The Werewolf of Bamberg (31 page)

Hieronymus seemed perplexed for a moment, though the surprising question seemed to have brought him back to his senses. Lost in thought, he rocked his massive head from side to side. “Hm, I admit I don’t really believe in a werewolf,” he replied finally. “No more than I believed in witches back then. But are you suggesting that all this is just a cold-blooded series of murders designed to get rid of some of the nobles? Let me think.” He stood up and walked back and forth in the room, holding his fat, unshaven chin in his hand.

“Thadäus Vasold and Klaus Schwarzkontz were powerful figures in the city council, to be sure, even if they were long past their primes. Their deaths did, in fact, make room for newcomers on the council. Egidius Gotzendörfer has been dead for a long time, but his widow certainly still had influence. But as to the others . . .” Suddenly the scribe fell silent, his fat body stiffened, and Simon could see that his right hand was trembling slightly.

“No, no,” he finally said, almost a little too fast, continuing to stare thoughtfully into the fire. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to help you, Master Fronwieser, as much as I would like to.” He shuddered, as if to cast off a bad dream, then turned to his guest with a nervous smile. “And I have better things to do than get involved in such intrigues. That’s a risky business nowadays.” He stiffened and pointed toward the door. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue our conversation some other time. I have to go to the city hall, where I have a lot of paperwork waiting for me that can’t be done at home.”

Confused, Simon got to his feet. “Well, that is a shame. If you see Magdalena—”

“I’ll tell her you were here.” Hieronymus held out his hand, which felt soft and flabby. “I’d be very grateful if your wife could try to cheer up my Katharina a bit. And now, farewell.”

Simon barely had time to finish his coffee and, moments later, was standing outside in front of the clerk’s house.

Up on the Michelsberg, Magdalena sat on a bench set out for pilgrims and looked down at the bustling life in the city below. Her children were playing hide-and-seek between the bushes above the vineyards. She took a deep breath and only now noticed how refreshing the air was up here. Down in the narrow streets, there was a strong stench of smoke, feces, and rotting vegetables, even now in the colder month of October, but up here a brisk and icy wind was blowing.

After Simon had left unexpectedly early this morning to attend the council meeting, she’d decided to take a walk with the children in the countryside. Since Katharina’s wedding had been postponed indefinitely, she didn’t need to help her aunt with the preparations in the wedding hall. For a while she strolled with the boys along the Regnitz, then on a whim decided to climb to the top of the Michelsberg to visit the grave of St. Otto and pray for Katharina. Before God all men were equal, and Magdalena was sure the Lord would make no distinctions between honorable and dishonorable people. He certainly would have no objection to a hangman celebrating in a middle-class wedding hall. But here on earth the ruler was not God but the church, which had once again shown her family that a hangman was considered nothing but dirt.

My children must have a better life than us,
Magdalena thought as she watched Peter and Paul playing.
No one must be allowed to forbid them from getting married just because they are considered dishonorable.

She sighed softly. Magdalena completely understood Simon’s wanting to get back home to Schongau. On the other hand, she couldn’t leave without Barbara, and it didn’t appear that her little sister was going to let anybody change her mind anytime soon. If there were only some way she could help Matheo. The prince-bishop’s decision to postpone the torture until after the theatrical competition gave them a little time. She earnestly hoped her father, and especially her uncle, would think of something by then. As the Bamberg executioner, Bartholomäus was probably the only one who, though he couldn’t spare Matheo’s life, could at least save him from the worst pain.

After a while she stood up, called for the boys, and together they walked back down the narrow pathway that wound its way through the vineyards. The little pilgrimage path ended at the Sand Gate near the river. Magdalena considered paying a visit to Katharina and her father, who didn’t live far from there, but then decided against it. It was already after noon, and the children at her side were hungry and fussy. Surely Simon would be waiting impatiently for them in the hangman’s house, and perhaps he’d have news from the city council meeting about Matheo and his trial.

As Magdalena walked briskly through the Sand Gate and from there across the City Hall Bridge, she noticed that a huge crowd of people had gathered down by the harbor on the opposite side. She heard shouts and jeers and, at regular intervals, loud cheering. As she approached the crowd, she could see that the people had assembled around the cranes usually used to load the ships. At that very moment a crane was lifting something up into the air.

What in the world . . .

To her horror, she saw that it wasn’t a barrel or a crate, but a bearded man in plain-looking clothes hanging on a rope and dripping with water. The rope was tied around his waist, and he was kicking and thrashing about like a fish on a line. His body was lowered toward the river, and people broke out in cheers as he gurgled and disappeared again beneath the waves.

“Mother, what are the people doing?” Peter asked anxiously, while his younger brother Paul watched the scene, clearly amused.

“I’m not sure, Peter,” Magdalena replied. “But whatever it is, it isn’t good.”

The hangman’s daughter was familiar with such scenes in Schongau and other cities. Occasionally, bakers who made bad bread were put in a cage and dunked a number of times in the water until they nearly drowned. They called that
baker’s baptism
, and it was one of the less harmful punishments an executioner had to carry out. Magdalena also knew, however, that her grandfather would take convicted child killers to a pond outside the Schongau city walls and hold them under water with a long pole until they were dead. The spectacle here at the harbor seemed more like an execution. She looked around but couldn’t find either Bartholomäus or Georg. At the edge of the crowd, two guards were leaning against a barrel of pickled herring, watching the sight before them, clearly not certain what to do. Magdalena ran over to them.

“What’s happening here?” she asked.

One soldier just shrugged. “The man is an itinerant peddler,” he replied, picking his nose. “He was hawking wolf claws as a protection again these werewolves, but people say he’s one himself.”

