The Werewolf of Bamberg (13 page)

And they grew weaker and weaker.

Hang on.

Adelheid closed her eyes and mumbled a quiet prayer as the screams seemed to pierce her like needles.

Hang on!

“Damn, this is tobacco the way I love it. Black as the devil’s hair and sweet as the ass of a young whore.”

His eyes closed, Jakob Kuisl sat in the Bamberg hangman’s dining room, puffing on his pipe as dark clouds of smoke rose to the ceiling. The foul-smelling tobacco seemed to transform the hangman into a more peaceful, sociable creature. The others present rubbed their stinging eyes and occasionally coughed, but accepted that as the price they had to pay.

The fading light of autumn had turned to night several hours earlier, and the Kuisls were sitting together around the huge oaken table while Katharina cleared away the bowls, plates, and tableware. From the ingredients Magdalena and Barbara had brought back to her from the Bamberg markets, Bartholomäus’s fiancée had conjured up the most delicious meal Magdalena had eaten in months. Now she sat across the table from her father, feeling full, relaxed, and tired, watching as he blew smoke rings of various sizes across the room. The boys, Peter and Paul, were already asleep after Barbara had told them a long bedtime story.

Outside, the autumn rain beat against the shutters and the wind howled like a wild beast. With dread, Magdalena thought about the previous night and the terrible events her father and Uncle Bartholomäus had just related to them.

“And someone really slit open this poor girl’s chest in order to take out her heart?” she asked in the ensuing silence. “For heaven’s sake, who would do such a thing?”

“What rubbish,” growled Bartholomäus, who was sitting at the table off to one side, whittling a piece of pinewood. “Your father just made that up. The perpetrator probably just took a swing at the poor child to keep her quiet.”

“And what about the toenails that were ripped out on the leg the captain showed us?” Jakob said. “Did the perpetrator just take a wild swing there, too? This is one too many coincidences for me.”

“Well, even if that’s the case,” Bartholomäus said, casting a dark glance at his brother, “I really can’t understand why you have to tell us all about it here, Jakob. The head of the city guards expressly—”

“What I tell my family is none of your damned business,” Kuisl interrupted, nodding toward Georg and Simon. “Georg already knows about it, and he’ll take it to his grave with him—and my son-in-law may be just a bathhouse owner, but he knows a thing or two about medicine. So why shouldn’t I ask them for their advice?”

Magdalena couldn’t help laughing. “Good God, wonders never cease! This would be the first time you asked my husband for advice,” she said, turning to Simon. “Right?”

Simon just shrugged. He was warming his hands on a cup of hot coffee—his favorite brew, Magdalena knew, for stimulating his thinking. “In any case, I don’t believe this crime can be kept secret very long,” he finally said. “By now, half the city already knows about the hairy monster.”

“You’re right.” said Georg, stretching. The long, strenuous day had clearly tired him out, as well. “I was in the Bamberg Forest today, and later I went over to St. Gangolf to pick up a few dead sheep. Even there, people are talking about this beast, and they think it can only be a werewolf.” He shook his head. “If the prince-bishop learns about this . . .”

“Unfortunately, he already has,” Simon interrupted with a sigh, “from his own suffragan bishop, Sebastian Harsee. Do you know him? He’s really a disagreeable fellow.”

He briefly told about his meeting with Master Samuel and the dark suspicions expressed by the suffragan bishop.

“They want to put together a council to consider if it’s really a werewolf,” Simon concluded, “even though this Harsee bastard has already made up his mind. Thank God Samuel will also be on the commission—at least one enlightened voice in this crowd of superstitious and bigoted agitators.”

“But suppose it really is a werewolf?” Barbara asked anxiously. After helping Katharina clear the table, she sat down beside her brother Georg and looked around at everyone. “I mean, people have disappeared, severed body parts have been found, and then this furry creature . . .”

