“There is no evil in my household. I use herbs and potions to heal, not harm. And, sir, if you would have your maidservant prepare for you a tea made from the root of Solomon's Seal, the pain in your hands would ease.”
“Or he'd die,” said Lindner.
The judge shrank away from the table and pulled his gnarled hands into his lap.
“Have you ever heard of
Der Hexenhammer
, Frau Lamm?” said Father Streng. “It was written long ago, before you, or even your mother, were born, by men of God who knew the evil of witches.” He smoothed the quill with his fingertips. “It says that no one does more harm to the Catholic Faith than midwives. And Fraulein Spatz has intimated that you do harm others.”
“The bitch lies.”
Lutz raised a warning hand to silence Frau Lamm, then turned to the priest. “
Bitte
, Father Streng, that is not quite correct. Fraulein Spatz maintained that both she and Frau Lamm are innocent.”
“As you
ought
to recall, Herr Lutz,” said Chancellor Brandt, “by the end of the questioning, Fraulein Spatz had begun to cast doubt upon her own innocence as well as Frau Lamm's. And now, please allow us to continue the questioning. Without interruption.”
Lutz placed an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. As a student, he'd been taught that a defence lawyer was supposed to interrupt, to correct and clarify, to challenge. Never before had he attended a hearing where the defence lawyer was told to remain silent. It was exasperating. Frau Lamm might be guilty, but he strongly suspected Fraulein Spatz was not. How could they ever discover that if they allowed no contrary evidence to be presented? Now he understood why Father Herzeim had said that evidence wouldn't matter.
“Fraulein Spatz said that you told her the baby would be born dead,” said Father Streng. “How did you know that?”
“She'd felt no movement for weeks, and her skin was sallow. It showed in her eyes. I did nothing to harm that child.”
“But it was born dead.”
“Some babies are stillborn. Sometimes it is no one's fault.” Father Streng's eyes widened behind his spectacles. “That is heresy, Frau Lamm. A child's death is always someone's fault. The sin of the mother, or the father, visited upon the child. Or the work of witches.”
Lutz thought uneasily of Maria and his own dead child. He was certain his gentle wife had done nothing to bring harm to a baby. Had he? What sin could he have committed that was worth the life of a child? Or was it witchcraft? Maria had gone to midwives for help in conceiving. She'd worn bundles of herbs tied in muslin, suspended between her breasts for months at a time. Could she have been bewitched rather than helped?
“I did not harm that child.” Frau Lamm stood, unmoving, not a sway or even a tremble.
“There are witnesses who say they heard a child crying that night,” said Chancellor Brandt.
“It must have been some other child. Ursula Spatz's baby was born dead.”
“Why was everything so secret?” Judge Steinbach's voice rose in a petulant whine.
“The girl is quite large. No one knew she was carrying a child, not even the father.” Frau Lamm ran her tongue over her sharp teeth. “May he live to receive the reward he so richly deserves.”
Father Streng's quill came to an abrupt halt. “You would threaten Herr Zwingen? Now, in this chamber?”
“
Nein
,” said the midwife. “There is no need. The Holy Mother will see to his punishment, since the earthly authorities will not. I think she is not so sweet as many would claim.”
“Punishment?” said Father Streng.
“Fraulein Spatz's employer forced her.”
“The evidence indicates otherwise,” said Lindner. “A child was conceived.”
“
Ja
, a child was conceived.” Frau Lamm stared at the
physician until he blinked and looked away. “And the child was a bastard,” she said. “Fraulein Spatz was planning to take it to the Julius Hospital to be cared for as an orphan.”
“Or perhaps she was planning to use it in your foul rituals,” said Judge Steinbach.
“We have no rituals.”
Lindner ran a palm over his shiny pate, his fingers stopping at the fringe of sandy hair. “The Lower City Council has ordered that midwives report the births of all illegitimate children to the proper authorities. Why did you not do so?”
“The child was born dead.”
“Even more reason,” huffed the physician, “why the birth â and death â should have been reported. It makes the death all the more suspicious.”
