The Werewolf of Bamberg (4 page)

The hangman threw the arm in a wide arc into the swirling, foaming river, where it quickly sank. The crowd let out a collective shout, as if Kuisl had murdered one of them.

“What . . . what did you do?” sputtered the man with the slouch hat. “The sign . . .”

“What sign? It was just an arm, nothing more. Now let’s get moving before I turn really nasty in this awful weather.”

The men along the river stared at him, dumbfounded, and Kuisl, without another word, took his place in line again behind the wagons.

“For God’s sake, who was that?” one of the wagon drivers finally asked. “A magician? A demon? How can he know exactly who the arm belonged to?”

“Let’s just say he’s seen a number of severed body parts,” Magdalena replied as she turned around. “He has . . . uh . . . some experience in this area. So you can believe him.” Then she hurried back with Barbara and the other Kuisls to join her father.

They quickly caught up with him as he walked back along the muddy path through the pass, grimly and in haste. Simon had left the two boys in the care of his sister-in-law, Barbara, and now he turned to his father-in-law with an inquisitive expression.

“My compliments, that was very impressive,” he said, as both he and Magdalena struggled to keep up with Jakob. “How did you know so much about that arm?”

“Good God, because the Lord gave me eyes to see,” Kuisl grumbled. “That’s all there is to it. You don’t need any witchcraft for that, so you can spare yourself all that hooey.”

“Come on, tell us,” Magdalena begged him. She knew how much her father loved stringing people along, and she, too, was curious. “Just tell us before Simon starts losing sleep over it.”

Kuisl grinned. “I guess I owe him that.” As the others walked ahead, he explained.

“The skin was wrinkled like that of an old man, but there were no calluses on his hands—on the contrary, they were soft as a baby’s bottom. In addition, the remaining fingertips showed spots of ink that had eaten their way deep into the body. Ah, yes, and on one of the well-manicured fingernails there was still a tiny speck of sealing wax. As I said, I have eyes. That’s all you need.”

“But all that stuff you said about looking for a bride, and gout,” Simon persisted, “what’s that all about?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what are you? A bathhouse owner or a quack? Didn’t you notice the gnarled joints and the white spots? If you can read books, why can’t you read people?” Jakob Kuisl spat on the ground, disgusted. “The joints were so enlarged that I almost didn’t see the pale, whitish circle on the ring finger. The man had worn his wedding ring a long time, probably several decades, but had taken it off recently. That’s something a man does only when he’s out looking for someone else. He was traveling and probably looking for another woman. But . . .”

Kuisl stopped to think as the wagons in front of them slowly started moving again. Their own wagon, steered by the old peasant, approached, rattling and squeaking.

“What else did you learn?” Magdalena asked. “Is there perhaps something you’ve kept from us and the others?”

Jakob Kuisl shrugged. “Well, actually, there is something that puzzles me. You could assume the man was murdered—and that his murderers left his body in the forest where wild animals finally found him and ripped him apart. He came to rest with his arm in the water and was washed ashore today by the rain.”

“But that’s not what happened,” Simon said softly. “Right?”

“No, that isn’t what happened. I took a close look at the joint, and there are no bite marks. The arm was severed cleanly. It was no animal; only a person makes a clean cut like that. This poor devil was slaughtered like a piece of meat—but why, and by whom? I have no explanation for that.”

The hangman shook the rain out of his hair and pulled himself back up onto the coachbox, where the farmer, who had heard the last part of what he’d said, stared at him and trembled like he was looking at a nightmare incarnate.

They arrived in Bamberg shortly before dusk, entering through the Tanggass Gate. In the last few hours they’d heard wolves howling several times, though very far away in the forests. Nevertheless, after the events at the river, the sounds had been enough to make Barbara, in particular, turn white. Was that perhaps the beast the people were talking about?

At least the rain had finally stopped, though the road was still as muddy and full of puddles as before, so the progress of the wagons was very slow. The whole area surrounding the city was swampy and full of small rivers, brooks, and canals, especially in the southern part, which was an almost impenetrable wilderness. In the east there were fields and farmland, though now, at the end of October, they were barren and fallow.

Magdalena turned up her nose in disgust; the odor with which the city greeted them was so pungent it made them gag. Along the right-hand side of the street was a wide ditch that dried up just before reaching the gate, forming a thick, foul-smelling morass. Rotten fruit and the carcasses of small animals floated in the puddles. A wide, moldering walkway led across the swamp toward the city wall, where now, shortly before it was time to close the gates, the wagons were backing up. Surely a good number of people in the wagons would have to spend the night in the fallow fields outside of town, a prospect that caused Magdalena to shudder, after hearing the wagon drivers’ gloomy accounts of their strange finding down at the river. What in God’s name was lurking in the forests around Bamberg?

Hastily the Kuisls bade farewell to the old farmer, who was visibly relieved to finally be rid of them, then made their way toward the narrow pedestrian gate next to the vehicle entrance, arriving none too soon. Some time had passed since the bells in the clock towers had signaled the end of the day for the Bambergers, many of whom had been working their little vegetable patches outside of town. The night watchman with his key to the city was standing by the gate, beckoning the last of them to hurry. He looked concerned, almost anxious. He asked the Kuisls briefly why they were there, then quickly closed the gate behind them.

“Get moving,” he shouted at Barbara, who was at the end of the procession of wagons, giving her a shove. At the same time he pointed at the sun, which had just set behind the western part of the city wall. “Soon it will be as dark here as in hell.” He shivered and rubbed his hands together. “Damned autumn nights—the daylight fades faster than you can say
amen.
”

“If it makes you shiver so much you shit in your pants, perhaps you should have become a baker and not a watchman,” Kuisl replied with a grin as he passed under the archway, which was much too low for him. “Then you’d already be in bed with your wife, kneading her fat behind.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t shoot off my mouth like that, big fellow. What do you know about this damned city?” The watchman seemed to want to say something else, but then he just shrugged and shuffled up the steep stairway to his room in the guardhouse to begin his regular nightly duties.

