Oliver Potzsch - The Beggar King

“You mean, we should leave Schongau… for good?” Simon held her tightly. “Do you know what that means? We’ll have nothing, nobody will know us, we’ll-”

Magdalena stopped him with another kiss. “Stop your blathering,” she whispered. “Don’t think I don’t know myself that it will be hard. But it’s obvious we can’t stay here any longer. You heard what Lechner said. A medicus and a hangman’s daughter… ‘that will never do’…”

“And where shall we go?”

Magdalena hesitated only briefly before answering. “Regensburg. Anything is possible there.”

A roll of thunder signaled another rain shower passing over the town. Simon pulled Magdalena close and kissed her until, locked in a tight embrace, they sank to the ground in a puddle of blood, mud, and horse piss.

A small bundle of humanity in the midst of the thundering downpour.

REGENSBURG

AUGUST 19, 1662 AD

The hangman kicked the iron-plated door so hard that the cell walls shook. Like a caged animal, he’d been pacing for hours, stooped over in the tiny chamber. His thoughts circled with him as he paced.

They’d been holding him in this dungeon for five days now. The room was made entirely of wood, an almost perfect cube built so low that Kuisl couldn’t stand upright inside it. Aside from a tiny hatch that opened once a day so that a foul-smelling soup and some bread could be passed to the prisoner, the room had no windows, and the darkness was so complete that even after hours in it, all he could make out were vague outlines. Fastened around Kuisl’s right ankle, a chain clanked as he trudged from one corner of the cell to the other.

The only piece of furniture was a hollowed-out wooden block that served as a toilet. A while ago, in a fit of rage, he’d picked it up and heaved it against the wall, a deed he now regretted, as the stinking contents had splashed all over the cell and had even managed to soil Kuisl’s cape. Never in his entire life had the Schongau hangman felt so powerless. He was convinced by now that someone had set a trap for him, a trap he’d stumbled into like a clumsy oaf. Whoever had so gruesomely murdered his sister and her husband was now attempting to frame him.

It made no difference that he declared his innocence when the guards entered the bathhouse, that he swore on his soul he’d only just discovered the two bodies moments before. The verdict had been decided at the outset, a fact that became amply clear when he saw the captain’s smirk. Now everything came into focus-his hasty arrest at the gate, his feeling of being watched, the unlocked door to the bathhouse. They had laid the bait and he’d taken it.

But why?

Ever since the Regensburg city guards had locked him in this cell, he’d been racking his brain to understand just who might be behind this conspiracy. He didn’t know a soul in the city, and presumably people here didn’t even know that Lisbeth Hofmann came from a hangman’s family in Schongau. Or could this be some kind of payback for his impudence toward the constables at Jakob’s Gate? Was it merely an accident that he crossed paths with the malevolent, scar-faced raftsman?

He was roused from his thoughts by loud footsteps echoing down the corridor outside his cell door. In the little window next to the door appeared the face of the captain with the shiny cuirass. “Well, country boy,” he said, twirling his mustache and smiling. “Have we softened you up a bit? A few days in this cell always does that to a person. And if not, the hangman has his own special ways of loosening your tongue… so to speak.”

When Kuisl didn’t answer, the captain continued. “In the meantime we’ve questioned the witnesses and inspected your pack.” He shook his head with feigned severity. “I don’t know much about herbs, but what you have in there is a bit more than a man might need for a cough, don’t you think? Opium, night-shade, hellebore… What were you planning to do with all that? Poison the whole city?”

Kuisl had been crouching in a corner so that the captain couldn’t see his face in the dark. “Those are medicinal herbs,” he said. “My sister was sick, as I’ve told you a hundred times. Her husband wrote me a letter, and I came here from Schongau to help her.”

The soldier furrowed his brow. “You don’t actually look like a physician, not even like a bathhouse owner. So, what are you?”

“I’m the Schongau hangman.”

There was a short pause; then the captain spluttered. He laughed so hard, in fact, that it sounded as if he might choke. “The Schongau hangman?” he gasped. “Ha, that’s a good one! Really good. We’ve never hanged a hangman here!” It took him a while to calm himself down again.

“Be that as it may…” he said, wiping a few tears from his eyes. In a flash his voice was cold and biting again. “You must know what’s in store for you, hangman, if you don’t confess soon. Believe me, the Regensburg hangman is a tough one and has brought many others much tougher than you to their knees.”

Kuisl folded his arms and leaned back. “Even if you break every last bone in my body, I’ll still be innocent.”

“Well, then, what do we have here?” The captain held a sheet of parchment up to the little hatch. “We found this letter upstairs in the bathhouse attic. Hofmann’s last will and testament. He had no children or surviving relatives, and upon his death a certain Jakob Kuisl from Schongau was to inherit everything. Your name is Kuisl, isn’t it?”

Blinking after being in the dark so long, the hangman stepped into the dim light to get a better look at the sheet. The parchment was embossed with a red seal, the bathhouse coat of arms. The handwriting was erratic, as if it had been written in a great hurry.

“You can’t possibly believe this rubbish, can you?” Kuisl said. “I’ve never even met this Hofmann fellow, and the last time I saw my sister was years ago. So why should I inherit anything? This scribbling is something you put together yourself. Give it to me!”

He thrust his hand through the hatch, but the captain pulled the parchment away just in time.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” he snarled. “To destroy the evidence! Now let me tell you a story. You knew your brother-in-law ran a successful bathhouse, and you knew about the will. You were having money problems, so you came to Regensburg. Maybe you pressed your sister for money, but she wouldn’t give you any, so you helped yourself. As a hangman you know only too well how to stick a pig.”

“Rubbish,” the hangman whispered. “Lisl is my sister. I would never so much as touch a hair-”

But the captain wouldn’t be interrupted. “You killed her, then began plotting your getaway,” he continued, “perhaps back to Schongau. There you could have safely waited until the postal coach arrived bearing the news of your sister’s tragic death. A savage robbery-murder-how very tragic indeed-but no one would have suspected you. Who would ever have known you’d just been to Regensburg? But you hadn’t reckoned you’d be controlled as you came through the city gate, and I saw right away that there was something fishy about you, country boy-”

“Dirty lies!” The hangman pounded his fists against the reinforced wooden door. “You’re nothing but dirty gallows birds, all of you! Tell me, how much did they pay you for locking me in the tower overnight? Who ordered you to take me prisoner in the bathhouse? Who? Say something!”

The alarmed captain’s face disappeared from the window for a moment. When he reappeared, he was smiling again.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally said. “Whatever the case, the investigation has concluded now, and the paperwork is complete. The city council will probably meet tomorrow morning to determine your fate. In Regensburg we make short shrift of scoundrels like you.” The watchman’s eyes wandered over the excrement-splattered cell walls. “I hope your stay in our lovely city dungeon has given you time to reflect. The hangman is already polishing his pincers. But why am I telling you this? You know all about these things, after all. Have a nice day in Regensburg.”