by Lorentz, Iny
Meanwhile, Melcher was strolling through back streets and eating some cake. Looking around, he spotted Utz standing beneath a wine pavilion, and he grinned complacently.
The wagon driver stood up and approached him, cup in hand. “Greetings, Melcher. I expected to see you sooner.”
“I couldn’t get away from the shop as quickly as I wanted,” the boy lied.
Utz smirked at the sight of the half-eaten piece of cake in Melcher’s sticky hands. “If you loll around like this when you work for a nobleman, he’ll kick you out soon enough. Maybe I should look for another helper.”
Melcher quickly gulped down the last bite of cake and wiped his hands on the seat of his pants. Putting his arm around Melcher’s shoulder, Utz leaned down to him. “Did Steinzell go to see his friends?”
“Yes, and he told his servant he wouldn’t be back before nightfall. Knowing him, he won’t return until midnight.”
“Good. Then we’ll do it tonight. Do you know your part?”
Melcher gazed admiringly at the wagon driver. “Oh yes. I’ll do everything exactly as you said.”
“I know you will.” Utz grinned, patted the youth on the cheek, and handed him the half-full cup of wine. “Come, lad, and drink. You richly deserve it.”
IX.
While Melcher was drinking the rest of Utz’s wine, Philipp von Steinzell was also tightly holding a cup. Sitting in the lodging occupied by the knight Leonhard von Sterzen, he was listening to the men who were trying to draw up a peace agreement between their feudal lord Friedrich von Habsburg and Kaiser Sigismund. Philip was bored by all the political talk. These meetings were only bearable for him because Sterzen’s tavern served an excellent wine. Philipp emptied his cup and waved a servant over to fill it again.
Talks continued far into the night, and Philipp von Steinzell drank many more mugs of wine so that he could endure the discussions. When the men finally got up to leave, Philipp was so drunk, he could barely stand. Only his strong will drove him, limping, toward the door, where a servant handed him a torch to light his way home. The cold air pierced his coat and his legs nearly gave way under him, but the habits of many nights of carousing kept him going and led him to the cooper’s house.
Finding the door to the courtyard ajar, the young nobleman staggered in contentedly, threw the torch in a corner, and emptied his bladder of some of the wine against the wall of the house. The apprentice Melcher seemed to have expected him, for he carefully opened the front door and, holding a hooded lantern, lit his path inside. As Philipp staggered toward him, the boy placed the hood back over the lantern. Philipp could sense a shadowy figure next to him, but before he could react, a hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his cry. At the same time, something bored into his chest, and a searing pain shot through his alcohol-clouded consciousness. Then he expired like a snuffed-out candle.
“The fellow won’t bother you again,” Utz whispered to Melcher. “Now hurry, close the door, and put the hood back over the lantern so we can carry him into the house.”
In the slit of light that the lantern cast over the corpse, Utz checked where he had stabbed the man. “Right in the heart. Nobody could do better.”
Wrapping the young nobleman in a blanket he’d brought along, Utz grabbed him under the shoulders and lifted him up. Melcher held the lantern handle between his teeth and carried the dead man’s legs. After Utz had removed a few bloody drips from the ground, they dragged the body into the house. It would have been impossible to carry Steinzell up to his room, since the creaking stairs would have awakened the people sleeping in the house, so Utz laid the nobleman on the bottom step, removed the blanket, and pulled the dagger out of the wound. A torrent of blood shot out and ran across the floor. Utz nodded contentedly, as now it looked like the nobleman had been stabbed at the foot of the stairs.
He stretched out his hand. “Where’s Flühi’s knife?”
Melcher tugged a thin, well-sharpened knife with a large handle from his belt. “It wasn’t easy to snatch it without being noticed,” he said, hoping for a compliment.
Utz patted him on the shoulder, then thrust Master Mombert’s knife into the corpse’s wound. “Done. After I leave, close the doors in the courtyard and at the front of the house behind me, and go lie down in bed. When the guards come to question you, say you were sleeping all night and didn’t hear a thing. Do you understand?”
