The Werewolf of Bamberg (25 page)

Simon swallowed hard. Up to now, all he had told his friend was that they were hoping to save an innocent person from the claws of justice. Samuel had really stuck his neck out far in making that last assertion. It was clear to Simon that his friend was risking the loss of his good reputation and perhaps even his position as the bishop’s personal physician.

“The real culprit?” Rieneck frowned. Suddenly he seemed unsure of himself. “Do . . . do you have any suspicions regarding this beast? Do any of the witnesses claim to have seen anything else?”

“You know that I don’t have a very high regard for these so-called witnesses,” Samuel replied. “The night watchman was drunk as a skunk, and the rest is probably just idle talk. In my opinion, they’re just figments of the imagination on the part of a few pompous idiots. We have some missing people here, and someone is responsible for their abduction. It isn’t necessarily a werewolf.”

“Not a werewolf? Well, if you think so . . .” The bishop continued feeding the pheasants, but evidently he was mulling it over. Finally he turned back to his guests with a broad smile.

“Perhaps you are right, Doctor. If this young fellow is questioned, he’ll probably accuse his colleagues of being werewolves just to save his miserable life, and I can forget about my visit to the theater. Since my good friend Johann Philipp von Schönborn, prince-bishop of Würzburg, is unfortunately no friend of the Inquisition, we shall have to postpone the torture until after the performance.” Then he threw the bag away and rubbed his chubby hands together. “In addition . . .” He hesitated briefly, then continued animatedly. “In honor of the bishop’s visit, there won’t be just one performance, but two. After all, he’s a real imperial elector.”

“Two performances?” Samuel asked, confused. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Rieneck gave a sly grin, like a small child. “Well . . . I was foolish enough to give permission to another theater troupe to take winter quarters in our city. The manager comes from the beautiful country of France and somehow was able to wrap me around his finger with his sweet, honeyed words. Supporting two troupes of actors in a modest bishopric like Bamberg is clearly beyond our means. Our suffragan bishop Harsee is at times a bit zealous and keeps pestering me about the first group.” He rolled his eyes, but then nodded cheerfully. “So therefore, we will have a contest. Two performances, one by each troupe, presented for His Excellency the Würzburg bishop and all the citizens of Bamberg. The troupe that gives the better performance will be permitted to remain in the city. What do you think? Isn’t that a splendid idea? It kills three birds with one stone: I politely dismiss one of the two groups, impress the elector, and gain the good favor of the Bambergers. For years they’ll remember this friendly gesture by their monarch.”

He scrutinized his guests’ faces like a cook who had just suggested an especially strange menu.

“Ah, a splendid suggestion, Your Excellency,” replied Simon. “So there’s some hope for Matheo?”

The bishop frowned. “Who is Matheo?”

“The young lad sitting in the dungeon accused of being a werewolf,” Samuel explained.

“Ah, I see. Well, yes, then he will be spared until after the performance, as I said—an acceptable solution for all concerned.” The bishop seemed extremely pleased with himself and turned to Samuel with a smile. “I owe it to you for having suggested this marvelous idea, Doctor. It will be a great pleasure for me to greet you and your friend at the performance.”

He reached for his sack again, dismissing his guests with a wave of the hand without even looking at them again. “And now, farewell. I must go to feed my dear monkeys. This menagerie takes a great deal of my time.”

“Damn it! You know where Barbara is. Now tell me right away, or . . .”

“Or what?” Magdalena gazed at her father serenely. “Are you going to torture me on the rack if I don’t tell you? Pull out my fingernails or put on the thumbscrews? Hm?”

“I’d be happy just to give you a good spanking, and it’s too bad you’re too old for that now.”

Grumbling, Jakob waved her off and fell into a gloomy silence. He leaned back on the wooden bench in the Bamberg hangman’s house, lit his pipe, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. A steady rain pounded against the closed shutters.

