The Poisoned Pilgrim: A Hangman's Daughter Tale by Oliver Pötzsch Page B

too many up close; he knew what awaited a murderer and warlock.
    Without stopping once to look around, the fat apothecary ran through the Kien Valley. By now it was early morning, and the sun bore down mercilessly through the boughs and branches. Like most of the other monks, Johannes had been awakened at the crack of dawn by loud wailing. Something dreadful must have happened, and he had a dark suspicion what it was. He’d secretly hurried to the watchmaker’s house, only to find the bathhouse owner and his woman leaving, both of them as white as a sheet. From the bits of conversation he overheard, he pieced together what they’d discovered inside.
    When he heard them mention his name, Brother Johannes knew he couldn’t return. They would find out everything—the experiments, the fire in the tower, all about his former life…
    A curse on you, Virgilius!
    Thus Johannes snuck back to his little house, picked up some provisions, a blanket, and his old wooden cross, and made off toward the Kien Valley. He ran through a narrow hidden gorge, which many Erlingers had used during the Great War to escape the Swedes and was known to them as
The Ox’s Gorge
… From time to time Johannes had to gather up the folds of his robe and wade through the Kien Brook. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear dogs barking and a horn sounding. Were they already on his heels?
    He suppressed the thought and rushed forward blindly. If he could make it down to Mühlfeld or Wartaweil, perhaps he had a chance. He could find a fisherman to take him over to Dießen, and from there he could keep going toward Landsberg, where he had friends who would help him. Perhaps somewhere he would find an army he could join up with. People with his experience were always needed.
    The trees in front of him were thinning out, so he could already see the lake sparkling down in the valley. His goal, the little fisherman’s port not far from Mühlfeld Castle, seemed within reach. As soon as Brother Johannes stepped out of the forest, he heard a shot. A bullet whizzed by his ear, missing him by just inches. Gasping, he threw himself down in the mud.
    “There he is, the filthy bastard. You were right; he fled through the Ox’s Gorge.”
    A man stepped out from behind the trees with a smoking musket, followed by a second and a third. All were experienced hunters employed by the monastery, and Johannes knew them. In the tavern they sometimes whispered behind his back; they didn’t like it that he collected herbs in their hunting grounds and scared the wildlife. To them, he was just a fat, ugly priest who ate what by rights belonged to them. A monster in a monk’s cassock who terrified children.
    Today was the day of reckoning.
    “We heard you killed three of your Brothers, you scum,” theoldest growled, nudging the monk with his foot. His eyes gleamed with the thrill of the chase. “It was easy for you with the three priests, but we’re made of different stuff.” Laughing, he turned to his friends. “Well, what do you think? Do we want to see the fat toad jump again?” When the others howled their approval, he held his musket in the air and fired. A swarm of sparrows scattered, chirping angrily in the direction of the monastery.
    Dazed by the noise and fearful, Brother Johannes leapt up and stumbled toward a field of barley. Behind it was the lake with little boats rocking on the waves—he could almost smell the water. As he began to run, he looked up and could see between the low-lying clouds on the horizon the monastery in Dießen. And he could hear the rustle of the grain beneath his feet as he ran.
    The world is so beautiful,
he thought.
Why are the people in it so cruel? Will they let me go in the end?
    When Johannes heard the dogs barking behind him, he knew it was all over.
    Magdalena crouched on the floor of the filthy provision cellar, watching flies buzz about in the light from a small window. For a while she had paced around, but now she settled