“If I were you, I’d be afraid of losing my head, too,” the old librarian murmured. “After all, you had one of the three keys needed to open the room, didn’t you?”
The prior’s face turned crimson. For a moment he seemed ready to grab the old man by the throat, but then he simply jabbed him in the chest with his forefinger. “Are you trying to say that I have something to do with the disappearance of the hosts? Don’t forget, you need three keys to open the room. The other two keys are held by Brother Maurus and the count. Do you seriously believe that we conspired to steal the hosts? Is that what you think?”
“Stop this, Brothers,” said the abbot wearily. He looked as if he’d resigned himself to his fate and was awaiting the eternal fires of damnation. “We won’t get anywhere if we just stand here condemning one another,” he continued in a soft voice. “What we need to think about is what to do if the hosts haven’t reappeared in time for the festival.”
The prior shook his head, as if he still couldn’t fathom the situation. “Just how is this possible?” he wailed. “When we opened the relics room with the count last night, everything was in its proper place. And then only a few hours later, the hosts had disappeared. From a room with barred windows locked by three sliding bars with three different keys. By God, I swear that I haven’t let my own key out of my sight for a moment.” He reached for a chain around his neck with a single key dangling on it. “I wear it even when I’m sleeping.”
Now the abbot took his key out from under his robe, as well. “The same is true for me,” he said, wearily. “To tell the truth, I have no idea where the count keeps his key, but last night and this morning he was wearing it on his belt.”
“Why did you two enter the room again with the count this morning?” the librarian asked. “The room was supposed to be kept locked until the festival.”
Prior Jeremias sighed. “Because the count asked us to. He said he had to pray again in the inner sanctum before mass. Do you want to deny the request of a Wittelsbach? You know yourself that we’re at the complete mercy of the elector.”
“You shouldn’t have let him into the room last night,” the librarian scolded. “That just put stupid ideas into his head. Why in heaven’s name is the count here so early? He normally doesn’t show up until the festival.”
“That’s strange indeed,” the prior agreed. “On the other hand, it was actually Maurus’s idea to visit the relics room one more time yesterday. Why was that, Maurus?”
“Damn it! Because I had a vague suspicion that something was wrong,” the abbot replied in a trembling voice. “And as you can see, my suspicion was correct. But why are you asking me all these questions? You, Jeremias, must be happy the hosts have vanished. If word of this gets around, I’ll lose my post as abbot, and I know you have been just waiting to follow in my footsteps.”
“Slander!” Prior Jeremias shouted. “Nothing but slander. We should have called the judge in Weilheim long ago. Everything is out of hand here. Can’t you see you’ve lost control of everything that’s going on?”
“How dare you-” the abbot started to say, but at that moment Kuisl leaned forward, snagging the shoulder of his robe on one of the votive pictures, which brought the heavy frame crashing to the ground. He bit his lip to keep from cursing out loud, but the damage was done.
“Quiet,” the librarian whispered. “There’s someone out there.”
“That’s the golem,” wailed Brother Eckhart. “Oh, God! He’s coming to get us. This is the end for us. Holy Mary, pray for us now and in the hour-”
“Silence, you idiot,” the prior interrupted. “Let’s just see what’s going on out there.”
As silent as a shadow, Kuisl slipped away from the wall and dashed down the stairway as the sound of footsteps could be heard behind him. In just a few moments, he made it out the door and took his place again among the monks who were now listening to the homily of the nervous novitiate master.
Kuisl knelt down, folded his hands, and silently moved his lips as if in prayer. But thoughts were already churning around in his head as he struggled to piece together everything he’d learned in the last quarter hour. Events fluttered through his mind like pages ripped from a book and seemed to escape each time he thought he had found two pieces that fit together.
Kuisl gnawed on his lips and ground his teeth like huge millstones. For the first time, the hangman sincerely regretted that monks weren’t allowed to smoke during mass.
“There are three sliding bars,” Simon said excitedly as he prepared a brew of willow bark in the rear of the foul-smelling hospital ward. “Three bars that can be unlocked only by three different people using three different keys. In this chronicle from the monastery library, everything is described exactly. The holy chapel is probably the safest chamber of holy relics in all of Bavaria.”
Lost in thought, the medicus stirred the boiling brown potion while Magdalena spread a salve of fragrant resin onto clothes she would later bind around patients’ chests. For a good hour, Simon and Magdalena had been looking after the numerous sick pilgrims. Every last bed in the ward was now taken, yet patients continued to arrive.
With a sigh, the hangman’s daughter brushed a lock away from her forehead and stretched her aching back. The mute assistant Matthias had been kind enough to take care of her children for a while and had gestured to Magdalena that he was taking the two youngsters to the beekeeper’s to fetch some honey. She hoped he would be more reliable this time than the night before. No doubt the two little monsters were covered with honey from head to toe by now.
“The holy chapel contains a few hundred relics now,” Simon continued excitedly, as he poured the brew from the bark through a sieve. He had been up studying the Andechs chronicle half the night. He was pale and had rings under his eyes, but as so often, the study of old books had worked him into a highly excited state. “Among the sacred objects are Charlemagne’s cross of victory and the wedding dress of Saint Elizabeth,” he recounted excitedly. “But the most valuable things are still the three sacred hosts. They were here when all that stood on the mountain was a castle, and that was many hundreds of years ago. When the castle was destroyed, the hosts were hidden away with other relics and appeared again only much later, as if by a miracle. Ever since then, they have been kept in that room, well preserved in a silver monstrance eighteen pounds in weight, which is probably worth as much as a wing of the monastery.”
“What makes these hosts so holy?” Magdalena asked as she spread more of the sticky salve onto the cloth.
Simon wrinkled his brow, trying to remember. “Well, two come apparently from Pope Gregory the Great, who discovered signs from God on them long ago. Later, Pope Leo added another host on which the bloody monogram of Jesus had supposedly appeared. Since the founding of the monastery, many thousands of people have made the pilgrimage every year to the Festival of the Three Hosts to view the sacred objects. It is said that God will hear your prayers if you pray long enough in front of the relics.”
“The way you put it, it sounds like you don’t really believe in it,” Magdalena replied saucily. “Didn’t we ourselves come to Andechs to pray to the hosts?”
“To tell you the truth, I was more enticed by the idea of being alone with you without the two children for a whole week. As we were before.” Simon sighed. “And now I’m saddled not just with the children but my grumpy father-in-law.”
“My father has always found a solution to everything,” Magdalena replied. “Be happy we have him.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Suddenly Simon’s face brightened. “At least now I know a bit more about this sickness. I visited the apothecary again this morning to get some medicine. The prior and his people really turned everything upside down trying to find some witch’s herbs. Thank God they didn’t touch the rest.” He grinned. “In Nepomuk’s cupboard I found Jesuit’s powder, among other things-really the best medicine for lowering a fever. Of course there are other uses for it… Then, look what I discovered among his books.” The medicus pulled out a heavy leather-bound volume. “Voila! This huge book is by a certain Girolamo Fracastoro, and it describes quite clearly the symptoms we see here-exhaustion, headaches, fever-but also the red dots on the chest and the grayish color of the tongue.”