The Dark Monk

by Oliver Pötzsch

  Silently she threw some pebbles, which skipped a few times before finally being swallowed by the rippling water.

  “It’s a mystery to me who’s going to clean up all the garbage in town for the next few weeks in all this hot weather,” she said more to herself than to Simon. “If the aldermen think I’m going to do it, they have another thing coming. I’d rather spend the rest of the summer in a hole in the ground.”

  Simon clapped his hands. “What a great idea! Or we can just stay here in this cove!” He started kissing her cheeks, and Magdalena resisted, though only halfheartedly.

  “Stop, Simon! If anyone sees us…”

  “Who’s going to see us?” he replied, passing his hand through her wet black hair. “The willows certainly won’t tell on us.”

  Magdalena laughed. These few hours spent down at the river or in nearby barns were all they had to show for their love. They’d always dreamt of getting married, but strict town statutes wouldn’t permit that. They’d been courting for years, and their relationship was like a desperate game of hide and seek. As the daughter of the hangman, Magdalena wasn’t allowed to associate with the higher classes. Executioners were dishonorable, just like gravediggers, bathhouse owners, barbers, and magicians. Accordingly, marriage to a physician was out of the question, but that didn’t keep the couple from clandestine meetings in the fields and barns around town. In the springtime two years ago, they’d even made a pilgrimage together to Altötting, basically the only longer time they’d been together. In the meantime, the affair between the physician and the hangman’s daughter had become a hot topic of conversation in the Schongau marketplace and taverns. Moreover, Simon’s father, old Bonifaz Fronwieser, was urging his son with increasing insistence to finally settle down with a middle-class girl. That was actually essential in advancing Simon’s career as a doctor, but he kept putting his father off—and meeting secretly with Magdalena.

  “Maybe we should go to Regensburg, too,” Simon whispered between kisses. “A serf gains his freedom after living a year and a day in the city. We could start a new life…”

  “Oh, come now, Simon.” Magdalena pushed him away. “How often you’ve promised me that! What will become of me then? Don’t forget I’m dishonorable. I’ll just end up picking up the garbage again, no matter where I am.”

  “Nobody knows me there!”

  Magdalena shrugged. “And what will I do for work? The cities are full of hungry day laborers and—”

  Simon held his finger to her lips. “Just don’t say anything now—let’s forget it for just a while.” His eyes closed, he bent down and covered her body with kisses.

  “Simon…no…” Magdalena whispered, but her resistance was already broken.

  At that moment, they heard a crackling sound in the willow tree above them.

  Magdalena looked up. Something seemed to be moving there in the branches. Suddenly she felt something warm and slimy hit her and run slowly down her forehead. She put up her hand to feel it and realized it was spit.

  She heard giggling and then saw two boys, about twelve years old, quickly climb down the tree. One of them was the youngest son of the alderman and master baker Michael Berchtholdt, with whom Magdalena had often exchanged strong words.

  “The doctor is kissing the hangman’s daughter!” the second boy shouted as he ran away. Disgusted, Magdalena wiped the rest of the spit from her forehead. Simon jumped up and shook his fist at the smirking boy.

  “You impertinent little brats!” he shouted. “I’m going to break every bone in your bodies!”

  “The hangman’s daughter can do that better than you!” cackled the second boy, disappearing into the bush. “Do it on the rack, you scum!”

  Then little Berchtholdt stopped short. He turned and looked at Simon defiantly, with clenched teeth, trembling slightly as the physician charged after him like a madman, his shirt open and his jacket undone.

  “It wasn’t me,” he squealed as Simon raised his hand to strike. “It was Benedikt! I swear! Actually, we were just looking for you because—uh—”

  Simon had raised his hand to strike the boy when he noticed that young Berchtholdt was staring open-mouthed at the half-naked hangman’s daughter, who was trying to hide as best she could behind a rock while she buttoned up her bodice. The physician gave the boy a gentle poke on the nose strong enough to send the boy reeling backward into the mud.

  “Didn’t the priest teach you any sense of decency?” Simon growled. “If you keep staring like that, God will strike you blind. So what are you up to here?”

