With a sigh she threw up her hands and turned to her children, who were rubbing their sleepy eyes after a little quarrel. “Your father will probably never change,” she said, patting the boys on the heads. “Too bad for him. He just won’t find out. We can keep the secret to ourselves for a while, can’t we?”
The children clung to her legs, and Magdalena felt a knot burning in her abdomen. With a gentle smile, she turned around and reentered the house.
Even if the church had been reduced to ashes, she would light a candle for Saint Walburga that night.
Still unsteady, Simon hurried toward the Holy Mountain, which looked like an enormous pile of charcoal under the radiant blue sky.
The fires had been extinguished, but all that remained of many of the buildings were blackened skeletons and the columns of smoke rising above them. Here and there, monks and some local residents were looking for the few things that could still be salvaged. The apothecary and the watchmaker’s house had also been destroyed by the fire. Simon could see workmen standing in front of many buildings, trying to estimate the damage and calculating how much wood, stone, nails, and plaster would be needed to rebuild. As bad as the fire was for the monastery, the reconstruction was a gold mine for local citizens impoverished by the war. And no one seemed too concerned that the money had been amassed through the sale of melted-down relics.
That, too, is a sort of miracle, Simon thought grimly. Perhaps even the dear Lord wanted the church’s treasures to be redistributed among the people in this way.
Finally the medicus reached his destination. Before him was the clinic that had been nothing but a foul stable a little more than a week ago. He was relieved to see the damage here wasn’t serious. Some of the roof shingles had been singed and there were a few piles of ashes on the square out front, but evidently the sick were already back in their beds.
As Simon approached, the door suddenly opened from within and Jakob Schreevogl looked back at him with surprise.
“You’re here?” the patrician said with a smile. “They told me you collapsed last night and were unconscious. I had no idea I’d see you so soon again.”
“It appears I’m no longer needed here,” replied Simon, entering the large, well-ventilated room and nodding his approval. It had been recently swept, and fragrant reeds had been spread across the floor. Around two dozen patients lay dozing in their beds. All of them seemed well cared-for, and their bandages and compresses recently changed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sell your brick factory and try your hand as a medicus?” asked Simon, amazed. “You really seem to have talent for health care.”
Schreevogl shook his head. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without the help of some of the monks. Besides, the worst is behind us, thank God, and the number of patients is falling. I will admit I have enjoyed it, even though it doesn’t pay even half as much as owning a business in Schongau. But you surely didn’t come just to pay me pay me compliments, did you?” he said with a wink. “You asked me yesterday to look around in the tavern and find out where they get their food. Well, I can imagine now why you had me do that, and I have a surprise for you.”
Simon nodded excitedly. “This damned plague must have something to do with the tavern. There are just too many patients who ate there before getting sick. What did you learn?”
“You were right.”
Simon looked at the patrician, puzzled. “What do you mean? For God’s sake, don’t make me drag it out of you. Does that mean-”
“The food in the tavern all came from the same supplier,” Schreevogl replied with a grin. “I inspected the meat, eggs, and vegetables. Much of it was old, and maggots had even infested some of the meat. The tavern is almost surely the source of the illness.”
“But… but why did the tavern serve such food?” Simon asked, astonished.
“On the instruction of the prior. The supplier had influential allies in the monastery council. The same man also sold the monastery beeswax diluted with fat and overpriced pictures of saints. It seems there was a big payoff.”
His heart pounding, Simon held his breath. “Do I know the supplier?” he whispered.
Schreevogl nodded with a grin. “I suppose you could say that.”
“Oh, God, it’s-”
“Karl Semer. The abbot cancelled all deliveries from him as of this morning, and Semer will never be allowed to sell anything to the monastery again.” The patrician smiled mischievously. “And he will no longer be selling anything to the Wittelsbach count, either. I made sure myself that His Excellency learned about it.”
Simon laughed so loud that some of the patients woke up with a start. “That fat old moneybags,” he cried out, shaking his head again and again. “That’s what he and his son get for their wheeling and dealing. This will take Semer down a peg or two.” Suddenly he turned serious. “I hope this makes him a bit more reasonable in the Schongau town council. He’s made some serious threats against me and Magdalena.”
Schreevogl shrugged and went to one of the patients to change the dressing on his leg. “Don’t worry about that. I can’t imagine the Schongau Council would elect him burgomaster again under these conditions. Before that could happen-”
The door flew open with a crash, and Count Wittelsbach stormed in. He wore a stiff red jacket, just as the day before; his handlebar mustache was carefully curled; and as so often, he smelled of soap and perfume. But his eyes betrayed that he hadn’t slept much the night before.
“Ah, there you are, bathhouse surgeon,” he began impatiently, without so much as looking at Jakob Schreevogl. “I’ve been wondering where you were. Have you seen your father-in-law?”
Simon looked at him innocently. “I thought he had reported to you about the events yesterday, didn’t he?”
“No, confound it, he didn’t.” Then he waved his hand dismissively. “But basically I don’t care what this hangman does. Let the monks deal with him. I’ve had the entrances to those damned catacombs sealed and the relic forgerers led away. My work here is finished.” Then he hesitated briefly. “Actually, I’m not here on account of the hangman but because of my son.”
“Is he better?” Simon asked, his heart pounding. “Did the Jesuit’s Powder work?”
Leopold von Wartenberg nodded. “Yes, the fever has gone down and he does seem to be getting better. I… I have you to thank for that.” He straightened up. “Therefore I have an offer to make you.”
Simon frowned. “What do you have in mind?”
“We’re traveling back to Munich today,” he declared. “My family could use a doctor like you. There are still some rooms free in our palace, and the pay would be at least ten times what you’re earning now. You could care for my son, take on a few wealthy patients, and otherwise lead a good life. How would that suit you?”
Simon’s head began to spin. Was it possible? Could someone like him, who had dropped out of medical school in Ingolstadt and was working as a dishonorable bathhouse surgeon, really settle down and practice medicine in Munich? This was exactly the kind of post his late father had always wanted for him. And the count would certainly know how to help him gain the proper approvals.
“You’re hesitating?” the count asked.
“No, no, it’s just…” Simon shook his head and laughed, but then he looked at the count anxiously.
“And my wife and my children?” he asked softly. “What about them?”
“A hangman’s daughter?” Leopold von Wartenberg raised his bushy eyebrows. “A dishonorable woman and two equally dishonorable kids in my house? How would that be arranged?” He stopped to think for a moment. “Very well, I could let you visit them from time to time. They could live in the Tanners’ Quarter in Munich and you could send them a little money for a while.” The count chuckled. “But love comes and love goes, and I’m sure you’ll soon find another woman with a better social standing.”