“That’s… that’s incredible,” he whispered finally. “But that might just be the way it happened. What can I do for you?”
Lowering his voice, the hangman answered him. There wasn’t a moment to waste: outside they could hear the squeaking oxcart approach with the wooden box.
Shortly thereafter, Jakob rose to his feet and looked his friend straight in the eye again.
“Don’t give up,” he whispered. “Everything will work out. Dum spiro, spero-as long as you’re breathing, there’s hope.” Kuisl smiled apologetically. “That’s what condemned men sometimes write on the wall of their cells in Schongau. Comforting words, even if it doesn’t really help in the end. Let’s pray that this time at least it all works out.” Then the hangman turned and knocked on the locked door.
“Hey you out there,” he barked. “The first cross-examination is over. You can open the door now.”
The bolt slid to one side and the captain opened the door, looking off to one side so Kuisl couldn’t see the mole on his face again. The other soldiers also stood back. Evidently each had a birthmark somewhere on his body he was hoping to hide.
“May the Lord illumine our way on our difficult journey through life,” Kuisl said, making the sign of the cross. “We shall have to continue this examination in Weilheim, but unfortunately it’s becoming clearer that this case involves witchcraft, and perhaps even more than we suspected.” He leaned down toward the captain and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, “The devil likes to appear in the form of a monk and of soldiers. Did you know that?”
Holding his head high, the self-appointed inquisitor stomped off with an energetic stride, just as the noisy entourage of coaches, oxcarts, and soldiers came to a halt in front of the dairy. The guards descended slowly and headed toward the tavern for their well-deserved noontime beer. Clearly the transfer of the prisoner could wait until they’d quenched their thirst. None of the men paid any attention to the huge monk who quietly moved past them.
As soon as Kuisl rounded the next corner, he threw off the robe and ran toward the knacker’s house in Erling as fast as if the devil were chasing him. He’d been thinking about how he might catch the person who’d stolen the hosts. His assumptions had been correct. Now all he had to do was to lure the perpetrator into his trap.
When he arrived, he found his cousin pushing a dead calf off his cart. “Do you have a pen and paper?” he asked him breathlessly.
The knacker grinned and pointed at the stinking carcass. “If you can wait a few weeks, I’ll have the finest parchment for you. What a stroke of luck. I just picked up this animal-”
“Just shut up and give me a scrap of something,” he interrupted. “I’m not writing a Bible, just a letter.”
His cousin raised his eyebrows. “A letter? To whom?” Suddenly his face brightened. “Ah, your Anna-Maria, naturally. Send my best greetings to your sick wife.”
“I’ll… do that. Now quick, the piece of paper.”
Kuisl shuddered at the thought of his wife. Was she getting better, or had the cough gotten worse? But then he turned his thoughts back to Nepomuk. If Kuisl was right, he might be able to save his friend soon and return to his wife in Schongau. He followed the knacker into the house silently, where Graetz proudly handed over the paper, pen, and a pot of ink.
“Here you are,” he said. “It belongs to Matthias. When I can’t understand him, he sometimes writes things down. I myself can just barely write my name, which is all I need. It’s different with you educated hangmen-you flay people, but I just flay animal carcasses.” He laughed and went outside again to attend to the dead calf.
Kuisl sat down at the wobbly table and wrote a few lines in neat, straight letters. It was just a short note written hastily on a scrap of paper, but Kuisl hoped it would be enough to lure its recipient out of his hiding place.
He carefully folded the letter several times, then returned to the monastery to deliver it.
It was a message for the sorcerer.
Pursued by a raging beast, Magdalena ran with her children past the barley fields not far from Andechs.
Simon had stuffed ears of the grain in his jacket, and they stuck out of his sleeves like long fingers. Wagging his head playfully from side to side and occasionally letting out a deep growl, he emerged from the low bushes at the edge of the field.
“A bear!” shrieked three-year-old Peter, stumbling over his own little feet. “Father is an angry bear!”
“More like a clumsy dancing bear,” Magdalena replied, helping her elder son to his feet. “He’s certainly not big enough to be a bear.”
Paul looked at his father, as if still wondering whether Simon hadn’t really suddenly changed into a monster. He pointed his fingers, sticky with elderberry juice, at Simon, who was kneeling now in front of the children.
“Papa, good bear?” Paul asked anxiously.
Simon nodded and spread his arms out with a broad smile. “The best bear in the whole forest. You don’t have to be afraid.”
After the district judge had arrived from Weilheim, the four of them had gone for a walk through the fields around Andechs. For the first time in a long while, they were together as a family-without the pilgrims or Simon’s grouchy father-in-law, who was once again busy with his own concerns. The mild June sun shone down; there was a faraway scent of burning coal, and high over the fields, a buzzard circled in search of an unwary mouse. The children had been frolicking among the poppies along the edge of the field, but when their father suddenly appeared as a raging animal, the mood changed.
“How can you frighten the children like that?” Magdalena scolded. “Just look at Paul. He’s scared to death.”
“I’m sorry. I… I thought the children would enjoy it,” Simon stammered, pulling stalks of barley out of his jacket.
“Bear? Papa is a bear?” Paul asked again, clinging to his mother.
“Hah, does it look like they’re enjoying it?” Magdalena replied. “And tonight he won’t be able to sleep again.”
Simon raised his hands apologetically. “Fine, I understand. It won’t happen again. But what’s wrong with you?” he asked, shaking his head. “I’ve never known you to be so anxious.”
“You would probably be anxious, too, if some madman kept trying to kill you.”
Simon sighed. “Do you still believe that the shadowy figure in the tower and the stray bullet in the forest weren’t accidents?”
“For God’s sake, that was no stray bullet,” Magdalena snapped back. “How often do I have to tell you that? And that falling sack was also intended for me.”
“What falling sack?”
Magdalena hesitated. She still hadn’t told Simon about the sack of lime that fell from the scaffolding two nights ago and just missed her. Was she being paranoid? While they watched the children play, she told Simon what had happened. Finally, he turned to his wife with a determined look.
“I still don’t know what to think of it,” he said softly. “But if you’re really afraid, let’s go back home to Schongau-today. You’ll be safe there.”
“And leave my father here by himself?” Magdalena shook her head. “That’s out of the question. He’s getting older and needs us more than he’ll admit even to himself. Besides, didn’t you yourself say that you have to finish that damned report for the abbot if we’re not to look guilty ourselves? Let’s stay here for the time being.” She ripped off an ear of barley and pulled it apart. “It would really be a big help to me if the lord and master would spend a little more time caring for his children. Tell the boys a bedtime story now and then and don’t spend all your time poking your nose in books and other people’s affairs.”
Angrily, Simon kicked a big rock at the side of the field. “You make it sound as if I enjoy doing it,” he scolded. “But I’m only helping your father.”
“If it only happened here in Andechs,” she replied, staring straight ahead toward some swallows flying low over the fields, “but it’s the same in Schongau. Day in and day out, you care for the sick and forget the healthy. Weeks can go by, and the boys hardly remember what you look like. Sometimes I think you’re not really there for us.”