The Play of Death Read online

  Georg Kaiser winked at Peter. “And first, a tasty fish stew left over from Sunday. Doesn’t that sound all right? But before the food comes I have a surprise for you. I think you’ll like this.” With a cheerful nod he opened the door to a candlelit room where dozens of books stood on several rough-hewn boards. Peter stood there in astonishment, his mouth agape.

  “But . . . there are more books here than all the ones Grandfather and Father have, put together,” he stammered.

  “My private library,” Kaiser explained. “I brought them with me from Ingolstadt. In one or the other of those books you’ll surely find anatomical sketches.” He pointed into the room. “On the table over there you’ll find paper, ink, and a quill. Just help yourself.”

  Visibly elated, Peter hurried over to the shelves and started leafing through the books. Georg Kaiser closed the door and waved Simon over to the room across the hall. In that room, a jumble of printed sheets and pages covered with handwriting were piled on another table. The cheerful expression on Kaiser’s face suddenly vanished, and he looked tired and upset.

  “Unfortunately, you’ve chosen the worst possible time to arrive here with your highly gifted son,” he said, collapsing on a stool. He coughed, removed his pince-nez, and rubbed his reddened eyes. “And that’s not just because I’m suffering from a cold.”

  “I was getting that impression, too,” Simon replied. “The whole town seems anxious about something. On our way to town we had a few strange experiences. If you believed in ghosts, this valley would be a good place to find them.” He laughed softly, but Kaiser looked earnest and remained silent.

  Simon looked with curiosity at the many crumpled sheets of paper on the table. Most of them were text passages assigned to individuals in a play. Many words were crossed out and replaced with new passages. Simon read the names: Jesus, Peter, Pontius Pilate.

  “The Passion play?” Simon asked.

  The schoolmaster nodded. “It’s an old text that I’m trying to rewrite. The villagers asked me to do that the last time the play was performed, but there’s a lot that still seems stiff and old-fashioned, and I’m having a lot of trouble with the verse form. And as soon as I finish a few pages, the priest comes and changes it all. The venerable Tobias Herele is very devout and conservative. Any change for him is almost blasphemous.” Kaiser rolled his eyes. “Almost five thousand verses! Good Lord, I should never have gotten involved in this play. The whole thing is becoming more and more my own personal passion.”

  Simon smiled. Georg Kaiser had written to tell him he’d accepted the assignment of rewriting the text of the Oberammergau Passion play and was directing it together with the priest. Just half a century earlier, the last of the plagues had passed through Oberammergau, and there were deaths in almost every family. In that dark hour, the citizens had sworn to perform a Passion play once every ten years if they were spared further deaths. In fact, the Plague had passed them by, and since then there had been performances that were well received by residents of surrounding towns and even talked about in Schongau.

  “I don’t understand why you will be performing the play this year at Pentecost and not four years from now, as custom dictates,” said Simon with a frown as he studied the sheets of paper on the table. “That could cause a lot of hard feelings.”

  “You’re telling me,” Kaiser sighed. “But Konrad Faistenmantel has got it into his head to move up the schedule. He’s the most powerful man here in town, and in addition he’s the head of the town council. Whatever he says is the law.” He shrugged. “Faistenmantel is no spring chicken and wants to make the play a sort of monument to himself. Right now it looks like he’ll go down in the town’s history as a tragic figure,” the schoolmaster added gloomily.

  “For heaven’s sake, what happened?” Simon asked. “I saw the bouquets of Saint John’s wort on the doors everywhere. People seem to be so gloomy, as if struggling under a heavy burden. Even the priest I saw just a few minutes ago looked like a corpse.”

  “How can you blame him?” Kaiser sighed again. “A lot of people say the devil has been loose in Oberammergau since last night.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “In the early morning hours, the priest found the actor playing Jesus dead in the cemetery.”

  “A murder?” Simon asked.

  “We assume so. The poor man couldn’t have hung himself on the cross, in any case.”

  “My God!” Simon exclaimed. “Someone actually . . . crucified him?”

  “As terrible as that sounds, yes.” Kaiser looked distressed. “And not just on any cross, but the one being constructed for the play. The perpetrator bound him to the cross with ropes, then set it in the ground upright. Well, at least Dominik Faistenmantel was given the chance to die just like our Savior.”

