But would he also forgive her for murder?
Perhaps Brother Jakobus would not die, after all, but fall into a sort of rigid trance. She doubted that, though, given the dose she had in mind.
Standing on the altar was the communion chalice. Jakobus had gotten into the habit of celebrating Holy Communion once a day with Magdalena. At first she’d refused, but she finally shrugged and resigned herself to her fate. At mealtime the monk brought her nothing but bread, water, and a thin, tasteless porridge. The wine brightened her spirits at least, and she didn’t want to irritate Jakobus unnecessarily. By now Magdalena was certain the monk was insane. His behavior had to have something to do with his disease, but whatever the case, he was unpredictable.
Keeping an eye on the door, Magdalena poured the powder into the wine, stirred it with her index finger, then wiped her hand off on the altar cloth. The potion contained ten belladonna and just as many thorn apple seeds. She hadn’t dared use any more for fear Brother Jakobus would be able to taste the poison.
Finally, she knelt down in one of the pews, folded her hands in prayer, and waited.
Just as the noon bells rang, the door opened.
“I see you are praying, Magdalena. That is good, very good,” Brother Jakobus said. “If you make your confession to God, it will be easier to drive the demons out of you.”
Magdalena lowered her eyes. “I can feel the presence of God. Tell me, Brother Jakobus, may I receive Holy Communion again today?”
Jakobus smiled. “You may. But first let us pray.”
Magdalena let the mumbled Latin words wash over her like a warm summer rain, awaiting anxiously the moment they would approach the altar. Would Jakob taste the poison? And if he did, how would he react?
Would he force her to drink the wine herself?
Finally, the prayer was over. They knelt before the altar, and Brother Jakobus began the celebration of Holy Communion. Holding up the host and chalice, he mumbled the words of consecration.
“This is the cup of the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you and for many for the remission of sins. Do this in remembrance of me.”
Putting the chalice to his lips, he drank deeply. Magdalena stared at him as if in a trance, watching as little drops ran down from the corners of his mouth, over his unshaven, pimply chin, and dripped onto the altar. Jakobus wiped his mouth and handed the chalice to Magdalena.
He hadn’t noticed a thing.
The hangman’s daughter looked into the cup and froze-the powder hadn’t dissolved properly! A dark silt remained at the bottom, and besides that, Jakobus had drunk only half of the wine! Would the dose be enough just the same?
Magdalena smiled at the monk, took the cup, and acted as if she was about to sip it.
“You are so hesitant today, Hangman’s Daughter,” Jakobus said. “What is wrong with you?”
“I…I have a headache,” Magdalena stammered, placing the chalice back on the altar. “The wine makes me tired. I need a clear head today.”
“How so?”
“I wish to make my confession.”
The monk looked both astonished and delighted. “Right now?”
Magdalena nodded. The idea came to her out of nowhere, but it was just what she needed. She needed to detain Jakobus in the chapel for at least half an hour. What good would it do if he collapsed after leaving her in this prison? If her plan didn’t work, she’d slowly die of thirst and hunger down here, unnoticed and unheard, while the monk’s corpse lay rotting outside the door.
“We have no confessional here,” Jakobus said, “but that’s not really necessary. I’ll simply take your confession here in the pew.”
He sat down so close to her that his violet perfume couldn’t cover up the stench of his festering wounds.
“May God, who illumines our hearts, give you the true realization of your sins and of His mercy…” Brother Jakobus began.
Magdalena closed her eyes and concentrated. She hoped that enough sins would come to mind to last until the poison took effect.
“You pulled a fast one on me, Kuisl!” Johann Lechner shouted, jabbing his finger into the hangman’s broad chest. “And not only on me! You’ve been messing with every single citizen of this town! You haven’t heard the end of this!”
Jakob Kuisl, almost two heads taller than the angry clerk, looked down at Lechner, his arms folded. Nevertheless, when it came to anger and assertiveness, Lechner was any man’s match. The clerk had ordered Kuisl to report to his office in the palace right after the execution. He was still beside himself over the fiasco of Hans Scheller’s execution.
The robber chief hadn’t made a sound up on the wooden platform, not even a faint cry, even though the hangman had broken every single bone in his body! Lechner had heard the cracking and splintering, and it was only at the end that the hangman crushed the prisoner’s cervical vertebra. The crowd was furious. They had expected a bloody spectacle, and all they got was a bored hangman thrashing away at a lifeless body.
The clerk had been sitting right up in front in the first row and had thus seen the smirk on the lips of the robber chief. Scheller’s eyes were closed as if he were asleep, and his extremities limp, almost relaxed. The condemned man had escaped his just punishment, and Lechner was certain the hangman had something to do with it.
“I can’t prove anything right now,” the clerk snapped, walking back to his desk, “but you can be sure I’ll find out, and then God help you! I’ll get the Augsburg hangman to come and put you on the wheel, and this time it will be done right!”
“Your Excellency, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jakob Kuisl remained calm. Only someone looking very closely would have noticed a faint smile on his lips, little dimples hidden behind his thick beard. “Often, condemned men faint out of fear and pain. There’s nothing I can do to change that.”
“Nonsense, you gave him a drug. Admit it!” Lechner took a seat again behind his desk and was busily scribbling notes in a document in front of him with his goose-quill pen. “It’s about time for me to take away your damned crucibles, potions, and salves. I can do that, you know.” His voice suddenly sounded threatening. “You have no right to give people medical care. Only the physician can do that. In other cities, they would have long ago revoked your permission.”
“Then I will no longer be able to brew the drink Your Excellency has ordered from me. I’ll just have to take the opium poppy I have at home and throw it in the Lech.”
“Oh, just stop!” The clerk seemed to have calmed down a bit. “I didn’t mean it that way. Turn your attention to this fever going around, and put a stop to it. If you can do that, I’ll let you sell love potions, toad eggs, and hangman’s nooses to your heart’s content. Now, beat it. I’ve got a lot to do!”
Kuisl bowed and disappeared silently through the low doorway. Lechner stared after him for a long time. What a stubborn old fool! He just couldn’t see what was good for the city and what was not. The clerk rubbed his temples and again studied the letter he was holding in his hands, which had arrived that morning. It demanded once more that he do whatever was necessary to make sure the hangman minded his own business.
Lechner cursed softly. What did the writer of this letter want him to do-watch over Jakob Kuisl like a nursemaid? And who the hell did he think he was, anyway, giving orders in Lechner’s city? Lechner took orders from Munich, from the elector personally, or from the elector’s representative, not from some church dignitary!
He picked up the envelope and looked at the seal of the church. Then he examined the inside of the envelope again. There were no coins in it, nor a promissory note like the last time.