The Werewolf of Bamberg (38 page)

“Master Bartholomäus,” he said with annoyance. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, I was just about to ask Answin if he could help me and my brother clean the moat,” he replied a bit awkwardly. “And now he’s shown me his latest find.” He pointed at the corpse behind him. “You’ll be sad to learn that it’s the body of city councilor Thadäus Vasold. He’s clearly recognizable.”

“Damn it! As if I didn’t already have enough to do.” The captain closed his eyes briefly, as if struggling to get a hold of himself. “Answin already suggested to me that that might be the case, and I must admit I suspected we would eventually find Vasold’s corpse—especially since his hand was found early this morning.”

“I thought you would’ve come a lot sooner,” grumbled Answin, who was leaning against a post on the dock some distance away. “I’ve been waiting for you all day. Evidently the discovery of a city councilor’s corpse doesn’t mean much to you.”

Martin Lebrecht sighed. “Believe me, Answin, I would have come earlier, but all hell has broken loose out in town. Ever since the suffragan bishop offered a reward for any tips, we’re swamped with accusations. I’m just coming back from the home of old Ganswiener up on Kaulberg Hill, who swears that his neighbor turns into a hairy monster every night and barks like a wolf. It just so happens that Ganswiener has had an eye on his neighbor’s property for years.” The captain groaned loudly. “He’s a damn liar, but just try and prove it. If I don’t take his report, he’ll run straight to the suffragan bishop, and in the end they’ll say I’m a werewolf, too. And then tomorrow,” he continued with a desperate laugh, “His Excellency and elector the bishop of Würzburg will be arriving, and I’ve got to reassign the guards so there will be no mishaps. Aside from all that, I’ve got to—” He stopped short, then shook his head in frustration. “In a word, I really don’t know whether I’m coming or going.”

Lebrecht looked at the two hangmen, trying to think. “But since the two of you are already here . . . can you at least say what killed old Vasold? His servant swears to God he was attacked by a werewolf, but perhaps the old man just fell in the river and drowned after a night of carousing.”

“I hardly think so,” replied Jakob with a grim smile. “From the looks of him, he might have been attacked by a half dozen werewolves.”

Martin Lebrecht turned as white as a ghost. “Oh, God. Is it that bad?”

Bartholomäus nodded. “Worse. And now, farewell.”

Before leaving with Jakob, the Bamberg executioner pointed at Answin again. “Don’t forget to give the corpse fisherman his reward. It’s said whoever declines to pay him his money will be the next one the river carries away.”

He gave the ragpicker a discreet wink, then continued walking with his brother down the stinking Regnitz, where dead branches and leaves seemed to reach out like long fingers as the river carried them away.

When Simon knocked on the door of the Bamberg city physician’s house that evening, it wasn’t the arrogant old housekeeper who opened the door, but the master of the house himself. Samuel looked overworked and was pale and unshaven, but when he saw Simon, his face brightened.

“Thank God!” he cried in relief. “I thought at first you were another patient coming to ask me for a magic potion to protect them from werewolf bites.”

Simon frowned. “Are there people like that?”

Samuel let out a pained laugh. “There were three of them here already today, and it’s Magda’s day off, so she’s not here to turn away this superstitious riffraff. One of them even demanded a silver wolf’s tooth. I sent them all packing, telling them I was a university-educated doctor and not a magician or charlatan.” He groaned. “But since I come from a Jewish family, they seem to consider me an especially gifted doctor. Sooner or later one of them will probably turn me in as a werewolf. Oh, but excuse me.” Samuel gestured for his friend to enter. “Do come in. I still have a little freshly ground coffee, if you’d like.”

Soon the two were sitting in Samuel’s little study, slurping the bitter, black drink. The doctor gave Simon a worried glance.

“It’s really bad, what’s going on out there since the suffragan bishop offered this reward,” he lamented. “I’ve heard there were nearly a half dozen arrests already today, and that’s surely just the beginning.”

Simon nodded. “I’m worried, too. If you ask me, the only real werewolf in this city is the suffragan bishop himself. He’s infecting everyone else with his rabid hatred.”