“And don’t forget the horribly mangled stag carcass that Simon told us about yesterday, and things you hear from people who have traveled through the forest,” Magdalena added, turning to her father. “There may be nothing to it, but isn’t it possible that some beast is really lurking around Bamberg and causing this trouble? It doesn’t have to be a werewolf. Maybe it’s just a large wolf, or—”

“Good God, just stop this!” Bartholomäus shouted, stabbing his knife into the table. “I don’t want to hear anything more about this in my house. Werewolf? Bah! These are horror stories that only sow hatred and discord, as if we didn’t already have enough of that in Bamberg.” He stood up and stomped off to the downstairs bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“What’s the matter with him?” Simon asked. “You might almost think tobacco doesn’t agree with him.”

“You’ll have to excuse him.” With a sigh, Katharina took off her apron and sat down in her fiancé’s empty chair. She stared disapprovingly at the knife in front of her, jammed into the top of the table, still quivering. “You’re not Bambergers,” she said softly, “and you don’t know what this city went through back then, when they burned hundreds of accused wizards and witches here. Bartholomäus just doesn’t want to go through all that again.”

“Even though, as the Bamberg hangman, it would bring him a lot of business,” Jakob replied sullenly. Then he started counting on his fingers. “Let’s see: if Bartholomäus receives two guilders each time he tortures a person and ten more for every witch put to the stake and burned, that would amount to—”

“You! You just can’t bear the fact that your brother is more successful than you are,” Georg burst out angrily. “Admit it, Father. Our uncle has really made something of himself here in Bamberg, and now he’s marrying the daughter of a city secretary, while back in Schongau you’re still cleaning garbage from the street. And that gets under your skin.”

Jakob looked down at the reeds on the floor, and spat. “Better to have your feet in the shit than to crawl up the perfumed asses of the noble gentlemen. By the way, that’s no way to talk to your father. What has your uncle taught you in the last two years?”

“More than you in ten.”

“Enough of this, now.” Katharina had jumped up and was glaring angrily at the father and son. “Perhaps some of you have forgotten, but we’ll be celebrating a wedding soon, and I want you all to get along. I invited you to Bamberg so Bartholomäus could finally be reconciled with his relatives. After all, we’re one family.” She pointed at Georg. “And you will apologize at once. That’s no way to speak to your father.”

For a while no one said a thing. Finally, Georg nodded. “Very well. I’m . . . I’m sorry, Father.”

Jakob Kuisl remained silent, but Magdalena could see how he was struggling. He crushed his pipe stem between his teeth while exhaling little clouds of smoke like a smokestack. Finally, he nodded as well, but still not a word escaped his lips. Magdalena decided to change the topic and turned to Katharina.

“Was Bartholomäus already the Bamberg executioner back then, during the terrible witch trials?” she asked.

Katharina stared at her, at a loss. “I’m not sure. I was just a baby at the time. If he was here then, he couldn’t have been more than a young assistant, so it was no fault of his.”

“We hangmen are never at fault,” Jakob Kuisl said between two puffs on his pipe. “Even if the noble gentlemen wished we were. We are just the sword in their hands.”

“So Bartholomäus’s worries are actually justified.” Simon was thinking it all over as he slurped his strong brew. He, too, seemed glad that the quarrel between the father and the son had been put aside, at least temporarily. “If they really do set up a commission because of this werewolf, it won’t be long before the first burnings at the stake.” He turned to Jakob. “Think of Schongau. Wasn’t it your grandfather, back then, who beheaded and burned more than sixty women in that ill-fated witch trial? The whole town went crazy.”

“That was long ago,” Jakob growled. “The times were different.”

“Really?” Magdalena looked at her father, mulling it all over. “For my part, I pray that men have changed since that time. But I’m pretty skeptical. Even if—”

A knock at the door interrupted her words, and a shiver ran up her spine, as if something evil were lurking out there, demanding to be let in. The other members of the family looked questioningly at one another.

