The Devil's Pawn

by Oliver Pötzsch

  With a silent wave of his hand, the Dominican signaled for Greta to sit down. He sat opposite her and studied her, his fingers playing with the wooden rosary hanging from his neck. His mouth was half-open, and Greta could hear his labored breathing. She decided to hold his gaze, which was difficult in view of the maimed visage. After a few moments, Lahnstein began to smile, which made Greta shiver.

  “The daughter of the famous Doctor Faustus,” said Lahnstein. “And it looks as if she is his equal in pride. I like that. Most people can’t bear to look at me. They turn away in horror.” He fingered the scarcely healed scraps of meat on his face. “Strange, isn’t it, how the absence of such a small part of the human body calls the whole person into question? It doesn’t take much to turn a man into a monstrosity.”

  “What do you want from me?” asked Greta quietly. “If you’re here to take me to torture—”

  Lahnstein waved dismissively. “I don’t need glowing pincers or a rack to make conversation. In my experience, confessions made during torture are to be taken with a grain of salt.”

  “What do you want, then?”

  “I want to make conversation. About your father.”

  Greta said nothing for a while. She found it hard to even think of her father’s name—it burned like acid inside her. “Trust me—I know nothing about him,” she said eventually. “At the end of the day, he was always a stranger to me. Especially in the last few weeks.”

  “Your own father?” Lahnstein wrinkled his forehead. “And I’m supposed to believe that? How dumb do you think I am?” He leaned back. “I want to know everything, from the beginning. I have time.”

  Greta thought. What did she have to lose? And so she started to talk while outside the morning sun slowly rose higher. She saw no reason to hide anything. Johann might have been her father, but there was nothing left that tied her to him. He was a murderer and maybe worse. And besides, she could understand Lahnstein’s motivation. Because of her father, the Dominican now looked like a monster—he had a right to learn about his enemy.

  She told Lahnstein how she had met the great Faust when she was a young girl and how the two of them and Karl had traveled the German Empire and beyond as jugglers. She also told him about Faust’s disease, the pact with Tonio, about their visit at Leonardo da Vinci’s, and, finally, why they had come to Tiffauges. The words poured out of her like bitter bile, like poison, as if she needed to rid herself of her father once and for all.

  Lahnstein listened in silence, only occasionally interrupting with brief questions. “What about the lapis philosophorum, the philosopher’s stone?” he asked when Greta reached the end of her tale after about an hour. “Did he ever mention it to you?”

  Greta shook her head. “I doubt my father is privy to that secret. And, like I said, that wasn’t the reason for our journey to Tiffauges. Faust wanted to face Tonio, his greatest enemy, who he believes to be the immortal Gilles de Rais, or even the devil himself.”

  “He has to know the secret, damn it!” Lahnstein rose and started to pace the room. The stump of his nose quivered as if he was trying to pick up a scent. “The French king is also seeking the philosopher’s stone, and so are the Habsburgs. Whoever finds the formula first rules Europe, and with Europe, the world. Especially now that warfare is becoming more and more expensive. Mercenaries, equipment, provisions—it all costs horrendous amounts of money.” He spun around, his eyes small and narrow. “Do you believe your father fled to King Francis to sell him the stone?”

  “Certainly not.”

  Greta looked at the papal representative, thinking he no longer struck her as a monster but more as a haunted man. She almost felt sorry for him. The pope had become obsessed by an idea and sent his most loyal servant on an impossible mission—a mission for which Lahnstein had already paid dearly.

  “The French king is only after Faust because you are chasing him,” she said. “It was you who gave Francis the idea that he knew how to make gold. I’ll say it again: my father doesn’t know that secret.”

  “But we have it on good authority that Gilles de Rais personally told him during a summoning of the dead.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “That is beside the point.” Viktor von Lahnstein continued to pace the room and muttered, more to himself, “Faust has invoked Gilles de Rais before, just like he was trying to do last night in the crypt with those other heretics. The proof is irrevocable. But this time we got there early, and the whole nest of heretics will burn!”

