Death and the Devil

Richmodis seemed to guess his thoughts. “Don’t you trust us?” she asked.

It was a trick. Richmodis knew it and Jacob knew it. The decision was no longer his alone. It would reflect on the trustworthiness of these who had looked after him. She had him trapped.

Jaspar gave Richmodis a quick glance. “Half a story is no story,” he said slowly. Then he raised his eyebrows, as if expecting the worst. “But, of course, if you don’t trust us…”

“Yes,” growled Goddert, “if there’s a lack of trust, you can’t do anything about it.”

Jacob took a deep breath and looked at them, one after the other. “Oh, I do,” he said through clenched teeth, “I do trust you.”

Richmodis gave a little smile of victory. Jaspar and Goddert grinned at each other.

“More than you’re going to like,” Jacob whispered.

RHEINGASSE

There were a dozen men gathered around the table, burly men with horny hands and weather-beaten faces. They stared at the tall figure of Urquhart with a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and respect. Matthias leaned against the door, arms crossed, as Urquhart gave the servants his instructions. After a while he went out, reassured to a certain extent. The horses for him and Johann were ready.

“I don’t think that was a particularly good idea,” said Johann as a groom helped him into the saddle. Like Matthias, he was wearing a long black cloak as a sign of mourning.

“It’s the only idea that makes sense,” replied Matthias.

Johann dismissed the groom with a wave of the hand and waited until he was out of earshot. “Urquhart is an ungodly murderer,” he said irritably. “That we use him is no reason to bring him into the house. Apart from that, I consider it highly dangerous.”

“I know.” Matthias leaped into the saddle and patted his mount’s muscular neck. The horse whinnied. “So what could we have done, in your considered opinion? Arrange a meeting outside the town? Find some quiet spot in the country and recruit twelve volunteers from the surrounding farms? We’d have wasted a whole day. Or do nothing and hope the redheaded bastard will keep his filthy trap shut?”

“That would be risky,” Johann reluctantly agreed.

“Precisely. After Gerhard’s funeral I’ll have a word with Lorenzo and ask him to let us have a few soldiers.”

“Urquhart mustn’t speak—”

“Don’t worry, he won’t. Lorenzo will tell his men the same story that Urquhart’s telling the servants—some rascally redhead relieved the Overstolzes of a gold guilder—and place them at the main gates. Our fox might just have the idea of leaving town.”

“Does Lorenzo have the authority?”

“I selected him because of that, Johann. Anyway, he’ll try. After all, he has to earn all the money we pay him.”

“Hm, well, all right,” growled Johann. “We must tell the others.”

They set their horses going at a slow walk and rode out through the great gate into Rheingasse. The street was crowded, but the people immediately made way when they saw the two patricians in their dark clothes. Many mumbled a quick prayer. The news of Gerhard’s death had reached the farthest corners of the city and everyone knew where the two horsemen were headed.

“Theoderich will call a meeting,” said Matthias, guiding his horse between two apathetic beggars, “but I suspect there will be a full turnout at the funeral.”

“You never know,” muttered Johann.

“You’re right. For example, I saw Daniel this morning behind the stables. Do you think he slept there?”

“I have no idea what Daniel was up to behind the stables,” said Johann testily. He obviously regretted having brought up the subject with his remark.

Matthias frowned. “You ought to keep an eye on him,” he said, the reproach all too evident in his voice.

“Ought I?” Johann’s lips turned down in a mocking grin. “And who keeps an eye on your children? I’ve heard Gertrude say she might just as well have married an ice floe on the Rhine, for all the difference it would have made. Do you show the same warmth toward your children?”

Matthias glowered at him. He knew that among the extensive Overstolz clan he enjoyed the dubious reputation of being without feeling or pity. “That is irrelevant,” he said icily.

“No,” said Johann, sighing, “it’s never relevant, is it? We all know Daniel still hasn’t got over losing the office of magistrate. He was one of the youngest. I can reprimand him, but I can’t condemn him for the bitterness he feels.”

“Always the same old story.” Matthias gave a scornful snort. “Have you forgotten, we bought the post for Daniel. And wasn’t I a magistrate, too? Didn’t Conrad get rid of me in the same insulting way as he did Daniel? Do you see me in the ale houses, in low company, drinking like a fish, swearing, and molesting respectable women?”