Magdalena reached Georg, and the siblings laughed happily as they embraced. They had last seen each other over two years ago, when Georg came to Schongau for a visit, and Magdalena thought her brother had changed. He was almost nineteen now, a grown man and nearly as tall as his father, but more sinewy and almost sturdier. It was hard to believe he was Barbara’s twin brother. Magdalena thought about how she used to sing lullabies to Georg and Barbara. It seemed like only yesterday, but now she was looking at a man.
“I can hardly call you little brother now,” she said and pinched Georg’s biceps. “What’s Uncle feeding you? Roast pork and sausages every day?”
“With dumplings on the side,” Georg replied with a grin. He rubbed his belly with mock sadness. “But I haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast. It’s about time for a feed.”
“The trip from Bamberg was worse than getting stretched on the rack,” Uncle Bartholomäus complained when he reached them. He, too, had the Kuisl nose and broad body. Nearly all his hair had fallen out in recent years, so now he was almost bald. “I don’t even know why I bothered coming,” he groused. “I only hope there’ll be some decent beer.”
Magdalena smiled. The two brothers, Bartholomäus and Jakob, couldn’t stand each other, but they were very much alike when it came to grumbling and growling. That seemed to be another Kuisl characteristic.
“The beer here is excellent, Uncle,” she assured him and massaged her temples with a grimace of pain. “That is, if there’s any left. Some of the hangmen arrived yesterday and had a big night. Especially Father and Deibler.”
“And you, too, by the looks of it,” Georg said with a laugh.
“Well, I’ll go and see if there’s a keg left for us,” Bartholomäus said. “I’m so thirsty, I could drink the Isar dry.”
He limped ahead, and Georg looked at the narrow, foul-smelling lanes of Au. “What a nice neighborhood for the meeting.” He grinned. “I should have known, actually. The Vienna hangman once said he’d like to know where that big city of Au was, because he was hanging so many men from there.”
“Don’t tell Barbara that one,” Magdalena said. “She’s upset enough about our accommodation as it is.”
Georg beamed at the mention of his twin sister. The two of them had been inseparable as children. Magdalena guessed that Georg was part of the reason Barbara had agreed to come to Munich in the end. She briefly considered telling her brother about Barbara’s pregnancy, but the timing didn’t seem right. Barbara might tell her brother herself soon—the twins always used to share their worries.
“Believe it or not, I sometimes dream about my dear sister,” Georg said with a smile. “I still know exactly what she looks like, even though I haven’t seen her in ages. How is she?”
Magdalena sighed. “Not too happy, thanks to Father’s plans.” She told Georg about their father’s intentions and the three candidates from the executioners’ guild. “I’ve already met one of them, the son of the Passau hangman,” she said. “A drunkard and as ugly as sin.”
“A good match, though,” Georg objected. “Passau is a large town, lots of work for a hangman.”
“Now you sound like Father.” Magdalena shook her head, then she pointed at the Radl Inn. “She’s upstairs with Sophia. I’m guessing the boys will be there, too, waiting for you.”
“Sophia?” Georg frowned, then he remembered. “Of course, you wrote about her. I can’t believe you have three children now. How time flies.”
Magdalena gave a thin smile. “Well, you should have come back to Schongau, little brother. Father isn’t getting any younger.”
“Who knows, maybe I will,” Georg replied grimly. “Perhaps even sooner than I’d like.”
“How do you mean?”
He waved dismissively. “You’ll find out soon enough. Now let me say hello to everyone. We have much to talk about.”
Together they crossed the icy road to the Radl Inn. Magdalena remained silent, racking her brain about Georg’s last comment. What could he mean? Perhaps Barbara wasn’t the only Kuisl in trouble.
The meeting of the executioners started punctually when the bells struck noon, in a side room of the inn that was usually used for weddings. Magdalena assumed the innkeeper wasn’t shouting today’s meeting from the rooftops. Who liked a dozen dishonorable hangmen in their tavern? Gradually, she came to realize her father was right: this guild meeting couldn’t take place in Munich—if it would be anywhere, it would be here in Au, the home of scoundrels, unfortunates, and other stranded characters.
