The Hangman's Daughter

“It was the Stechlin woman, and that’s that, Lechner says.”

Old Fronwieser sat down beside him on the bench in front of the fireplace. The cinders were cold. Simon could smell his father’s foul breath.

“Listen,” said Bonifaz Fronwieser. “I’ll be honest with you. You know that we are not respected burghers in this town. We aren’t even really welcome here. We are tolerated, and that’s only because the last physician died during the plague and the academic quacks prefer to stay far off in Munich and Augsburg. Lechner can kick us out on a whim. He can and he will, unless you shut up. You and the hangman. Don’t put your livelihood at stake on account of a witch!”

His father placed a cold, stiff hand on his shoulder. Simon recoiled.

“Martha Stechlin isn’t a witch,” he whispered.

“Even so,” said his father, “Lechner wants her to be one, and it’s better for the town as well. Besides…”

Bonifaz Fronwieser grinned, giving his son a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

“Between the hangman, the midwife, and ourselves there are too many here in town who want to make a livelihood from curing the sick. Once the Stechlin woman is gone, there’s more work for us to do. Then we’ll be able to get by. You can help with the births; I’ll leave that all to you.”

Simon jumped to his feet. The beaker fell from the table into the glowing embers on the hearth; the coffee sizzled as it hit the cinders.

“That’s all you ever think about—your livelihood!” he shouted. Then he hastened to the door. His father rose on the bench.

“Simon, I…”

“Have you all lost your senses, or what? Don’t you realize there’s a murderer at large? You’re only thinking about your bellies, and out there someone’s killing children!”

Simon slammed the door and rushed out into the street. The neighbors, startled by his shouts, peeked out of their windows.

Simon looked up angrily.

“Why don’t you mind your own business!” he shouted. “You’ll see! Once the Stechlin woman has been burned, the fun will start for real. And then one more will burn, and one more, and one more! And finally, it’ll be your turn!”

He stomped off to the tanners’ quarter, shaking his head. His neighbors watched as he left. Yes, it was true. Since Fronwieser’s son had taken up with the hangman’s daughter, he wasn’t his old self anymore. She must have bewitched him, or at least turned his head, which amounted to the same thing, anyway. Perhaps more people had to burn in Schongau after all before order could finally be restored.

The neighbors closed their shutters and returned to their breakfast porridge.

With quick strides, Jakob Kuisl took the narrow path from his house down to the river. After a few minutes’ walk upstream on the towpath, he reached the Lech Bridge.

Clouds of smoke were still rising from the ruins of the Stadel and there were occasional glowing embers. Sebastian, the second bridge sentry, was sitting on a bridge pile, leaning on his halberd. When he saw the hangman he saluted him with a tired nod. The short, squat sentry always carried a jug under his overcoat on cold days. This morning, Sebastian needed his drink more than ever. Since his comrade had been imprisoned, he had to do two men’s sentry duty. It would be another hour until he was relieved, and he had been at his post the entire night. Also, he could swear that the devil himself had flitted right past him in the dead of night, a black stooped shadow, with a limp.

“And he waved at me; I saw it clearly,” Sebastian whispered to the hangman, kissing the small silver crucifix he carried around his neck on a leather thong. “Have mercy on us, Holy Mary! Since the Stechlin woman has been practicing her foul sorcery here, the spirits of hell are walking about in town, I’m telling you.”

Jakob Kuisl listened attentively. Then he took leave of the sentry and passed over the bridge, heading for Peiting.

The muddy country road meandered through the forest. Frequently he had to walk around puddles and potholes that seemed particularly deep after the severe winter. In some places the road was practically impassible. When he had walked half a mile he came upon an oxcart that was stuck in the muck. The peasant from Peiting who owned it was laboring to push it from behind but couldn’t dislodge the stuck wheel. Without even waiting to be asked, Kuisl braced his massive body against the vehicle and with one push the cart was free.

Instead of thanking him, the peasant murmured a prayer, careful not to look into the hangman’s eyes. Then he hurried around to the front of the cart, jumped into the driver’s seat, and swung his whip. With a curse, Kuisl hurled a stone after him.

“Off with you, Peiting idiot!” he shouted. “Or else I’ll hang you by your whip!”