  “There . . . there is something else,” said Greta reluctantly. “Something I want you to know.” She raised her chin and spoke with a firm voice. “I am pregnant. By John Reed. That’s the man my father killed down in the crypt.”

  Viktor von Lahnstein turned around, looking as if she’d interrupted his train of thought. “Indeed?” He didn’t seem as surprised as Greta had expected. More like his hunch had just been confirmed. “Hmm, interesting.” He rocked his head from side to side. “By that former royal household guard? Because that’s what he was, right? My spies at the French court told me about John Reed’s treason.” He gave a devilish smile. “Faust’s assistant is such a handsome young man. I would have put my money on Karl Wagner. You’ve known each other for a long time.”

  “Where is Karl?” asked Greta. “How is he doing?”

  “Who knows?” Lahnstein shrugged. “He probably doesn’t even know himself.”

  “What . . . what are you saying?”

  “The devil entered his body during the ceremony, and I think we have lost him. He doesn’t even flinch when glowing splinters are driven under his fingernails. Believe me, we have tried a lot in the last few hours. If you ask me, the father of your child is better off dead than insane like that poor dog.”

  “Oh no!” Greta gave a groan. “My God, Karl . . . my dear Karl.” Greta’s world became a little darker still. It seemed that the only true friend she’d ever had was gone now.

  “Forget him,” said Lahnstein. “We’ll take him to Rome in case he comes to his senses and we can question him. But to be honest, I doubt that he’ll be of any use to us.” Lahnstein stepped toward Greta, scrutinizing her. “Unlike you.”

  “I already told you—I know nothing. I . . .” Greta faltered. Everything around her seemed black and gray, only her unborn child keeping her alive. God was as far away as a tiny, dying star. “If you torture me, I’m sure I will say many things. But they will all be lies. I’ll tell you anything you want to hear, but it won’t be the truth!”

  “Dear child, I want to ask you a question.” Lahnstein leaned down close to Greta, and she smelled something rotten—probably the poorly healed stump of his nose. “A very important question. I want you to consider your answer well.” She noticed now how gaunt the Dominican was. With his disfigured face and the wide robe, he resembled a scarecrow.

  “Have you ever wondered if you stand on the right side?” asked Lahnstein calmly. The rosary dangled in front of Greta’s face.

  “How . . . how do you mean?”

  “Up until now you’d assumed we were the villains, right? We chase you, your father, and your dear friends, hunting you like animals to take you to Rome and hand you over to the pope and the Inquisition.” Viktor von Lahnstein took a step back and smoothed his white robe with his hands. “Try to look at it from the other side. Your father is a heretic, a Satanist—that is proven. He summoned the devil before all the delegates of the empire and set his dog on the papal nuncio. And you saw for yourself what came to pass in the crypt last night. That was no peaceful evening mass but a devilish ritual. Faust came to Tiffauges to invoke Gilles de Rais, his master, the one he calls Tonio. And he stopped at nothing to achieve this.”

  The papal representative leaned down to her again and reached for the small angel the old midwife had given her. “What’s that?”

  “A . . . protective amulet,” said Greta. “It reminds me that God is with me even in the darkest hour. That I can always pray to Him.”
r />   Lahnstein raised an eyebrow. “You pray much?”

  “Daily. Even more since my father started to change. But not even God could save him.” Greta’s expression darkened. “His soul was probably already lost.”

  “True enough.” Lahnstein raised a hand. “I’m guessing he told you that he wanted to face Tonio to destroy him. But you know that wasn’t true, don’t you? Your father is a master of deception. He deceived his assistant and even his own daughter. He is a Satanist who called upon the devil with those heretics. He betrayed you, he betrayed your beloved, he betrayed his faithful assistant—he betrayed you all. He murdered the man you loved!” He placed his cold, heavy hand on her shoulder. “Your father is evil, Greta. It is time that you recognize the truth.”