“Don’t worry,” Katharina said, trying to calm them. “That’s just my father. He insisted on picking me up personally today. After everything that has happened in the last few weeks, he doesn’t want me to walk alone through the dark backstreets.” She opened the door, and in stepped a portly gentleman wrapped in a heavy woolen cape with a hood, from which the rain dripped in little rivulets to the ground. A lantern dangling from his hand cast a dim, flickering light around him. Magdalena couldn’t suppress a smile. Katharina’s father looked as if someone had dumped a barrel of water over him, shrinking his clothing so it clung tightly to his body.

“Horrid weather outside,” he said, shivering. “Wouldn’t even allow a dog out in this weather.”

“Let’s hope it’s too wet and cold for the evildoers, as well,” Katharina responded with a smile. “You don’t look like you could scare them off very easily.”

She gestured to the others at the table. “But even in such terrible weather, we mustn’t forget our manners and ignore our guests. This is my father, Hieronymus Hauser. You already met Jakob earlier; behind him is Magdalena and her husband, Simon, and between them, that pretty young lady is Georg’s twin sister, Barbara.”

Hauser bowed politely, then he winked at Barbara. “I can’t say you look very much like your brother, but that isn’t necessarily a disadvantage.”

Jakob Kuisl laughed grimly. “You’re right, Master Hauser. Barbara is more like her mother.”

“Well, when it comes to corpulence, I’m more like my father,” Katharina lamented, rolling her eyes playfully. “I can count myself lucky that Bartl prefers bigger women.” She stretched, rubbing her tired eyes. “Excuse me, but the day has been long, and at the first light of dawn tomorrow we need to go back to preparing for the wedding. I’m afraid we must leave.”

Hauser nodded. “Yes, I think we must. The night watchman is just going by outside along the moat, and I’d like to join him. These autumn nights feel a bit eerie to me . . .” He shook himself and turned to Simon. “I’d like to continue our talk sometime, in the light of day. They say you know something about books, and I have some at home that might interest you.”

Simon looked up at him, delighted. “Oh, of course! What are they, what—”

Magdalena yawned loudly. When Simon started talking about books, there was usually no end to it. “Katharina’s right, it’s already late,” she said as she stood up. “Besides, I promised to help her tomorrow.”

“I’m so glad for the help.” Her aunt-to-be smiled. “We must pick out the material for my dress and cut it to size, and given my figure, it will take a couple of rolls. Thank you very much, Magdalena.” She clapped her hands as if trying to scare off an evil spirit. “A little sleep should do everyone some good and drive away the gloomy thoughts, so let’s hurry and get to bed.” She wagged her finger in mock admonishment. “And remember, no more quarreling in the family. After the wedding you can rip each other to shreds, for all I care.”

Hauser frowned. “I hope there will be no occasion to do that. Or is there?” He looked all around. “Where is Bartholomäus, anyway?”

Katharina brushed off the remark lightly. “Oh, he’s just gone off to sulk a bit. It’s nothing serious, Father, believe me. I’ll tell you all about it on the way home.”

She put on her coat and hugged Magdalena once more. “Take care that Bartl and your father don’t squabble too much, will you?” she whispered. “It would be the best wedding present you could give me.”

Magdalena nodded silently, and with one last nod, Katharina and Hieronymus Hauser stepped out into the rain.

Everyone at table rose, each heading for their own bedroom, except for Jakob Kuisl, who remained, puffing rings of smoke and watching them rise slowly toward the ceiling. When Magdalena turned around one last time to look at her father, she felt as if she were being pursued by hordes of strange, hairy creatures with long fangs.

Then the beasts slipped out through cracks in the windows and disappeared into the night.

5

T
HE
B
AMBERG
F
OREST
, MORNING
, O
CTOBER
28, 1668 AD

T
HE YELPING OF THE HOUNDS
echoed through the forest—a hoarse, endless, unsettling howl that got on Jakob’s nerves. It grew louder, then suddenly died away, then morphed into a growling and whimpering as the knacker Aloysius finally tossed the bloody pieces of meat they’d been begging for into their kennel.

