“I had to run all over town looking for a tinsmith to cobble a crown together for just a few kreuzers,” he complained, glowering at Malcolm. “You didn’t want me to spend any more than that. We put a little gold-colored paint on it and stuck on a glass stone with wax. We need to make sure it doesn’t get too warm or the stone will fall down on your nose, but otherwise everything looks good.”
He unwrapped the bundle and picked up a sparkling object that looked like one of those magnificent crowns Barbara had seen before only in stained-glass church windows. The other actors clearly liked it, and even Malcolm, who was usually so critical, nodded his approval.
“So it was worth the wait,” he said, patting Markus on the shoulder. Then he pointed at the bundle. “And the dress for our new princess?”
Markus grinned, and suddenly his face brightened. “In this dress,” he said, winking at Barbara, “even an empress could attend a reception. Everyone will fall in love with you in this dress.”
Carefully he opened the bundle, taking out a red dress embroidered with lace and glittering metal buttons.
It took Barbara’s breath away. “It’s beautiful!” she gasped. “May I try it on?”
“Please do,” Malcolm replied, motioning toward the dress. “After all, we want to see how our princess Violandra looks in it.”
Carefully, Barbara slipped into the dress, and it fit perfectly. She was happy to see how all the other actors looked at her in astonishment.
“Ah, yes, fine feathers make fine birds,” Sir Malcolm murmured. “You really do look like a princess. It’s hard to believe you’re actually the dishonorable daughter of a hangman.” He stopped to think for a while, then clapped his hands. “But even princesses have to learn their lines,” he continued in a stern voice. “So please, everyone, take your places. Let’s begin the rehearsal, before Guiscard comes snooping around here again.”
Georg was bored standing with his two nephews along the left branch of the Regnitz and watching as the children threw one stone after another into the water. Magdalena had handed the children over to him just an hour ago, but it already felt like an eternity. It was late afternoon, but night seemed endlessly far off.
“Look, Uncle Georg, see how far I can throw,” Peter called as he skipped a stone out into the river. Georg nodded approvingly and grumbled something unintelligible as his thoughts drifted away like the water in the river.
Watch the kids while the others are planning a daring escape from the dungeon. Damn, this is a woman’s job. Barbara should be doing this.
Then he remembered they’d gotten dragged into this only because of his lovestruck twin sister, and his anger rose. Even as a small child, Barbara always had gotten her way with their father, maybe because she was smarter than her twin brother and could read and work with the healing herbs far better than he could-skills that almost always impressed Father more than a flawless execution or a quick confession. And no matter what Georg did, Father always found something to complain about and to criticize. Then he accidently beat old Berchtholdt’s boy so badly that he crippled him and was thrown out of town. He was depressed and angry when he first arrived in Bamberg to live with his uncle. He would lie in bed many a night, sleepless and cursing his fate, but then he realized how free he felt in this city, far away from Father. His uncle respected him as a hangman’s apprentice and asked him to do things his father never would have allowed. And so, Georg gradually became an adult. Then, a year ago, Uncle Bartholomäus told him how his father had fled Schongau as a young man and abandoned his family. Since then, the great monument had started to crumble.
Bartholomäus had invited him to stay in Bamberg, and Georg felt truly comfortable here. Why should he return to little Schongau and a grumbling father who, even after he became an old man, would probably still be pushing him around? Why should he put up with that when he could have a far more appealing career here? Bartholomäus had assured him more than once that he could follow in his footsteps as the Bamberg executioner. But he had to put all these considerations aside now, because his sister once more was getting her way. And on top of it all, he had to play the part of a babysitter. It was enough to drive a person crazy.
“I’m cold,” little Peter whined, rubbing his fingers as he stood alongside him. He no longer seemed interested in throwing stones. “Let’s go back to our great-uncle, can we?” he begged. “Or to Aunt Katharina. She has such yummy apple fritters. Please!”
“We can’t go back to your great-uncle, because you’ll just pester him,” Georg grumbled. “And we can’t go back to Aunt Katharina, either. Your mother told me to walk around Bamberg with you for a while, so let’s do that.”
“But I don’t want to walk around the town,” little Paul wailed. “It’s so boring. I’d rather go back to old Jeremias. He has a sword just like Uncle Bartholomäus, only smaller. And a slingshot, too. I want to play at old Jeremias’s place.”
“Oh, yes, let’s go to visit Jeremias,” Peter pleaded as well. “He’ll tell us more stories. And his little dog can even do tricks. Please, please, let’s go there.”
Georg sighed. He’d picked up the children the night before at the Wild Man and had met the old crippled custodian. This Jeremias looked like a monster but was really a good-natured fellow. He’d told the boys stories and let them play with all sorts of stuff in an old trunk. The children hadn’t even wanted to go home.
“Jeremias won’t be thrilled if you go and bother him again,” Georg said, shaking his head, but suddenly the idea no longer sounded so far-fetched. He, too, was cold and bored, and he had no desire anymore to keep watching the boys throw stones while listening to their complaints.
“Fine, we can ask if he has time,” he said begrudgingly.
The children broke out in cheers and tugged at his hand. Georg grumbled a bit, but he’d made up his mind. They walked down the muddy towpath along the river and finally reached the harbor and the wedding house. The boys laughed as they ran through the door and the inner court until they were finally standing before Jeremias’s room. Out of breath, Georg knocked, and a moment later the astonished custodian was standing in the doorway.
“Oh, you again?” Jeremias laughed. “Rascally bunch! Tell me, would you like to hear more stories?”
“Oh, yes, please, Jeremias,” Peter said. “Can we come in? Uncle Georg said we could, please, please.”
Georg shrugged. “Well, I only said we could ask,” he said, embarrassed. “Their parents are really busy right now and I thought-”
“You thought, ‘Why should I put up with these rascals when that crippled Jeremias has nothing to do,’” he interrupted with a grin. “But you’re right about that. The sound of children laughing is a medicine for me, something I can never get enough of. So come on in.”
With loud shouts, the boys stormed into the room with the birdcage hanging from the ceiling and the shelves full of books. They ran to a trunk in the corner and immediately began pulling things out of it. Georg caught sight of a musty old blanket, a few wooden dolls, a battered helmet, and a sword with a handle that had broken off, which Paul immediately picked up to use as a weapon. They laughed as they tussled with the crippled dog that Georg had seen on his last visit. Meanwhile, old Jeremias sat down on the straw mattress.
“Would you like a venison pie?” he asked, handing Georg a steaming plate that had been lying on a shelf. “I just brought them from the kitchen. They taste wonderful.”
“Thanks, I’ve already eaten.” He declined with a wave and a slight smile while furtively examining Jeremias’s scarred face. The sight made him sick to his stomach. He remembered men from the Schongau leprosarium whose faces had been disfigured in the same way. Unlike the custodian of the Wild Man, those poor devils had to live outside the city because people were afraid of catching the disease. But Jeremias, too, lived a very secluded life.