Death and the Devil

“That’s enough of that!” Jaspar was angry. “You’re coming out with the same nonsense as all the credulous folk who go goggle-eyed as soon as the magician says Casisa, hasisa, mesisa medantor, or some such rigmarole. Good God, you’re about as stupid as the peasant who won’t slaughter a pig on Saint Gall’s day for fear the meat will taste of gall. Did he have a tail, Richmodis?”

“No. His hair came down to his waist. That was the tail.”

“There you are.”

“But the Devil was in his eyes.”

“More peasant nonsense.” Jaspar groaned. “Why this relapse into ignorance? Surely you’ve heard me trying to demonstrate the power of reason to your father often enough. Has nothing rubbed off?”

“All right. But if you’d just let me finish—”

“And you, Jacob, you heathen. Have you ever bothered with religion, with heaven and hell? You don’t even know a prayer and suddenly you start wittering on about the Devil. Do you really believe you saw the Devil up there? Or is that what you want to believe because it’s nice and simple?”

Jacob and Richmodis exchanged looks. They shrugged their shoulders uncertainly. He’s right, thought Jacob. It’s easy to make the Devil responsible for everything. I don’t really think I saw the Devil on the scaffolding. So why did I say I had?

“However,” Jaspar went on in milder tones now that he saw his words were having an effect, “what we do know is that at least four members of patrician families have a finger in this particular pie. That doesn’t sound like the Devil to me, more like a conspiracy.”

He got up and started striding around the room, his nostrils quivering. “We have to find out what they’re plotting. Find their weak spot.”

Richmodis nodded slowly. “Kuno said something to Daniel about an alliance being broken, whatever he meant by that. It sounded as if they had originally been on the same side, then fallen out.”

Jaspar stopped. “There you are. Just as I said.”

“But it was unclear to me what he meant.”

“Perhaps not to me. Think back!”

“I don’t know. Everything happened so quickly. I was just terribly afraid. I think I was praying, without daring to make a sound, while Kuno kept trying to persuade Daniel of something.”

“What did he say?”

“Something about a common goal and higher justice, that kind of thing. And that they had done something that was wrong.”

“What?”

“They sacrificed someone—Kuno’s only friend—”

“Gerhard,” Jaspar cried triumphantly. “I knew it. Gerhard knew their secret, and that’s why he had to die. Kuno has broken with them. He’s changed sides. I knew it. I knew it.”

“Wait.” Her frown cleared. “There was something else. Kuno reminded Daniel of his past, of how important justice had been to him.” She puckered her lips in distaste. “Strange. I can’t imagine that bastard ever being concerned about justice.”

“He wasn’t,” growled Jaspar. “Daniel was one of the youngest magistrates, a corrupt bigmouth with money but no brains. A trick Kuno tried to talk him around. Without success.” He paused and slapped his forehead. “And Daniel is the son of Johann Overstolz! My God! If he’s in it, too, that means we have almost all the senior members of the Overstolz clan against us. An alliance between the Overstolzes and the Kones. What could that mean? A patrician revolt?”

“Why should they plan a revolt?” Jacob asked.

“They’ve got reason enough.”

“Why?”

“To regain their old supremacy.”

Jacob glanced at Kuno. Had the man moved or was he just imagining it? “What’s the point of all this, Jaspar?” he said in desperation. “It’s all beyond me. I know nothing of power and politics, nothing about the patricians. I know nothing at all. How am I supposed to defend myself against something that’s a complete mystery to me?”

“But you live here, in the city,” said Jaspar. It didn’t sound reproachful, only surprised.

“Only for the last few months. I’ve been away too long. Since I came back I haven’t concerned myself with what’s going on in Cologne. I just wanted to get on with my life.”

“Have you ever really concerned yourself with anything?” asked Richmodis.

Her remark cut him to the quick. “Perhaps,” he said coolly.

Jaspar came over and squatted down in front of him. “Am I wrong, or could you be running away from something?”

“You know already.”

“No, I don’t know. I mean something you can’t escape. Always keeping your eyes closed, not facing up to things, not being interested in things, not even in your music, really, even though you play your whistle exceptionally well. There’s something wrong there.”

Jacob looked at him. The palms of his hands were sore. He realized he had been boring his fingernails into them and forced a grin to his lips. “Blessed are the poor in spirit. Isn’t that what it says?”

“Not in Abelard.”

“Oh, to hell with your Abelard.”

“Fox-cub!”

“Why should the patricians plan a revolt?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Yes, I’m changing the subject,” Jacob snapped. “And if I am, then it’s my business alone. You said we should attack, so please enlighten me. If you can.”