Oliver Potzsch: The Beggar King

Kuisl spun around and marched off toward the tower. He could only hope they’d let him go before the good Lord called his sister home.

As the door closed behind the hangman, the first raindrops began to fall on the pavement outside, and within moments the rain was drumming down so hard that the people waiting at the gate had to pull their cloaks over their heads or seek shelter in nearby barns. Hail as big as pigeon eggs fell from the sky, causing many a farmer to curse himself for not having brought the harvest in earlier. It was already the third raging thunderstorm that week, and people were praying. Each family crowded together around an altar in their homes; not a few of the inhabitants of the surrounding villages took the deluge as an expression of God’s righteous anger, and of his punishment for the debauched ways of the accursed city folk-the fancy clothes, their swindling ways, their shameless whoring, and all the arrogance of building ever taller, ever grander houses. Hadn’t Sodom and Gomorrah perished in a similar way? With the Reichstag set to take place next January, all the pompous nobles would show up again; they would drink and whore and, instead of attending mass, would celebrate their own power-while, in fact, it was God alone who would decide the weal or woe of the German Empire!

With a deafening crack, a bolt of lightning struck the walkway atop the battlements, followed by such a loud clap of thunder that children as far away as Emmeram Square started wailing. In the brief flash of the next bolt of lightning, a figure could be seen struggling along the road from Jakob’s Gate into town. He walked with a stoop, his face lashed by the hail and rain. No one else dared go out in such weather, but the man had an urgent message to deliver, and it wouldn’t wait.

The scar on his face throbbed as it so often did when the weather was changing. The hangman had almost slipped away from him, but the man knew his enemy would have to pass through Jakob’s Gate-there was no other way into town from the west. The man had run from the raft landing to the gate as fast as possible to warn the guards. A bit of money in the right hands had won them the time they needed to carry out their plan.

Revenge! How long they both had been waiting for that…!

The man grinned, and the scar on his face began to twitch nervously.

SCHONGAU

AUGUST 13, 1662 AD

The oppressive summer air lay over Schongau like a musty blanket.

Magdalena Kuisl ran down the narrow overgrown path from the Tanners’ Quarter to the Lech, her skirt fluttering behind her. Her mother had given her the afternoon off and her strict father was far away, so she raced through the cool, shady land along the river, happy to escape the stuffiness and the stench in town.

Magdalena looked forward to a swim in the river, as the odor of manure, dirt, and mold clung to her matted black hair. She and her mother had been busy in town all morning collecting garbage and shoveling it into their cart. Even the nine-year-old twins, Georg and Barbara, had to help. The work seemed harder than usual because Magdalena’s father had left for Regensburg a few days ago. As the family of the hangman, it was the Kuisls’ job to clear the streets in Schongau of garbage and animal carcasses. Every week mountains of trash piled up at the corners and intersections in town, rotting in the hot sun. Rats with long, smooth tails scampered about on top of the piles, glaring at passersby with evil little eyes. At least Magdalena had the afternoon to herself.

After just a few minutes the hangman’s daughter arrived at the riverbank. She turned to the left, away from the raft landing where there were already a half-dozen rafts tied up. She could hear the shouts and laughter of the raftsmen as they unloaded the barrels, crates, and bales and took them off to the newly rebuilt storage building, the Zimmerstadel, on the pier. She turned off the narrow towpath and made her way through the green underbrush, which now, in midsummer, was shoulder-high. The ground was swampy and slippery, and with each step her bare feet sank in with a slurping sound.

Finally Magdalena reached her favorite spot, a small, shallow cove invisible behind the surrounding willow trees. She climbed down over a large dead root and removed her soiled clothes. Then she scrubbed the dress, apron, and bodice thoroughly, rubbing them over the sharp, wet pebbles. She laid them out to dry on a rock in the warm afternoon sun.

As Magdalena stepped into the water, the current flowing past tugged gently at her ankles and she sank gradually into the mud. A few more steps and she slipped completely into the river. Here in the cove, hollowed out of the river ages ago, the current wasn’t quite so strong. The hangman’s daughter swam out, taking care not to get too close to the whirlpool in the middle of the Lech. The water washed the dirt from her skin and hair, and after a few minutes she felt fresh and rested again. The foul-smelling city was far, far away.

As she swam back to the shore, she noticed her clothes had disappeared.

Magdalena looked around, unsure of what to do. She’d laid her wet clothing out on the rock right there, and now all that remained was a damp spot gradually vanishing in the hot sun.

Had someone followed her here?

She looked up and down the shoreline but couldn’t see her clothes anywhere. She tried to calm down. No doubt some children were just playing a joke on her-nothing more. She sat down on a tree root to dry off in the sun. Lying back with her eyes closed, she waited for the pranksters to start giggling and give themselves away.

All at once she heard a rustling behind her in the bushes.

Before she could jump up, someone wrapped a hairy, sinewy arm around her neck and placed a hand over her mouth. She tried to scream, but not a sound came out.

“Not a word, or I’ll kiss you until your neck is red all over and your father gives you a good spanking.”

Magdalena couldn’t help giggling as she sputtered through the hand held over her mouth.

“Simon! My God, you nearly scared me to death! I thought robbers or murderers…”

Simon kissed her gently on her neck. “Who knows, maybe I am one…” he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink.

“You’re weird, a runt, and a quack, and nothing more. Before you even touch a hair on my head, I’ll wring your neck. God knows why I love you so much.”

She extricated herself from his grip and threw herself at him. In a tight embrace they rolled across the wet pebbles in the cove. Before long she had pinned Simon to the ground with her knees. The medicus was slender and wirier than he was muscular. At just five feet tall, he was one of the smallest men Magdalena had ever known. He had fine features with bright, alert eyes that always seemed to sparkle mischievously, and a well-trimmed black Vandyke beard. His dark hair was lightly oiled and shoulder-length in accord with the latest fashion. In other respects, as well, Simon was well groomed, though at the moment his appearance was somewhat in disarray.

“I–I give up,” he groaned.

“Oh, no you don’t! First you’re going to swear to me there’s no other woman in your life.”

Simon shook his head. “No-nobody else.”

Magdalena rapped him on the head and rolled down next to him. She’d never quite forgiven him for flirting with the redheaded merchant woman more than two years ago, even though Simon had sworn a dozen times there really hadn’t been anything between them. But the day was just too beautiful to waste quarreling. Together they looked up into the branches of the willows swaying back and forth above their heads in the gentle breeze. For a long time they were silent, listening to the wind rustling in the trees.