The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,92
not sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, thinking about Salome. It had been the first time he’d truly had sex with a woman. Back in the cave in Schillingswald Forest, he and Margarethe hadn’t gone the whole way, and whatever happened that night near Nördlingen—he didn’t want to think about. When Johann closed his eyes, he thought he could still smell Salome’s sweat and the scent of her sex. So that was the great magic everyone talked about. And he had to admit: he was bewitched. Still, how could he ever look Emilio in the eye again without blushing? Would Salome tell him what had happened?
But when they finally sat together in the gray twilight of the taproom downstairs, eating their barley porridge and drinking their thinned beer, Salome didn’t even look at Johann. She seemed cool and distant. She never even gave him a smile but bantered with Emilio all the more. Johann was deeply confused at first, but then he thought he understood. If she and Emilio were a couple, the other man couldn’t know about his mistress’s excursion. Johann thought about Emilio’s knife and how quickly men started brawls about women.
Worried and tired, Johann leaned over his bowl and tried to forget about Salome. But he couldn’t. What had happened between them had been amazing. Something stirred inside him every time he thought about it. He tried to eat his porridge quickly and hurried outside to brush the horse.
They left Landsberg in the light of the rising sun, following the Lech River until they came to a crossroad near a town called Schongau. Two years before, a fire had devastated the entire town, and not all the houses had been rebuilt yet. A performance among the ruins didn’t seem practical, so they decided to rest outside the town walls.
Johann filled a bucket with water for the horse from a cold, clear stream that was lined with ice crystals. The mountains were much closer now, and he thought he could smell the snow even though it was already the beginning of April. When he returned, Peter and Archibaldus were in the middle of a loud argument, but for once it didn’t seem to be about the old man’s drinking.
“I’ll say it one more time: it’s nonsense taking the upper route,” Archibaldus was saying, still reasonably sober at lunchtime. “It’s longer and more dangerous. I know what I’m talking about—I’ve traveled through the Finstermünz Gorge before. It’s still deepest winter there in April! There’ll be avalanches, and storms can break out at any moment. The Eisacktal Valley, by Bozen, on the other hand—”
“Is just as dangerous, if not more so,” Peter retorted. “Even though the toll keepers are trying to tell us otherwise—I don’t fall for their tricks.” His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms on his chest. “Believe me, old man, I spoke with several merchants about this, just last night in Landsberg, when you were already under the table. The lower route is flooded with meltwater in many places and blocked by landslides. And the locals demand horrendous tolls for the detours. We can’t afford those. The upper route may be longer, but it’s safer and—most importantly—cheaper. I’ve traveled it twice myself.”
“But the gorge—” tried Archibaldus again.
“That’s my final word,” snarled Peter, cutting him off. “I’m the leader of this troupe, and I don’t let anyone tell me what to do, especially not an old drunkard who last traveled that road in the time of Methuselah.”
Grumbling, Archibaldus retreated back inside the wagon.
Johann put the bucket down in front of the horse and gazed at the Alps. They suddenly seemed a lot more menacing. Evidently, there were several different routes across this tall, impregnable-looking wall of mountains, and none of them was absolutely safe. As the sun drifted toward the western horizon, it painted the mountains in a red light, making them look like they were on fire.
That night, as they were sleeping around the wagon, Johann heard Salome’s soft cries. Emilio giggled, then groaned loudly. Johann thought of how Salome had cried out for him just the night before, and the thought drove him wild. He pulled his hood over his ears and held them shut, but he could still hear the moans and lustful sighs of the lovers.
The next evening, the travelers finally reached the foot of the mountains. A newly built castle rose up beside a monastery right where the Lech River came roaring down from the mountains. Below the castle lay