The Werewolf of Bamberg (5 page)

“I fear the houses were abandoned for another reason,” interrupted her father, who was paying no attention to his younger daughter’s whining. “A reason even more dreadful than the war, if such a thing is possible. I heard about it even far away in Schongau. A grim story.”

Magdalena looked at him, puzzled. “And what was that?”

“I think Bartholomäus should tell you. I suspect he knows more about it than he wants to.” The hangman started walking faster. “Now hurry up and come along before your sister’s whining gets the guard’s attention.”

Silently, he plodded on through the fog, while somewhere beyond the city walls, the wolves continued their howling.

Adelheid Rinswieser paused for a moment and listened. The howling of the wolves grew louder, like cries of children, long and shrill. The silver disk of an almost-f moon was just rising over the pine trees.

The howls of the animals were still far off, deep in the forest. Nevertheless, Adelheid’s heart beat faster as she crept through the dense forest of pines and birches outside the walls of Bamberg. It was not at all unusual for wolves to be found in this area. Even twenty years after the Great War, many parts of the country were still devastated and villages abandoned by their residents, and only wild animals remained among the ruins. But no wolves had been seen in the Bamberg Forest. Their fear of people with clubs, swords, and muskets was just too great, and they preferred to relieve their hunger with a sheep or two grazing in the meadows south of the old castle.

Unless their hunger was greater than their fear.

Trembling, Adelheid pulled her coat tightly around her and kept walking farther into the forest. Now, at the end of October, it was already miserably cold at night. If her husband had learned of this nighttime adventure, he surely would have forbidden it. It had been hard enough for her to convince the watchman at the Tanggass Gate to open the door for her at this time of night. But what the apothecary’s wife was searching for could also help the watchman’s wife—and hence, grumbling, he had finally allowed Adelheid to pass.

Branches snapped beneath her feet as she passed gnarled pines reaching out for her like fingers. In the distance, she could see the watch fires at the city wall, but otherwise it was pitchdark among the trees. Only the moon showed her the way. Once again she heard the howling of the wolves and instinctively hastened her pace.

She was searching for the fraxinella plant—
Dictamnus albus
, a rare, lily-like flower considered a sure method for aborting unwanted pregnancies. Often young women came in secret to see her or her husband at the court pharmacy near the great cathedral on the hill, pleading for a medicine to save them from shame and public humiliation in the stocks at the Green Market. Her husband usually turned away the poor things or sent them to a midwife outside the city gates, as abortion—or even assistance with an abortion—in the Bamberg Bishopric, as elsewhere, was punishable by death. But Adelheid always felt pity for the poor women. Before her marriage to the honorable pharmacist Magnus Rinswieser, she, too, had had a few affairs and had gotten into trouble. The old midwife Frau Traudel, over in Theuerstadt, had helped her then with fraxinella, and she felt an obligation now to help others.

The old woman had also revealed to her that fraxinella should be picked only when the moon was full. The flower was also called
witch’s flower
or
devil’s plant
, and it was very rare in this area. But Adelheid knew a secret clearing where she’d picked some of the flowers the year before. Now she hoped to find a few despite the late-autumn season.

Again she heard the howling of the wolves and realized, with a trembling heart, that it was closer this time. Did wolves really venture so close to town? Adelheid couldn’t help but think of the people reported as missing in Bamberg over the last few weeks. Two women had disappeared without a trace, and old Schwarzkontz had not returned from a trip to Nuremberg. All that had been found so far was a severed arm and a leg gnawed on by rats that showed up in the Regnitz River. Rumors were already going around that the devil was at work in Bamberg, especially since someone recently had seen a hairy creature in the alleyways at night. Until now, Adelheid had always dismissed these reports as exaggerated horror stories, but out here in the dark forest, she began to think there might be some truth to them.

Firmly grasping the straps of her wicker backpack, where she’d already collected some other herbs, she started to run. She didn’t have much farther to go. On her left she could already see the moss-covered fallen oak that served to mark her way, and a few hawthorn bushes glimmered reassuringly in the moonlight. Brushing the thorny branches to one side, Adelheid caught sight of the clearing. She took a deep sigh of relief.