“People say . . .” Magdalena frowned. “And for that they practically drown him?” She poked the guard angrily in the chest. “Where are the officials, anyway? Where is the executioner? The man at least has to be questioned.”

The guard just smiled, unsure of himself. “Oh, come on, he’s not going to die—and even if he does, so what? He’s just a stranger in town. You can understand what the people are doing. They’re terrified because of this werewolf.” He looked at her suspiciously. “And who are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“I am—” she started to say, but her answer was swallowed up in a deafening roar from the crowd. They were cheering now as the peddler was dunked in the water again. Evidently the man couldn’t swim; he just thrashed about with his arms and finally, with a loud cry, slipped beneath the water. After what seemed like an eternity, two strong young men standing by the crane laughed and hoisted him back up again. The man was noticeably weaker and was having trouble moving.

“Damn it! Do something,” Magdalena shouted at the guards. “The poor fellow almost drowned.”

When the two just waved her off with a bored gesture, she made up her mind. She’d have to get her uncle. As the executioner, Bartholomäus surely had some standing in town, especially when it came to executions. Perhaps he could put an end to this activity.

Magdalena knew that at this hour Bartholomäus and Georg would likely still be at work in the city dungeon, where they would be cleaning and preparing the cells to receive any additional suspects. The dungeon was in a small lane not far behind the wedding house, but with the two small boys it would take her much too long to get there, and by then the peddler would probably be dead. She quickly looked around, and her gaze fell once again on the wedding house.

Barbara.

Her younger sister could surely keep an eye on the two boys for a short time. Magdalena knew there was a passageway in the wedding house leading to the Wild Man tavern and from there to the street behind.

Without paying any further heed to the guards, she made her way, holding both boys by the hand, past the shouting and cheering crowd until she finally entered the open door of the wedding house. Once she was inside the courtyard, things were noticeably quieter. Breathlessly she knocked on the narrow door next to the entrance to the tavern, and after a while it opened. She was greeted, however, not by her sister, but by an astonished Jeremias. It appeared he had been sleeping.

“Magdalena?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “Why are you so out of breath?”

“I have no time to explain,” she gasped. “Is my sister here?”

Jeremias shook his head. “Unfortunately not. She’s upstairs with the actors, but she’ll soon be coming back. It seems that Malcolm is very pleased—”

“Do me a favor,” Magdalena interrupted. “Please keep an eye on my two boys for a while. I have to go and see my uncle. It’s urgent.” She turned to Peter and Paul, who were staring at the crippled old man with a mixture of fascination and horror. “This is Uncle Jeremias,” she said. “He may look a bit strange, but he’s very nice, and he’s got some exciting stories to tell. You stay here with him for a while, and I’ll be right back.”

“Uncle, why did someone pull off your skin?” Paul asked.

Jeremias sighed and sat down to explain, but Magdalena was already gone and out of earshot.

She ran through the tavern past astonished revelers, knocking over a beer stein, and finally slipped through the rear door, finding herself on the street in back. From there, she turned right and soon reached the city dungeon, a gloomy, one-story building with barred windows that she’d seen before on her trips to the market. At the entrance she almost bumped into Georg, who was just leaving. He looked tired and his shirt was filthy—evidently he had just finished his work inside.

“Georg,” Magdalena called out with relief. “How fortunate I am to meet you. I’m looking for Bartholomäus.”

Georg frowned. “Why were you all so concerned about Bartholomäus today? Father was out looking for him, and he didn’t come back until a quarter hour ago. And now you’ve come here doing the same.”

“Because I need him urgently to save a life.” Speaking hurriedly, she explained to her surprised brother what was happening down at the harbor.

“And there are no city authorities there?” he asked in astonishment. “No burgomaster, nobody from the city council?”

Magdalena shook her head. “Only two guards who don’t want to get involved. We have to work fast or they’ll drown the poor man like a kitten.”

Georg paused to think. “Well, Uncle Bartholomäus left a while ago to go to the knacker’s house in Bamberg Forest. Damned if I know why he’s been going out there so often in recent days. Father followed him, and it looks like they had a fight. Father seemed very, very angry.” He looked at her with a grim expression. “And in the meantime, Uncle Bartholomäus left all the dirty work for me.”

Magdalena kicked the door, furious. “Damn it! You hangmen are never there when you’re needed.” She hesitated. “Perhaps you can do something yourself to make sure things are all right down at the harbor.”

“Me?” He stared at her, wide-eyed. “I think you’re vastly overestimating what I can do. I’m just an ordinary hangman’s servant.”

“But someone has to help this poor man.”

Georg sighed. “Very well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go to the guards’ office at city hall. The chief, Martin Lebrecht, is a good man, and if anyone can help you, it would be him. As much as I’d like to, there’s no more I can do.”

He embraced his sister again, then ran down the street toward the city hall and disappeared around the corner.

Magdalena took a deep breath. Georg’s idea seemed the right thing to do, and perhaps help would come in time for the poor fellow down at the river.

She was just about to run back to Jeremias and the children when she remembered what Georg had just said about her father. He’d evidently had another quarrel with Bartholomäus. Why couldn’t the two of them get along? Jakob’s taunting words for his brother had grown meaner in recent days—and they needed Uncle Bartholomäus urgently in order to help Matheo. If the two brothers had a falling-out, Bartholomäus would most likely refuse to help, if only out of defiance. Magdalena knew her father and how quick-tempered he could be. She absolutely had to stop him from doing something in anger that they would all regret later.

She thought it over briefly, then made her decision. If she hurried, she might still catch up with her father and try to cool him down a bit. She’d leave the children in Jeremias’s care for the time being, where they’d be well cared for.