The Hangman's Daughter

“That’s right.” The father chimed in. “They did in fact often meet at the Stechlin place. Sophie and the Stechlin woman, the same witches’ brood. They are responsible! And they made this Satan’s mark on him, for sure!”

Mother Kratz began to weep again, so that her husband had to comfort her.

Simon went over to the body and turned it carefully onto its stomach. On the right shoulder blade there was in fact the same symbol as had been found on the Grimmer boy. Not quite as clear, certainly. Someone had tried to wipe it off. But the color had already penetrated too deeply under the skin. Indelibly it still appeared on the child’s shoulder.

Simon could sense that Clemens Kratz had come up behind him. Filled with hate, the father stared at the sign.

“The Stechlin woman did that to him. And that Sophie,” he hissed. “For sure. They should burn them—burn them both!”

The physician tried to calm him. “Stechlin is in the keep, she couldn’t have done it. And Sophie is still a child. Do you really believe that a child—”

“The devil has got into that child!” cried Mother Kratz from behind. Her eyes were bloodshot from weeping, her face pale and puffy. “The devil is here in Schongau! And he’ll carry off other children!”

Simon looked once again at the faded mark on the boy’s back. No doubt, someone had tried to remove it, without success.

“Did any of you try to wash this mark off?” he asked them.

Kratz crossed himself.

“We have not touched the devil’s mark, so help me God!” The other members of the family shook their heads and signed the cross too.

Simon sighed inwardly. He wouldn’t get any further here with logical arguments. He took his leave and went out into the darkness. Behind him he could still hear the sobbing of the mother and the murmured prayers of the old grocer.

At the sound of a whistle Simon turned around. His eyes searched the alley. At the corner a small form was leaning against the wall of a house and beckoning to him.

It was Sophie.

Simon looked around, then he entered the narrow alley and bent down to the girl.

“You got away from me last time,” he whispered.

“And I’ll get away from you again this time,” replied Sophie, “but now just listen: a man asked for Anton, just before he was stabbed.”

“A man? But how do you know…?”

Sophie shrugged. A slight smile passed over her lips. Simon wondered for a moment what she would look like in five years’ time.

“We orphans have eyes everywhere. That saves us from beatings.”

“And what did he look like, this man?”

“Tall. With a coat and a broad-brimmed hat. There was a feather in the hat. And across his face there was a long scar.”

“And that’s all?”

“His hand was all bones.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Down by the river he asked a few raftsmen where the Kratzes’ house was. I was hiding behind the trees. He kept his left hand under his coat, but once it slipped out and I saw it shining white in the sun. A skeleton hand.”

Simon bent farther down and put his arm around the girl.

“Sophie, I don’t believe you. It would be best for you to come with me now…”

Sophie tore herself away. Tears of rage filled her eyes.

“Nobody believes me. But it’s true! The man with the hand of bones cut Anton’s throat. He wanted to meet us down at the Lech Gate, and now he’s dead.” The girl’s voice became a whimper.

“Sophie, we can…”

With a quick turn the girl escaped from Simon’s arm and raced away down the alley. After a short distance she had already disappeared into the darkness. As he started to chase after her, Simon realized that the purse with the money for new clothes was missing from his belt.

“You damned little—” He looked at the heap of dirt and rubbish in the alley. Then he decided to dispense with a pursuit this time. Instead he went home, so that he could finally get a good night’s sleep.

CHAPTER

5

THURSDAY

APRIL 26, A.D. 1659

SEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

MAGDALENA WAS LOST IN THOUGHT AS SHE WALKED along the muddy road across the Lech Bridge and toward Peiting. In the bag she had slung across her shoulder she was carrying some dried herbs and the quantity of Our Lady’s Powder she had ground yesterday. A few days ago she had promised to deliver the powder to midwife Daubenberger. The old woman was past her seventieth year and not very steady on her feet. Still, in Peiting and its surroundings she was the village midwife whom one called upon for help with difficult deliveries. Katharina Daubenberger had helped hundreds of children into this world. She was famous for her hands, with which she’d pull the most stubborn little imp into the light of day, and she was regarded as a wise woman, a healer, eyed suspiciously by priest and physician alike. But her diagnoses and her treatments were usually correct. Magdalena’s father had often sought her counsel. His gift of Our Lady’s Powder was a token of gratitude; and he was soon going to need one herb or another from her.