Death and the Devil

“Gerhard’s murderer, at least that’s what we suspect, has taken her away somewhere. If we can believe him, she’s alive, and at the moment I believe him.”

“Kidnapped,” whispered Goddert, with a blank stare.

“We have to—”

“What’s been happening?” whined Goddert. “Everything was fine yesterday. Who would want to kidnap my child? She’s never done anyone any harm, she—”

Jaspar and Jacob exchanged glances. Then, gently, they told him what had happened since they had last seen him. But Goddert only seemed to be taking half of it in. His eyes kept being drawn to Rolof’s body. Eventually it became clear he wasn’t listening at all. He just kept moaning, “Richmodis.”

“There’s no point,” Jaspar said quietly to Jacob. “The shock’s been too much for him.”

“What are we to do with him?” whispered Jacob.

“With whom? With Goddert or Rolof?”

“Both.”

“Goddert we’ll take home—at least there he won’t have to see poor Rolof all the time. That’s the best we can do for him for the moment. As for Rolof? I don’t like having a body that’s been slit open and written on with his own blood lying about the house. Looks suspiciously like heathen rites. I think for the time being we should get him out of the way, however much it pains me not to give poor Rolof a proper burial. Let’s get Goddert home first. You’ll stay with him and I’ll come back and”—he cleared his throat—“clear up.”

They took Goddert by the arm and led him out unresisting. His eyes were blinded by tears. The fury of the storm had increased and several times they almost ended up together in the mire. It was something of a miracle that Goddert was able to put one foot in front of the other. He was rapidly succumbing to apathy. Jacob remembered how he himself had staggered along the Duck Ponds two days ago after he had found Maria’s body, ready to accept any lie, provided it was better than the reality, shattered and yet strangely uninvolved, an interested observer of his own wretchedness.

He felt immensely sorry for the old man.

At last the houses on the Brook appeared through the slanting curtain of rain. They hurried on, heads well down between their shoulders. Goddert was whimpering to himself.

Jacob clenched his teeth. Then he saw something and stopped in his tracks.

There was a jerk as Jaspar took another stride. Goddert slipped out of their grasp and went sprawling, splashing mud in all directions.

“For God’s sake, Fox-cub, what’s all that about?”

“Look.” Jacob pointed.

Jaspar squinted. There was a faint gleam of light between the shutters of Goddert’s house.

Light.

“Goddert,” said Jacob, speaking slowly and clearly, “did you leave anything burning when you went out?”

From the ground Goddert gave Jacob an uncomprehending look. “No.”

“Not a candle, an oil lamp, fire in the grate?”

“Definitely not. Why do you ask?”

“Sorry, I’d forgotten the Lord didn’t bless you with the gift of long sight. It looks as if you have visitors. Were you expecting any?”

“I’m not expecting anyone at all. You must be wrong.” Then his face was transformed. “But perhaps—perhaps Richmodis is back!”

He scrambled to his feet and set off for the house. Jaspar grabbed hold of him. “Nonsense, Goddert. Face up to the facts. She’s been kidnapped.”

“No,” Goddert shouted. “It’s Richmodis! She’s come back. My little girl! Don’t you see, Jaspar, it’s all been a terrible mistake and she’s back. Let go of me!”

“For Christ’s sake, Goddert.”

“No. Let go.” His strength suddenly seemed to have returned. He pulled himself free and set off running toward the house.

“The fool!” Jaspar swore. “Goddert, stay here. You’ve no idea who’s in there,” he shouted.

“Richmodis!”

They slithered along behind him, but Goddert was too quick for them. They saw him fling open the door and disappear inside, then heard his cry.

“Oh, Lord,” groaned Jaspar.

A few steps brought them to the house. They clattered into the room and came to an abrupt halt. Jaspar’s chin dropped. “Richmodis,” he gasped.

Goddert was pressing her to him, as if he could hold her so close nothing in the world would ever take her away again. The tears were running down his cheeks. Richmodis was patting his rounded back. Her hair was disheveled and dripping wet. She gently prized his arms away from her and stroked his face. “Are you all right, Father?”

Goddert was laughing and crying at the same time. “Who cares how I am? Holy Virgin, I thank you. Oh, God, I thought I’d never see you again!” His head swung around to Jaspar and Jacob. “Ha! Didn’t I tell you? My little girl!”

Jaspar grinned. He went over and, throwing his arms wide, hugged the pair of them. “Goddert,” he said solemnly, “you can say what you like about your mental capacity, but that of your stomach is far superior to mine.”

They laughed and held one another tight. Jacob stood by the door observing a happiness that, for a moment, blotted out everything else. Then he felt sadness welling up inside him and turned away.

“That’s enough,” said Richmodis. “Come and look in the back room.”