The Hangman's Daughter

“Studied! Nonsense! You silly physicians think you’re finding the truth at your cold-blooded universities. But there’s nothing there! Nothing but wise books written by wise men who copied from other wise men. But real life, real diseases, that’s what you’ll find out here. Learn from those, not from your books! That’ll teach you more than the entire university library at Ingolstadt!”

“But you have books in your house as well,” Simon protested.

“Yes, but what kind of books? Those books that you physicians have banned or chosen to ignore because they don’t fit in with your dusty doctrines. Scultetus, Paré, or old Dioscorides! These are truly learned men! But, no. You prefer to bleed patients, look at piss, and believe in your stinking humors. Blood, phlegm, and bile, that’s all that constitutes the human body in your eyes. If only I got to take a medical exam at one of your universities…”

He broke off, shaking his head. “But why should I get upset? I’m just supposed to heal the midwife and then kill her, and that’s that.”

At long last, Jakob Kuisl had finished his examination of the tortured woman. Finally, he tore some linen rags in strips, soaked them in the yellow ointment, and wrapped them around her legs, which looked like one large bruise. All the while he was shaking his head.

“I only hope I wasn’t too rough with her. But the worst by far is the head injury. We’ll see in the next few hours if her fever goes down or if it rises. If it does rise, then tonight will be Martha’s last night on this earth, I’m afraid.”

He rose to his feet.

“At any rate we have to tell Lechner that he won’t get his confession tonight. That buys us time.”

Jakob Kuisl stooped down to the midwife one more time to place her head on a fresh bale of straw. As he turned toward the door, Simon was still standing hesitantly at the sick woman’s side, and Kuisl impatiently motioned to him to leave.

“There’s nothing else we can do now. You may speak a prayer in church or say your rosary, if you wish. I for one will take my pipe, have a good smoke in my own backyard, and attempt to think things through. That will be of more help to Martha Stechlin.”

Without so much as looking back he left the keep.

When Simon arrived home, his father was sitting in the main room with a goblet of wine, looking quite content. He even managed a smile as his son entered. Simon noticed he was a bit drunk.

“It’s good you are back again. I’ll need your help. Dengler’s little Maria seems to have a skin disease, and Sepp Bichler—”

“You haven’t been able to help her,” Simon cut in abruptly.

Bonifaz Fronwieser looked at him in bewilderment.

“What’s that you say?”

“You haven’t been able to help her. You messed up, and as you were at your wit’s end, you called for the hangman.”

The old physician’s eyes became narrow slits.

“I didn’t call him, so help me God,” he hissed. “Lechner wanted it. If I had my way, that quack would have been reined in a long time ago! It can’t be tolerated that charlatans like that man are allowed to bring shame upon our trade. A man without university schooling. How ridiculous!”

“Quack? Charlatan?” Simon found it difficult to keep his voice from breaking. “This man has more knowledge and reason than your entire Ingolstadt crowd! If Martha Stechlin survives, it’s due to him alone and not to you bleeding her, as you did, or sniffing her urine!”

Bonifaz Fronwieser shrugged and took a sip from his goblet. “Anyhow, Lechner didn’t let me have my way. Imagine him even paying attention to that charlatan. Who’d have guessed…” Then a smile spread across his face. It was meant to appear conciliatory.

“Anyway, I got paid for it. And believe me, if the midwife croaks now, it’s best for her. She’ll have to die at any rate. This way she can avoid more torture and the stake.”

Simon raised his hand as if to deal him a blow and had difficulty restraining himself.

“You goddamned…”

Before he could continue there was a pounding at the door. Outside stood Anna Maria Kuisl. She was breathing hard, and her face was pale. She looked as if she had run the entire way from the Lech Gate quarter.

“Jakob…Jakob,” she stammered. “He needs you. You have to come at once. When I returned from the river with the children, he was sitting on the bench like a stone statue. I’ve never seen him like that. Gracious God, I hope it’s nothing serious…”

“What’s happened?” Simon cried out, grabbing for his coat and hat as he rushed out the door.

“He won’t tell me. But it’s got to do with Magdalena.”

Simon ran. He didn’t see his father shake his head and carefully close the door. Bonifaz Fronwieser sat down again and continued drinking his pint of wine. You didn’t really get the best quality for three pennies, but at least the stuff helped you forget.