Oliver Potzsch - The Beggar King

Magdalena picked up a cherry and let the soft, juicy flesh dissolve in her mouth. Schongau was so far away! Less than a week ago they’d fled to the ferry landing in the middle of the night, carrying no more than a sack and a bag. Heaviest were Simon’s medical instruments and a few books he couldn’t bear to part with. Other than that, they brought only a few changes of clothes, a little food, and two blankets. Everything else they left behind: their past, the satirical verses, the paternalism, their secret rendezvous, and the constant fear they might be discovered.

They’d traveled down the Lech past Augsburg in the direction of Donauworth, then along the Danube on a raft transporting cloth and salt to the Black Sea. Along the way they’d passed the university city of Ingolstadt, where Simon had once studied; the little city of Vohburg; and finally the infamous Weltenburg Narrows, where the raft was whisked through whirlpools like a mere leaf blowing along the surface of the water. The steady movement and changing landscape gave Magdalena a feeling of greater freedom than she’d ever known before.

Away from home at last …

But a shadow passed over her face when she thought of her mother and the twins. She’d kissed the sleeping children farewell before closing the door to the house behind her for the last time. The letter she left for her mother was brief and tearstained, but never in her life had Magdalena felt so clearly that she was doing the right thing. Had she stayed, there surely would have been no end to the hectoring-the townspeople’s prejudices were just too deep-and eventually one or another zealot would actually set fire to the house. Master Baker Berchtholdt would see to it that she never had a moment’s peace.

Magdalena could only hope that her mother saw things the same way.

Ultimately, it wasn’t a question of whether they would leave, but of where their journey might take them. In the end it was Magdalena’s aunt who helped them make up their minds. Magdalena admired Aunt Lisbeth Kuisl for her courage in leaving everything behind. Magdalena could be just as strong herself! If her aunt was still alive, she would certainly understand. Magdalena would simply wait until her hardheaded father had left; then she’d knock on Lisbeth’s door, her aunt would open the door and embrace her, and Simon would be given a position as Andreas Hofmann’s assistant at the bathhouse. He could bleed the guests and treat their minor ailments. That would be a start, and who knows? With time Simon might even go on to become the Regensburg city surgeon. A new life would open up for them, a life in which no one would know she was a hangman’s daughter.

But suppose her aunt had died in the meantime, of some kind of growth that even Magdalena’s father couldn’t cure?

She shook her head, trying to drive away these sinister thoughts. She wanted to enjoy the moment. Only the dear Lord knew what the future held.

“We’re here! Magdalena, we’re here!”

Simon’s cries roused her from her musings. She sat up to see Regensburg emerge behind the next bend in the river-a silhouette of buildings, bridges, and churches gleaming in the af ternoon sun. An imposing defensive city wall began at river’s edge and extended, with its redoubts and outbuildings, far inland to the south. Beyond the wall towered the cathedral, the city’s landmark. Bells chimed across the water as if in greeting.

With loud cries the raftsmen prepared for landing, tossing ropes and issuing commands. To the right, beneath the city wall, was a harbor vaster than anything Magdalena could imagine, almost half a mile of jetties and piers where boats and rafts were moored, bobbing up and down. Men hurried about, lugging barrels and cases, disappearing into the storage sheds that lined the city wall. Downriver an imposing stone bridge spanned the Danube, connecting the Free Imperial City with the Electorate of Bavaria. On the Bavarian side Magdalena could make out charred ruins from the Great War; even the suburbs to the south of Regensburg had apparently burned.

With a heavy thud, the raft docked at one of the many wooden piers. Simon and Magdalena shouldered their bags, waved farewell to the raftsmen, and took their places in a long line of laborers and travelers winding their way toward the city gate at the end of the Stone Bridge. The air was laden with scents-spices, brackish river water, fish, and fat sizzling over an open fire. Magdalena was hungry. The two had eaten nothing but cherries since that morning. She pulled Simon over to a little food cart set up with tables and benches behind the bridge. For a few kreuzers they bought some smoky sausages dripping with fat and a small loaf of bread. Sitting on a pier, they let their legs dangle over the side.

“And now?” Simon asked, wiping the fat from his lips. “What’s your plan?”

“What’s our plan, you mean,” Magdalena corrected him with a laugh. “You forget we’re in this together.” She shrugged and took another bite of her greasy sausage. “I suggest we set out for my aunt’s house right away and see if my father is still there,” she said with a full mouth. “After that, we’ll just have to see what happens. Come on, let’s go!” She wiped her hands on her skirt and reached for her sack.

But it was gone.

A few steps away Magdalena noticed a gaunt figure about to disappear in the crowd with her sack under his arm. She jumped up and took after him.

“You blasted thief!”

Simon joined the chase, and together they ran through the crowd, bumping into travelers disembarking from their rafts, arms loaded with crates and sacks. Magdalena heard shouts and splashing behind her but had no time to turn around. The thief was already almost out of sight. Her dress fluttered behind her like a flag in the wind as she desperately tried to catch up with him. That bag contained everything connecting her to her home in Schongau, including a little faded portrait a peddler had once made of her mother. She mustn’t lose it!

The thief was running along the edge of the landing now where, away from the crowds, he could run faster. Simon had chosen the same path and was right on the man’s heels, followed close behind by an angry, cursing Magdalena. As they approached a line of storage sheds, the thief made a sharp turn toward a stack of logs and crates. On the other side a narrow lane crowded with carts, carriages, and people led into the city. If the thief got that far, they would certainly lose him!

At just that moment Simon stumbled over a rope on the ground and fell to his knees as Magdalena rushed past him.

“Stop, thief!” she shouted. “Stop him!” But the few raftsmen and dock workers standing among the stacks only glanced at her indifferently.

The haggard thief swung the sack over his head triumphantly as he clattered onto a pile of logs. Just as he reached the top, a figure appeared from the right. He had jet-black hair tied into a ponytail, and the muscles on his tanned upper arms rippled like little balls under his skin. He grabbed the bottom-most log with both hands and pulled it out from under the stack with one powerful tug. The logs on top came loose and started to roll, crashing down in all directions.

The thief teetered briefly like an acrobat on a rope, then fell with a cry and lay pinned between the logs, moaning.

The black-haired man reappeared from behind the piles where he’d taken refuge from the avalanche. Magdalena at first guessed he was in his early thirties, but as he drew closer, she could see he was considerably older. Folds had formed around the corners of his mouth and piercing blue eyes, lending him a mature and stately appearance. He wore a simple leather waistcoat over his bare upper body; his only adornment was a red cloth knotted around his neck. In his enormous hands Magdalena’s sack dangled like a little toy.