When the apprentice didn’t respond quickly enough, Utz pointed at the dead man. “Take a good look at him, Melcher. If you don’t do exactly what I say, you’ll soon look just like him.”
Melcher understood that the wagon driver was deadly serious, and he was afraid for the first time. Though trembling, he still wasn’t ready to let himself be intimidated. “You promised to find me a job with a nobleman. When will that be?”
Utz placed his hand on the apprentice’s shoulder. “Tomorrow. After the murder has been discovered and Master Mombert is sitting in jail, go to the harbor and get on board Captain Hartbrecht’s boat. He will take you to Lindau and hand you over to the caretaker of your new master.”
Hearing a noise on the floor above them, Utz quickly blew out Melcher’s lantern so that both of them were standing in the dark. Then he grabbed the boy and took him to the front door. “Be careful, and remember what I’ve told you,” Utz warned the apprentice. Then he slipped silently away into the darkness.
X.
The corpse wasn’t found until the next morning. Mombert Flühi stumbled over the body at daybreak, initially thinking that Philipp von Steinzell had fallen asleep drunk at the foot of the stairway. Just as he was about to call the young nobleman’s servant, he discovered a dark spot on the floor, then saw the knife handle lodged in Philipp’s chest. In his agitation, he didn’t notice that the knife was his, but instead stepped back and shouted helplessly.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what a tragedy!”
His wife stuck her head out of the bedroom. “What’s the trouble, Mombert?”
“It’s the young nobleman Steinzell. He’s dead.” Mombert stepped aside so his wife could examine the body.” There’s a knife in his chest. Call Wilmar and tell him to run to the governor and report the crime.”
Frieda Flühi nodded and rushed off in her huge, flowing nightshirt, speaking to the journeyman in her shrill voice. Moments later, Wilmar came dashing around the corner, staring at the dead man while he stuffed his shirt into his trousers.
“Is he really dead?” He didn’t exactly sound sorry.
Mombert told him to hurry and at the same time wondered if he should move the corpse aside so the stairway was clear. But then he decided that the governor would want to see where the nobleman had died, and the master left everything untouched.
The sun was already rising when Wilmar returned with a representative of the royal governor. The man bowed slightly so as not to hit his helmet against the top of the doorway and walked over to Master Mombert.
“What’s all that nonsense the boy is telling me about a murder?”
“The body is here.” Mombert stepped aside and pointed at Philipp.
The man looked into the corpse’s face. “Good God, that is indeed young Steinzell. Master Mombert, this is a serious matter. Do you know how it happened?”
Mombert shook his head, not knowing what to make of it. “I can only imagine that Philipp got into an argument with someone who stabbed him to death. He was probably going up to his room but collapsed here on the stairs.”
As the cooper was explaining his assumptions, the official leaned down to examine the nobleman. “With a stab wound like this, the man wouldn’t have gotten more than a few steps. The knife went straight into his heart, so he must have been stabbed right here.”
“Impossible,” Master Mombert exclaimed. “If there had been a fight in the hallway, my wife and I would have heard it. In addition, the murderer would not have been able t
o lock the door from the inside.”
“Unless he stayed in the house,” the official declared in a sinister voice.
Irritated, Mombert shook his fist. “That’s ridiculous. Neither my assistants nor my apprentices would have been able to dispatch this man—he’s as strong as an ox. And his own servant certainly didn’t kill him.”
“I didn’t say that.” Turning to Mombert, the official looked at him darkly. “You must admit there is something very strange here—a dead man who must have been murdered by someone still in the house this morning, as the door was locked.”
“That would mean the murderer is still here.” Mombert spun around to warn his wife and daughter to be careful. Just then, the door opened to the little cubicle where his oldest apprentice slept, and Melcher stepped out. He yawned several times, then saw the bailiff and stepped closer.
