The Hangman's Daughter by Oliver Pötzsch
The clerk knew Jakob Kuisl as a clever and considerate man, but the question couldn’t be whether or not the Stechlin woman was guilty. The town’s welfare was a weightier matter. A short trial would help bring a long-sought-for peace back to the town.
Johann Lechner gathered his parchment scrolls, stashed them in the shelves along the wall, and set out for the Ballenhaus. The grand council meeting would begin in half an hour and there were still things to do. He had requested the town crier to summon all members of the council: the inner council and the outer council, as well as the six commoners. Lechner wanted to get everyone behind this.
After crossing the market square, which was busy at this hour, the clerk entered the Ballenhaus. The storage hall was more than twenty feet high, and inside it crates and sacks were piled high awaiting transport to distant cities and countries. Blocks of sandstone and trass were stacked in one corner and the fragrance of cinnamon and coriander filled the air.
Lechner climbed the wide, wooden stairway to the upper floor. As the official representative of the Elector he had no business in the town council, but since the Great War the patricians had become accustomed to having a strong arm in upholding law and order. So they gave the clerk full authority. It was almost natural that by now he chaired the council meetings. Johann Lechner was a man of power, and he had no intention of yielding it.
The door to the council chamber was open and the clerk was surprised to see that he was not as usual the first to arrive. Karl Semer, the presiding burgomaster, and the alderman Jakob Schreevogl had come before him and seemed engaged in lively conversation.
“And I am telling you that the Augsburgers are going to build a new road, and then we’ll be sitting here like a fish on dry land,” Semer shouted at Schreevogl, who kept shaking his head. The young man had joined the council just six months before, replacing his late father. Several times already this tall patrician had clashed with the burgomaster. Unlike his father, who had been close friends with Semer and the other council members, he had a will of his own. And he wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated by Semer now.
“They can’t do that, and you know it. They have tried already once, and the Elector stopped them.”
But Semer would have none of that. “That was before the war! The Elector has other things on his mind now! Believe an old soldier, the Augsburgers are going to build their road and then we’ll have these goddamn lepers to deal with, not to mention this terrible murder story…The merchants will avoid us like the plague!”
Johann Lechner cleared his throat as he entered and stepped to the head of the U-shaped oak table that occupied the entire room. Semer, the burgomaster, hurried to greet him.
“Good that you are here, Lechner. I have tried to persuade young Schreevogl here to change his plans concerning the house for lepers. And right away! The Augsburg merchants are digging our graves, and if news should spread that we have at our very gates…”
Johann Lechner shrugged.
“The leper house is a church matter. You can speak with the priest, but I don’t believe you’ll have any luck. And now will you please excuse me?”
The clerk pushed past the stout burgomaster and unlocked the door that led to the back room. Here, an open cabinet with pigeonholes and drawers crammed with parchments towered to the ceiling. Johann Lechner climbed onto a stool and pulled out the papers that would be needed for the meeting.
As he was doing this, his eye fell on the file concerning the leper house. Last year the church had decided to build a new home for lepers outside of town on the road to Hohenfurch. The old one had collapsed decades ago, but the disease had not subsided. Lechner shuddered at the thought of the vicious epidemic. Next to the plague, leprosy was the most dreaded of afflictions. Those who contacted it rotted alive—nose, ears, and fingers would drop off like decayed fruit. At the end, the face would be nothing but a mass of flesh with no resemblance to anything human. As the disease was highly contagious, the poor souls were usually chased out of town or had to carry bells or clappers so that people could hear them from afar and avoid them. As an expression of mercy, but also to prevent further infection, many towns built so-called leprosaria, which were ghettos outside the city walls where the sick eked out their miserable existence. Schongau, too, was planning to build such a leper house. For the past six months there had been much activity at the construction site on the road to Hohenfurch, but the council was still arguing over that particular decision.
When Johann Lechner returned to the council chamber, most members of the council had already arrived. They were standing together in small groups talking and engaged in heated debates. Each one had heard his own version of the story about the boy’s murder. Even after Johann Lechner had rung his chairman’s bell, it took them a while until each had found his seat. According to custom, the presiding burgomaster and the clerk sat at the head of the table. At their right were the seats of the inner council, six men from the most respected families of Schongau. This council also supplied the four burgomasters, who took quarterly turns in office. The established families had shared in filling the mayoral office for centuries. Officially they were elected by the entire council, but it was the custom that the most influential families also supplied the burgomaster.
On the left sat the six members of the outer council, which likewise consisted of powerful patricians. And finally, the wall was lined with the commoners’ seats. The clerk looked around. Town authority was centered here. Carters, merchants, brewers, gingerbread bakers, furriers, millers, tanners, stovemakers, and clothmakers…all these Semers, Schreevogls, Augustins, and Hardenbergs, who had for centuries decided on the town’s welfare. Serious men in their dark garments with white ruffs and Vandykes, with fat faces and round bellies, tugging at their waistcoats decorated with golden chains. They looked as if they came from a different era. The war brought ruin to Germany, but it couldn’t do any harm to these men. Lechner couldn’t suppress a smile. Fat will always float to the top.