  “My father sent me,” the boy mumbled. “He wants to see the Kuisl girl.”

  “Old Berchtholdt?” asked Magdalena stepping out from behind the rock now fully dressed. “What could he possibly want from me? Or is he sitting up there somewhere in the tree staring at me, too?”

  The Schongau master baker was known around town as a lecherous old philanderer. He’d made a pass at Magdalena some years back and been rebuffed. Since then he’d been spreading gossip that the hangman’s daughter was in league with the devil and had cast a spell on the young physician. Three years ago, the superstitious baker almost succeeded in having the midwife Martha Stechlin burned at the stake for alleged witchcraft—something Magdalena’s father had just barely been able to prevent. Since then Berchtholdt harbored a deep hatred for the Kuisls and, whenever he could, tried to make life miserable for them.

  “It’s on account of his maid, Resl,” the boy said as he continued to stare at Magdalena’s low neckline. “She has a fat stomach and is screaming like a stuck pig.”

  “Does she have a child on the way?” Magdalena asked.

  Puzzled, the boy just stood there picking his nose. “No idea. People think the devil has gotten into her. You should have a look, my father says.”

  “Aha, so now I’m good enough for him.” She looked at the boy suspiciously. “Doesn’t he want to go see Stechlin?”

  “Berchtholdt would rather cut his guts out himself than send for the midwife,” interjected Simon, who’d dressed himself in the meantime. “You know, he still thinks Stechlin is a witch and would love to see her burn. Anyway, many people in town think you’re just as good a midwife as she is, maybe even better.”

  “Enough of your nonsense!” Magdalena tied her wet hair up into a bun as she continued talking. “I only hope there’s nothing seriously wrong with Berchtholdt’s maid. Now come along, let’s go!”

  The hangman’s daughter hurried down the narrow towpath to the Lech Gate, turning around to Simon once more as she ran. “Perhaps we’ll need a professional physician, even if it’s just to go and fetch water.”

  As soon as they arrived at the narrow Zänkgasse, Magdalena was sure this was no ordinary birth. Through the thin bolted windows of the baker’s house, the screams sounded more like a cow awaiting slaughter than a woman giving birth. Farmers and workers had come running to the door of the bakery and were whispering anxiously to one another. When Simon and Magdalena approached, the group stepped back reluctantly.

  “Here comes the hangman’s daughter to drive the devil out of the baker’s maid,” somebody snarled.

  “I say they’re both witches,” an old woman whispered. “Just wait, and we’ll see them fly out through the chimney.”

  Magdalena pushed her way past the gossiping women and tried not to take what they were saying too seriously. As the hangman’s daughter, she was accustomed to people thinking of her as the spawn of Satan, and ever since she started working for the midwife, her reputation had grown even worse. Mostly it was the men who were convinced the hangman’s daughter prepared magic elixirs and love potions, and in fact, a few of the aldermen had already obtained such preparations from her father. Up to now, however, Magdalena had always refused to swindle people with such nonsense, primarily to avoid arousing even more suspicions about her being the devil’s consort. But to no avail, she had to admit to herself with a sigh.

  As the crowd continued whispering and gossiping
, she entered the bakery with Simon, where they were received by Michael Berchtholdt, who looked as white as a sheet. As so often, the scrawny little man smelled of brandy, and his eyes were ringed in red circles as if he’d passed a sleepless night. He was rubbing a dry bouquet of mugwort between his fingers to ward off evil spirits. His wife, who was just as skinny, knelt before a crucifix in a corner of the room, murmuring prayers which were, however, drowned out by the screams of the maid.

  Resl Kirchlechner lay by the fire on a bench covered with dirty straw. She writhed in pain as if a fire were burning inside. Her face, hands, and legs were covered with red pustules, and the tips of her fingers had turned a shiny black. Her belly was distended into a little round ball and almost looked like a foreign object on her otherwise spindly body. Magdalena presumed that, until now, the maid had wrapped her dress tightly around her to conceal the pregnancy.