Simon, sitting next to Jakob, tried again to calm them down. He had returned from his audience with the bishop several hours ago, and now night had fallen. “Magdalena promised Barbara not to tell you where she was hiding out,” Simon said in a pleading voice. “If she breaks that promise and you bring Barbara back here by force, she’ll run away again the first chance she gets. That’s pointless.”

Jakob remained silent, clouds of tobacco rose like bad spirits toward the ceiling, and a tense atmosphere reigned all around the table. Magdalena could scarcely bear it.

Why must Father always be so stubborn?
she thought.

The aroma of ham, beans, and millet still hung in the air, and the large pan from which the whole family had scraped the last bits of supper stood empty in the middle of the table. The children, Peter and Paul—the only ones in the group who were not dejected—were playing with the cat on the living room floor, which was strewn with rushes. From time to time, Simon had to step in when they pulled the cat’s tail or held a burning stick of kindling against its fur.

During the meal, Jakob had kept quizzing Magdalena, hoping to find out where her younger sister might be hiding, but she had remained stubbornly silent. Meanwhile, Bartholomäus, chewing loudly and smacking his lips, polished off the rest of the stew without saying a word. Magdalena was certain that Katharina would cure him of these bad manners after the wedding, but for now his fiancée demurely spent the nights near the harbor gate with her father.

After a while, Georg cleared his throat. “My uncle and I were in the dungeon of St. Thomas’s chapel next to the cathedral late this afternoon,” he began in a confident voice, trying to cheer everyone up. “That’s where they put the prisoners who are especially important to the bishop. We took a quick look into Matheo’s cell, and he’s doing well, considering the circumstances. If what Simon said before is correct, then nothing will happen for the next few days. But of course the boy is terribly frightened.”

Simon had already told the rest of the family about the prince-bishop’s plan to schedule a competition between the two groups of actors, and also that Matheo’s torture would not begin until after the decision. In that respect, Simon’s visit with the bishop hadn’t been entirely in vain, even if Magdalena knew they had won just a brief reprieve.

“Were you allowed to speak with Matheo?” she finally asked her younger brother.

Georg shrugged. “Only very briefly. He swears he’s innocent, but he suspects someone—”

“Guiscard and his troupe, I’ll assume,” Magdalena interrupted. “That’s not so implausible. After all, Matheo had a fight with his men the day before, and the room with the actors’ chests was accessible to anyone. Guiscard no doubt hopes that others in Sir Malcolm’s group will be suspected of being werewolves—especially since Matheo will soon be tortured.” She turned to her uncle. “Will you help us delay the torture until we’ve found the true culprit?”

Bartholomäus wiped the remains of the stew out of his beard and grinned scornfully. “Ha! Do you really think you can run around through the streets of town and catch this werewolf . . . or whatever it is out there . . . and you’ll get your Matheo back?” He shook his head. “You can forget about that. Even if you found out who or what was behind all these missing-persons cases, the hunt will go on. That’s what happened during the witch trials. Now the big cleanup is at hand.”

“And you’ll make good money because of it, won’t you, Bartl?” said Jakob from behind a dense cloud of tobacco. “Every burning at the stake will bring you at least twenty guilders. Tell me, was this fine house bought with the death of all those witches back then? Was it one of the many buildings standing empty because their owners are no longer alive? A good deal for a hangman—isn’t that so?”

“How dare you!” Bartholomäus pounded the table so hard that the two boys were frightened and ran over to their mother. His voice trembled slightly, and once again Magdalena noticed that her uncle wasn’t really the tough fellow he sometimes pretended to be. “Who the hell are you to pass judgment on me, Jakob?” he raged. “You’ve killed at least as many people as I have.”

“Not one of them was a witch, Bartholomäus. Everyone I executed died for a good reason—or if not, at least I didn’t extend their suffering unnecessarily. Can you say that of yourself?”

Bartholomäus clenched his teeth. “Damn it, I had nothing to do with those damned witch trials. I came to Bamberg just after that. The job was available because . . . because the old hangman simply ran away, disappeared without a trace after he’d tortured and executed hundreds of people.”

