“Are you sure it’s safe to do that?” he grumbled.
“The road is secure,” Simon replied, “now that you’ve caught the robbers.”
“Have we really caught them all?” Kuisl asked, grinding a few dried herbs in his mortar. He wouldn’t say any more than that. The hangman, completely enveloped in clouds of pipe smoke, continued grinding the herbs to a powder. Simon shrugged and walked back up to town to help his father.
He was about to turn to the next patient, a scrawny farmer from the neighboring town of Peiting who was suffering from consumption and coughing up sputum, when he heard shouting from the Lech Gate. It sounded like something bad had happened, and throwing on his coat, Simon ran down the street to see what the trouble was.
A few men had already gathered at the gate, staring at an oxcart just now rumbling down the icy street into town. On top of the wagon filled with straw were the disfigured bodies of two young wagon drivers from Schongau whom the physician knew from his frequent visits to the taverns behind city hall. To the best of his recollection, they were employed by Matthias Holzhofer, the second presiding burgomaster and an influential local merchant. The heads and chests of both men had been hastily wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, and with pale faces, they seemed to be not long for this world.
A farmer, who drove the oxen with a switch, had trouble moving the wagon forward. “Clear the way!” he shouted. “A new attack! I found them lying in their blood up on the high road above Hohenfurch. Damned robbers, may the devil take them all!” When he caught sight of Simon running alongside the wagon, he stopped and exclaimed, “You’ve been sent by God! See what you can do!” He put the reins in Simon’s hand. “Take the wounded men to your father. I’d prefer the hangman, but I think he’s needed somewhere else at present.”
Followed by barking dogs, children, and wailing women, Simon drove the oxcart to his father’s house. He glanced again at the two pale, groaning wagon drivers, the blood-drenched straw, and the filthy bandages, and cursed himself for having given away the whole bottle of poppy seed extract a while ago. This was another case where probably only the dear Lord could do anything to help them.
Johann Lechner drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, waiting for the murmuring to stop. The aldermen looked nervous. The emergency meeting of the city council on the second floor of the Ballenhaus hadn’t allowed the city patricians enough time to get attired in a manner befitting their station in life. Their fur caps sat askew atop bald heads, and their faces were red with excitement. Some were still wearing nightshirts under heavy coats made from dyed wool. The members of the Inner Council, which appointed the four burgomasters, seemed the most agitated of all. In their midst sat Matthias Holzhofer, shaking his head again and again. His round face, usually so cheerful, was pale and drawn, and he had large rings under his eyes.
“My most valuable shipment!” he exclaimed, pounding his fist on the polished oak table. “Around a thousand guilders! Cloth, fustian, silverware-to say nothing of all the spices! How can this be? Goddammit! I thought the hangman had smoked out the accursed band of robbers!”
The aldermen started grumbling and Johann Lechner admonished them, tapping his signet ring against a full glass of port wine, demanding silence. “Gentlemen, I’ve called the council together to make an important announcement. Silence!” He pounded the table with his hand. “Quiet, for God’s sake!” The murmuring stopped at once, and all eyes turned to the clerk. As the representative of the elector in the absence of the administrator, Lechner really had no business being in the city’s town hall, but as things turned out, he’d become the chairman of the meetings. During the Great War, people were glad to have a strong hand in charge, and since that time there had been no reason to change what was tried and true.
After things had finally quieted down, the clerk proceeded. “I actually wanted to call this meeting of the council to inform you that the band of robbers has finally been caught and commercial traffic can resume. The hangman, along with many honorable citizens, has done an outstanding job.”
“Truly an outstanding job,” the patrician Jakob Schreevogl murmured. “Honorable citizens have created a bloodbath!”
Nobody was paying attention to him, however. All eyes were directed now at the clerk, who continued speaking in an earnest tone. “But now it appears there’s more to it. As much as I regret to say so, there seems to be a second band of robbers. The executioner has already questioned the head of the first group, Hans Scheller, about it.”
At once, the general whispering resumed. Michael Berchtholdt, who, as a baker, sat in the Outer Council, spoke up. “I hope Kuisl introduced the scoundrel to the hot irons! He should break every bone in his body, one by one.”
“Well, the hangman has used…his own methods.” Lechner replied, and Michael Berchtholdt, as well as the other aldermen, seemed pleased with that answer. It was good to have someone like Jakob Kuisl take care of the dirty work.
“A second gang of robbers!” Matthias Holzhofer lamented. “Will there be no end to this highway robbery?”
“Master Holzhofer, please excuse me for asking,” young Jakob Schreevogl interrupted. As owner of Schongau’s largest stove-fitting company, he had been a member of the Inner Councilfor only a short time. “Isn’t it extremely risky to send such a valuable shipment to Füssen in troubled times like these? Whether there is one gang of robbers out there or several, you are positively asking for trouble!”
Matthias Holzhofer shrugged. “The word was that the Scheller gang had been captured-and anyone sending out a wagonload of goods under these conditions gets the best prices.” He grinned and twirled his clipped Vandyke. “There’s not much competition in this wretched cold. Moreover…” He hesitated before continuing. “We took a route through small villages, avoiding the main roads. It takes longer but avoids the woods along the major roads where the bandits lie in wait. Who would ever suspect that there, too…” He stopped short and shook his head.
Johann Lechner cleared his voice before beginning to speak again. “It’s not the first time a band of robbers has attacked travelers on back roads,” he began. “The Augsburg merchant Leonhard Weyer was killed by robbers a few days ago the same way. I happened to be in Semer’s Tavern just the night before when he told me about his plan to take the old cow path to Füssen.”
Burgomaster Karl Semer, owner of the tavern on the market square, interrupted him. He was breathing heavily under a red velvet jacket, and his eyes bulged with emotion. “Oh, God, two of my drivers told me recently that they were taking a route different from the usual one, too,” he gasped. “At least one of them has been reported missing, and I haven’t heard a thing about the other yet…” He wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep gulp of port wine. Despite the bitter cold outside, a huge green tile stove made the town council chambers almost unbearably hot.
An anxious murmur came from the back of the room, where the members of the Outer Council and other ordinary residents sat. Almost all of them had sent a wagon with goods to other Bavarian cities in recent days and weeks. Those who could not go by river ferry depended on the Schongau wagon drivers, who had been in bitter competition with those from Augsburg for years. What would happen if other wagons were attacked?
“Just a moment!” said Jakob Schreevogl, raising his voice. “If I understand correctly, all these wagon drivers have decided to take an unfamiliar route. Nevertheless, they were attacked. That means either that highwaymen are roaming all the roads now, which I doubt, or…” He gazed out at the other members of the council. “Someone out there has been spying and giving specific directions to the robbers.”