“There he is, the filthy bastard. You were right; he fled through the Ox’s Gorge.”
A man stepped out from behind the trees with a smoking musket, followed by a second and a third. All were experienced hunters employed by the monastery, and Johannes knew them. In the tavern they sometimes whispered behind his back; they didn’t like it that he collected herbs in their hunting grounds and scared the wildlife. To them, he was just a fat, ugly priest who ate what by rights belonged to them. A monster in a monk’s cassock who terrified children.
Today was the day of reckoning.
“We heard you killed three of your Brothers, you scum,” the oldest growled, nudging the monk with his foot. His eyes gleamed with the thrill of the chase. “It was easy for you with the three priests, but we’re made of different stuff.” Laughing, he turned to his friends. “Well, what do you think? Do we want to see the fat toad jump again?” When the others howled their approval, he held his musket in the air and fired. A swarm of sparrows scattered, chirping angrily in the direction of the monastery.
Dazed by the noise and fearful, Brother Johannes leapt up and stumbled toward a field of barley. Behind it was the lake with little boats rocking on the waves-he could almost smell the water. As he began to run, he looked up and could see between the low-lying clouds on the horizon the monastery in Die?en. And he could hear the rustle of the grain beneath his feet as he ran.
The world is so beautiful, he thought. Why are the people in it so cruel? Will they let me go in the end?
When Johannes heard the dogs barking behind him, he knew it was all over.
Magdalena crouched on the floor of the filthy provision cellar, watching flies buzz about in the light from a small window. For a while she had paced around, but now she settled down in a corner where she brooded and cursed her husband for getting her into this disastrous situation.
After Simon had been taken off to see the abbot, a few grim-faced helpers had silently led Magdalena away. Since then, the hangman’s daughter had been awaiting her fate in the cellar of the monastery dairy farm. There was an odor of old cheese and fermented milk in the air, and in one corner, a pile of moldy boards and broken containers made of willow bark. Otherwise the room was empty. A massive wooden door with a heavy sliding bolt was the only way in or out.
Lost in thought, Magdalena ran her hand through her hair and tried to ignore the strong odor of the old cheese baskets. She couldn’t imagine they would charge her and Simon with the murder of the watchmaker’s assistant just because they’d found the corpses. But she wasn’t entirely sure, either. The way the two monks ran screaming from the scene made it clear to her how inflamed the mood was in the monastery. Magdalena had to admit that all the strange events-the bestial murder of the assistant, the disappearance of his master, and an automaton that had likewise vanished-all this made her also wonder if the devil was at work here.
She was just about to get up to stretch her legs a bit when she heard steps outside the door. A moment later, the bolt was pushed back, a disheveled Brother Johannes staggered in, and fell lifelessly to the floor.
“Lots of luck with the bathhouse owner’s woman, you scum,” jeered one of the two men standing outside in the corridor with their muskets. “But leave something for us-don’t eat her up afterward the way you did the watchmaker.” Laughter rang out, then the door closed with a crash.
For a while, the only sounds were the gasps of the apothecary. Finally, Magdalena bent down to him and touched him gently on the shoulder.
“How… how are you?” she asked hesitantly. “Do you need…”
Suddenly Brother Johannes raised his head and stared her in the eye without saying a word. With a muted cry, Magdalena jumped. The monk’s face, already an ugly sight, was beaten black and blue, one eye was swollen shut, and blood dripped from his swollen lips onto the ground. He looked like something resurrected from the Andechs cemetery. He crawled into a corner and held his swollen nose.
“I’ve… lived through worse things,” he muttered. “And this is nothing compared with what I still have coming. I know what I’m up against.”
Suspiciously, Magdalena observed the monk doubled up in the corner. Simon had found the apothecary’s eyepiece at the crime site and had witnessed the argument between Johannes and the watchmaker. His entire behavior to that point made him look suspicious. He was no doubt the murderer of two of the men, if not all three. Still, as Magdalena looked at him, beaten and bloody like a wounded animal, a wave of pity came over her. She tore off a part of her skirt and handed it to him.
“Here, take this, or nobody will be able to see your pretty face again.”
In the dim light, Johannes’s faint grimace looked like that of a badly stitched puppet. “Thanks,” he murmured. “I know I’m not the handsomest fellow.”
“It still remains to be seen whether you are also a murderer.” Magdalena moved back to her corner and watched Johannes dab at his face. Flies buzzed around, trying to settle on his bloody lips, and though Johannes chased them away each time, they kept coming back. Magdalena couldn’t help but think of a stoic ox being whipped.
“You must be the wife of that Schongau bathhouse surgeon,” the monk said after a while. By now he was looking halfway human. “Are you feeling better? Your husband said you were suffering from stomach trouble.”
Magdalena laughed despairingly. “Thank you for asking, but I think that’s the least of my problems at present.” She sighed. “It looks like we’re in the same boat. We’re suspected in the murder of the watchmaker’s helper.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be released soon.” Johannes said, waving her off. “They want to get me, and no one else.”
“Why? Are your accusers right?” Magdalena asked in a soft voice. “Are you a warlock and a murderer?”
The ugly monk looked her up and down. “Do you seriously believe I’d tell you that if I really was?” he said finally. “And if I’m not the murderer but nevertheless have other dark secrets, why should I tell you? Who’s to say you wouldn’t betray me?”
Shaking her head, Magdalena leaned back against the wall. “Whether I betray you or not makes no difference. No doubt they’ll call the local judge tomorrow, then they’ll take you to the torture chamber in Weilheim. They’ll show you the instruments, and if you still don’t confess, they’ll start breaking your bones.”
Brother Johannes took a deep breath. Magdalena could see how he was shaking. “It’s astonishing a bathhouse owner’s wife like you knows so much about these things,” he murmured. “It’s almost as if you’d seen a torture once yourself.”
“But I haven’t. I’ve just listened carefully to what my father has to say.”
“Your father?” For the first time Johannes appeared really confused.
“He’s the Schongau executioner, Jakob Kuisl.”
“Jakob Kuisl?”
A sudden change came over the Benedictine monk. His face turned ashen, his eyes widened, and he mumbled softly to himself. After a while Magdalena could hear him praying.
“Oh Dear Lord, I have doubted, pardon me,” he pleaded. “I was a fool, a doubting Thomas. But you sent me a sign, Glory to God in the Highest! This is a miracle, a miracle!”
He fell on his knees and swayed back and forth, clutching a little wooden cross hanging by a chain from his neck.
“By all the saints… what… what is wrong with you?” Magdalena asked cautiously. Had pain and fear driven the monk mad? “Is it something I said?”
Finally Broker Johannes raised his head. “You… you… are an angel,” he began in solemn tones. “An angel passing through on a mission from God.”
He really has gone mad. Magdalena shuddered. Perhaps I should call the guards before he attacks me?