Samuel laughed softly. “A good comparison, but at least we won’t have to worry about Harsee for a while. He’s got a bad fever that will keep him in bed for a few days at least, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.” The city physician suddenly turned serious. “I visited him just this afternoon. He’s really sick, with severe headaches, joint pain, sweating . . . and something else . . .” He hesitated for a moment, then told Simon about the little wound on Harsee’s neck.

“It might be nothing to worry about, but there’s a red ring around the wound that I don’t like at all,” he concluded.

“Probably it’s just become inflamed,” Simon speculated. “Do you think it’s somehow related to the fever?”

Samuel frowned. “I don’t know, but there’s something strange about it. In addition, he refuses to drink anything; he says every time he drinks, he throws it up.” Simon shook his head. “I looked it up in my books, but I couldn’t find anything.” He sighed, took a sip of coffee, and turned to Simon with a smile.

“If I know you, you didn’t just come to drink coffee with me,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “So what’s on your mind?”

Simon took a deep breath. He’d been wondering for a long time whether to let his friend in on the plan, but he’d finally decided against it. If something went wrong, it was better for as few people as possible to know about it. He didn’t want to burden Samuel unnecessarily.

And there was another matter he’d been troubled about for days, but he’d kept putting it out of his mind until just now.

“What I’m going to tell you now may sound a bit strange,” he began hesitantly, “but believe me, I know what I’m doing.” He ran down the list of ingredients his father-in-law had asked him to get from the doctor.

For a moment, Samuel just stood there with his mouth open. “Mandrake, henbane, sulfur, saltpeter . . .” he finally said, shaking his head. “Damn it, Simon, what’s all that for? Magic incantations? Are you trying to conjure up your own werewolf?”

Simon smiled weakly. “Something like that. But believe me, it’s for the good of the city and has nothing to do with magic. On the contrary. Nevertheless, for the time being it’s best for you not to know anything more about it.”

Samuel leaned back and looked at Simon suspiciously. “You’re asking quite a lot of me. You want me to give you all these strange ingredients, but won’t tell me why?”

“Because I don’t want to put you at risk unnecessarily. Understand—if it all works out, you’ll be the first to know.”

After a while, Samuel nodded. “Very well, but only because it’s you. I have most of the ingredients over in my office. Saltpeter and sulfur I’ll have to get from the court pharmacy, but that shouldn’t be any problem. I’ll just tell them I need the ingredients for a new medical procedure. As the bishop’s personal physician, I can do things like that.” He leaned forward. “When do you need them?”

Simon swallowed hard. “Ah . . . tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow!” Samuel looked at him in astonishment. “But tomorrow is the bishop’s reception. I thought you’d be coming along with me.”

“I don’t need them for myself, but for a . . . a friend,” Simon replied hesitantly.

Samuel rolled his eyes. “Very well, I’ll go to the cathedral mount first thing tomorrow.” But then he shook his finger threateningly. “But make damn sure I don’t know what you’re going to do with it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m sure the news will quickly . . . um, get around.” Simon set his cup down, squirmed restlessly in his seat, and blushed. “There’s one final favor I have to ask of you,” he said in a halting voice.

Samuel groaned. “For God’s sake, what else do you want?”

“It concerns the reception tomorrow night in Geyerswörth Castle,” he began. “Many noble gentlemen will be there, even the bishop of Würzburg, an elector, no less. You have introduced me as a widely traveled scholar, and in fact I’m able to put on a pretty good act. It’s just that . . .” He looked down at his sweaty shirt and filthy petticoat breeches. “I’m afraid I’ve got nothing suitable to wear. Do you have, perhaps . . .”

His question was drowned out by Samuel’s loud laughter.

“Simon, Simon,” the doctor finally replied, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You haven’t changed at all—still the same proud dandy as back when we were in school.” He rose from his seat. “Let’s go and have a look in the closet. You’re not exactly my size, but I’m sure we’ll find something that will make you the bestdressed scholar in all of Bamberg.”