“And still, his work clings to you like a curse,” replied Jakob.

Suddenly Bartholomäus leapt up and seemed about to grab his brother by the throat. “Ha! That’s him! The big, smart-ass brother,” he shouted, “who could do everything better. If you’re so damn smart, Jakob, so self-satisfied, then tell your loving children the story of how you ran away. Do you know how old I was then, Jakob? Or have you forgotten? Twelve! Our sister, little Elisabeth, was just three. And you just ran away, abandoned us.”

“I had my reasons.”

Magdalena looked at her father and frowned. Jakob suddenly looked unsure of himself, nervously sucking on his pipe.

“Abandoned?” she repeated. “You never told us what happened when you left Schongau, Father. Why did you—”

At that moment there was a loud pounding on the door.

Everyone held their breath for a moment, then Bartholomäus shouted, “Who’s out there?”

“It’s me, Katharina. Please open the door. I . . . I . . .”

Her voice failed and turned into a long, wordless lament. Bartholomäus jumped up at once and hurried to the door. He opened it and she rushed into his arms, sobbing. She was soaked with rain and completely out of breath, as if she’d run all the way.

“What happened?” Bartholomäus asked in a hoarse voice. For the first time, Magdalena saw something resembling fear in his eyes. When she didn’t answer but just continued sobbing, he began to shake her. Now the two boys started to whimper and whine.

“Katharina, just tell us!” the Bamberg hangman shouted over the general commotion. “What the hell happened?”

“They . . . they’ve forbidden it,” she finally gasped. “Simply forbidden!”

Bartholomäus looked at her, perplexed. “Who has forbidden what?”

“Oh, God, I think I know,” Magdalena whispered to Simon, who, like all the others in the room, was staring in bewilderment at the large woman.

“What do you think? The wedding feast,” Katharina replied in a choked voice. She pulled out a large handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. “Those fine people in the city council have turned down our celebration in the wedding house. My . . . my father just returned from the city hall, where they gave him the news. A dishonorable executioner may not celebrate a wedding in a public building, on orders from the suffragan bishop.”

“That damned Harsee,” Simon mumbled. “I should have guessed. That bigot thinks the world will come to an end if someone has a party.”

For a moment there was silence in the room, except for Katarina’s muted sobs and the whining of the two boys. Bartholomäus shook his head with obvious relief.

“My God, and I thought . . . ,” he groaned. Then he looked sternly at his fiancée. “Why didn’t you wait until tomorrow to give us this news? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to run through the streets after nightfall? God knows what might have happened.”

“But don’t you understand what that means, Bartholomäus?” Katharina lamented. “We have to call it all off. The musicians, the food, the wine, the table decorations . . .”

“Then just celebrate here in the hangman’s house,” suggested Jakob, still sitting on the bench smoking. “Just like me and my Anna. Anyway, it’s a lot nicer and cozier. Who needs all this pomp and ceremony?” He shook his head. “They didn’t forbid the marriage, just the celebration in the wedding house, right?”

“I’m reluctant to agree with my brother, but in this case he’s right,” Bartholomäus grumbled. “All this celebrating is so garish, anyway. We’ll just uninvite most of the guests and you can cook a tasty stew for us, there will be one or two mugs of beer, and then . . .”

Whatever else he had to say was drowned out by Katharina’s renewed sobs. The two Kuisl brothers looked at each other, at a loss, and Georg frowned as well.

“I’m afraid you men don’t understand,” Magdalena said. She rose to her feet and embraced her future aunt, who again broke out sobbing. “Katharina has already put a lot of time and effort into preparations for the wedding feast. This rejection is a slap in the face to her. Just having to uninvite all the guests offends her sense of pride.”

“She’ll have to get used to that if she marries into the family of a hangman,” Jakob growled.

“Is there no chance we can persuade the council to change their mind?” Simon asked, but Bartholomäus waved him off.