Finally. Thank God.

In the silvery moonlight she soon discovered the plants she was looking for on the opposite side of the clearing. The fruit capsules had already burst open, but they still exuded a faint odor, like exotic spices. As Adelheid approached the medicinal plants, she quickly put on the thin linen gloves that she’d brought in her backpack along with a leather pouch. The seeds of the fraxinella, she knew, were so poisonous that one must wear gloves to pick them. The oil that dripped from them in midsummer could easily catch fire, which is why fraxinella was also called
burning bush.
In late autumn only bits of the fruit capsule remained on the withered stalks, but Adelheid didn’t want to take any chances. Carefully she picked the few remaining seeds and put them in the little pouch, whispering a few Ave Marias, as old Frau Traudel had instructed her.

“. . . and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus . . .”

The apothecary’s wife made one last quick sign of the cross and stood up. She was about to close the pouch when she heard the howling again.

This time it was very close.

Shocked, Adelheid looked around. Something dark was lurking right behind the hawthorn bushes, which were trembling in the autumn wind. It was an indistinct form close to the ground, pulsating slightly, with a pair of red eyes shining in the darkness.

What in the world . . .

The woman wiped the sweat from her brow, and suddenly the red eyes disappeared. Was her imagination playing tricks on her?

“Is someone there?” she asked hesitantly, peering into the darkness. When there was no answer, Adelheid mumbled another prayer, then, holding tightly on to the purse, ran across the clearing, making a wide detour around the hawthorn bush. The Tanggass Gate in the east wall was more than a mile away, but long before that the trees thinned out and there were little villages. If Adelheid hurried she could quickly reach the partial safety of the road, where perhaps there might be some travelers even at this late hour. Everything would be fine.

For a moment she thought she heard panting and growling, but when she reached the deer path leading toward the road, all she could hear were the sounds of her own hurried footsteps. In the distance an owl was screeching, sounding almost as if it were laughing at her. Angrily, Adelheid shook her head.

Silly, superstitious woman! If your husband saw you like this . . .

As she ran along, she felt angry at herself for being so foolish. How could she have been scared so easily? No doubt it was only a deer hiding behind the bushes, a wild pig, or a single wolf, certainly nothing to frighten a grown person. Wolves were dangerous only in packs; when they were alone they didn’t dare—

Adelheid stopped short. Suddenly her own steps sounded strangely loud to her. The sound was delayed, almost like an echo. She stopped again and noticed that the sound stopped as well.

Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .

Terrified, Adelheid put her hand to her mouth, realizing what that meant.

Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .
Someone was running alongside her.

Suddenly, the sounds stopped, and right after that she heard branches snapping nearby.

“Whoever you are out there . . . come forward!” Adelheid demanded in a choked voice. “If this is supposed to be a joke, it’s not funny. This—”

At that moment something came crashing through the undergrowth.

The apothecary’s wife was frozen with fear as the creature knocked her down and cast himself on top of her. She smelled animal sweat and the stench of wet fur, and she began to scream. Her shouts died on her lips, however, as something large and heavy panted and rolled over her.

Oh God! Help me! This cannot be . . . This is impossible . . . This . . .

A merciful loss of consciousness took her. A few moments later the howling of the wolves resumed as a dark shadow pulled its lifeless prey into the forest.

Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .

A gasping sound, a last death rattle in her throat . . . and then all that remained of the apothecary’s wife was the gentle fragrance of fraxinella.

2

B
AMBERG
, NIGHT
, O
CTOBER
26, 1668 AD

J
UST AS MAGDALENA WAS BEGINNING
to think they’d never find her uncle’s home, Jakob suddenly stopped and pointed triumphantly at a two-story house standing right at the northern city moat.

“Ha! Now look there,” he boasted. “My brother’s house. A little run-down compared to the last time, but still an impressive place. Bartl must have kissed a lot of asses on the city council to get permission to live in town.”

