“Damn. I think it’s a good thing Magdalena isn’t here with the children,” Kuisl said. “The kids would be trampled to death or get lost.” Restlessly he shifted from one foot to the other, and Simon couldn’t repress a smirk. He knew from long experience how Kuisl hated large crowds. He preferred the silent forest, with just a few birds chirping in the trees.
“Magdalena wanted to talk with the abbot again,” Simon replied. “Perhaps he knows something that will help us in our search.”
“Today? No chance.” The hangman spat on the ground, just missing a little old woman nearby who glared back at him. “Why would the abbot have time for someone like Magdalena at the Festival of the Three Hosts?”
“I had a long talk with her last night,” replied Simon. “She met Maurus Rambeck recently in the monastery garden, and he told her the prior would have the honor of presenting the hosts this time.”
“An abbot who passes up the most important festival of the year?” Kuisl screwed his eyes up suspiciously. “Isn’t that a bit strange?”
“The matter with his brother really upset Maurus Rambeck. It’s completely understandable if he doesn’t feel like conducting a mass.” Simon shrugged. “In any case, Magdalena hopes to meet with the abbot again today in the monastery garden. He seems to be there quite a bit.”
Kuisl sneered. “And he wants to have a nice chat there with none other than my daughter? Dream on, son-in-law.”
“Your daughter, as you know yourself, is very persistent,” Simon said with a grin. “I have no doubt on Judgment Day she’ll even get an audience with all the archangels, if only she leaves them alone after that.”
A murmur suddenly went through the crowd. Simon looked up to see the prior on the balcony below the little bay window. Though the roof was still covered with scaffolding, the work on this important part of the monastery was already finished.
With a sublime mien, Brother Jeremias raised a silver object. The pilgrims on the square below fell to their knees, lowering their heads reverently. From the corner of his eye, Simon watched the old woman next to Kuisl turn up her eyes and tip to one side, where her elderly husband took her in his arms tenderly. Shouts and cries could be heard everywhere.
“The sacred hosts. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the sacred hosts. God bless us all.”
Simon and the hangman fell to their knees, too. The medicus could feel a warm tickle pass through him at the sight of the praying masses. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his eyes teared up in the heavy clouds of incense. He had never been an especially devout person, especially in contrast to his wife, whose idea it was to go on this pilgrimage. But now, among the crowd of young and old who had traveled so far to view the three consecrated oblates in the silver bowl, a shiver ran through him, too. Even Kuisl seemed moved. His eyes narrowed to little slits as he stared up at the balcony where the prior had just spoken the benediction.
“Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater,
et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus…
In the name of the Father, son, and holy spirit…”
The crowd bowed even deeper, prostrating itself on the ground; some cried, while others laughed hysterically or beat their backs and chests wildly.
Only Kuisl continued staring up in fascination at the balcony.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Simon whispered. “So much faith… one could almost-”
“Spare me the nonsense,” the hangman interrupted. “I know only too well how the Catholics attacked the people of Magdeburg with spears and swords, their eyes gleaming and hands dripping with blood. If anyone wants to pray, he should do it in the silence of the church and not carry on like people at a county fair.” He pointed up at the monstrance the prior was still holding up like a flaming sword. “I’ll bet the real hosts aren’t in there, in any case.”
Simon grinned. “And I thought you had just had an epiphany.”
“What God and I have to discuss we will do alone, privately. You can believe-”
Suddenly there came shouting nearby that sounded different from the other pious cries. Simon was startled to see two men approach through the crowd, flanked by four Andechs hunters armed with spears and crossbows.
The fat man in their midst was none other than the Schongau burgomaster, and at his side, his son grinned triumphantly at the sight of the hangman.
Quickening their pace, the two were only a few dozen yards away from Simon and Kuisl.
“Ha, Kuisl! I knew it,” Karl Semer shouted so loudly that many of the pilgrims turned around to look. Even the prior up on the balcony paused briefly in his benediction.
“Rotten hangman,” the burgomaster shouted. “Your head sticks out of the crowd like a flagpole, and this time you won’t get away. Seize the heretics and the false monk.”
The bailiffs pushed their way through the protesting crowd toward Simon and Kuisl.
“Well?” Simon hissed. “I warned you, but no, you wouldn’t listen. The two troublemakers must have seen you from up there,” he continued, pointing at windows in a wing of the monastery where some of the better-off pilgrims were housed. “What in heaven’s name shall we do now?”
“What else?” The hangman pushed aside some of the pilgrims in the crowd, forming a little passageway. “We’ll run, and we’ll see who’s faster-the Schongau executioner or the fat old burgomaster and his bowlegged son. Remember, I was a hangman when that puffed-up little windbag was still shitting in his diapers.”
Cursing softly, Simon ran after him as the Semers’ wild cries rang out behind.
Magdalena strolled cheerfully with her children through a fragrant field of flowers behind the monastery. The sun had reached its zenith and shone down warmly on the fields, sending the last of the morning dew skyward in a soft haze.
She was humming quietly to herself. At breakfast in the knacker’s house, Simon had been noticeably attentive. He’d stroked her hair from time to time, letting her know he still loved her. After all their years together, all the arguments and worries, he seemed to be the right man for her, after all.
Despite Simon’s warning about possible infection, Magdalena had finally visited the clinic that morning with the children to help Jakob Schreevogl care for the patients. She intended to be there for the presentation of the hosts, but when she saw the huge crowd, she decided spontaneously not to meet Simon and her father until later, at the mass. First she wanted to see whether she’d assumed correctly that the Andechs abbot would indeed spend some time in the monastery garden that day, as well.
“Water! Lots of water! The man will squirt Mama until she’s all wet,” Peter shouted, holding her hand and hopping up and down excitedly as the stone wall at the forest edge finally appeared.
Grinning, Magdalena recalled how, just two days before, the mythical creature spat a cold stream of water in her face and how she, in a rather unladylike fashion, fell backward on her rump.
“Oh, but this time the man is going to make you all wet,” she said, teasing the boy as she pressed the latch on the gate. Secretly she worried that the iron gate might be locked this time, and was pleased when it opened with a soft creak.
Just as on her last visit, Magdalena smelled the exotic fragrance of herbs and flowers. The children ran ahead, shouting, and had soon disappeared among the climbing vines, little walls, and flower beds. From time to time, Magdalena could hear them giggle, and a smile passed over her face. This really was an enchanted place, like one of those forest clearings where fairies and sprites danced-a world far removed from the horrors taking place outside the garden gates.
Expectantly, she approached the middle of the garden where the faun stood staring back at her between a few stone benches, just as it had the last time, with a fresh grin.