“What’s happened here . . . ?” he asked, pointing to the corpse. “Master Mombert, isn’t that your knife?”
Mombert Flühi stared wide-eyed at the weapon sticking out of the wound. It was in fact his knife with a staghorn handle set in silver.
“Is that right?” the official asked in a severe voice.
Mombert raised his arms helplessly. “Yes, that’s the knife I use at dinner. It’s normally kept on the board next to the kitchen door with the other silverware. The murderer must have taken it from there and used it in the crime.”
The bailiff seemed to have reached the obvious conclusion, sneering as he stared at Mombert. “That’s just as improbable as your nonsense about the nobleman being stabbed on the street, then being dragged to the house, since there isn’t a drop of blood between here and there. Yet he bled like a stuck pig on the stairwell. And, yes, I forgot, before he died, he must have carefully locked the door.”
Mombert spun around in shock. “You don’t mean to imply I stabbed Philipp von Steinzell, do you?”
The official folded his arms. “Doesn’t that seem like a logical determination? Plus, I’ve heard that you’ve cursed the nobleman and threatened him.”
“Yes, I’ve had a few angry words with him because he wouldn’t leave my daughter, Hedwig, alone,” Mombert admitted reluctantly.
The official pointed to the knife in the victim’s chest. “Last night it went beyond mere threats.”
“By God, it wasn’t me. I swear by all the saints.” Mombert stepped back, horrified, and reached for his wife.
“It can’t be true,” she shouted at the bailiff. “My husband was lying next to me all night.”
“And he didn’t get up once to go to the outhouse? And you didn’t close your eyes once all night? Go tell your lies to someone else, woman. As for you, Mombert Flühi, admit you stabbed the nobleman to protect your daughter from him, or you’ll make things even harder for yourself. If the judge is lenient, he won’t break you on the wheel while you’re still alive, but he’ll instead have you strangled first so you won’t feel any pain.”
Mombert Flühi panicked. “By God and all the saints, I swear I didn’t kill him!”
“If you want to deny it, I can’t stop you, but you’ll have to confess everything when they torture you.”
The official summoned his assistants and tried to grab Master Mombert, who let out a shriek and ran into the shop. Two more men had come in through the back door, and they seized him there.
“Now you’ve practically confirmed your guilt.” It was clear that the official was happy to have solved the case so quickly. While the guards tied Mombert’s hands behind his back and led him across the front yard and out onto the street like a calf on its way to slaughter, the cooper kept cursing, praying, and swearing his innocence. The official turned to Frieda Flühi again.
“I’ll have the corpse picked up right away. In the meantime, you can pack up some things for your husband.”
The official’s words reminded Mombert that he was wearing nothing but his nightshirt. The shame of being led like that through the streets made him burst into tears.
XI.
After the official left, a deathly stillness pervaded the house. Frieda Flühi could barely stand up and had to lean against the wall. Hedwig, who had been hiding with Wina, came out of her room to ask what had happened. Frieda’s voice failed her, and Wilmar told the girl about her father’s arrest.
“Father never would have killed the nobleman,” Hedwig whispered tearfully.
“Of course it wasn’t him. I would have noticed if he got out of bed.” Frieda was sobbing so hard that it was almost impossible to understand her. She clung to her daughter, wailing, and Wina wrung her hands, lamenting the ill fortune now visited also on Matthis Schärer’s brother-in-law. Wilmar suddenly remembered the nobleman’s servant and hoped he could blame him for the murder, but when he went upstairs and opened the door to the man’s room, he found him lying on his straw sack and snoring. He had no blood on his hands, and his sour breath revealed that he had helped himself to his master’s wine closet the day before. Wilmar was convinced the man couldn’t be the killer, either.
Downstairs, a group of armed mercenaries appeared, and their leader, a brawny fellow wearing a brightly checkered outfit, stared brazenly at the mistress of the house.
“I’m looking for Frieda, Mombert’s wife, and Hedwig, their daughter,” he declared harshly.