Magdalena frowned as she looked at the lopsided half-timber house whose paint had been peeling for a long time. A small shed and a stable were attached. The building, shrouded in the fog, was built so close to the moat it was in danger of slipping into the foul-smelling morass at any moment. Nevertheless, it was a stately home. The hangman’s daughter couldn’t help but think of her father’s house in Schongau, in the stinking Tanners’ Quarter out of town and not nearly as large as this one. She had a vague feeling that her father’s barely concealed dislike for his brother had something to do with jealousy.

A thin ray of flickering light came through the closed shutters on the first floor. Jakob pounded on the massive wooden door, and shortly afterward there was a muffled but still familiar voice that made Magdalena’s heart pound.

“Uncle Bartholomäus, is it you?” the voice inquired cautiously. “I didn’t expect you back so soon from the torture chamber. Why—”

“For God’s sake, Georg, it’s your own father. So open up, or do you want to keep us all standing out here in the cold?”

The Schongau hangman rattled the doorknob, and a muted voice came from inside. Then the bolt was pushed aside and the door open.

“Georg! Thank God!”

Magdalena shouted for joy when she caught sight of her younger brother, whom she hadn’t seen for almost two years. Georg had grown, and the pimples had given way to a dark fuzz on his face. Though only fifteen years old, he seemed much stronger and heavier, almost a smaller version of his father with his hooked nose, broad chest, and tousled black hair. A smile came over his face, then he shook his head and laughed.

“It looks like my prayers have been answered, after all. Uncle Bartholomäus said just this morning that perhaps you wouldn’t come to his wedding. But I was sure you wouldn’t let us down. My God, how happy I am to see you!” He embraced first his father, then his twin sister, Barbara, and finally Magdalena. Then he picked up the two shrieking boys and tossed them into the air one after another.

“Uncle Georg, Uncle Georg!” Paul shouted excitedly. “Will you whittle another executioner’s sword for me?”

“An executioner’s sword?” Georg asked, perplexed.

“I told him how you always used to whittle swords,” explained Simon, sitting off to one side. “You know how kids are. I’m afraid they won’t stop pestering you until they both have swords.”

Georg grinned, set the boys down, and shook Simon’s hand. “They’ll get some, on my honor as a dishonorable hangman,” he said with a conspiratorial glance at Paul. “And if you behave yourself, you can also touch your great-uncle’s sword. It’s even bigger than the one your grandfather has.”

“As if that’s all that mattered,” Jakob growled. “I can slit open a throat with a kitchen knife.”

“Can’t you men talk about anything else?” Magdalena said, shaking her head. “Swords, nothing but swords! At least Peter inherited his father’s peaceful temperament. Just one like you men is all I can take.” She sighed and gestured at little Paul, who had just stabbed his brother in the stomach with an imaginary sword.

Simon smiled and put his arms around Peter, who had started to cry.

“Peter is only five, but he can read,” he said in a proud tone of voice. “Latin and German, and even a few Greek letters. I taught him myself, and with the medicines—”

Jakob finally spoke up. “Can’t you even invite your old father to come in, Georg? It’s a chilly autumn night, and I think we’ve stood outside here in the fog long enough. But if you prefer, I can sleep at an inn.”

“Of course not, Father.” Georg stepped aside and ushered the family into the living room.

The warmth from the green tiled stove in the corner made Magdalena quickly forget the damp cold and fog outside. The room was homey and neat. Fresh, fragrant reeds were strewn on the floor, and a wide, recently built table provided room for an entire large family. Behind it was the family shrine, with a crucifix, dried roses, and the Bamberg hangman’s execution sword. It was, in fact, a little larger than Jakob’s sword. Paul started to run over to touch it, but Georg laughed and grabbed the tails of the boy’s shirt to pull him back.

“You’ll be holding it in your hands soon enough,” he said, trying to appease the boy. “Why don’t you let Barbara take you up to your room instead? It’s time for you to go to bed now.”

Barbara rolled her eyes and took the two boys, yawning and only slightly protesting, up the steep stairs to their room. Soon, they heard the soothing sounds of a lullaby.