  Greta didn’t reply; conflicting feelings raged inside her. Lahnstein was right. Her father had made a pact with the devil. He was a Satanist. Sure, he hadn’t always been evil—not wholly, anyway, because she had seen his good side—but the devil had steadily gained more power over him. Her father had only ever done that which best served himself. In order to reach Tonio he had even murdered someone and forsaken his daughter.

  A terrible thought came to her. If her father possessed such an evil side, then what about her? Hadn’t she also inherited other unholy talents from him, like reading palms? Perhaps she would someday choose the dark path, too. And what were the implications for her unborn child? She had to protect her child!

  “I want you to pray with me, Greta, daughter of Faust,” said Lahnstein suddenly.

  He led her away from the table and gently pushed her to her knees. Greta felt like she was in a trance. Lahnstein knelt down beside her and folded his hands.

  “O most gracious Lord in heaven,” he called out loudly, his head raised toward the ceiling. “Behold this woman who has lost the right path. Let us pray for her. For her and her father, whom the devil has taken!”

  “Evil is like a disease,” he said to Greta. “Like an ulcer. It must be cauterized before it spreads—even in families. Or it might be healed in time by the right faith. Maybe it isn’t too late for you, Greta. For you and your child. If you decide on the right side.”

  Greta closed her eyes and prayed in silence. It felt good to find something to hold on to in this bleak world. Amid the horror that had been surrounding her, her faith had grown steadily. Yes, she had experienced the devil, so how could she doubt that God existed and watched over her? God would stand by her in this darkest hour.

  “Are you deciding on the right side, Greta?” asked Lahnstein forcefully. He was still kneeling next to her. “There is still time to turn around.”

  “What do you expect of me?” she asked.

  Lahnstein squeezed her hand. “I want you to accompany me to Rome. Not as a prisoner, but as a servant of good. Your father is one of the most powerful weapons of the devil. If his own daughter gives herself to God, we cause more damage to the devil than if we burn you.” Lahnstein gave a thin smile. “Do you want to join our side? Do you want to serve God, Greta?”

  “I . . . I do.” As soon as the words were out, a pleasant warmth flooded Greta. Last night had finally opened her eyes. In her prayers and during her many church visits at Amboise, God had been calling for her, but only now had she heard Him. Lahnstein stood on the side of the pope, the leader of Christendom, while her father had joined forces with the devil. Until now she hadn’t been capable of seeing that. Lahnstein offered her a return to the bosom of the church. He gave her life and the chance as a mother and believer to do penance for what she had done, for what her father had done—and for what he might still do. Her child would grow up in Rome, a place that was still a shield against all things evil, all things devilish.

  And yet she couldn’t agree, not while poor Karl, her last, her only friend still suffered so horribly for the sins of his master.

  “I will come with you,” she said to Lahnstein with a grave voice. “I will pray for my immortal soul and for the whole of Christendom. I will join the battle against the devil. But on one condition: you set Karl free. No more torture.”

  Lahnstein thought about it briefly, then shrugged. “All right. The poor fellow has been tortured enough. If his condition doesn’t improve, I will send him to a hospital, I promise. Let the monks look after his befuddled soul. And you come to Rome with me and serve the true faith.”

  He held out his hand to Greta. When she grasped it, she thought of the pact her father had once made with Tonio. This was a pact, too.

  But it was a pact with the good side.

  Greta’s grip was strong and determined. “We go to Rome,” she said, more to herself. “May my child grow up in a better world than this one. May God protect this child and all who resist the devil.”

  When Viktor von Lahnstein left the room, Hagen was waiting for him. He had stood guard outside the door the entire time.

  “No torture,” said Lahnstein. “And no execution. She is coming to Rome with us.”

  The giant raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Lahnstein knew that Hagen wasn’t stupid; the big man probably drew his own conclusions. They had been chasing Faust for months now. He had slipped through their fingers in the last moment at Chinon, where they had risked everything and lost a number of men. They were still in the middle of enemy territory, like a band of rogue mercenaries, perpetually expecting French soldiers who might block their way. When there were no watch fires on the towers of Tiffauges Castle, they had struck. But yet again Faust had managed to escape, and now they weren’t even allowed to question his daughter.

