Death and the Devil

“Well—I have got a wife.” Jacob felt a surge of embarrassment. “That is, I haven’t actually. Call her a girlfriend if you like, but we don’t really get on anymore.”

“Does she look after you?”

“We look after each other. When we have something to spare.”

Jacob had not intended to sound sad but a frown had appeared on Richmodis’s face. Her smile had gone and she was looking at him as if considering various ways of reacting to what he had just said. Her gaze wandered up and down the street. One of the neighbors who was outside filling his tub glanced across at them, then quickly looked away.

“Just can’t wait to ask each other what Goddert von Weiden’s daughter’s doing talking to a half-naked redhead,” she snorted contemptuously. “And at the first opportunity they’ll tell my father.”

“I get the message,” said Jacob. “You’ve done more than enough. I’m going now.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” she snapped. “You don’t need to worry about my father. Wait there.”

Before Jacob could reply she had gone into the house.

So he waited.

Now that he was by himself, more people stared at him, mixing unashamed curiosity with open suspicion. Someone pointed at him and Jacob wondered whether it wouldn’t be better simply to disappear.

But what would Richmodis think if he just cleared out? How could he even consider it in view of the prettiest crooked nose a woman had ever pointed in his direction? Lost in thought, he fiddled with the cloth.

Immediately the neighbors’ expressions turned threatening and he pulled his hands away. Someone drove a flock of geese past and subjected him to a furtive scrutiny.

Jacob started whistling and took the opportunity to have a better look at the von Weidens’ house. It was not the most magnificent he had ever seen, that was for sure. Its first floor with its two tiny windows overhung the street, and beneath its steep roof it seemed to be cowering between the adjoining buildings. But it was well cared for, the timbers had recently been painted, and by the door, under the parlor window, was a bush with waxy yellow flowers. Presumably Richmodis’s work.

Richmodis. Who had vanished.

He took a deep breath and shifted from one foot to the other. No point in waiting any longer. He might as well—

“Here.” Richmodis reappeared in the doorway, almost completely hidden behind a bundle of clothes. “You may as well take these. The coat’s old, but better that than giving all the women a fright. “And there”—before Jacob knew what was happening he felt something placed on his head and pulled down over his eyes—“you have a hat. The brim’s a bit droopy but it’s good enough keep the rain and snow off.”

“A bit is putting it mildly,” said Jacob, pushing the hat onto the back of his head, at the same time trying not to drop the other things she was loading onto him.

“Stop moaning. Here’s a doublet and hose to go with it. My father’ll have me put in the stocks! The boots, too. And now clear out before half of Cologne starts telling the other half you’re about to ask for my hand.”

Jacob had always thought of himself as fairly unflappable, but for the moment he was speechless. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

A roguish smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “No one gives me a whistle and gets away with it.”

“Oh?”

“Now you’re obliged to teach me how to play it, of course.”

Jacob suddenly felt he could have embraced the butchers and everyone else who had chased him to the Brook.

“It’s a deal. I won’t forget.”

“I’d advise you not to.”

“Do you know what?” he suddenly blurted out, unable to contain himself. “I love your nose.”

She flushed deeply. “That’s enough of that. Away with you now.”

Jacob gave a broad grin, turned on his naked heel, and trotted off.

Richmodis watched him go, her hands on her hips. A good-looking lad, she thought. The temptation to run her hand through his hair had been quite strong. Pity he wouldn’t come back. Men like that were a law unto themselves. His red mop wouldn’t be seen on the Brook that soon again. It was with mixed feelings that she went back to the stream.

Little did she know how wrong she was.

RHEINGASSE

The old woman was sitting in the shadow. Only the outline of her hands, an oddly bizarre shape in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun, stood out against the black velvet of her dress.

The room where she was sitting was high and spacious. It ran along the northern side of the first floor and had five arcaded windows close to one another overlooking the street. Apart from the magnificent tapestries on the rear and side walls, it was sparsely furnished. Only a massive black table and a few chairs gave it something of a lived-in look. In general it was used for festivities or official gatherings.