  At just that moment, the young woman sat up suddenly as if someone had rammed a broomstick up her back. Her eyes were vacant and her dry lips opened as she let out a long drawn-out scream.

  “He’s in me!” she gasped. “My God, he’s eating through my body and tearing out my soul!” A loud moan followed. “Oh…I can feel his teeth. I can hear the smacking of his lips as he gnaws through my belly! I want to spit him out like a rotten piece of fruit!” She made a retching sound as if preparing to regurgitate something large and undigested.

  “My God, what is that?” Simon asked in horror as he stood in the doorway.

  “Can’t you see? The devil is in her!” Maria Berchtholdt moaned from the corner of the room, rocking back and forth on her knees and tearing at her hair. “He’s eating her alive from the inside out. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…”

  Her prayers turned into a wailing monotone as Michael Berchtholdt stared silently at his maid thrashing around in spasms.

  “It looks like Resl took something to abort the child,” Magdalena whispered to Simon so the others couldn’t hear. “Perhaps castoreum, or rue.” Suddenly she frowned. “Wait—she didn’t…”

  Magdalena cautiously approached Resl Kirchlechner and felt the pustules on her arm. When the maid started thrashing around again, the hangman’s daughter jumped back. “I think I know what it is now,” she whispered. “It must be St. Anthony’s Fire. Resl probably took ergot to abort the child.”

  Simon nodded. “I don’t know much about it, but I think you’re right. The pustules…the black fingertips…and then the feverish dreams. Everything points to that. My God, the poor girl…”

  Magdalena squeezed his hand and then uttered a curse under her breath. As a midwife she knew about ergot, a fungus that grew on rye and other kinds of grain and was used now and then to abort a pregnancy. But the ergot could be taken only in small doses or it would cause cramps and horrible visions in which the victims encountered witches, devils, and demons. Their fingers and toes turned black and finally fell off, and because they felt like they were being burned by fire inside, the sickness was called St. Anthony’s Fire.

  Simon turned to Michael Berchtholdt. “This girl isn’t possessed by the devil,” he snarled, pointing to the girl’s swollen belly. “Resl took ergot, and I wonder who might have given it to her.”

  “I—I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the master baker stuttered. “It may be that Resl has been fooling around with some young fellow and—”

  “No, with Satan!” his wife interrupted. “She’s been carrying on with Satan!”

  “Nonsense!” Magdalena whispered softly enough so Berchtholdt couldn’t hear it. She dabbed the face of the screaming maid with a damp cloth and tried to comfort her. But suddenly Magdalena couldn’t control herself any longer. Her eyes flashed as she turned around and glared furiously at the baker.

  “Like hell it’s Satan!” she snarled. “Everybody in town knows that you’ve been running after Resl! Everybody!”

  “What are you trying to say?” Michael Berchtholdt asked softly. His facial features looked even sharper than usual. “Are you saying that maybe I—”

  “You knocked up your maid!” Magdalena blurted out. “And so that nobody would find out, you gave her the ergot. That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

  Berchtholdt’s face turned beet-red. “How dare you talk about me like that, you fresh little hangman’s girl?” he gasped finally. “You’re forgetting that I sit on the city council and all I have to do is to give the word and you Kuisls can pack your things and leave. All it takes is one word from me!”

  “Ha! And who will give your wife her little sleeping potion then?” Magdalena jumped up and pointed at the praying Maria Berchtholdt. “How often has she come to my father for a little potion to calm down her husband at home so he will nod off after drinking his wine?”

  The baker glared in disbelief at his wife, who looked down at the ground, embarrassed, her hands folded. “Maria, is that right?”

  “Quiet!” Simon said. “It’s disgraceful to quarrel like this while the poor girl is probably dying. If we are to help, we at least have to know how much ergot it was and who gave it to her.” He looked at Michael Berchtholdt in desperation. “For God’s sake, say something! Did you give the medication to the girl?”

  The master baker remained defiantly silent, but suddenly his wife spoke up in a soft voice. “It’s true,” she whispered. “It would be a lie to say anything else. God help you, Michael! You, and all of us!”