11

B
AMBERG
, NOON
,
N
OVEMBER
1, 1668 AD

T
HE BISHOP OF WÜRZBURG ARRIVED
the following afternoon with a large entourage.

Since early morning, people had been standing at the wooden bridge by the town gate to welcome and show homage to His Excellency the elector. This display was not completely selfless. Johann Philipp von Schönborn was a good-natured and, above all, generous leader who liked to throw coins and small gifts to the crowds who came to meet him on his trips. Accordingly, the crowd was large at the bridge and everyone wanted to be standing in the first row.

Magdalena stood off to one side with the children. The boys had climbed a scraggly willow tree with a good view of the proceedings. Though they had no idea who or what a bishop was, they were clearly enjoying the excitement as well as the fragrance of chestnuts and candied apples that street vendors were roasting over glowing coals and hawking to the crowd. Magdalena, too, couldn’t help smiling. The fear of the werewolf, the paralyzing horror that lay over Bamberg like a dark cloud, seemed to have lifted, at least for a while.

Magdalena had wanted to help her father and uncle prepare the tincture for the sleep sponge, but Peter and Paul kept grabbing the henbane and hemlock from the table and throwing it around, and Jakob was getting angrier and angrier. After little Paul had almost taken a sip of the opium juice, the hangman lost his temper and Magdalena hastily left the house with the children. Now she was standing near the busy bridge, each of the children was holding a slice of apple in his hand, and she could reflect in peace on the plans they’d made.

At first, the plan sounded so far-fetched that she couldn’t decide if the idea was crazy or a stroke of genius. Tonight they’d actually create a werewolf, a fiendish monster on which the people of Bamberg could vent their anger.

The tense mood in the city was evident here, as well, among the people in the waiting crowd. Two young journeymen in front of her kept whispering and turning around cautiously to make sure no one was listening.

“. . .  and early this morning they came to arrest Jäckel Riemer, that drunk tower guard in the church,” one of them whispered. He was wearing the kind of hat traditionally worn by raftsmen on the river. “They say that the sexton at St. Martin’s Church saw him at night in the cemetery, digging up corpses to eat.”

“Bah!” the other journeyman replied with disgust, shaking his head. “You just have to hope this will all be cleared up before the whole city goes mad.”

“What are you trying to say?” the raftsman asked suspiciously. “You mean to tell me you don’t believe in the werewolf?”

“Oh, I do,” his acquaintance assured him. “It’s just that . . .”

He was struggling for the right words when suddenly there was the sound of a trumpet on the bridge. A wave of applause followed, and the journeyman was clearly relieved that instead of replying to his friend, he could acknowledge the bishop’s arrival. “Look, the noble visitor has finally arrived. What gorgeous horses. We haven’t seen anything like this for a long time.”

At that moment they indeed heard the clatter of hooves and, shortly thereafter, saw the team of six horses crossing the bridge. The two lead horses were wearing plumes, and their silver harnesses glittered in the noonday autumn sun.

“Mama, Mama!” Peter shouted. “Look, here comes the kaiser!”

Magdalena smiled. “Not exactly the kaiser, Peter, but someone who’s almost as rich and powerful. He’s the bishop of Würzburg—a real, living elector, who takes part in naming the king of the Reich.”

“I want to see the elector, too,” Paul said, sitting on the branch below so that the crowd blocked his view. He climbed a bit higher as Magdalena watched with trepidation, but then she turned back to the sight before them.

They’re growing up,
she thought.
I’ll have to get used to it.

Royal guards with gleaming breastplates rode before and behind the coach, and one was holding up the flag of the Würzburg bishop. Behind them came a line of smaller coaches, no doubt conveying lesser clerics and courtiers. When the coach, with its six-horse team, passed Magdalena, she briefly caught sight of an older, bearded man inside with long, gray hair, smiling benignly and waving out the window.

The applause and cheers grew louder as the soldiers took out leather pouches containing small coins and threw them into the crowd. The journeymen in front of Magdalena caught a few of them.

