Oliver Potzsch: The Beggar King

The Venetian sat doubled over on the ledge along the wall, his legs dangling in the water. Magdalena’s blow still seemed to cause him a lot of pain. His makeup ran in black and milky-white rivulets down his otherwise well-groomed face, and his sopping wig looked like rotten seaweed in the dim torchlight. Magdalena couldn’t help but be reminded of the statue at Heuport House of the handsome young man from whose back rats, snakes, and toads came crawling out.

It’s all a mask, and behind it there’s nothing but filth, she thought. And dumb little slut that I am, I almost fell for it!

She’d just stood up again and was about to slip through the narrow corridor into the anteroom when Jeremias’s hand seized her from behind, dragging her inexorably back into the dark vaulted chamber. Silvio had gotten up from the ledge now, and after wiping his nose with his wet shirtsleeve, he reached into a sack of flour.

“No one can say I didn’t treat you courteously,” he gasped. “But you leave me no other choice, you stubborn wench. Can’t you see you’re serving a great cause? Your insignificant little life will change the history of this empire forever! No more backward little nation-states governed by their tariffs and narrow minds! At the end of our journey lies a vision of a single state extending from the Black Sea to the Rhine! Once the Grand Vizier has seized Vienna, there will be no stopping him. Those who prepare the path for his victory will receive princely rewards. Don’t be so damned stubborn. Submit yourself to a glorious vision!”

“If it’s so important to you, why don’t you eat this poison yourself!” Magdalena screamed as Jeremias gripped her shoulder tightly and pushed her toward the sacks of flour. Her hands were still tied, but she felt the rope loosening a bit in the water.

Silvio smiled. With smudged makeup and wet, stringy hair, he looked like some kind of evil, bewitched toad. “A nice thought,” he said. “Unfortunately the Grand Vizier has plans for me that require I keep a very clear head. And who knows? Perhaps on the far side of madness lies eternal happiness. Just wait and see; you’ll thank me for allowing you to sample this divine substance. And now, open your mouth, damn it! ”

Silvio shouted these final words like a madman, every syllable echoing off the walls many times over. The ambassador had run out of patience. Dripping with sweat, he beckoned Jeremias to throw Magdalena onto the narrow ledge. As Jeremias held her down tightly with both hands, Silvio bent over her to force the flour into her throat like a goose being fattened for slaughter.

Magdalena clenched her teeth, but the Venetian held her nose until she had to open her mouth and gasp desperately for air. At once she gagged on the bitter, damp powder and could feel stomach acid rising in her throat, but she struggled not to swallow. Flour spilled out of her mouth, and she spat and screamed for help.

“Magdalena!”

At first the hangman’s daughter thought she was hearing a ghost. It was quite clearly the voice of her dear deceased Simon calling down from heaven. How was this possible? Could the ergot be affecting her already?

Is this what crazy is?

Then in the doorway she spotted a short figure in a soiled shirt, wearing an unkempt Vandyke and disheveled shoulder-length black hair. Clever black eyes sparkled back at her. If the man before her was an illusion, this ergot was some damn good stuff.

Simon! Is it really you?

Magdalena felt her heart leap. This was no hallucination! Simon was alive and had come to free her! Just a few more steps and…

Suddenly she realized Silvio had released her and was sprinting along the slippery ledge toward the entryway. As Simon entered the vault, Silvio picked up a rock and heaved it, striking the medicus hard on the forehead, then charged his surprised opponent with a shout. Both men collapsed in a foaming whirlpool, arms and legs flailing wildly. Magdalena could only watch helplessly as the Venetian held Simon underwater with both hands. The medicus spluttered and thrashed about, but Silvio didn’t let go.

“You fool!” the Venetian shouted, his words echoing again through the vault. “You were supposed to have gone up in smoke with the mill. That would have been less painful. Now I’m going to have to drown you like a rat.”

Simon surfaced briefly, but Silvio grabbed him and pushed him underwater again. The Venetian’s wig had come off completely, revealing thinning hair and a receding hairline. His eyes flashed like those of an evil hobgoblin.

“Pigheaded lowlife!” Silvio yelled. “You just won’t accept it’s all over. Die now, you stubborn old dog!”

Desperately the hangman’s daughter tried to escape Jeremias’s clutches, but this time he held her as tightly as if she were bound to the rack. He grinned and bent his pockmarked face close enough that she could smell the wine on his breath.

“If it’s true what they say about ergot,” he growled, “then over the next few weeks we’ll have a lot of fun, you and-”

Disgusted, Magdalena spat the rest of the ergot still stuck between her teeth and to. the roof of her mouth right into the raftman’s face. Mid-sentence, Jeremias’s lips were wide open, and the sticky little lumps flew straight into his mouth. He coughed, gagged, and flailed about, apparently fearing he’d been poisoned.

“You whore! You’ll pay for that!”

Magdalena rolled off the ledge, disappearing into the dark ice-cold water and out of Jeremias’s reach. When she ran out of breath, she resurfaced to see that two more figures had arrived in the meantime. With relief she recognized Hans Reiser and Brother Paulus, who were beating the raftsman with sticks and forcing him, step by step, against the wall.

When she turned around again, Simon and Silvio had disappeared.

It took her a while to locate them in the darkness further back in the vault. In near silence they were fighting in waist-deep water as torches on the walls cast them in long, distorted shadows. Magdalena couldn’t tell which shadow belonged to which man-they merged into one monstrous silhouette that had sprung to life and, freed of its earthly form, now stalked ghostlike up and down the dark corridor. The slender shadow of a sword rose up, then lunged, yet the other part of the shadow retreated. The second part shoved the first part, and the shadow split in two again, one half stumbling and falling underwater and, a moment later, rising to the surface and attacking. For a brief moment the shadows merged again into a single dense tangle, only to fly back apart and then merge once more.

“Simon! Don’t give up! I’m coming to help!”

Magdalena waded through waist-high icy water, which felt like a deep morass, an endless swamp separating her and her beloved. Through the powerful sound of many rushing streams she could hear the muted shouts of the beggars and raftsmen behind her. Frantically she fumbled with the rope around her wrists. It was loosening, and after a while she was able to slip her hands free at last.

Meanwhile one of the two combatants seemed to have gained the upper hand. He held the other underwater until the latter’s movements grew erratic and devolved into wild convulsions. Now Magdalena was close enough to make out the face of the victor.

It was Silvio, grinning scornfully, his pale face framed by wet, stringy hair. He wore the concentrated, impassive expression of a professional killer. In a few seconds the Venetian would strangle Simon to death.

“Nooooo!” Magdalena shrieked, her voice echoing off the walls. “Simon! My God, Simon!”

“In the name of the city, I order you to stop!”

The hangman’s daughter flinched. Turning around, she saw only the raftsman Jeremias, who lay face-down in the water, blood forming a halo on the surface around him and a finger-length bolt protruding from his back. The two beggars alongside him lowered their clubs and stared down the long corridor. There, in the dim torchlight, stood a high official in a fur-trimmed cloak, his thinning hair hidden beneath a red hat.