Oliver Potzsch - The Dark Monk

Finally, he wrapped the arm with material he’d ripped from the shirt of a dead robber and listened for voices outside the cave. The men seemed almost finished with their work, so Kuisl would have to remind them soon of the two corpses in the cave. And they would have to take the trunk along, too. The owners of the stolen objects were no doubt rotting away somewhere in the forests around Schongau, but the city could put the money to good use, if only to pay the hangman for the upcoming executions. Kuisl earned one guilder for each robber he hanged, four guilders for each blow to a man on the wheel, and two guilders and thirty kreuzers for torturing prior to the execution. It was quite possible that this was exactly the fate in store for robber chief Scheller.

Just as Kuisl was about to stand up, he caught sight of a large, glossy leather bag behind the trunk. It was made of the finest calfskin, and the front was embossed with a seal that the hangman didn’t recognize. Was it possible, after all, that the robbers had other treasures stashed away? He set the bag in front of him and looked inside. What he saw puzzled him.

What in the world?

Lost in thought, he stuffed the bag into his sack and headed toward the cave entrance.

He would have some questions to ask Hans Scheller. For both their sakes, Kuisl hoped the robber chief would answer them quickly and honestly.

Night was falling on the Tanners’ Quarter just outside the town walls when Simon knocked on the door to the hangman’s house.

He’d spent the last hour stomping back to Schongau through a light snowfall. The businesswoman had proceeded directly to Semer’s inn. Simon assumed she had to make preparations for her brother’s funeral the following day, but she also seemed exhausted. The medicus, too, was tired and freezing after the long search. Despite the cold and approaching nightfall, however, he wanted to talk with Jakob Kuisl about what they had found in the castle ruins. He was also curious about how things had gone in the hunt for the highwaymen. His hands and feet felt like blocks of ice, so he was more than happy when Anna Maria Kuisl finally came to the door.

“Simon, what in the world has happened to you?” she asked in astonishment, looking at his snow-covered overcoat and stiff, frozen trousers. She seemed to have already forgiven him for the disturbance late the previous night, when Simon had been calling loudly for Magdalena. The hangman’s wife shook her head sympathetically. “You look like the snowman that the kids built in the backyard.”

“Is your husband here?” Simon’s voice trembled. His whole body was frigid now.

Anna Maria shook her head. “He’s out hunting for the robbers. I hope he comes home soon. But come in now; you look like you’re freezing,” she said as she led Simon into the warm room.

She poured some hot apple cider for Simon and handed him the cup. The room was filled with the aroma of steaming onions and melted butter.

“Here, this will be good for you.” She smiled cheerfully at him as he sipped on the cider sweetened with honey.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you coffee, but perhaps you’d like to wait for my husband in the other room. I’ve got to go back upstairs and have another look at the children.” They could hear a dry cough and the cries of little Barbara upstairs.

“Georg has it in his chest,” she said anxiously. “Let’s hope it’s not this fever that’s going around.” She’d climbed the steep flight of stairs before Simon could ask if Magdalena was home.

She was probably still feeling hurt. Well, he had learned that women needed time. She’d be back, and then he would have a chance to say he was sorry.

Fortified by the sweet apple cider, Simon entered the adjacent room. In the course of the last year, he had become accustomed to visiting the hangman’s library at least once a week, and Jakob Kuisl allowed him to browse through the old folios and leather-bound books in his absence. In the process, Simon had often stumbled upon things that were interesting for his work as a doctor. For example, the hangman had the complete works of the English doctor Thomas Sydenham, in which every known illness was listed and described in detail-a compendium not even found in the library in Ingolstadt!

The book he held in his hand at the moment, however, didn’t have the slightest thing to do with medicine. Titled Malleus Maleficarum ( The Witches’ Hammer ), it was written by two Dominicans-Heinrich Kramer and Jakob Sprenger. Some pages were soiled and worn, and some had a brownish sheen that looked like dried blood. Simon had frequently browsed through the so-called Witches’ Hammer. On the page he had open at the moment, the authors tried to prove that the Latin word femina (woman) came from fides minus, meaning “of less faith.” Another chapter described what witches looked like, the type of magic they used, and how one could protect himself from them. Then, Simon became engrossed in a detailed passage that described how to make the male organ disappear by magic.

“A bad book,” a voice behind him said. “It would be better for you to put it away.”

Simon turned around. In the doorway, the hangman stood wearing a bandage over his left arm, while snow melted from his fur trousers and formed a puddle at his feet. He tossed his musket in a corner and took the volume from Simon’s hands.

“This book belonged to my grandfather,” he said as he placed it back on one of the tall shelves along with the other books, parchment rolls, notes, and farmers’ almanacs. “He used it in interrogations back in the days when more than sixty women were burned at the stake in Schongau. You can make anyone out to be a witch if you just badger them long enough.”

Simon felt a chill, and not just because of the unheated room. Like all other Schongauers, he’d heard a lot about the notorious witch trials three generations ago that had made the city a name for itself all over Bavaria. In those days, Jakob Kuisl’s grandfather Jorg Abriel had come into a lot of money and dubious notoriety. With his attendants, he traveled by coach to a number of places where executions were to be held and extracted a confession from every witch.

“These Dominicans…” Simon asked after a pause. “Aren’t they often inquisitors at witch trials?”

The hangman nodded. “ Domini canes is another name for them-the dogs of the Lord. They are clever and well read and do the dirty work for the Pope.” He spat on the floor, which was covered with fresh reeds. “Let’s hope that no one from this despicable order ever comes to Schongau. Where the Dominicans are, there is fire. And who gets his hands dirty then? Who do you think? Me! That filthy, accursed gang! Unscrupulous smart-asses and bookworms who revel in the suffering of others!”

Having worked himself into a frenzy, he pulled out the bottle of brandy from under his overcoat and took a deep swig. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a deep breath. Only slowly did he regain his usual composure.

“Do you yourself use that…book?” Simon pointed hesitantly to The Witches’ Hammer on the shelf.

The hangman shook his head and headed toward the heated room. “I have other methods. But tell me now what you found up at the castle.”

They made themselves comfortable by the stove, where a stew of onions, carrots, and bacon was simmering. Suddenly, Simon realized how hungry he was, so when the hangman filled up two plates, he dug in gratefully.

After they had eaten in silence for a while, Simon pointed to the hangman’s bandaged arm. “Did that happen while you were chasing the robbers?” he asked.

Jakob Kuisl nodded, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and pushed the plate aside. Then he started filling his long-stem pipe.