Finally. Thank God.
In the silvery moonlight she soon discovered the plants she was looking for on the opposite side of the clearing. The fruit capsules had already burst open, but they still exuded a faint odor, like exotic spices. As Adelheid approached the medicinal plants, she quickly put on the thin linen gloves that she’d brought in her backpack along with a leather pouch. The seeds of the fraxinella, she knew, were so poisonous that one must wear gloves to pick them. The oil that dripped from them in midsummer could easily catch fire, which is why fraxinella was also called burning bush. In late autumn only bits of the fruit capsule remained on the withered stalks, but Adelheid didn’t want to take any chances. Carefully she picked the few remaining seeds and put them in the little pouch, whispering a few Ave Marias, as old Frau Traudel had instructed her.
“. . and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. .”
The apothecary’s wife made one last quick sign of the cross and stood up. She was about to close the pouch when she heard the howling again.
This time it was very close.
Shocked, Adelheid looked around. Something dark was lurking right behind the hawthorn bushes, which were trembling in the autumn wind. It was an indistinct form close to the ground, pulsating slightly, with a pair of red eyes shining in the darkness.
What in the world. .
The woman wiped the sweat from her brow, and suddenly the red eyes disappeared. Was her imagination playing tricks on her?
“Is someone there?” she asked hesitantly, peering into the darkness. When there was no answer, Adelheid mumbled another prayer, then, holding tightly on to the purse, ran across the clearing, making a wide detour around the hawthorn bush. The Tanggass Gate in the east wall was more than a mile away, but long before that the trees thinned out and there were little villages. If Adelheid hurried she could quickly reach the partial safety of the road, where perhaps there might be some travelers even at this late hour. Everything would be fine.
For a moment she thought she heard panting and growling, but when she reached the deer path leading toward the road, all she could hear were the sounds of her own hurried footsteps. In the distance an owl was screeching, sounding almost as if it were laughing at her. Angrily, Adelheid shook her head.
Silly, superstitious woman! If your husband saw you like this. .
As she ran along, she felt angry at herself for being so foolish. How could she have been scared so easily? No doubt it was only a deer hiding behind the bushes, a wild pig, or a single wolf, certainly nothing to frighten a grown person. Wolves were dangerous only in packs; when they were alone they didn’t dare-
Adelheid stopped short. Suddenly her own steps sounded strangely loud to her. The sound was delayed, almost like an echo. She stopped again and noticed that the sound stopped as well.
Tap. . tap. . tap. .
Terrified, Adelheid put her hand to her mouth, realizing what that meant.
Tap. . tap. . tap. . Someone was running alongside her.
Suddenly, the sounds stopped, and right after that she heard branches snapping nearby.
“Whoever you are out there. . come forward!” Adelheid demanded in a choked voice. “If this is supposed to be a joke, it’s not funny. This-”
At that moment something came crashing through the undergrowth.
The apothecary’s wife was frozen with fear as the creature knocked her down and cast himself on top of her. She smelled animal sweat and the stench of wet fur, and she began to scream. Her shouts died on her lips, however, as something large and heavy panted and rolled over her.
Oh God! Help me! This cannot be. . This is impossible. . This. .
A merciful loss of consciousness took her. A few moments later the howling of the wolves resumed as a dark shadow pulled its lifeless prey into the forest.
Tap. . tap. . tap. .
A gasping sound, a last death rattle in her throat. . and then all that remained of the apothecary’s wife was the gentle fragrance of fraxinella.
2
BAMBERG, NIGHT, OCTOBER 26, 1668 AD
Just as Magdalena was beginning to think they’d never find her uncle’s home, Jakob suddenly stopped and pointed triumphantly at a two-story house standing right at the northern city moat.
“Ha! Now look there,” he boasted. “My brother’s house. A little run-down compared to the last time, but still an impressive place. Bartl must have kissed a lot of asses on the city council to get permission to live in town.”
Magdalena frowned as she looked at the lopsided half-timber house whose paint had been peeling for a long time. A small shed and a stable were attached. The building, shrouded in the fog, was built so close to the moat it was in danger of slipping into the foul-smelling morass at any moment. Nevertheless, it was a stately home. The hangman’s daughter couldn’t help but think of her father’s house in Schongau, in the stinking Tanners’ Quarter out of town and not nearly as large as this one. She had a vague feeling that her father’s barely concealed dislike for his brother had something to do with jealousy.
A thin ray of flickering light came through the closed shutters on the first floor. Jakob pounded on the massive wooden door, and shortly afterward there was a muffled but still familiar voice that made Magdalena’s heart pound.
“Uncle Bartholomäus, is it you?” the voice inquired cautiously. “I didn’t expect you back so soon from the torture chamber. Why-”
“For God’s sake, Georg, it’s your own father. So open up, or do you want to keep us all standing out here in the cold?”
The Schongau hangman rattled the doorknob, and a muted voice came from inside. Then the bolt was pushed aside and the door open.
“Georg! Thank God!”
Magdalena shouted for joy when she caught sight of her younger brother, whom she hadn’t seen for almost two years. Georg had grown, and the pimples had given way to a dark fuzz on his face. Though only fifteen years old, he seemed much stronger and heavier, almost a smaller version of his father with his hooked nose, broad chest, and tousled black hair. A smile came over his face, then he shook his head and laughed.
“It looks like my prayers have been answered, after all. Uncle Bartholomäus said just this morning that perhaps you wouldn’t come to his wedding. But I was sure you wouldn’t let us down. My God, how happy I am to see you!” He embraced first his father, then his twin sister, Barbara, and finally Magdalena. Then he picked up the two shrieking boys and tossed them into the air one after another.
“Uncle Georg, Uncle Georg!” Paul shouted excitedly. “Will you whittle another executioner’s sword for me?”
“An executioner’s sword?” Georg asked, perplexed.
“I told him how you always used to whittle swords,” explained Simon, sitting off to one side. “You know how kids are. I’m afraid they won’t stop pestering you until they both have swords.”
Georg grinned, set the boys down, and shook Simon’s hand. “They’ll get some, on my honor as a dishonorable hangman,” he said with a conspiratorial glance at Paul. “And if you behave yourself, you can also touch your great-uncle’s sword. It’s even bigger than the one your grandfather has.”
“As if that’s all that mattered,” Jakob growled. “I can slit open a throat with a kitchen knife.”
“Can’t you men talk about anything else?” Magdalena said, shaking her head. “Swords, nothing but swords! At least Peter inherited his father’s peaceful temperament. Just one like you men is all I can take.” She sighed and gestured at little Paul, who had just stabbed his brother in the stomach with an imaginary sword.