“Three cheers for the Würzburg elector!” the raftsman shouted. “Three cheers for the elector!” But after the coach had passed, he turned crossly to his neighbor. “He’s getting stingier and stingier. The last time there were a few guilders among the coins, and now look at this. Only a few piddling kreuzers.”

“The guilders and ducats are for our Bamberg bishop,” his friend responded with a grin. “So he can finally finish building his residence up on the cathedral mount. The word is that Johann Philipp von Schönborn isn’t here just for fun. He’ll no doubt have to lend his colleague a big sum of money again.”

The other raftsman bit his kreuzer to check it. “But they’ll also have time for amusement. Have you heard? Two troupes of actors will be performing tonight. It will be a long night.”

“If the werewolf doesn’t come first and run off with two fat bishops.”

The two sauntered off, laughing, and Magdalena suddenly felt her good mood dissipating. The conversation had reminded her again of their scheme for that night, and she felt a lump in her throat. Would the sleep sponge work? And how far along was her father in preparing the gunpowder? Simon had gone off to visit his friend Samuel that morning to get the rest of the ingredients. No doubt he was still in the executioner’s house with the two Kuisls stirring the highly explosive mixture, and the three men would certainly have no need for a couple of rowdy boys.

On the spur of the moment, Magdalena decided to visit Katharina and offer her some consolation. Simon had said she had gone to her father’s house to grieve the cancellation of the wedding reception.

“Shall we go and visit Aunt Katharina?” she suggested to the two boys with a wink. “Who knows, maybe she’ll make you porridge again with lots of honey.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. Peter and Paul were wild about the motherly Katharina, and especially her cooking. As quick as two little squirrels, they scurried down from the willow and pushed their way with their mother through the crowd, which was starting to break up now that the Würzburg bishop had passed on his way to the cathedral mount—though the cheering could still be heard in the distance.

After a while, they crossed the City Hall Bridge and soon were standing in front of the Hausers’. It was Katharina herself who answered the door after a few knocks. Her eyes were red from crying, but the sight of the children brought a smile to her face.

“Peter! Paul! How glad I am to see you. Come in, I’ve just taken some buttered apple fritters out of the oven. I think you’ll like them.”

In fact, there was a heavenly aroma of warm apples and hot butter throughout the house, and the children stormed, hooting and cheering, into the kitchen, where Katharina served them a whole tower of the sweet pastry. While the boys sat at the table eating happily, Magdalena had the chance to have a quiet conversation with Katharina.

“When I’m unhappy, I often stay in the kitchen,” Katharina said with a faint smile. “Cooking is still the best way for me to forget my cares. You should feel free to come and visit me more often.”

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the wedding,” Magdalena replied, holding Katharina’s hand. “In any case, we’ll stay a while longer in Bamberg, and if necessary, we’ll just have a smaller party.”

Katharina nodded. “I’m so grateful for that. Thank you.” She stared off into space, and there was a pause during which the only sound was the children’s chewing and smacking their lips.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this wedding?” Katharina finally continued in a soft voice. “People in Bamberg thought of me as a dried-up old maid who’d never find a man. Too old, too fat . . . ,” she sighed. “There were a few men earlier, but when the time came, they always ran off.”

“And then?” Magdalena asked.

“Then Bartholomäus came along.” She smiled and her eyes began to sparkle. “I met him down at the fish market when he offered to carry my heavy basket. Most people steer clear of him. He’s the Bamberg executioner, after all, and people don’t want anything to do with him. But I’ve seen what kind of a person he really is—he can be very warmhearted, you know.”

Magdalena laughed. “Up to now, he’s kept that well hidden from me, but of course, you know him better.”

“Well, that’s the way he is.” Katharina rubbed her chubby fingers, which were sticky from baking, and looked down. “At first, everyone opposed this marriage—my father, my friends. Being married to an executioner—what can be worse than that? It would be better to die an old maid. But I got my way, even with my father.” She laughed sadly. “I was even able to talk him into a big, expensive reception, though Bartl was so reluctant at first. He said he didn’t want any more to do with his family than was absolutely necessary. But do you know what?” She winked at Magdalena. “I think in the end he was proud to show his big brother what he’d made of himself here—the big house, the marriage to a clerk’s daughter, a good dowry, a beautiful wedding reception . . .” She sighed deeply. “But the last of those, at least, is not to be.”