For a while, none of those in the room said a thing, but then Georg reached for the mighty executioner’s sword and held it out to his father. “The handle is sharkskin,” he said proudly. “When the hangman’s hands are sweaty, the leather becomes as raw as a thousand little teeth. It won’t slip out of your hands. As far as I know, only Bamberg executioners have such swords. Try it.”

Jakob shrugged and turned away. “When his hands are wet, it can mean only one thing. The hangman is shitting in his pants—and an anxious hangman is worth about as much as an old toothless whore.” He turned around and inspected the room. “But I must say, there have been some changes since my last visit. Bartholomäus really has done well. Who would have thought that pale, nervous little kid would have turned out this way?”

“Just wait until he marries Katharina,” Georg replied. “His last wife came from a family of knackers. Dear Johanna, God rest her soul, died of consumption. She didn’t bring much money to the marriage, and there were no children.” He sighed softly, then straightened up. “But this time he has a good catch. His new wife is the daughter of a Bamberg court clerk, the dowry is pretty impressive, and Katharina really doesn’t look like she’s going to waste away anytime soon,” he added with a slight smirk. “Well, you’ll get to see her shortly. She wants a really big celebration, and she’s the one who urged Uncle Bartholomäus to invite our whole family.”

Kuisl frowned. “Did Bartl get permission from the town council for this? As an executioner, he’s not allowed to marry into a higher class.”

“He already has the permission, signed and sealed. His future father-in-law is a district magistrate and somehow managed to do it.” Georg smiled and turned to Magdalena. “A hangman in Bamberg,” he explained, “is something quite different from one in Schongau. We are perhaps not esteemed citizens, but at least no one shies away from us in the street. We are respected. You’d like it here, Sister.”

“It’s no surprise, then, that Bartholomäus lives here like a maggot in the shit heap,” Jakob interrupted. “With everything going on in this city, executioners make out as well here as the clergy elsewhere.”

Magdalena looked at her father, somewhat confused. “What do you mean by that?”

But Kuisl waved her off. “What’s it to me? Where is he, anyway, my esteemed Herr Brother, hm?”

Georg placed the sword back in the devotional corner, where it seemed like a heathen symbol next to the roses and the crucifix. “He’s still over in the torture chamber. We had a difficult interrogation just yesterday, and he’s putting the instruments back in their places. A stubborn thief who is said to have emptied the offertory box over at St. Martin’s.” The young apprentice sighed. “All the evidence is against him, but you know how it is. You can’t convict anyone without a confession. He didn’t confess on the rack, so today we had to let him go.”

“I see, a difficult case. Did you have any part in it?”

“My uncle lets me help out with the torture and hangings.” He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Different from when I worked with you, where all I could do was scrub the cart that carried prisoners to their executions.”

“Then it’s fine by you that they threw you out of town, hm?”
Kuisl bellowed, slamming his hand down on the table so that the dishes rattled. “Don’t worry, as the elector’s representative, Lecher will see to it that you’ll not be coming back anytime soon.”

There was an awkward pause, and Magdalena sighed softly. Two years ago, her brother had gotten into a fight with the infamous Berchtholdt brothers and had beaten the youngest of the three half to death. Ever since, the baker’s son walked with a limp, and the court clerk Johann Lecher had banished Georg from the city for five years. That had been a hard blow for his father. Since that time, the Schongau hangman went about his duties as best he could with the drunken knacker at his side, and the hangman’s son from neighboring Steingaden had an eye on his job.

“Just outside of town, on the other side of the ford, we saw something really strange,” Magdalena finally said to change the topic. She told Georg about the severed arm and how terrified the travelers were. “The general mood here is very unsettling. On Tandstrasse people are talking about some kind of bloodthirsty beast. Do you know anything about it?”

Her brother hesitated, then shook his head slowly. “But you should by all means tell the city guard about the arm they found. The way you’ve described it, it could have been that of Schwarzkontz.”

“And who is this Schwarzkontz?” Simon asked.