Everyone was greatly agitated. They knew the boy’s death could harm their own businesses. The peace of their little town was at stake. The chattering in the wood-paneled council chamber reminded the clerk of the buzzing of angry bees.
“Silence please! Silence!”
Lechner swung his bell one more time. Then he slammed his hand down on the table and the room finally fell silent. The clerk picked up a quill to take minutes of the meeting. Karl Semer, the burgomaster, looked around with a worried face. Then he addressed the members of the council.
“You’ve all heard of yesterday’s dreadful incident, a terrible crime that has to be solved as fast as possible. I have agreed with the clerk that this is the first item on today’s agenda. Everything else can wait. I hope that’s in our common interest.”
The aldermen nodded gravely. The sooner the case was solved, the sooner they could return to real business.
Burgomaster Semer continued, “Fortunately it looks as if we’ve already found the culprit. The Stechlin midwife is already in prison. The executioner will pay her a visit soon, and then she’ll have to talk.”
“What makes her a suspect?”
With some irritation the aldermen turned to look at young Schreevogl. It was not customary to interrupt the presiding burgomaster that early. Especially when one had just been on the council for a short time. Ferdinand, Jakob Schreevogl’s father, had been a powerful alderman—a little odd, perhaps, but influential. His son had yet to win his spurs. In contrast to the others, the young patrician wore no ruff but a wide lace collar. His hair, according to the latest fashion, fell on his shoulders in locks. His entire appearance was an insult to each and every long-serving alderman.
“What makes her a suspect? Well, that is simple, that is simple…” Burgomaster Semer was rattled. Picking up a handkerchief, he dabbed small beads of sweat from his balding forehead. His broad chest was heaving beneath his gold-braided vest. He was a brewer and the landlord of the largest inn in town, and he was not
“She had been seen several times with the boy prior to the night of the murder. Furthermore, there are women who testify to having seen her perform witches’ sabbaths in her house with Peter and other children.”
“Who testifies to that?”
Young Schreevogl wouldn’t give up. And in fact Johann Lechner wasn’t able to name a single one of these women at that point. However, the night watchmen had informed him that such rumors were circulating in the taverns. And he knew the usual suspects. It would be easy to round up a few witnesses.
“Let’s wait for the trial. I don’t want to get ahead of the facts,” he said.
“Maybe the Stechlin woman will kill these witnesses by witchcraft from her prison cell if she finds out who is accusing her,” another alderman piped up. It was the baker Michael Berchtholdt, a member of the outer council. Lechner took him to be capable of spreading precisely this kind of rumor. Other men nodded—they had heard of such things.
“Oh, nonsense! That’s absurd. The Stechlin woman is a midwife and nothing else.” Jakob Schreevogl had jumped to his feet. “Remember what happened here seventy years ago. One half of the town accused the other half of witchcraft. Streams of blood flowed. Do you want to repeat that?”
Some of the commoners began to whisper. Back then it had hit the less affluent burghers most—the peasants, the milkmaids, the farmhands…But there had been some innkeepers’ and even judges’ wives among the accused. And under torture they had confessed that they had conjured up hailstorms and desecrated the host, indeed that they had even killed their own grandchildren. The fear was still deep-rooted. Johann Lechner remembered that his father had often talked of it. The shame of Schongau. It would be in the history books forever…
“I hardly believe that you remember these things. And now sit down, little Schreevogl,” a soft but piercing voice said. It was clear that the owner of this voice was used to giving orders and not inclined to be toyed with by a young whippersnapper.
At eighty-one years, Matthias Augustin was the oldest member of the council. He had ruled the wagon drivers of Schongau for decades. Meanwhile he was nearly blind, but his word was still heeded in the town. Together with the Semers, the Püchners, the Holzhofers, and the Schreevogls, he belonged to the innermost circle of power.
The old man’s eyes were focused on a point in the distance. He seemed to be looking right into the past.
“I can remember,” he murmured. The room had fallen dead silent. “I was a small boy then. But I know how the fires burned. I can still smell the flesh. Dozens died at the stake in that nasty trial, innocent people too. No one trusted anyone anymore. Believe me, I don’t want to see that again. And that’s why the Stechlin woman must confess.”
Young Schreevogl had resumed his seat. At Augustin’s last words, he sucked the air noisily through his teeth.
“She has to confess,” Augustin continued, “because a rumor is like smoke. It will spread, it will seep through closed doors and latched shutters, and in the end the whole town will smell of it. Let us put an end to the whole matter as soon as we can.”
Burgomaster Semer nodded, and the other members of the inner council murmured in agreement.
“He’s right.” Johann Püchner leaned back in his chair. His mill had been razed to the ground when the Swedes ransacked the town, and only recently had it risen again in its old splendor. “We have to keep the people calm. I was at the raft landing last night. There is a lot of unrest there.”
“That’s right. I talked with my men yesterday as well.” Matthias Holzhofer was another powerful merchant who had rafts that traveled all the way to the Black Sea. He played with the cuffs on his doublet as he was thinking aloud. “But they rather suspect the Augsburg raftsmen. After all, old Grimmer liked to pick a quarrel with them. They might want to harm us, to scare the people, so that they don’t land at our rafting place anymore.”