They both fell silent for a while, then finally Magdalena asked, “Was your father able to make any progress with the city council? He was going to put another word in for the wedding reception.”

Katharina shook her head. “He hasn’t gotten to it yet. In the last few weeks he’s seemed lost in his thoughts, almost constantly up in his study because he has to copy some old lists for the city. I was getting used to it, but since yesterday I’ve not even been able to talk to him. He keeps leaving the house without telling me where he’s going. I really wish I knew what’s wrong with him.” She shook her head. “Just this morning I was up in his room to clean up, and I’m telling you, it looks like lightning has struck the place! He didn’t even look at me, just shouted at me to get out.”

Magdalena remembered what Simon had told her about Hieronymus Hauser. Was it possible that his preoccupation had something to do with yesterday’s conversation?

“Simon was here yesterday to visit your father,” she said carefully, “and he learned that Hieronymus attended the witch trials back then as a young scribe. Do you think all this werewolf business has upset him?”

Katharina seemed to be thinking it over. “Hmm, it’s possible. That was before I was born, but I know it upset him very much. He sometimes dreams of the torturing that he had to witness, as the scribe, in order to document the statements. Then he screams in his sleep. But he doesn’t want to talk about it.” She shrugged. “Just like everyone else in Bamberg, as if they wanted to forget and bury what happened.”

“Simon thinks he saw your father in the bishop’s archive after their meeting,” Magdalena added. “Is it possible he was looking for something there? Something having to do with the events back then?”

Her aunt was silent for a while, then she picked up one of the crisp apple pastries and took a bite. “Unfortunately, I just don’t know,” she said, chewing on the cake. She gestured apologetically. “Excuse me, but I think the constant crying has made me hungry.” After she’d finished, she continued. “It would be best for you to ask my father yourself. He probably won’t be back from his office until late afternoon, but you can stop by and see us again then.”

“This isn’t a good day for it,” Magdalena replied hesitantly, “as I have other things to do.” She pointed at her two children. “I just wanted to ask you if you could look after the boys for a while. Simon is visiting the bishop today, and Father and I have some things to discuss with Georg. It’s been such a long time since we’ve seen each other . . .”

Magdalena cleared her throat, embarrassed. She’d made Uncle Bartholomäus promise not to tell Katharina about their plans for that night, and she searched desperately for some explanation. The idea of leaving the children in Katharina’s care had just occurred to her. She had already asked Georg to do that, but he hadn’t been especially fond of the idea. And after asking him again several times that morning, his reply was still gruff and noncommittal. Evidently he could not get over the fact that Magdalena was being allowed to take part in freeing Matheo that evening, and he wasn’t.

Katharina appeared to accept her vague excuse, but then she gestured apologetically. “You know I love your boys, Magdalena, but on this particular evening I can’t do it. Believe it or not, my father is also invited to the bishop’s reception, and he even managed to get an invitation for me.” She smiled slightly. “He thought that would cheer me up a bit. Such a celebration will only make me think of my own wedding reception, of course, but I can’t turn him down. It’s a great honor for our family. Only the better classes of citizens are invited.” She hesitated. “Many members of the city council will be there, and of course Father still hopes he can do something about the wedding reception.”

“I understand.” Magdalena nodded. “Then you’ve got to go.”

She looked over at the two boys, who had by now wolfed down their apple fritters and turned their attention to the pot of butter, which they were taking out and smearing in each other’s hair.

“I think it’s time to take the kids back to their strict grandfather, so he can tweak their ears a bit,” Magdalena said with a grin, then she stood up and embraced Katharina. “Good luck to you. You’ll see—everything will work out.”

As she left the house with her two boys, she wasn’t sure that her last wish hadn’t been directed primarily at herself.