The Hangman's Daughter by Oliver Pötzsch, Lee Chadeayne Page B

famous Schongau witch trial, dozens of women had been burned at the stake. What had started as an angry outburst and a few unexplained deaths had ended in mass hysteria, with everyone accusing everyone else.
    Back then, his grandfather Jörg Abriel had beheaded more than sixty women, and afterward their bodies were burned. This had made Master Jörg rich and famous. On some of the suspects, they had found so-called witches’ marks, or birthmarks, whose shape determined whether the wretched women lived or died. This time, an obviously heretical sign was involved. Not even Kuisl could say this didn’t look like witchcraft.
    The court clerk was right. The people would keep looking for signs. And even if there were no more deaths, there would be no end to the suspicion. A wildfire that could lay the whole of Schongau in ashes. Unless someone confessed and agreed to take the blame.
    Martha Stechlin…
    Jakob Kuisl shrugged. “I don’t think the Stechlin woman has anything to do with the murder. Anyone could’ve done it. Perhaps strangers. The boy was floating in the river. The devil knows who stabbed him, perhaps marauding soldiers.”
    “And the sign? The boy’s father described the sign to me. Didn’t it look like that ?” Johann Lechner handed him a drawing. It showed the circle with the inverted cross. “You know what that is,” hissed the clerk. “Witchcraft.”
    The hangman nodded. “But that doesn’t mean that the Stechlin woman…”
    “Midwives are expert in such matters!” Lechner had raised his voice more than he usually did. “I have always warned against permitting such women in our town. They are keepers of secret lore, and they ruin our wives and children! There’ve always been children around her lately, haven’t there? Peter among them. And now they find him in the river, dead.”
    Jakob Kuisl longed for his pipe. He would have loved to clear the room of evil thoughts with its smoke. He was fully aware of the aldermen’s prejudice against midwives. Martha Stechlin was the first midwife whom the town had officially appointed. These women with their feminine wisdom had always been suspect to men. They knew potions and herbs; they touched women in indecent spots; and they knew how to get rid of the fruit of the womb, that gift of God. Many midwives had been burned as witches by men. Jakob Kuisl, too, knew all about potions and was suspected of sorcery. But he was a man. And he was the executioner.
    “I want you to go to the Stechlin woman and make her confess,” Johann Lechner said. He turned to his notes again and was scribbling. The matter was finished for him.
    “And if she won’t confess?” asked Kuisl.
    “Then you show her your instruments. Once she sees the thumbscrews she’s bound to soften.”
    “You need the council’s approval for that,” whispered the hangman. “I can’t do it alone, and neither can you.”
    Lechner smiled. “As you know, the council meets today. I’m certain that the burgomaster and the other notables will follow my suggestion.”
    Jakob Kuisl reflected. If the council agreed today to begin torture, the trial would proceed like clockwork, and the end would be torture and probably death at the stake. Both were the executioner’s responsibility.
    “Tell her that we’ll begin the questioning tomorrow,” said Lechner, as he continued scribbling in one of the files on his desk. “Then she has time to think it over. If she insists on being stubborn, however, well…well, we’ll need your help.”
    His pen continued scratching across the paper. In the market square, the church bell struck eight. Johann Lechner looked up.
    “That’ll do. You may leave now.”
    The hangman rose and turned to the door. As he pushed the handle, he heard once more the clerk’s voice behind him.
    “Oh, Kuisl.” He turned around. The clerk spoke without looking up. “I’m aware you know her well. Make her talk. That’ll save her and you unnecessary suffering.”
    Jakob