The Schongau hangman watched with interest as the hounds, almost twenty of them, fought over the food. Most were agile hunting dogs with black, shiny coats; a few brawny mastiffs were kept in their own kennel next to the others. All the animals were muscular and well fed, baring their fangs as they growled and tore at the large pieces of meat until all that was left of the horse carcass was a few hairy scraps.

“Good dog, good dog,” said Aloysius cheerfully as if talking to some little lap dogs. “Here’s a little more for you. Enjoy it!”

He wiped his bloody hands on his leather apron, reached for a bucket of steaming innards, and tossed the contents into the enclosure. The dogs pounced on it, barking loudly. Jakob had met the inscrutable hangman’s journeyman the day before, when he and Bartholomäus had delivered the horse carcass. Since then, two goats and a pig had died of some mysterious disease. To avoid a possible epidemic, the law required all carcasses to be brought to the knacker in the Bamberg Forest as soon as possible, for processing and disposal.

As usual, Jakob Kuisl was fascinated to see all the ways a dead body could be put to use. The horsehair was used to fill mattresses, or to make sieves and cheap wigs; the hooves and horns were ground into a powder and spread over the fields as fertilizer; and the boiled, foul-smelling fat was used in making expensive, sweet-smelling soap.

We turn garbage into gold,
he thought,
and they pay us with rusty pennies.

There was actually no reason for Jakob to return to the Bamberg Forest that day, though he was curious to find out about this so-called beast. Even more, though, he had been driven by his longing for his son, whom he hoped to find here. He and Georg had never talked much with each other, yet there was an affinity between them that had not faded away over the years. Despite the great distance between them, Jakob had always felt close to his son, so the quarrel the other day had disturbed him more than he even admitted to himself. What was it, again, that Georg had said?

You just can’t bear the fact that your brother is more successful than you are . . .

Is that what it was? Was he really jealous of his younger brother, the one he’d despised so much back then—little Bartl, the slower-witted of the two brothers, who’d looked at every torture as an interesting experiment and had always gotten along better with animals than with people?

Or does reuniting with him remind me of the guilt I can never wash away?

A foul smell stung his nose. When he turned around, he saw his son, Georg, along with Bartholomäus, stirring a large steaming kettle of lye that hung over a fireplace in front of the knacker’s house. The one-story blockhouse was solidly built and the size of a small but formidable castle. In addition, there were a few sheds, a dog kennel, and a smoking coal pile. Taken together, the buildings formed a defensive area surrounded by fences and thorny hedges, standing in a large clearing in the middle of the forest.

“Well, what do you think of my dogs?” With a slight limp in his gait, Bartholomäus walked over to his elder brother and pointed proudly at the hunting dogs, who were yelping and panting as they fought among themselves for the last scraps of food. “It took forever to train them, but they’re fast and untiring, and they do everything I tell them. They’re the best hunting dogs anywhere.”

Jakob frowned. “And
you
, a hangman, go hunting?”

Bartholomäus laughed and waved dismissively. “Of course not. I only train them for the Bamberg prince-bishop. He’s crazy about dogs and other animals. His Excellency is very happy with me, above all because I tend to his beloved menagerie. I feed the bears there and clean out the cages.” He grinned and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “His Excellency pays me quite well for my work. In a few more years, perhaps I’ll buy a larger house somewhere near the Green Market.”

“Just be careful then that the people don’t set your expensive house on fire,” Jakob warned him. “People don’t like it when dishonorable folks like us come into money and become their equals.”