“I did not harm that child.” Frau Lamm studied the pulley on the ceiling. “It is possible, I suppose, that Fraulein Spatz sought out some other midwife to give her a potion to kill the child in her womb. But not me. I do not do that.”
“But you know of these potions?” said Lindner.
“I know of them. But I do not use them.”
Lutz suspected otherwise. When he visited her cell, the midwife had spoken bitterly about Fraulein Spatz and her plight. Lutz doubted that Frau Lamm would have any qualms whatsoever about helping unwed girls who'd sinned. She'd even intimated that many in that predicament had been forced, or lied to. All that talk of wombs and private things had made Lutz even more uneasy. Despite the chill in the cell, his forehead and palms had run with sweat. The back of his linen shirt was soaked by the time he and Father Herzeim left.
“Could Fraulein Spatz have smothered the infant when your back was turned?” said Chancellor Brandt.
“
Nein
,” the midwife said wearily. “The boy was dead when it came from her womb.”
“And that is the truth?” said Hampelmann.
“That is the truth. I swear it.”
Chancellor Brandt nodded at Freude. “Show her the first instrument of torture.”
The executioner reached for the thumbscrews. Frau Lamm drew back, then stepped forward, her face close to Freude's. “Show me anything you like, you bastard, but you'll not frighten me, or torture me, into saying anything but the truth.”
“Watch your tongue,” snapped Chancellor Brandt. “And show proper respect for your betters.”
“He's a better?” Frau Lamm laughed out loud.
Freude cuffed her on the back of the head so that she stumbled forward into the curve of the table where Judge Steinbach sat. He pushed back his chair so quickly he nearly fell backwards. The executioner grabbed her wrists and pulled her back to the centre of the chamber. The plume on the judge's hat bobbed with each laboured breath.
“Did you harm that child?” said Hampelmann.
“
Nein
.”
“Or any child?”
“
Nein
.”
“Have you harmed anyone with your herbs and potions?” said Lindner.
Freude held the thumbscrews close to her face.
“
Nein
,” she snarled.
“When did you first meet with the Devil?” said Father Streng.
“Never.”
“When and where did you attend the sabbath?”
“Never.”
Hampelmann held up his open ledger in both hands. “How did you know Frau Basser, Fraulein Stolzberger, and Frau Imhof?”
“I did not know them.”
He slammed the ledger on the table. Judge Steinbach jumped
and put a hand to his heart. “Then why did all three name you as an accomplice?” said Hampelmann.
“I do not know.”
“You do not know?” said Chancellor Brandt. “Three condemned witches name you as an accomplice, and you don't know why?” He slowly crossed his arms over the medallion on his chest. “I believe that you do know. Herr Freude, take her back to her cell and let her contemplate truth. Before you leave, Frau Lamm, take a good look at the tools in this chamber. I believe you shall come to know them all quite intimately.”
Ignoring Chancellor Brandt's instructions, the midwife stared into the face of each commissioner. Every man, even the chancellor and the executioner, looked away before she did. Chancellor Brandt's face reddened. “Take her away,” he shouted, “and bring in the young man.”
Straining to draw breath, Lutz tugged at the tight starched collar Maria had tied around his neck that morning. He felt as if a hand were clamped over his mouth and nose. The midwife had sucked up all the air. Lutz cracked open the door behind him and gulped fresh air like a man drowning. When his breathing and heartbeat had slowed, he pushed the door closed and turned back to the table.
Chancellor Brandt was scowling. “That door must remain closed during the hearings, Herr Lutz. For everyone's protection, these proceedings must be kept secret.”
“I desperately needed fresh air.”
“Witches do have a way of poisoning the air around them,” Father Streng said sympathetically.
Witches. Poisoning the air
. Everything pointed to Frau Lamm's guilt: the Devil's mark, her suspicious name and lineage, her sharp tongue, her knowledge of herbs and potions, the death of the baby. There was nothing Lutz could do to help her. And he shouldn't. If she was in league with the Devil, she deserved to
die â despite whatever Father Herzeim might say about bringing a sinner back to God. The midwife was a menace to them all.
