“Leave Anna out of this, you blasted son-in-law,” the hangman growled threateningly. “I’m not going to put up with-”
“For God’s sake, Father,” Magdalena suddenly interrupted, pounding the table so hard that little Paul began to whimper again. “Can’t you see that’s the only way we can learn more about these murders? It’s your friend who’ll be burned at the stake, not ours.” She jumped up and strode to the door with the two boys. “If you like, we can just all go back home, watch the trial from there, and just pray to the savior in the Altenstadt basilica. Simon and I don’t have to be here.”
“Ah, you forget the abbot asked me to write another report,” Simon murmured. “If we both just get up and go now, it will look suspicious, as if we’re trying to flee. After all, until recently we were under suspicion ourselves. They’ll come looking for us and put us on trial with Nepomuk. To judge by the way the prior keeps staring so angrily at me, he’d rather see me burned at the stake today than tomorrow.”
“Just stop where you are, you fresh woman,” Kuisl grumbled, beckoning to his daughter, who was still standing at the door. Then, with disgust, he unfolded the torn black robe and examined it. “I’ll never in my life fit into that.”
“I can let out the seam a bit at the bottom,” Magdalena said hopefully, as she returned to the table. “And I’ve also found a nice white cord big enough to go around your fat belly. Does that mean you’ll do it?”
The hangman shrugged. “I’ll never get into the monastery wearing this. Never. Forget it. But perhaps the disguise will get me in to have a few words with Nepomuk. Have you two thought about a rosary?”
Simon held his hand in front of his mouth so his father-in-law wouldn’t see his smile. Jakob Kuisl was the stubbornest fellow in the whole Priests’ Corner, but besides that he was the best friend anyone could have. In his heart, the medicus knew the hangman wouldn’t abandon the ugly Nepomuk. With a triumphant gesture he reached under the table and brought out a carved wooden rosary. Kuisl responded with a grateful grunt.
“Now we have to discuss calmly what we’re going to say to the abbot,” Simon said, relieved. “After all, Maurus Rambeck will have to give permission for a Minorite Brother to care for the sick in his monastery.” He pulled a little Bible from his vest pocket and motioned to his father-in-law. “And then it won’t hurt to memorize a few psalms just in case you have to pray and don’t know how to do that.”
The hangman leaned forward and tapped Simon on the chest. “Believe me, boy,” he growled softly, “if your beautiful plan fails, you’re going to have to pray yourself. Or better yet, you should do it now.” He stood up and put on the moldy robe. “If even one little monk recognizes me, we’ll be so deep in shit that even the archangel himself won’t be able to get us out.”
Less than an hour later, Simon and the hangman climbed the steep stairs to the abbot’s study on the second floor of the east wing. Magdalena stayed with the children in the knacker’s house, where the two children wouldn’t let their mother, whom they had missed so long, out of their sight. Before that, the hangman’s daughter had lengthened the ripped robe and cleaned off the worst of the dirt. Kuisl was now wearing the black robe of a Minorite with a white cord around his belly, while a wooden rosary dangled from his neck, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Simon looked approvingly at his father-in-law, who looked in the robe like the incarnate scourge of God. Kuisl would have made a good priest, though Simon doubted anyone could expect much leniency from him. At least he’d keep a firm grip on his flock.
“This robe itches like the claws of a demon,” the hangman cursed. “I really don’t understand how priests can wear something like this day in and day out.”
“You forget that monks often whip themselves and slide through the church on their knees,” Simon reminded him with a grin. “To say nothing of fasting. Pain is clearly the pathway to God.”
“Or to truth.” said Jakob, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Maybe I should use the robe the next time I torture someone.”
They had now arrived at the door to the abbot’s study. Simon knocked timidly. When there was no answer, the medicus tentatively pushed down the door handle and the tall door swung open. The setting sun shone in softly through the glass windows, casting light on the rows of shelves covering the entire back wall. In front of the shelves sat Maurus Rambeck at his desk, musing over a pile of books. The abbot seemed not to have noticed their arrival.
“Ah, Your Excellency?” Simon said cautiously. “Excuse the interruption, but…”
Only now did Maurus Rambeck jump up. A single little drop of sweat landed on a piece of paper in front of him. Hastily the abbot pushed some of the books aside.
“Ah, the bathhouse surgeon from Schongau,” Rambeck murmured with a wan smile. Once again Simon noticed how pale the abbot had become since the day before. His right hand trembled slightly as he raised it in a blessing. “Do you have any news about the two tragic deaths, a clue perhaps that will help us?”
Simon shook his head regretfully. “No, Your Excellency, but I’ll have a closer look at the corpses today. At the moment I’m too busy with the sick pilgrims.”
“The sick… pilgrims?” The abbot seemed not to understand. Indeed, he seemed lost in his own world of books.
“Well, this fever that’s spreading around Andechs,” Simon tried to explain. “It’s no doubt a kind of nervous fever, although I don’t yet know exactly what kind of sickness it is. I’m barely able to keep up with it in any case, as Brother Johannes is not available…” He paused briefly. “Fortunately I’ve found a colleague now to help me-naturally, only if you will permit.” With a wide gesture he pointed to Jakob Kuisl, who stood next to him with his hood pulled down and his arms folded, looking like a piece of heavy furniture. “Brother… Jakob. He’s an itinerant Franciscan monk very skilled in the art of healing. Isn’t that so, Brother Jakob?”
For the first time the abbot seemed to notice Kuisl. He gazed briefly at the large man in the robe, then nodded.
“Very well,” he murmured, lost in thought. “We can certainly use all the help we can get.”
“Ah… Brother Jakob would like to take part in the masses and visit the library,” Simon continued. “He has heard much about your books, which are said to contain true hoards of information. Isn’t that so, Jakob?” He glanced over at his father-in-law and gave him a little nudge with his foot, but the hangman remained silent. “Well, in any case…” Simon continued, “will he be permitted to visit the rooms in the monastery? You have my word that-”
“Of course. And now please leave me alone.” Maurus Rambeck had already turned back to his books, waving his hand as if to chase away an annoying fly. “There’s much I have to do.”
“As you wish.” Simon bowed, not without casting a final glance at the pages of the book lying open in front of the abbot, but all he could see was that it was written in a strange script. The letters were faded and seemed to have been written many years ago. When the abbot noticed Simon still standing in front of him, he abruptly closed the book.
“Is there something else?” Rambeck said in a rasping voice.
“No, no… I was just a bit lost in thought.” Kuisl still hadn’t uttered a word. As Simon pulled him toward the door, he added, “I’ll let you know as soon as I learn anything. Farewell for now.” He bowed one last time before the heavy, tall oaken door closed behind him.
Outside in the hall, the medicus took a deep breath then turned angrily to his father-in-law.
“When I asked you to pretend to be a monk, I didn’t realize you’d taken a vow of silence,” Simon hissed. “Thank God the abbot was much too distracted to wonder about a deaf-mute Franciscan.”
“What do you mean, deaf-mute?” Kuisl groused. “You talked enough for two. But you’re right; something is wrong with this priest,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Did you see the book on his desk that he so hurriedly tried to conceal from us?”