“Maybe in Schongau, but things are different in Bamberg.” Bartholomäus pointed at Georg, who was still standing at the boiling kettle and stirring it with a long stick. “Ask your son. He likes the way he’s treated here.” A faint smile passed over his lips. “And your daughter Barbara would no doubt like it here, too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well . . .” Bartholomäus paused for a moment, then nodded in the direction of Aloysius, who was standing in the kennel surrounded by the dogs. The knacker was wearing a long leather jacket smeared with blood and dirt, and a glove on one hand that one of the dogs had just sunk its teeth into. “Aloysius has been looking for a wife for a long time,” Bartholomäus continued in a soft voice. “He isn’t the handsomest fellow in the world, but as the Bamberg knacker and hangman’s journeyman, he makes a good living. In addition, he’s loyal and reliable. When I’m not here, he does all the work of the knacker by himself here in the forest—flaying, grinding bones, caring for the dogs . . . A little feminine companionship would be good for him.”

Jakob laughed loudly. “You don’t know my daughter, Bartl. She’s got a mind of her own. Years ago I tried to marry off Magdalena to my cousin in Steingaden, but she couldn’t be talked out of marrying her Simon.”

Bartholomäus shrugged. “Just think it over. Other hangmen’s daughters would love to have an offer like this.”

“It’s enough for you to try to change Georg,” Jakob grumbled. “For heaven’s sake, stay away from Barbara. We’re here to celebrate a wedding, and then everyone will go their own ways. That’s what we agreed to.” Jakob turned around, but his brother’s sharp voice held him back.

“That’s what you do best, isn’t it, Jakob? Go your own way, and not concern yourself with others.”

“How dare you . . . ,” Jakob flared up, but at that moment Aloysius approached with another bucket of fresh guts. The knacker, whose face was scarred by pockmarks, greeted them with a brief nod.

“I’m going out back, master,” he mumbled into his stubby beard. It was clear he was missing some teeth.

“Do that,” Bartholomäus replied, “and remember the bishop needs the mastiffs tomorrow for his bear hunt, so wash and comb their fur, so they don’t embarrass us.”

Aloysius grinned. “Very well, master. They’ll shine like bridled white horses.” Humming a tune, he disappeared behind the shed.

“Do you have more dogs?” Jakob asked.

Bartholomäus looked at him, puzzled. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, Aloysius won’t be eating the entrails in the pail himself, will he?”

His brother laughed loudly, and Jakob thought he briefly detected a nervous twitch around his mouth.

“Hah! My apprentice will eat any damn thing and is a bit strange, but he doesn’t go that far,” Bartholomäus said in a raspy voice. “No, those are the stinking remains of the carcass. We’ve dug a hole behind the house, six feet deep, where we bury the garbage, on orders from the bishop. We can’t leave anything lying around here. The noble gentlemen have a fear of poison vapors.”

He pointed at the large blockhouse and the buildings standing around it, all apparently new. “The animals in the forest, especially his hunting dogs, are extremely important to the bishop; that’s why he had this large house built here. Before the war, the house of the bishop’s master of the hunt stood nearby, but now it’s just a ruin with the wind whistling through it. People say it’s haunted. Well, at least stories like that scare poachers away.” Bartholomäus grinned. “The bishop’s new master of the hunt prefers to live in the luxurious canon’s quarters, and I can do as I please here.”

“As you please . . .” Jakob nodded. “I see.” He looked over at his son, who was scooping fat from the kettle. “How much longer do you need Georg today?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. “The womenfolk in my family are going to the theater to watch those silly people prancing, dancing, and singing. That’s not for me. I thought that Georg and I might perhaps go for a stroll in the forest . . .”

“He’ll surely be busy for a while with the boiling, and the leather needs to be sent to the tanner today. I’m afraid there’s no time.” Bartholomäus forced a thin smile. “But feel free to ask him if he wants to talk with his father later on about the good old days.”

Jakob was about to offer a blunt response, but then he waved his hand wearily.

“Maybe it’s just better to go our own separate ways for a while. Georg and me, I mean, but also you and me. See you this evening, dear Brother.”

“Hey, where are you going?” Bartholomäus shouted gruffly as his brother started to leave.