Georg sighed. “An elderly member of the Bamberg city council, a clothing merchant, who took a trip to Nuremberg more than a month ago and never came back. They say he never even arrived there. And he’s not the only one. Two other citizens—two women—have disappeared since then. To top it all, some children playing not far from here found a human arm, and later a leg was found floating in the Regnitz.” He shrugged. “Since then, people say there’s a man-eating beast prowling around and up to no good. Some people even claim to have actually seen it.”

Georg reached for a piece of bread, took a good bite, and continued with his mouth full. “As I said, nothing but rumors. One of the women had an argument with her new fiancé, and Councilor Schwarzkontz . . . Well, the road through the Bamberg Forest is dangerous enough even without monsters. Ever since the Great War, any number of marauders and highwaymen hang out there. Just half a year ago, we wiped out a gang there, drew and quartered their leader, and as a warning put all their limbs on display at the road crossings.”

“Out in the Bamberg Forest?” Simon asked. His face turned a bit paler. “Isn’t that the large forest southeast of the city that we passed through this afternoon?”

Magdalena nodded. “Yes, the old farmer who gave us a ride called it that. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s nothing . . .” Simon hesitated, then sighed and started over. “I went into the forest with the children today and discovered the carcass of a stag. It was badly mangled. God knows who or what did it.”

“Bah! It must have been a few wolves. What else could it have been?” Jakob reached for the jug of wine and poured himself a cup. “In packs, these animals quickly turn into real beasts. They don’t have to be creatures from hell. You’re just as superstitious as a bunch of blathering old Schongau washwomen.”

“As reluctant as I am to agree with my stubborn brother, in this case he’s damned right.”

The voice had come from the doorway, with a creak as the door swung open, and in stepped a dour-faced man of around fifty. He was sturdily built, with an almost-bald head as large and brawny as the rest of him. From his bushy beard and mustache protruded, like two crooked teeth, a hooked nose, typical of the Kuisls, and a prominent chin jutting out like that of a nutcracker. As the man came closer, Magdalena saw that he limped slightly. His right shoe had a raised wooden sole that clattered with each step he took across the clay floor. Suddenly a wide grin appeared on his face, and he spread out his stout arms in greeting as he limped toward Jakob Kuisl. Only now did Magdalena notice the soft and friendly look in his eyes, which contrasted so much with his gruff appearance.

“Come give me a big hug, Big Brother! How long has it been since we last saw each other? Twenty years? Thirty?”

“In any case, damn near an eternity.”

“You’ve gotten fatter, Jakob,” Bartholomäus scolded, shaking his finger good-naturedly. “Fatter and puffier.”

Jakob grinned. “But you have less hair.”

The Schongau hangman rose from his seat, and the two brothers embraced. It seemed to Magdalena that this gesture caused them both physical pain. She couldn’t help remembering how cross her father became whenever she spoke to him about Bartholomäus. It had to be hard for him to apprentice his own son to his brother, with whom he clearly didn’t get along.

“Didn’t Georg give you anything to drink but hard cider?” Bartholomäus grumbled in a voice almost as deep as that of Jakob, who was his elder by two years.

“We haven’t been here very long,” Magdalena replied with a smile. “Anyway, when you haven’t seen your beloved brother for such a long time, water from the well is enough.” She meant her brother Georg, but evidently her uncle thought she was referring to him.

“
Beloved
brother, yes,” he said slowly, in a strange tone of voice, looking at Jakob. “It’s been a long time since I called you that.” His gaze wandered over to Magdalena.

“She doesn’t look much like you, Jakob,” he finally continued, “in contrast to her brother Georg. He’s the spitting image of you. Is she really yours? Well, on the other hand, you can consider yourself lucky she didn’t inherit our nose.” He burst out laughing and finally turned to Simon. “And this fine gentleman is the son-in-law you wrote to me about? Not a knacker, but in any case a worthwhile person—a medicus and bathhouse owner, so I hear.”

“Simon studied medicine,” Magdalena interjected. “To marry me he even gave up his title. But his knowledge goes far beyond that of a bathhouse operator.”