Lutz brought his pomander to his nose and breathed in the spicy fragrance of sweet marjoram. And if Frau Lamm was guilty, there was no reason he had to go back to her cell. Ever.
Freude returned with Herr Silberhans. Lutz pretended to study his ledger. He'd learned the routine by now: the accused walking backwards, the oath, the same questions asked over and over again, the bald nakedness, the searching for Devil's marks in the most private of places. It was no longer quite so shocking, although Chancellor Brandt and Freude did seem startled to hear what Lutz had already learned from questioning the young man in his cell. Silberhans was from a wealthy family in Augsburg.
The slender youth stood before them. His penis hung pale and limp, shrunk with fear. Freude searched every inch of his body. “A few scrapes, ordinary moles, and boyhood scars,” he finally announced. “Nothing suspicious.” He did not call upon the physician's expertise nor pull out his consecrated needle to prick any marks. Freude handed the linen shift back to Silberhans and allowed the young man to cover himself before he gently bound his wrists.
Hampelmann began the second round of questioning. “Herr Silberhans, you have been accused by known witches of being an accomplice. Moreover, there have been reports to the
Malefizamt
that you have publicly questioned the procedures of the Commission of Inquisition for the Würzburg Court. What do you say to these charges?”
“I deny them. And whatever coward has made them, let him accuse me to my face.”
“Not possible,” said Hampelmann. “The three witches are burning in hell. And as for the others, it would be too dangerous to bring them here.”
“Too dangerous?” Lutz blurted.
“Of course,” said Hampelmann. “If the accused sees them, or even knows their names, he could lay a curse upon them. For that reason, the
Malefizamt
never releases the names of those who make reports.”
“Never?” Lutz said. “Even to me?”
“Especially to you...and Herr Silberhans.”
“Are you telling me that Herr Silberhans cannot confront those who've made such serious charges against him?” Lutz could hear the rising pitch and volume of his own voice. “And that I can't have their names to question them, even though these people may have base motives for speaking ill of Herr Silberhans?”
“Too dangerous, Herr Lutz,” said Father Streng.
Lutz threw up his hands. “What kind of trial is this?”
Father Streng laid down his quill. “This is a preliminary inquisition, Herr Lutz, not a trial. The strict rules of a trial do not apply. And do not forget Jean Bodin's admonition:
The proof of such crimes is so obscure and so difficult that not one witch in a million would be accused or punished if the procedure were governed by ordinary rules
.”
Lutz pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. This was like no legal proceeding he'd ever known. No rules of evidence, testimony from disreputable witnesses was considered legally acceptable, and now this: the accused could not confront his accusers. As a defence lawyer his efforts were futile. He could not possibly protect this young man, who, Lutz was almost certain, was innocent of any crime.
“As a student of the law, Herr Silberhans,” said Father Streng, “you must be aware of the writings of the Jesuit, Martin Delrio.”
“Certainly,” Silberhans said quietly.
“Ah, but you seem to have forgotten Delrio's specific words.” Father Streng picked up a small knife and sharpened his quill. “
No one is to urge judges to desist from prosecution. It is an
indicium
of witchcraft to defend witches, or to affirm that witch
stories which are told as certain are mere deceptions or illusions... Anyone who pronounces against the death sentence is reasonably suspected of secret complicity
.”
“I have never defended witches. Nor opposed the death sentence for witches.”
“You're a student of Father Herzeim's,” said Hampelmann. “Is that correct?”
“Ja.”
“Could it be that you merely repeated, without thinking, what one of your professors said about witchcraft, or about the commission's procedures?”
Lutz jerked to attention. Now it made sense, what Hampelmann had said to him when they returned from dinner, warning Lutz to be careful about seeking advice from a sceptic and heretic. He'd meant Father Herzeim. Hampelmann was using Silberhans to get at a man he considered to be a dangerous sceptic.
Lutz willed the young man to use his wits. Silberhans had to know that if he said no, he was condemning himself. Yet, if he said yes and blamed Father Herzeim, he would be accusing the priest of heresy, and, by extension, condemning himself as well, by admitting he'd repeated the heresy.