  The baker struggled for words but gave in at last. He slumped over, sighing, and ran his hand through his hair, which was thinning and matted with flour. “Well yes, then, I—I gave it to her,” he stammered. “I—I told her to take it all at once just to make sure it worked.”

  “All at once?” Magdalena looked at him in horror. “And how much was that?”

  Berchtholdt shrugged. “A little bag, perhaps as large as my fist.”

  Simon gripped his forehead, groaning. “Then there’s no way we can save her. All we can do is try to relieve her pain.” With clenched fists he advanced toward Michael Berchtholdt. “Who in God’s name gave you so much ergot?” he snarled. “Who, damn it! What quack?”

  The baker retreated toward the doorway and finally murmured something so softly that Simon couldn’t understand him at first. “It was your father.”

  The young medicus stood there dumbfounded. “My father?”

  Berchtholdt nodded. “The stuff cost me two guilders, but your father said it was the surest way.”

  Simon had trouble speaking. “Did my father at least tell you how much to give her?”

  “Actually, he didn’t.” The baker shrugged. “He just said it would be better to take too much than too little, just to make sure it worked. So I just gave her all of it.”

  Simon was tempted to seize the baker by the throat, but at that moment the maid began to scream again—this time longer and higher-pitched than before. Resl Kirchlechner reared up so far it seemed her spine would break. Her pale thighs were spread far apart, and the white sheets between them were stained with blood. Suddenly the maid slumped down, and a bloody little body the size of a cat fell from the bench onto the floor.

  It was a stillbirth.

  Simon rushed over to the maid and felt her neck for a pulse. Her face was now relaxed and peaceful, and her dead eyes appeared to stare down at the bloody straw spread out on the floor.

  The physician closed her eyes and laid her out gently on the bench. “She’s in a better place now,” he mumbled, making the sign of the cross. “with no more pain, or demons, or people who would do her harm.”

  For a moment all was silent, except for the whimpering of the baker’s wife. Finally Michael Berchtholdt came to his senses. He walked over to the fetus still lying on the floor next to the stove, picked it up gingerly, and walked out through the back door into the garden. When he returned a while later, he wiped his muddy hands on his trousers and attempted a slight smile that froze midway into a grimace.

  “Resl is dead, and that’s a shame,” he said
in a soft voice. “I’ll see to it that she gets a decent burial in St. Sebastian’s Cemetery with a priest, funeral meal, and all the trappings. I’ll also see that her parents are taken care of financially. As for everything else”—he gave an embarrassed smile—“we don’t want word to get around that the devil had possessed our maid. That could end badly. And as the young physician here can certainly attest, Resl had a high fever—that can lead to bad dreams, can’t it?” The baker looked at Simon expectantly.

  “You don’t seriously believe that—” the physician started to say, but Berchtholdt raised his hand, interrupting him.

  “I know your house calls are expensive. How much? Tell me—five guilders? Ten? How much do you ask?” He pulled a trunk out from behind the table and began to rummage through it.

  “Just keep your money and choke on it!” Magdalena shouted, slamming the lid closed on Berchtholdt’s fingers. He pulled them out, whining and clenching his teeth. His wife looked back and forth from one to the other as if they were ghosts. Simon assumed the shock was too much for her. Maria Berchtholdt had decided to withdraw into her own world.

  “I’m going to tell everyone—everyone!—that you jumped on your maid like a randy old goat and let her die of ergot poisoning,” the hangman’s daughter whispered. “It’s always we women who are expected to pay for men’s lechery. Well, not this time!”

  The baker’s little weasel eyes took on a glassy sheen. “Aha, and who is going to believe you?” he snarled. “A hangman’s daughter and the horny son of an army doctor. What a pair! Go on, go and tell the people, and I promise I’ll make your life hell!”

  “My life is hell already.” Magdalena turned to go and beckoned Simon to follow.

  With a facetious bow, the physician took leave of the alderman and master baker Michael Berchtholdt. “If the hemorrhoids in your ass itch or your bowels get plugged up,” Simon said in a cloying tone, “you know where you can find me.”