Magdalena leaned against the wall near the door, watching the hustle and bustle. Almost all twelve executioners had arrived by now, accompanied by many journeymen and several apprentices, bringing the total to around thirty men. Magdalena thought how different they each looked, yet they had one thing in common: they all were paid workers of death.
Many of the executioners present had become wealthy doing what they did. Several of them wore expensive garments, some even brightly colored ones, making them look like exotic birds. Their faces were hard, their expressions reserved, and yet they seemed to come to life here among their own kind. Magdalena spotted her father deep in conversation with Uncle Bartholomäus; evidently they weren’t arguing, for a change. The other hangmen seemed to be in high spirits as well, which probably had something to do with the large keg of beer sitting on the table in the middle of the room, to which the men helped themselves. Each had his own pewter mug engraved with his name—an old tradition, but also a measure of precaution, protecting honorable citizens from accidentally drinking from the hangman’s mug and turning dishonorable themselves. Many of the men puffed on long-stemmed pipes, and the room was thick with smoke.
In the far corner, Georg and Barbara looked like they were having a serious conversation. Magdalena wondered whether Georg already knew about his sister’s pregnancy. The twins had talked for a while earlier that morning, but Peter and Paul had kept interrupting them. Paul, especially, adored his uncle, who had whittled swords and other wooden toys for him during his last visit to Schongau. Now Paul was racing around outside with a bunch of street children while Peter was upstairs, reading and looking after the sleeping Sophia.
“A bunch of rough, boozing, smoking fellows like us must be an unpleasant sight for a lady. Forgive us, madam.”
Magdalena started at the sound of the pleasant sonorous voice coming from behind her. It was one of the men from the table last night, but he hadn’t arrived until later. She thought she remembered that his name was Conrad Näher, and that he was the Kaufbeuren executioner.
“Oh, I’m used to worse, with my father,” she replied with a smile.
“I believe you,” Näher said, grinning. “I’ve heard a few things about your father that take getting used to.”
Magdalena laughed. For a hangman, Näher seemed pretty likable. He had soft facial features, and his eyes were compassionate and friendly. He was around fifty years old and looked very tidy with his combed graying hair and freshly starched lace collar. His speech was more like that of a nobleman than a rough executioner. After taking a sip of his beer, Näher nodded toward Barbara, who was still talking to Georg.
“That must be your younger sister. Your similarity is just striking—and your beauty, too. Your husband is a lucky man.” Conrad Näher looked around. “Is he not attending our guild meeting?”
“Um, he’ll join us later,” Magdalena replied. “He had some business in town.”
She bit her lip. Näher had reminded her that Simon still hadn’t returned. Shortly after Georg and Uncle Bartholomäus had arrived, he had walked across the Isar Bridge into Munich to find this oh-so-famous physician he apparently needed in order to publish his treatise. Magdalena had forgotten the doctor’s name, and if she was honest, she didn’t really care. Simon’s constant blather about his treatise was getting on her nerves.
Her husband had promised to be back at noon, and by now he was almost an hour late. And all because of some scribbled bits of pa
per that had been driving the whole family insane for months. Magdalena knew Simon loved her more than anything, but he loved his work, too. And sometimes he became so engrossed in the world of medicine that he forgot everything else around him.
“Would you possibly be so kind as to introduce me to your sister?” Näher suddenly asked.
Magdalena started. “Uh, for any particular reason?”
The Kaufbeuren executioner smiled. “Well, your father wrote me a letter. I’m sure you know its contents . . .”
Magdalena couldn’t suppress a soft sigh. Aha, candidate number two. Could have been worse, I guess . . .
“Well, um . . . ,” she stammered. “I don’t think this is the best time. But if you insist—” Relieved, she broke off when the door opened and another executioner entered. All eyes turned to him, and the room fell silent.
The man was tall and lean with long, wavy hair and a carefully groomed mustache. His coat and the shirt underneath shone bloodred and were of the finest fabric. He held a bone-handled cane in his left hand, and his fingers were studded with rings. He looked around the room with an arrogant expression until he spotted Michael Deibler.