  “Dominik Faistenmantel?” Simon asked with surprise. “Is he . . .”

  “Yes, the youngest son of the powerful town council chairman, Konrad Faistenmantel,” said Kaiser. “There are plenty of people who believe we are being punished by God because Faistenmantel wants to stage the play four years early. The old man, by the way, remains stubborn and insists on sticking to that schedule. He had recently quarreled a lot with his son, and their relationship was not the best, to put it mildly. Faistenmantel has already ordered me and the priest to find a new Jesus, and the job will no doubt fall to Hans Göbl, our Saint John the Apostle.” He pointed toward the door. “You saw him briefly as you arrived, I think. Our conversation had just ended. We’ll start the rehearsals in three days.”

  “Hold on,” Simon said. “Someone dies on the cross, and on the same day his own father tells you to find his successor in the play and orders new rehearsals? How heartless can he be?”

  Kaiser shrugged. “That’s just the way Konrad Faistenmantel is, but he’s amassed a considerable fortune.” He pointed through the grimy bull’s-eye glass windows toward the cemetery, where night was falling. “By the way, the poor lad’s still out there in Saint Anne’s Chapel because the judge in Ammergau wanted to examine the body again—even though he doesn’t understand a thing about medicine.” Georg Kaiser coughed and spat into a bowl under the table.

  “Excuse me,” he gasped. “I just can’t get rid of this accursed cold that’s been hanging on since February, and our old medicus and bathhouse keeper, God bless his soul, died just two weeks ago of smallpox. It would have been better if he’d been here to have a look at the corpse.” Kaiser caught his breath and looked at Simon, thinking.

  “Do you have any plans for the evening?” he finally asked.

  Simon sighed. “Probably I do. I assume I’ll have to take a closer look at your crucified Jesus.”

  “You’d be doing the town a great favor.” Georg Kaiser smiled sadly. “If it’s true what people have been saying about you in recent years, you’re a bright, reasonable man, Simon.” The schoolmaster got to his feet and put on his pince-nez. “That’s what we need now: the sober gaze of an expert. Otherwise, I’m afraid it won’t stop with just a few pretty bouquets of Saint John’s wort to ward off the devil.”

  2

  SCHONGAU, ON THE NIGHT OF MAY 4, AD 1670

  HUNCHED DOWN IN THE SHADOWS of the houses, Barbara hurried through the narrow lanes of Schongau toward the Tanners’ Quarter, beyond the city walls. The so-called beer bell announcing the closing of the city gates at nine o’clock had rung some time ago, so, as she’d done before, she’d have to slip through the door at the old entrance. The drunken watchman, Johannes, had bent the rules a bit in the past and let her through, and she could only hope he’d do the same this time. In return, she’d probably have to flatter him a bit.

  She broke out in a cold sweat and, despite the late hour, she felt wide awake. She’d danced so wildly that toward the end of the night she even knocked over a table. The tavernkeeper was going to throw her out, but her friend Karl intervened. What followed was a wild brawl in which chairs were broken and beer mugs smashed. In the end, everyone blamed her, the dissolute hangman’s daughter. S
he had fled at the last moment, before the night watchmen arrived. Barbara grinned.

  Well, at least she’d had a good time.

  She heard someone whistling at her from behind and drew her shawl more tightly around her head in hopes of not being recognized in the darkness, though her wild curls were visible just the same. The last thing she needed was to meet her father. Karl, the tanner’s journeyman, had seen him that evening in the tavern Zur Sonne, frequented by the simple laborers and farmers. It was quite possible that her father was also on his way back after the curfew. Jakob Kuisl knew most of the guards at the city gates, caring for many of them when they were sick or injured. Among the lower classes, the hangman was popular as a healer, and therefore Jakob often had a last glass of brandy with the guards before setting out for home.

  Lost in her thoughts, Barbara hurried along toward the old entrance. She was still sorry she had flared up at her father earlier. Perhaps it was mostly because of her fear he’d discover her secret. She loved him despite his gruff manner and grumpy disposition; they concealed a sensitivity so atypical of a hangman. Her father was not only strong, he was extremely perceptive and well read, more so than most of the dim-witted Schongauers, in any case. Only Secretary Lechner was any match for him with regard to intelligence, and it made Barbara all the sadder that her father was a drinker. Alcohol changed his character and, what was worse, when he was drunk, she could no longer be proud of him.