Magdalena peered ahead at the dark forms where the first houses began. The last time she’d been in a large city was some years ago in Regensburg. At that time, the sun had been shining, it was midsummer, and the size and splendor of the buildings had nearly taken her breath away. On the other hand, there was something depressing about their arrival in Bamberg. It might have been the time of year; with the arrival of autumn, the nights had suddenly turned cool, and mist was rising from the moors and settling like a heavy blanket over the roofs of the town, first in little wisps, then in larger and larger clouds. The wide road leading up to the gate quickly branched into a labyrinth of unpaved, winding alleys.

With dark fingers, dusk reached out toward the crooked half-timbered houses, so that Magdalena could only imagine the size of the city. It was said that Bamberg, like Rome, was built on seven hills, and in fact Magdalena could see three dark hills in the southwest of the city, with the cathedral, the landmark of the city, standing majestically on the one in the middle. Atop the hill on the right, the outline of a large monastery was visible in the fading light of day, and a bit farther away, engulfed in mist, the ruins of a castle. In front of her, Magdalena could hear the rushing of water in a canal or river. At least the stench here was not as overwhelming as by the city gate.

The many carts and wagons that had just a short while ago been backed up behind the city gate were now clattering toward their destinations, finally disappearing in the growing darkness. While Magdalena wandered through the filthy, stinking alleys with her family, she heard occasional laughter, hasty footsteps, or squeaky wagon wheels, but otherwise everything was quiet. The hangman’s daughter was familiar with such quiet nights in Schongau, but for some reason she had imagined that Bamberg would be livelier and happier. The loneliness in the dark lanes had something oppressive about it, something sinister.

Like in a cemetery,
she thought, tying her scarf more tightly.
I wonder if the others feel the same way?

She looked around at Simon and the other members of her family, who were following her sullenly. Peter and Paul in particular were dead tired and whined softly as they gripped their father’s hand. Jakob Kuisl stomped ahead of them silently.

“Do we still have far to go?” Magdalena asked after a while in a tired voice. “The children are hungry, and my feet hurt. Besides, I don’t like walking for hours through a strange city after nightfall. All sorts of riffraff are wandering about.”

The hangman just shrugged. “Executioners don’t live in the central market square, and since my last visit a lot has changed.” He looked around. “Damned fog. We should just head north here and follow the city wall.”

“The wall is behind us,” Simon interrupted, pointing back over his shoulder into the darkness. “I just saw it a moment ago by the little square with the fountain—”

“Aha, Herr Son-in-Law will now tell me, perhaps, where I can find my own brother?”

“Herr Son-in-Law is just trying to help you, that’s all,” Magdalena replied. “But, as always, you know better.” She sighed. “Why do you men have to be so stubborn when you’ve made a mistake?”

“I didn’t make a mistake—it’s just dark and foggy,” Kuisl grumbled as he hurried along. “You could have stayed at home. I’m just doing this so I can see Georg again, and certainly not because of my brother, the old stinker. I wonder why he’s even inviting us to his wedding.” He spat in the dirt. “When I think about how the Steingaden executioner is taking over my work in Schongau in the meantime, it makes me sick. It will be a real mess.”

As Magdalena walked along behind her father, her vague feeling of anxiety grew. In the narrow, unlit lanes it was already so dark and foggy she could hardly see to the next intersection. Occasionally she heard a whooshing, scraping sound as if someone or something was following her through the little alleys. She turned around to look at the others and could see that Simon and Barbara were also looking around anxiously. She couldn’t help but think of the ashen-faced watchman at the tower, and his final words.

What do you know about this damned city?

Did the watchman have something to hide? Something that had to do with this beast that the wagon drivers had told them about? The severed arm had belonged to a wealthy citizen. Perhaps a nobleman from Bamberg?

When Magdalena looked once more into the darkness, she suddenly understood where her strange feeling was coming from. It was so obvious, yet she’d not really noticed it until now.

The houses,
she suddenly realized.
Many of them are empty.

And in fact, the windows on many of the buildings they passed were boarded up. Other houses were missing a door, or there were black holes where there once had been bull’s-eye windows. Frowning, Magdalena examined the abandoned buildings more closely. They were clearly not the shabby houses of the poor but were the homes of those who’d once been patricians and wealthy citizens. Some of the houses were now nothing but ruins, though some had been rebuilt or renovated. Magdalena remembered all the cranes, pulleys, and sacks of mortar they had passed on their way through the little streets. Simon, too, now seemed to take note of the empty buildings.

“What’s going on with all these houses here?” he asked, addressing his father-in-law. “Why are so many of them unoccupied?”

“Well, the war was fought here in Bamberg, as well,” Jakob replied, stopping at the next fork, trying to get his bearings. “And it was pretty bad. The city was attacked by soldiers more than a dozen times. That may have been twenty years ago, but many Bambergers fled then and didn’t return. When I was here some years ago, things looked even worse. It takes a while for a city to recover from something like that. Some never do, and all that remains of them are a few abandoned ruins with the wind whistling through them.”

“But Schongau quickly got over it,” Magdalena replied. “Besides, it’s mostly the homes of the patricians that are empty.”

“I don’t care what happened here long ago,” wailed Barbara, who was shuffling along slowly at the end of the line. “I’m just tired. Hopefully, Uncle Bartholomäus’s house is not a ruin, too. I should have stayed home, where the town fair is going on now, with dancing and—”