“Hell, Deibler, what sort of a stinking hole is this?” he snapped at the Munich hangman. His broad Franconian accent didn’t go at all with his elegant appearance. “My carriage almost rolled into the ditch on the way here, the streets reek of shit and piss, and my four journeymen have to sleep in the stables. By God, is that the way to treat me?”
“Good to see you, too, Johann Widmann,” Deibler replied with a grin, completely unfazed by the Franconian’s grandiose entrance. He stood up slowly and gave the newcomer a nod. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“When I hosted the guild meeting in Nuremberg a few years ago, the wine flowed freely.” Widmann continued his lament while looking about the room contemptuously. “We dined on duck and pâté at the Golden Eagle—”
“And you held forth with long speeches until the small hours, yes, yes,” Deibler interrupted. “I remember well. It was just after the war, and no one cared about a few hangmen, because everyone was a murderer. Times have changed, Widmann. We’re lucky we’re even here in Au. How long do you think it took me to get the elector’s permission for this meeting?” He pointed at an empty seat. “And now move your ass over here so we can start.”
Johann Widmann’s eyes scanned the men. “I only count eleven of us. One’s missing.”
“We’re not waiting any longer,” Deibler replied. “Or half of us will be drunk before we even start.” He clapped his hands. “So, dear cousins, please take your seats.”
Magdalena still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that the executioners called each other cousins. But since families of executioners usually intermarried, most of them were related somehow.
And we might soon be related to the Memmingen or Kaufbeuren hangman, she thought sadly. Or whomever Barbara ends up marrying.
While the eleven executioners sat down at the table with their mugs, the journeymen and families took their seats on the chairs along the wall, like the front row at an execution. Georg sat down next to Magdalena, while Barbara sat stone-faced near the door. She looked like she would jump up and run out any moment.
“What did you two talk about?” Magdalena whispered to Georg.
“She told me about her pregnancy,” Georg whispered back. “Earlier this morning. We had an argument.” He frowned. “She still doesn’t seem to understand that she must marry.”
“Thank God Father has no idea,” Magdalena muttered. “Let’s pray it stays that way.”
Georg nodded glumly. “Barbara is lucky she still has the chance to get away pretty much unscathed here in Munich. We’ll have to tell the fiancé, of course. We can’t keep it secret from him for long. But I think that’ll just be a matter of money. And she’s by no means a bad match.”
“I know.” Magdalena sighed. “I’ve met the second candidate now. It’s Conrad Näher, the Kaufbeuren hangman.”
“Hmm, not bad,” Georg said. “Näher is a decent man. His wife died not long ago, and he doesn’t have any children, as far as I know. And Kaufbeuren isn’t too far from Schongau—not as far as Passau, anyway, where that drunkard Hörmann lives.”
“Or as far as Bamberg,” Magdalena replied sadly. “Tell me, what did you mean when you said you might soon be back in Schongau?”
Georg was about to reply when Michael Deibler clapped his hands three times.
“I declare the meeting open!” he called out. “By the black cat and the thrice-knotted hangman’s noose.”
“By the black cat and the thrice-knotted hangman’s noose,” the other executioners repeated and brought down their fists on the tabletop, so hard that the keg almost toppled. Magdalena assumed it was an old ritual like those of other guilds.
Deibler, the guild master, sat at the head of the table and lit a black candle with a piece of kindling. Each of the other hangmen had a black candle in front of him, and each now lit the candle of his neighbor. The tense silence reminded Magdalena of the moment following the Holy Communion at church.
When all candles were lit, the Munich hangman picked up a thin stick, raised it above his head, and broke it in two. The silence was lifted. The executioners raised their mugs to one another and drank deeply while Deibler delivered his opening speech.
“My dear cousins, I’m pleased we finally managed to reinstate the Council of Twelve after all these years,” he began. “We have much to talk about. Most importantly, we need to discuss the issue of the learned physicians, who are increasingly pushing for a withdrawal of our license to heal in the German Empire.”
“Damned quacks!” Passau hangman Kaspar Hörmann ranted. “The devil take the lot of them.” His slurred speech told Magdalena how drunk he already was. Several hangmen muttered their agreement.