  She was ashamed of him.

  Her sister, Magdalena, once told her that their grandfather had died a drunkard. Barbara could only pray this was not the predestined fate of everyone in the family.

  Perhaps our fate will be different, she thought, and I can figure out what it is going to be. These books . . .

  She paused on hearing a hissing sound. At first she thought it was just another admirer trying to get her attention, but then she began to wonder. The sounds clearly came from the old cemetery behind the church, which hadn’t been used for a long time. A wall with a rusty iron gate separated it from the narrow lane, and inside she caught sight of some rough-hewn rocks, sacks of mortar, and a few tilted gravestones. She watched with curiosity as two figures stood behind the gate talking quietly, then she heard the jingling of coins and sounds of laughter.

  She pressed her forehead against the iron gate, trying to learn more. The men were hard to see in the darkness, but at least one seemed very well dressed, with a large dark cloak and a wide-brimmed hat. The other was wearing a Stopselhut—a tall, bell-shaped hat, traditional in the high Alps and Bavaria, but almost unknown in the Schongau area. Barbara was certain they weren’t drifters or beggars that one might expect to find in such a place, nor were they drunken journeymen.

  So what were they doing here?

  The man wearing the Stopselhut nodded a farewell and headed toward the gate. Barbara ducked down but kept watching through a crack in the wall. The stranger was strongly built and moved with the swaggering motion of a tough brawler. The brim of his hat was pulled so far down that she couldn’t see his face, but there was something menacing about him. He turned again to the other man with a whispered farewell.

  “Be prepared,” he said. “You’ll hear from us soon.”

  His voice had a strange, hard tone. It took a moment for Barbara to realize he was speaking a Tyrolean dialect, with an accent not often heard in the Priest’s Corner, in southwest Bavaria.

  A cold shiver went through her body as she hurried away down the lane so the second man wouldn’t see her. When she’d gone a good distance, she heard steps behind her quickly approaching. Was the man following her? Had she seen something she shouldn’t have?

  Barbara turned around and uttered a faint cry. Someone was standing in the lane. She couldn’t tell for sure if it was one of the men from the cemetery, but he was wearing a dark coat. He took off his hat and smiled broadly.

  “Barbara, my dear,” the man cried as if he’d just recognized her in the half-light. “What a pleasure it is to see you,” he continued, opening his arms. “The sight of you brings a delightful end to this hard day of work.”

  Barbara gave a sigh of relief. “Ah, it’s you, Dr. Ransmayer. You gave me a real scare. I thought—”

  “What did you think?” the stylishly dressed gentlemen asked, drawing closer.

  “Let’s forget it,” Barbara said with a wave of her hand. “I thought you were someone else.” Then she added with a chuckle, “Or do you hang around in dark streets with shady characters?”

  “Shady characters? Oh God, no!” the doctor laughed, but it sounded a bit forced. “Very well, I’ll admit I saw you a while ago with the lads up in the Stern and hoped I’d see you here later.” He raised his arms in an expression of surrender. “Touché.”

  “Well, if you were so interested in meeting me, Herr Doktor, the bathhouse would have been a more suitable place,” Barbara replied.

  “I’m afraid your elder sister and especially her husband wouldn’t be so happy to see me there.” Ransmayer politely held out his arm to her. “May I?”

  “Thanks, I can manage by myself.”

  Ransmayer sighed. “Then at least let me take you to the one-man door. The watchman is one of my patients. All it will take is a word from me and he’ll let you through without any questions.”

  Reluctantly, Barbara accepted his offer, as she didn’t want any trouble at the gate. In return, she’d put up with the company of the arrogant doctor for a while. Melchior Ransmayer was in his mid-forties but took great pains to appear younger. He wore a felt hat adorned with colorful flowers and a pitch-black full-bottomed wig—a French fashion now rapidly spreading in Bavaria as well. His pointed beard was twirled and rubbed with beeswax, and a white lace collar circled his neck.

  Barbara had never been quite able to figure out this doctor who’d been living a full three years in Schongau and was such strong competition for her brother-in-law, Simon.