  Instead the order was to take her to Rome.

  Viktor von Lahnstein clenched his teeth. It wasn’t easy being the personal envoy of Pope Leo X. But there were higher goals, and that was why he had to force back his thirst for revenge, as tough as it was.

  The Lord will reward me.

  “Is the castle in our control?” he asked Hagen.

  The tall man nodded. Hagen was the only one who didn’t seem at all uneasy about Lahnstein’s wound. He had probably seen worse on the battlefields. “We found the guards in a banquet hall, drunk and drugged to the brim. We picked them up like lambs. Should we . . . ?”

  Lahnstein waved his hand. “Let them live, and that drunkard of a steward, too. We don’t want to risk a war over this. We aren’t carrying a banner, but who knows what rumors folk in the village will spread later. The important thing now is that we get away quickly.”

  Hagen cleared his throat. “A horse disappeared from outside the castle.”

  “Faust,” hissed Lahnstein. “That fellow is truly in league with the devil. Well, never mind.” He practically squeezed the words through his teeth. “As you know, our mission is a different one now.”

  The raven had arrived at first light. It had been the same raven that had been transferring messages between Rome and Lahnstein for a while now. It was a clever old bird; Lahnstein guessed it came from the pope’s famous menagerie. It had carried a tiny folded letter bearing the papal seal, and Lahnstein had wondered how the raven had been able to fly to Tiffauges this fast. If it hadn’t come from the pope, Lahnstein would have thought it was sorcery.

  But something else had been even more uncanny. The instructions in the letter had been very clear.

  Bring Faust’s daughter to Rome. She is with child.

  How on earth could the Holy Father know that Faust’s daughter was pregnant?

  Viktor von Lahnstein smiled. At least the girl was eating out of the palm of his hand now. He had been highly convincing, he thought. Faust’s daughter would serve them loyally. Perhaps she might really be of use someday.

  “What about the other heretics?” asked Hagen.

  “We burn them,” replied Lahnstein curtly, glad he could focus on practical matters again. “The whole lot. Today, here at the castle. Before the drunk steward figures out what’s going on here. We must be far away from Tiffauges before King Francis learns of this. It’s not far to the sea from here. By the time Francis finds out
, we’ll be well on our way to Gibraltar.”

  “It takes a while to burn more than a dozen people,” said Hagen.

  “Use dry wood and douse the bastards in oil.”

  Lahnstein strode away with his head held high. He couldn’t satisfy his longing for revenge on Faust, not yet, at least, but those heretics would feel the collective power of his hatred. Oh yes, they would!

  And yet he wasn’t entirely certain just then if he always served the right side.

  A few hours later, Greta walked across the courtyard, accompanied by the watchful gaze of Hagen, over to the other tower by the north wall. She still felt a vast emptiness, beyond anger and despair, even beyond grief. But now a small light glowed inside her. She touched the amulet around her neck.

  God doesn’t forsake me!

  Since she had accepted Lahnstein’s offer to travel to Rome with him, she was permitted to move freely within the castle, though Hagen always hovered nearby. Farther back, the Swiss mercenaries stacked up wood and bundles of brush for the great spectacle that was supposed to take place that evening. The men laughed and joked about the impending execution. The burning Satanists would make an imposing image beneath the night sky, and their screams would be heard for many miles. Just like the screams that had been coming from the torture chamber all day. Greta felt sick, and she thought about how narrowly she had escaped the same fate. She felt a surge of pity, but then she remembered that those people had probably murdered children. They were followers of the devil and had to pay the price.

  She turned away and climbed down the slippery, moss-covered steps that led to the dungeons where the prisoners awaited their deaths. The castle guards had been locked up with their steward in another part of the castle, where they would remain until Lahnstein and his men departed.

  Strangely, there was no crying and wailing coming from these prison cells. Greta heard some voices sing strange-sounding chorales while others laughed hysterically; one person hurled themselves against their door, shouting: “The lord awaits us! He will rain fire and brimstone upon you all! Victory is ours! Victory is ours!”