Perhaps it’s just as well Simon isn’t here, Magdalena thought.
“Quiet!” Deibler raised his hand. “Before we talk about physicians and the other points on our agenda, let me introduce a new member in our round. You know that only the best and most experienced executioners of Bavaria get a seat on this council, and it’s my pleasure to announce that Bartholomäus Kuisl’s brother, the Schongau hangman Jakob Kuisl, will be sitting at the table with us from now on. The twelfth seat became vacant when the honorable Philip Hartmann of Augsburg became a burgher.” Deibler pointed at Kuisl, who was sitting opposite him with folded arms. “Well, I think you all know Jakob. You voted him onto the council by a large majority.”
“Although not unanimously,” Johann Widmann remarked pointedly and stroked his beard.
Michael Deibler ignored the comment. “We all know Jakob Kuisl is an excellent executioner and healer—”
“Who’s much too lenient,” a red-haired, scar-faced man interrupted with a grin. Magdalena remembered he was Matthäus Fux, the Memmingen executioner, who had already been there the night before. “If he continues like this, he’ll ruin our reputation as blood guzzlers. The poor sinners will shake our hands and say, ‘Thank you kindly.’”
The others roared with laughter, and Jakob Kuisl lowered his head with mock embarrassment. Michael Deibler now walked over to him, carrying a full pewter mug with Kuisl’s name on it.
“Flesh of our flesh, blood of our blood,” Deibler chanted. “Welcome to the Council of Twelve, dear cousin. Prepare to be christened.” As was the custom, he emptied the mug’s contents over Kuisl’s head before handing it to him with a bow. The Schongau executioner shook himself like a wet dog, and the other hangmen laughed and rapped their mugs on the table.
“As is customary, our cousin brought his family along,” Deibler continued and pointed to the chairs along the wall. “His son, Georg, the Bamberg journeyman; and his daughters, Magdalena and Barbara. Jakob’s younger daughter is a stunning beauty and unmarried.” Smiling, Deibler turned to Barbara, who sat by the door as if frozen.
“Go on, girl, stand up so we can all see and admire you,” he said.
Barbara stayed seated, her lips pinched and her arms folded.
Magdalena saw her father turn red with anger. Just when Jakob Kuisl was about to speak, Barbara stood up and smoothed her dress. She trembled slightly and her eyes blazed, making her look like a mad fury.
A very attractive fury, Magdalena thought.
The executioners clearly shared her opinion, as they whistled and cast teasing glances at Jakob Kuisl.
“Are you sure the girl’s yours?” a short, hunchbacked hangman remarked with a giggle. “She doesn’t look anything like you. Where’s the hooked nose?”
The others howled, and no one but Magdalena seemed to notice the solitary tear running down Barbara’s cheek.
“This is worse than a horse market, God damn it,” Magdalena whispered to Georg. “Why isn’t Father doing anything?”
“It’s just men,” Georg replied with a shrug. “Barbara can take it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Magdalena replied grimly.
Now the drunk Kaspar Hörmann got to his feet and staggered toward Barbara. “You can all forget about it,” he slurred and looked at the men. “Her father sent me a letter, it’s a done deal.” He bowed to Barbara with a grin, then pointed at his son, who was busy picking bits of meat from his teeth. “So why don’t you kiss your future husband and—”
He slipped on some spilled beer and fell flat on his face. The other hangmen roared with laughter. Eventually, the Kaufbeuren hangman, Conrad Näher, stood up and addressed Jakob Kuisl in a gentle voice.
“Dear cousin,” he began, “not only Hörmann but I, too, received a letter from you about your daughter. I thank you kindly, but I don’t think this is the right place to get to know such a lovely girl.” He turned to Barbara with a smile. “Perhaps in the coming days the opportunity might arise for a stroll along the—”
“Do you really believe a pretty young thing like her would look twice at an old coot like you, Näher?” Johann Widmann said. “Your bed is as cold as a midwinter night in the forest—no movement in there for a long time, so I hear. Or perhaps there never has been any movement, seeing as you’re without offspring.”
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