  Ransmayer seemed to have taken a real liking to her and had been courting her occasionally. Until now Barbara had refrained from telling Magdalena and Simon about these rendezvous, as she knew Simon couldn’t stand Ransmayer and thought he was a quack. But perhaps her brother-in-law’s dislike for him was due to the extremely expensive and exquisite clothing the doctor wore and that Simon only wished he could afford. Even now Ransmayer was dressed in petticoat breeches and a doublet of red silk underneath his coat.

  “Did I hear that your esteemed brother-in-law is out of town for a few days?” Ransmayer asked as they walked together through the dark street. “Oberammergau, so I hear.”

  Barbara nodded hesitantly. “Simon is taking Peter there for his schooling, as he is not permitted to attend the Latin school here.”

  “You don’t say.” Ransmayer assumed a troubled look. “What a pity that such a talented child is not permitted to attend the grammar school. People say wonderful things about your little nephew,” he said, patting Barbara’s hand. Barbara could smell his breath and knew that the good doctor had had a bit too much to drink. “Believe me, my dear, if I had any influence in the town council, I would try to change that.”

  “But you do have influence,” Barbara retorted. “You are, after all, a learned doctor.”

  “Do you think so?” Ransmayer rocked his head thoughtfully from side to side as if he’d just come to that realization too. “Perhaps you are right. I could at least speak with Burgomaster Buchner . . .”

  “You would really do that?” Barbara looked at him, elated.

  “I would.” Ransmayer smiled, but suddenly there was a cold glitter in his eyes. “But one hand washes the other, as the saying goes.” Suddenly he stopped. “How about this . . . I’ll take care of your little Peter, and you . . .” He ran his fingers through her hair. “You’ll look after me a bit. Of course, it will be just between the two of us.”

  “What . . . do you mean by that?” Barbara asked, though she already suspected what Ransmayer had in mind.

  “Let’s start with your showing me what’s
underneath that pretty bodice.” Suddenly the doctor pushed Barbara into a side lane and his hands moved from her hair to her breasts. The man was clearly drunk, and the strong smell of brandy on his breath made her feel sick.

  “Hey, stop that,” Barbara cried, trying to push his hand away. “Who do you think I am? A prostitute?” But the doctor’s grip on her breasts was so tight that she winced in pain. Instinctively she rammed her attacker between the legs. Ransmayer cried out, gasped, and let her go.

  “You cheap little hussy,” he hissed. His gallant tone of voice had suddenly disappeared and he sounded like any ordinary barroom brawler. “Here I go offering my help, and this is what I get. You just wait, you little tramp!”

  He grabbed her by the hair and she screamed, scratched, and fought like a cat, but Ransmayer was stronger. He pressed her against a wall and lifted up her skirt. “Ah,” he whispered, fumbling with his fly. “And now you’re going to behave and do what—”

  “Damnitalltohellandback! Take your filthy hands off my daughter before I chop them off, you bastard!”

  Shocked, Ransmayer stopped and looked down toward the end of the lane, where the colossal shadow of a man was visible. The body that went with it was only slightly smaller. The man held a beer stein in one hand, which he smacked into his other hand in a threatening gesture. Next to him stood a young boy, Barbara’s nephew Paul.

  “Father!” Barbara cried out with relief, suddenly very happy to see him after all. “Thank God! You’re a gift from heaven.”

  “The heavens are about to come down on someone’s head.”

  The Schongau hangman tottered slightly, but the earthen mug in his hand and his determined gait left no doubt about his intention to clean all the muck out of this little alley.

  The moment he heard the first cry, Jakob had known his younger daughter was in danger.

  The Schongau executioner had just left the Zur Sonne tavern, where he’d spent the last few hours. Actually he’d gone up into town only to get away from his little spat with Barbara and find himself a fresh jug of beer, but then he’d decided to stay in town and finish his beer there. Very well, it wasn’t just one, but probably six or seven—he couldn’t really remember anymore. In any case, at over six feet tall and well over two hundred pounds he could handle it better than those dubious young workers and skinny riffraff that spent the time after work in the tavern and tonight had glanced anxiously at the hangman, even if at the age of almost sixty he no longer looked quite as fit as he used to.