that both plants triggered nightmares and hallucinations. Presumably, anyone ingesting these herbs would actually be able to fly, and unfortunately dosage was a problem, particularly for thorn apple. After taking it, not just a few people took their last flight.
Magdalena thought of something Paracelsus had said more than a hundred years before.
The dosage makes the poison.
She nodded grimly. Brother Jakobus would get a dose that would send him flying straight to hell.
Magdalena picked out the dried belladonna berries and the thorn apple seeds, which reminded her a bit of black mouse droppings. She kept checking the door to see if Brother Jakobus was paying her an unannounced visit, but all was quiet.
When Magdalena had gotten everything together, she looked around for something she could use as a pestle. Her eye fell on a small bronze statue of Jesus standing on the altar. She turned it over and, using the Savior’s head, crushed the berries and seeds to a dark-brown powder. The hangman’s daughter was certain God would pardon her this sacrilege.