Read Online The Poisoned Pilgrim: A Hangman's Daughter Tale by Oliver Pötzsch - Free Book Online
Authors: Oliver Pötzsch
Ads: Link
Today loud words or a quick blow would no longer suffice to drive away this mob.
Especially not with two babbling, thumb-sucking kids on his arm.
“Let me tell you, Kuisl,” Hans Berchtholdt hissed as a mean smile spread across his lips. “You bow your head and ask humbly for forgiveness for your daughter, that good-for-nothing hangman’s girl, and we’ll let the three of you go.”
As raucous laughter broke out, little Peter began to cry, and it wasn’t long before his younger brother joined in. Kuisl closed his eyes and tried to breathe calmly. They wanted to anger him, but he couldn’t endanger the children. What could he do? He didn’t want to risk a brawl because of his grandsons. Should he call for help? It was a long way up to town, and the rushing waterwould no doubt drown out any sound. Should he accept Berchtholdt’s demand?
Remorsefully, Kuisl bowed his head. “I plead—” he began softly.
Hans Berchtholdt grinned, his eyes glistening like two pieces of ice. “Humbly,” he snarled. “You plead
humbly.
”
“I plead humbly,” the hangman continued. He paused, then he continued in a monotone: “I plead humbly that God will give me the strength to endure such a big mob of stupid, blockheaded, low-down bastards like this without bashing their heads in. Now for the sake of the Holy Virgin let me through before I smash the nose of the first one of you.”
A horrified silence ensued. It seemed the young journeymen couldn’t believe what they’d just heard. Finally Hans Berchtholdt got control of himself again. “You’ll… you’ll regret that,” he said softly. “There are a dozen of us, and you’re an old man with two children in his arms. Now the little bastards will learn how their grandfather can put up with—”
He stopped suddenly, screamed, and put his hand to his forehead where blood was pouring out. Now other boys were howling and wailing as they sought refuge behind carts and barrels while a hail of stones fell down on them. Kuisl looked around, puzzled. Finally, up on the roof of the warehouse he spied a crowd of children and young people tossing stones and clumps of dirt down on the gang.
At the crest of the ridge up front stood Kuisl’s thirteen-year-old son, Georg, with a slingshot in hand.
The hangman was shocked. What was that snotty little brat doing down here? Wasn’t he supposed to be cleaning the knacker’s wagon in the barn? Wasn’t it enough for the two grandchildren to be in danger?
Kuisl was about to give the boy a good tongue-lashing when he realized the possibility that his son might just have saved hislife. Again he looked up at the roof. Georg Kuisl looked very big for his age; everything about him seemed to have been hewn out of solid rock. A little fuzz was starting to form around his lips and his shirt and trousers looked much too small for his hefty body.
Just like me once
, Kuisl thought.
He’s almost as old as I was then in the war. My God, now my own boy has to get me out of this jam. Jakob, you’re getting old
…
“Run, Father,” Georg shouted. “Now!”
Jakob shook off his gloomy thoughts, clasped his grandchildren, and ran off. All around him the stones were still raining down. When he saw a shadowy form lunge at him, he picked up his foot and kicked his attacker, a young carpenter’s journeyman, with full force in the groin. The man collapsed, groaning, just as another attacker raced toward Kuisl. The two young children in his arms were screaming now like stuck pigs. Kuisl hugged them tightly, bent down, and butted the journeyman right in the stomach; then he stood up again and ran. Behind him Hans Berchtholdt shouted as he was struck by another stone. “You’ll pay for that, Kuisl,” Berchtholdt shouted furiously. “You and your whole clan! Just one word to the city council, and I’ll take care of your two snotty little brats.”
In just a few minutes the hangman had left the dock area and arrived at the Lech Bridge, where two
Especially not with two babbling, thumb-sucking kids on his arm.
“Let me tell you, Kuisl,” Hans Berchtholdt hissed as a mean smile spread across his lips. “You bow your head and ask humbly for forgiveness for your daughter, that good-for-nothing hangman’s girl, and we’ll let the three of you go.”
As raucous laughter broke out, little Peter began to cry, and it wasn’t long before his younger brother joined in. Kuisl closed his eyes and tried to breathe calmly. They wanted to anger him, but he couldn’t endanger the children. What could he do? He didn’t want to risk a brawl because of his grandsons. Should he call for help? It was a long way up to town, and the rushing waterwould no doubt drown out any sound. Should he accept Berchtholdt’s demand?
Remorsefully, Kuisl bowed his head. “I plead—” he began softly.
Hans Berchtholdt grinned, his eyes glistening like two pieces of ice. “Humbly,” he snarled. “You plead
humbly.
”
“I plead humbly,” the hangman continued. He paused, then he continued in a monotone: “I plead humbly that God will give me the strength to endure such a big mob of stupid, blockheaded, low-down bastards like this without bashing their heads in. Now for the sake of the Holy Virgin let me through before I smash the nose of the first one of you.”
A horrified silence ensued. It seemed the young journeymen couldn’t believe what they’d just heard. Finally Hans Berchtholdt got control of himself again. “You’ll… you’ll regret that,” he said softly. “There are a dozen of us, and you’re an old man with two children in his arms. Now the little bastards will learn how their grandfather can put up with—”
He stopped suddenly, screamed, and put his hand to his forehead where blood was pouring out. Now other boys were howling and wailing as they sought refuge behind carts and barrels while a hail of stones fell down on them. Kuisl looked around, puzzled. Finally, up on the roof of the warehouse he spied a crowd of children and young people tossing stones and clumps of dirt down on the gang.
At the crest of the ridge up front stood Kuisl’s thirteen-year-old son, Georg, with a slingshot in hand.
The hangman was shocked. What was that snotty little brat doing down here? Wasn’t he supposed to be cleaning the knacker’s wagon in the barn? Wasn’t it enough for the two grandchildren to be in danger?
Kuisl was about to give the boy a good tongue-lashing when he realized the possibility that his son might just have saved hislife. Again he looked up at the roof. Georg Kuisl looked very big for his age; everything about him seemed to have been hewn out of solid rock. A little fuzz was starting to form around his lips and his shirt and trousers looked much too small for his hefty body.
Just like me once
, Kuisl thought.
He’s almost as old as I was then in the war. My God, now my own boy has to get me out of this jam. Jakob, you’re getting old
…
“Run, Father,” Georg shouted. “Now!”
Jakob shook off his gloomy thoughts, clasped his grandchildren, and ran off. All around him the stones were still raining down. When he saw a shadowy form lunge at him, he picked up his foot and kicked his attacker, a young carpenter’s journeyman, with full force in the groin. The man collapsed, groaning, just as another attacker raced toward Kuisl. The two young children in his arms were screaming now like stuck pigs. Kuisl hugged them tightly, bent down, and butted the journeyman right in the stomach; then he stood up again and ran. Behind him Hans Berchtholdt shouted as he was struck by another stone. “You’ll pay for that, Kuisl,” Berchtholdt shouted furiously. “You and your whole clan! Just one word to the city council, and I’ll take care of your two snotty little brats.”
In just a few minutes the hangman had left the dock area and arrived at the Lech Bridge, where two
Similar Books