“Then the Stechlin woman has saved her head, and your whole nice plan is ruined,” Jakob Schreevogl put in. He was sitting at the table with his arms crossed.
One of the commoners along the wall cleared his throat. It rarely happened that one of those men spoke in assembly. It was old Pogner, deputy of the grocers’ guild, who murmured, “There has been a brawl between Grimmer and a few of the Augsburg carters. I was present in the Stern myself when it happened.”
Burgomaster Semer felt that his honor as an innkeeper was at stake.
“There are no brawls in my inn,” he said soothingly. “There may have been a small quarrel, that’s all.”
“A small quarrel?” Now Pogner came to life. “Ask your Resl, she was there. They pretty much smashed one another’s noses, they did. The blood was streaming across the tables. And one of the Augsburgers got such a licking from Grimmer that he still can hardly walk. And he cursed him as he was getting away. I think they want to take revenge, that’s what I think.”
“Nonsense.” Matthias Augustin, almost blind, shook his head. “You can say a lot about the Augsburgers, but murder…I don’t think they’d go that far. Stick with the Stechlin woman, and act fast before hell breaks loose here.”
“I have given the order to start with the questioning tomorrow,” Lechner said. “The executioner will show the midwife the instruments of torture. In a week or less the matter will be taken care of.” He looked up to the carved pinewood ceiling. Reliefs of scrolls indicated that laws were made in this hall.
“Mustn’t we consult the Elector’s secretary in a case like this?” asked Jakob Schreevogl. “After all, we are talking about murder. The town hasn’t even got the authority to pronounce a sentence here on its own.”
Johann Lechner smiled. True, a capital sentence was the responsibility of the Elector’s representative. However, as was so often the case, Wolf Dietrich von Sandizell was sojourning at Pichl, his country house near Thierhaupten, far from Schongau. And until he showed up, Lechner was his sole proxy within the town walls.
“I have already dispatched a messenger to ask Sandizell to come here within the week and chair the trial,” he explained. “I wrote him that we will have found a culprit by then. If not, the Elector’s secretary will have to remain in town a little longer with his entourage…” the clerk added maliciously.
The aldermen groaned inwardly. The Elector’s secretary with his entourage! With horses, servants, soldiers…That meant a lot of expenses. They were already mentally counting the guilders and pence that each of the visiting bigwigs was going to squander on food and drink every day until the sentence was pronounced. All the more important, then, to present a culprit to the secretary when he arrived. Then they’d get off relatively cheaply…
“We agree,” said burgomaster Semer, mopping his balding forehead. “Start questioning her tomorrow.”
“Very well.” Johann Lechner opened the next register book. “Let’s move on to other business. There’s a lot to do today.”
CHAPTER
4
WEDNESDAY
APRIL 25, A.D. 1659
NINE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING
JAKOB KUISL WALKED THROUGH THE NARROW ALLEY that led southward alongside the town wall. The houses here were freshly plastered; the tiled roofs shone red in the morning sun. The first narcissi and daffodils were blooming in the gardens. The area around the ducal castle, known as the Hof Gate quarter, was considered to be a better part of the town. It was here that the craftsmen who had been successful and had become wealthy settled. The hangman’s path led him past quacking ducks and clucking chickens, which fluttered away in the alley before him. A joiner with a plane, a hammer, and a chisel sat on the bench outside his workshop smoothing the top of a table. As the executioner passed him, he turned his head away. One didn’t greet the hangman; it was thought to be unlucky.
At last Jakob Kuisl reached the end of the alley. At its farthest end, directly at the city wall, lay the keep, a hulki
The city jailer was leaning against the iron-hinged door to catch the spring sun on his face. From his belt, next to the finger-long keys, dangled a cudgel. Other weapons were not needed. After all, the suspect was in irons. The jailer had protected himself against possible curses with a small wooden crucifix and an amulet of the Blessed Virgin, both hanging from a leather thong around his neck.
“I bid you a good morning, Andreas!” called Jakob Kuisl. “How are the children? Is little Anna well again?”
“They’re all well, thank you, Master Jakob. The medicine helped a good deal.”
The jailer looked around furtively in all directions to see if anybody had seen him talking to the hangman. The man with the big sword was shunned, but it was to him that people came if they were plagued with gout or a finger was broken. Or when one’s little daughter, as was the case with jailer Andreas, was suffering badly from whooping cough. It was the simpler people who went to the executioner rather than to the barber or the physician. Mostly they came out better than when they went in. Anyway, it was cheaper.
“What do you think? Can you let me talk to the Stechlin woman alone?” Kuisl filled his pipe and offered the jailer some of his tobacco. Furtively Andreas stuffed the gift into the bag at his belt.
“I don’t know about that. Lechner has forbidden it. I’m supposed to be present all the time.”
“Say, didn’t Stechlin bring your Anna into the world? And your Thomas?”
“Well, yes…”
“You see, she brought my children into the world too. D’you really believe that she’s a witch?”