“I am Frieda Flühi, and this is my daughter, Hedwig.” She looked at the man, puzzled.
“Along with Mombert Flühi, you are both accused of the murder of the honorable nobleman Philipp von Steinzell, and I have been ordered to take you into custody.”
Hedwig screamed and tried to hide behind her mother, but Frieda Flühi, as pale as chalk, leaned against the wall. “This has to be a bad joke.”
Instead of answering, the leader beckoned to one of his men, who bound her hands and wrapped a robe around her waist with practiced moves.
“Where are you taking us?” Frieda asked.
“To the tower, as the dungeon is already full,” the man quickly informed her.
Hedwig turned ashen and stared at her mother anxiously, but Frieda looked back with resignation. Frieda addressed the leader again.
“Couldn’t you have given us some time to get dressed? Or do you mean to drag us through the streets in our nightgowns?”
The man looked as though he would just as soon take them naked, but he finally allowed Wina to wrap coats around the two women’s shoulders. Then his servants shoved the mother and daughter out toward the street, leading them past a crowd of onlookers already gathered in front of the house.
The apprentices and maids had all run off right after their master was arrested, so only Wilmar and Wina remained behind. He found it impossible to talk to the old lady—she whined and prayed as if expecting heaven to open up and the Last Judgment to sweep down over the earth. Wandering helplessly through the shop, the journeyman was unable to process what had just happened. Could kind, gentle Hedwig really have conspired to murder Philipp? No, he knew with certainty that neither she nor her parents were capable of that.
At first, Wilmar was convinced it would all turn out to be a mistake, and he expected to see Mombert Flühi and the two women come back at any moment. While he waited, he sat down in the shop and, out of habit, started to make another barrel.
Then a thought occurred to him, making him break out in a cold sweat. Would the bailiffs view him as a coconspirator and come back to arrest him, too? As all citizens well knew, anyone caught in the wheels of justice could hardly expect mercy. Kicking the barrel hoop away, he streaked out of the house in a panic and didn’t stop running until he saw the Augustine Gate in front of him. There, he leaned against a wall and tried to decide what to do.
In his mind, he could picture Hedwig, bound and sitting in the damp, dark dungeon of the tower, unable even to dry her own tears. He felt like a coward and a traitor. He loved Hedwig more than anything in the world, a
nd yet he hadn’t lifted a finger to help her.
A while back, his master had emotionally recounted how Marie, his niece, had likewise been locked in the tower five years before. The day after her arrest, the girl had sworn by the Virgin Mary she had been violated by three men during the night. Except for Master Mombert, no one had believed her, however, and so she was whipped and driven out of town. Upon first hearing the story, Wilmar couldn’t imagine that a city bailiff would have anything to do with such a vile scheme, but now he was tormented by the possibility that Hedwig could be similarly attacked—and he didn’t think that the men who had led Hedwig and her mother away looked any more trustworthy than the mercenary rabble roaming about the town and pestering women.
Wilmar wanted nothing more than to run through the Augustine Gate and keep going until he got to his father’s house, where he could close the door behind him on all this. But he gave a contemptuous snort for his own faintheartedness, then started walking back through the city, unsure of what to do. If he wanted to help Hedwig, he’d have to think of something soon, but his head was as dry as an old wineskin.
XII.
After Rupert Splendidus checked to make sure that no one had entered the hallway and could overhear him, he closed the door and walked to the table where Konrad von Keilburg, his half brother, was having breakfast. Konrad was unrestrained in his love of good food and drink and as a young man had impressed his peers with his size and strength. Now that he was thirty-five years of age, however, his eyes had almost vanished behind huge fleshy folds, and his stomach bulged out so far, he could no longer see his feet. It was uncertain whether he could still swing a sword or carry a shield, and there wasn’t a horse anywhere able to carry him. Rupert was careful not to underestimate his half brother, however. When Konrad became enraged, he was like an angry bear that wouldn’t let go until his opponent lay dead at his feet.