Death and the Devil

There was an empty jug on the table, one beaker on its side. The drunken client had not invited her to share his wine.

“What have you brought?” was her greeting.

Jacob nodded and placed the apples he had left beside the jug.

She smiled and put her arms around him, without drawing him close. Tilman she ignored. The sick man shuddered, sidled over to one of the stools, and sat down as quietly as he could.

“Something odd happened,” said Jacob, collapsing onto the bed, which creaked alarmingly.

“And?”

He stared at the ceiling. “The architect who’s building the cathedral’s dead.”

She sat down beside him on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through his hair, her eyes fixed on the door. Then she looked at him. The rings under her eyes were darker than usual, or perhaps it was just the flickering light from the dim candle that deepened the hollows in her face. She was beautiful, despite it all. Too beautiful for this world.

“Yes,” she said softly, “he threw himself to his death.”

Jacob levered himself up on his elbows and regarded her thoughtfully. “How do you know?”

She jerked her thumb at the wall. Beyond it was Wilhilde’s room.

“The man in her room told her?”

“He arrived just before you, a linen weaver who often goes to Wilhilde. It was the first thing he said. He’d heard it from others who’d seen Gerhard slip and fall. Perhaps the only time in his life”—she shook her head—“and God called him to appear before him for it. How often do we slip and fall? Sometimes I wonder why we’re here.”

“Just a minute.” Jacob sat up. “Which others?”

“What?” said Maria, bewildered.

“You said some others saw Gerhard slip.”

“Yes.”

“Which others?”

She looked at him as if he were crazy. “Well, the others. People.”

“What people?”

“For God’s sake, Jacob, what makes it so important?”

Jacob rubbed his eyes. The people…

“Maria,” he said calmly, “there are people who saw how Gerhard fell to his death through his own carelessness? Is that right?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“No!” Jacob shook his head and jumped up. “That is not right.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked Tilman. It made him cough, which produced highly unsavory noises from his insides when he tried to suppress it.

Jacob put his hands to his temples and closed his eyes. In his mind’s eye he saw everything again, the shadow, Gerhard’s scream, his fall, and his last words, which had burned themselves into his mind.

“That is not right,” he repeated. “Gerhard Morart, the cathedral architect, assuming we’re talking about the same man, did not die as a result of his own carelessness, he was murdered. And no one saw it but me. There was no one there.” He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

Tilman and Maria were both staring at him.

“I thought I was the one who was drunk, not you,” said Tilman.

“Gerhard was killed”—Jacob was getting worked up—“and I was there. I was sitting in that bloody apple tree when the black thing appeared on the scaffolding and pushed him over.”

There was a breathless silence in the room.

“That’s what happened, damn it!”

Maria started giggling. “You’re crazy.”

“Of course,” coughed Tilman. “And then the Devil came for him.”

“You shut your gob!” Maria snapped at him. “You’ve no business here anyway, hacking and spewing all the time.”

“I—”

“Not here!”

Jacob could hear them, but it was as if he had wadding over his ears. He had expected all sorts of things, but not that they wouldn’t believe him.

“I didn’t ask to sit around in this den of fornication.” Tilman was shouting now. “It was Jacob’s idea. Before I accept any favors from you I’d—”

“Jacob wouldn’t have thought of it himself,” she broke in furiously, “you’ve just conned him with that ridiculous cough of yours.”

“You may call it ridiculous. All I know is it’s going to kill me!”

“And the sooner the better! But the truth is, you’re in better health than all of us.”

“Lord help me! I’m off, Jacob. I’d rather die than listen to your whore bawling me out.”

“Don’t call me a whore,” screeched Maria.

“Well, that’s what you are.”

“I won’t take it from you. I may be one, but I’d rather drink from the cesspit than open my legs for you.”

“Good idea, you’d enjoy that, you toothless bitch, you superannuated attempt at a temptress—”

“Oh, don’t get your tongue in a twist.”

“You old hag. I don’t want to hear any more, and certainly not these stories about the Devil.”

Tilman leaped up and rushed toward the door, where he collapsed in a heap. Jacob ran over and grabbed him under the armpits.

“Throw him out!” demanded Maria.

“No.” Jacob shook his head. “Can’t you see, he’s ill.”

Maria lay on her bed and huddled up. “He’s got to go.” She was close to tears.

Tilman was breathing heavily. Ice-cold sweat glinted on his upper lip.

“He’s ill, Maria,” Jacob repeated softly.

She stretched out both arms, her fingers spread like claws.

“You can go, too, for all I care. Bugger off.”

“Maria—”

“I don’t want to see you anymore.”

She put her head in her hands and started to sob.

“Maria, I—”

“Out!”

Jacob hung his head.

URQUHART