The Poisoned Pilgrim: A Hangman's Daughter Tale Read Free

storm-ravaged beech, where only a few flames still flickered. “We should move along. Andechs can’t be far off now—perhaps one or two miles. What do you think?”
    Simon shrugged and looked around. The other trees were just smoldering now, but the rain had in the meantime become so heavy that the pilgrims could hardly see their hands in front of their faces in the growing dusk. The Schongauers had taken refuge beneath a nearby fir to wait out the heaviest rain. Only Karl Semer, still looking for his horse, was wandering around somewhere in the nearby forest, shouting loudly. His son had decided in the meantime to sit down and pout on an overturned tree trunk, trying to drive the cold from his bones with help of a flask he’d brought along. His Excellency Konrad Weber frowned at the young dandy but didn’t interfere. The old Schongau priest was not about to pick a fight with the son of the presiding burgomaster.
    Just as the pilgrims were beginning to calm down, another bolt of lightning struck not far away and once again the Schongauers ran like spooked chickens down the muddy slopes, farther into the valley below. The priest’s wooden cross came to rest filthy and splintered between some rocks.
    “Just stay together,” Simon shouted into the thunder and rain. “Lie down on the ground. On the ground you’ll be safe.”
    “Forget it.” Magdalena shook her head and turned to leave. “They don’t hear you, and even if they did, they’d hardly obey a dishonorable bathhouse owner.”
    Simon sighed and hurried after the others with Magdalena. Beside them, the carpenter Balthasar Hemerle carried an almost thirty-pound pilgrimage candle. Though its flame had gone out, the powerful, nearly six-foot-tall man held it up as straight as a battle flag. In comparison, Simon looked even smaller and more slender.
    “Stupid peasants,” Hemerle grumbled, stepping around a muddy puddle in great strides. “It’s just a thunderstorm. Wehave to get out of this goddamned forest—fast. But if those cowards keep running around like that, we’ll get completely lost.”
    Simon nodded silently and rushed ahead.
    In the meantime darkness had descended completely under the dark canopy of trees. The medicus could see only vague shadows of some of the Schongauers, though he heard anxious cries farther off. Someone was praying loudly to the Fourteen Holy Helpers.
    And in the distance now howling wolves could be heard.
    Simon shuddered. The beasts had multiplied considerably in the years since the Great War and by now had become a true plague upon the land, like wild pigs. The hungry animals were no threat to a group of twenty hardy men, but for anyone wandering alone through the forests, the wolves presented a real danger.
    Branches lashing his face, Simon struggled not to lose sight of at least Magdalena and the sturdy Balthasar Hemerle’s pilgrimage candle. Fortunately, the carpenter was so tall that Simon could see him over the tops of bushes and even some low trees.
    Suddenly the huge man stopped and Simon stumbled, almost bumping into him and Magdalena. The medicus was about to utter a curse, when he froze and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
    In a small clearing directly before them stood two wolves with drooping jaws, growling at them. Their small eyes were red dots in the night, and their hind legs were tensed, ready to pounce. Their bodies were thin and scrawny, as if they hadn’t found prey for a long time.
    “Don’t move,” Balthasar Hemerle whispered. “If you run, they’ll attack you from behind. And we don’t know if there are any more nearby.”
    Slowly Simon reached for his linen pouch, where along with his medical instruments and herbs, he kept a stiletto as sharp as a razor. He wasn’t sure the little knife would help against the twofamished beasts. Beside him, Magdalena stared at the wolves, unmoving. A few steps away Balthasar Hemerle raised the heavy candle above him like a sword, as if he