Jakob turned around. “I need some peace and quiet, and some fresh air. The foul odor here is too much for me.”

“Then you’re heading in the wrong direction. There’s nothing to see there, just the place where we bury the garbage.”

As if to confirm Bartholomäus’s answer, the servant Aloysius just then came around the corner of the building with empty buckets in his hands. He looked at Jakob distrustfully and, spreading his legs apart, blocked the Schongau hangman’s way.

“One might almost think I’m not welcome here,” Kuisl growled. “Some family this is.”

He hesitated briefly, then headed for a small gate he’d noticed at the far end of the clearing, leading from the yard out into the forest. He walked through it without turning around again. The sudden silence of the forest immediately calmed him down a bit. Just the same, inwardly his spirit was in turmoil. He kept thinking of Bartholomäus’s words.

Ask your son. He likes the way he’s treated here. And your daughter Barbara would no doubt like it here, too.

Jakob knew his brother was right. His children would probably have a better life here than at home in Schongau. Perhaps Georg would someday even marry a woman from a higher social class, just like Bartholomäus was doing. But Jakob also knew the real purpose of these offers from Bartholomäus.

He wants to destroy me. After all these years, he still cannot forget.

A narrow, almost overgrown deer path ran along the fence behind the buildings and then deeper into the pine forest. The musty odor of wet needles mingled with the burning smell from the knacker’s fire behind him, while overhead the clouds hung so low they grazed the upper branches. Though it was only noontime, dusk seemed to already be settling over the forest.

Jakob Kuisl had gone some distance when he suddenly heard a long, drawn-out growl. At first he thought it had come from the dog kennels, but then he realized the knacker’s house lay far behind him. He stopped and listened.

Again he heard something growling, deep and threatening—but more importantly, very nearby.

Instinctively, Jakob Kuisl reached for the long hunting knife hanging on his belt, pulled it out, and looked around carefully. Then he took a few steps forward, but immediately stopped again when he heard a crackling sound close by.

Just a few steps in front of him, a ghostly figure scurried through the bushes. The thicket obscured his view, and all he saw was a vague apparition. But the figure was very large, and it growled deeply and angrily, like a veritable hound of hell.

“What in the world . . .” he muttered, holding his hunting knife up and ready to strike.

But as fast as the figure had appeared, it vanished again. There was one last rustling in the bushes, suggestive of some large, furry creature, and then the spirit had vanished. Jakob waited awhile before cautiously moving on.

Who or what was that?

His heart beat faster and his worries about Georg, Barbara, and his younger brother suddenly receded into the background. The hangman thought of the severed arms and legs, the dead whore in the watchman’s office, and the strange odor emanating from them.

The odor of a wet beast of prey.

For a moment, Jakob was no longer sure whether or not he believed in the existence of werewolves. But then his reason won out. Deep in thought, he pulled out his cold pipe, put it between his teeth, and plodded onward. This creature might have been a large wolf, perhaps a wild dog, but certainly it wasn’t what his imagination had been leading him to believe.

Or maybe it was?

Kuisl picked up his pace. Perhaps the creature would pay him another visit. But this time, he’d be ready.

Wide-eyed, Magdalena sat in the sold-out hall of the tavern, staring at the stage, where Doctor Faustus screamed as he was taken off to hell.

The figure of the scholar was shrouded in clouds of smoke, and thunder rumbled through the room as the man condemned by God slowly sank into the earth while the devil danced around him, laughing. An older woman seated next to Magdalena groaned and fainted, while the man seated on the other side of the woman, presumably her husband, did nothing to help her, spellbound by the events on the stage. Cries of horror could be heard in the hall, and many in the audience clenched their fists or gripped their beer mugs in fear. The same people who had been carousing gaily just a few hours ago now seemed to have turned to stone. When Magdalena looked back briefly, she saw her younger sister standing behind her, pale and wiping the tears from her eyes.