The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,70

rock these days. But I like the image. It makes God kind of human, doesn’t it? Homo Deus est!”

Finally, they reached another large town surrounded by a high wall. The master explained that this was Nördlingen, where he hoped to meet his friend. The lanes and squares in the town were busy; a cattle market was in full swing. Pigs squealed and geese with tied wings cackled in their baskets. A calf on its way to the butcher’s block stared at Johann with big eyes. A huge newly completed church stood in the town’s center, still partially enclosed by scaffolding. The tall tower showed all travelers that Nördlingen considered itself on par with Augsburg.

“You should see this place at Whitsuntide,” Tonio said, carefully steering the wagon through the narrow lanes. “The fair is so spectacular that you even forget the stink.”

The air did smell strongly of blood and urine. Johann guessed the stench came from the many tanneries along the city stream. Old and young tanners washed skins in the water and hung them in their airy attics to dry.

They headed toward a tavern near the church. The tavern was several stories high, with a large gate in the center that led into a courtyard. To the gate’s left and right were pub rooms, and a wide set of stairs led up to guest rooms. Heavy oaken floorboards and gilded decorations made the tavern look almost palatial.

“The Golden Sun Inn,” Tonio explained. “Emperors have stayed here, and His Majesty King Maximilian just visited a few years ago. I thought we’d treat ourselves to some nice accommodation.”

Following their long, arduous journey and the many nights spent by the roadside, Johann went to bed early. The down quilt and fresh reeds on the floor seemed like heaven on earth. He slept like a log and only woke late in the morning to drumrolls and flourishes.

When he rushed to the window, he saw crowds of people heading toward the western gate. The master awaited him downstairs in the taproom.

“Quick, have some thinned beer and honeyed barley porridge,” he commanded, gesturing toward a jug and a bowl on the table. “We don’t want to miss the show. We’ve arrived at just the right time,” Tonio said, rubbing his hands. “A stroke of luck! My old friend hasn’t arrived yet, but there’s another acquaintance I wouldn’t mind seeing one last time.”

“Who is it?” asked Johann, curious.

“Oh, you’ll know him,” Tonio said with a smile.

Johann still didn’t understand. After a hasty breakfast, he followed Tonio out into the street. They joined the crowd heading out of town. Not far from the city walls, Johann saw a hill that had been cleared of trees and was crowned by a large rock.

The people seemed merry, buying nuts and pastries from itinerant merchants who carried their wares through the crowd on large back frames. Children squealed and ran after the drummers, and everyone seemed bound for the rock on the hill. It looked like an enormous table or altar and was more than five heads high. A pile of wood as tall as a man had been stacked on top, and a ladder led to a stake in the center of the pile. Dark-clad monks were swinging incense burners, and the smoke seemed to Johann like the harbinger of a much larger fire.

He understood now what kind of a show the crowd had come for.

“Everything’s ready,” the master said with a smile, his eyes appraising the hill in front of them. “All that’s missing is our friend.”

Johann was waiting with Tonio and all the people of Nördlingen, who were shouting and cheering, when a tumbrel pulled by a mangy donkey came jolting up the road. The hangman stood atop the cart, wearing a red shirt and a mask, and next to him, a man bound with ropes swayed back and forth as if he was drunk. Despite his torn shirt, blood-encrusted face, and arms twisted like those of a broken doll, Johann recognized him immediately: Freudenreich von Hohenlohe, the young minstrel from the Black Eagle Inn.

“They arrested him two months ago,” Tonio explained as he joined in the rhythmic clapping of the crowd. A kettledrum provided the beat. “The poor bugger conjured up a calf with two heads and a hailstorm that devastated the fields around Nördlingen. If you ask me, he probably didn’t pay his bill at the tavern or screw the landlady hard enough. Folks around here are easily angered. Apparently, good old Freudenreich was stubborn during