The Werewolf of Bamberg (8 page)

Some worn steps led up to the bridge, which was crowded with people at this hour. Patricians with bulging purses rushed by on their way to the financial sector by the cathedral; two Benedictine monks walked slowly by in silent prayer on their way to their monastery on the Michelsberg; some children climbed around on the stone parapet. When the boys and girls saw the Bamberg executioner, they began whispering nervously to one another.

Paying no attention to the others around him, Jakob suddenly stopped and stared up at the huge structure before them. He couldn’t help but wonder what builder would ever have had the crazy idea to build something in the middle of the river. The Bamberg city hall stood on a tiny island and hung out over the river on all sides like an overgrown mushroom. The wide stone bridge connected it to both the north and south shores, and upstream there was an additional bridge. The Regnitz rushed past the point of the island, where a small building huddled up against the main structure. It looked almost as if the little building could break off at any moment and plunge into the river.

Bartholomäus did not seem to notice his brother’s amazement as he stood alongside him, pointing to the building.

“It stands right between the two parts of town,” the younger brother explained. “As Bamberg continued to grow, the citizens on this side of the river built the new city over there, and ever since then, they’ve been quarreling with the bishop.” He spat into the foul-smelling water below. “With the city hall, they’re telling the bishop he can kiss their ass. And they get bolder every year.”

He continued toward the building, and Jakob followed over a narrow path along the shore to the defiant little building clinging to the south side of the city hall, evidently the office of the city guards.

Bartholomäus turned to speak to his brother. “Captain Martin Lebrecht is not a bad fellow,” he said. “He often asks for my advice when his men have to extricate the corpse of a starved beggar, or some other poor creature, from the mud and garbage of the city moat.” He frowned. “But I can’t figure out why he wants to see us both at the same time. We told the guard everything last night.”

Two sleepy guards were leaning on their halberds in front of the guardhouse. When they saw Bartholomäus, their faces darkened.

“Isn’t it enough that they brought a bloody corpse to the guardhouse and sent us off on a wild-goose chase looking for the devil? Now the hangman is coming to pay us a visit,” said the older one, making the sign of the cross. “So much disaster has rained down on us since yesterday that I can’t even pray anymore.” There were dark rings under the watchman’s eyes; it looked as if he’d had a long, sleepless night.

“What devil?” Bartholomäus asked. “And who are you looking for?”

The guard waved him off. “None of your business, hangman. Get out of here.”

“It certainly is our business,” Bartholomäus replied curtly. “The captain sent for me and my brother. So just let us through before he gets impatient.”

“Your brother?” The second guard, a short, mousy, nervous-looking fellow, regarded Jakob, wide-eyed. “Do you mean we now have
two
hangmen in the city?”

“It looks like you need them,” Jakob jested, “with all the filth and vermin here.”

Without another word, the two brothers pushed their way past the guards and entered the chief’s office. An older, powerfully built officer was having a conversation with a gray-haired, potbellied man. They were standing next to a table, looking at a long bundle wrapped in a sheet. Next to it was a smaller bundle, also wrapped in a cloth. Jakob knew at once what was underneath the sheets; he was all too familiar with the odor in the air.

The stench of decay.

When the chief noticed the new arrivals, he raised his head, and a thin smile spread over his lips. Just like the guards outside, he looked pale and weary, and black stubble covered his angular face. Jakob assumed the man in front of him was Martin Lebrecht, the captain of the Bamberg city guards.

“Ah, Master Bartholomäus,” the captain exclaimed with relief. “Please excuse me for not having any time for you earlier, but there were . . . well . . . some things that had to be taken care of.” He hesitated briefly, then pointed with a sigh to the portly gentleman on his right, dressed in the simple garb of a clerk and nervously rubbing a roll of paper in front of him with calloused fingers. “I’m sure I don’t need to introduce you to Master Hieronymus Hauser.”

Bartholomäus nodded. “I’m glad to see you, esteemed Father-in-Law. Katharina, by the way, is well and rearranges the furniture in my house every day. Soon I won’t be able to find my way around in my own room.”

The fat man smiled. “You can forget about calling me
father-in-law
until after the wedding,” he replied, shaking his finger playfully at Bartholomäus. “And don’t tell me I never warned you about Katharina’s compulsion for cleaning.”

Jakob was amazed to see the degree of collegiality and respect the men showed for each other. Here, the hangman appeared to be one of the local authorities—unlike in Schongau, where he had to live outside the city walls and was avoided by everyone. But then Jakob suddenly thought about the whispering children over on the bridge.

It will always be so; some things never change.

“And I assume this is your brother?” asked Hieronymus Hauser, turning to Jakob with a smile and extending his ink-stained fingers. Jakob shook hands, embarrassed; now he regretted not having washed off in the river earlier. “Welcome to the family,” said the clerk. “We were surprised you came. It was just last week that I learned Bartholomäus even had a brother.”

“We Kuisls don’t talk very much,” Jakob explained hesitantly.

Hieronymus laughed. “Indeed! But my daughter compensates for that three times over. It was one of her fondest wishes to have all the members of the Kuisl clan sit down sometime at a table.” With a smile, he added, “Even though it means, or so I’ve heard, bringing together two obstinate executioners who are always quarreling with one another.”

Martin Lebrecht, who had been standing awkwardly next to them, interrupted: “May I ask you to put off the family affairs until later? We’re here to discuss a very important matter.” He looked intently at the two hangmen. “First, you must assure me that everything we discuss here today is confidential. We will keep minutes and then bury them in a mountain of documentation. Have I made myself clear?”

Bartholomäus and Jakob nodded, and the captain took a deep breath.

“Then take another look at the corpse you found, and tell me exactly what happened yesterday.”

He pulled the sheet away from the table. Hieronymus gasped softly while the two hangmen looked down with interest at the naked corpse. They had seen too many corpses and too much sorrow in their lives, but just the same, anger started welling up in Jakob.

She’s just a little older than my Barbara . . .

The red-haired girl in front of them was as pale as parchment. Something had ripped open her throat, so that her neck was just a gaping wound. Even more gruesome to look at, however, was the thin cut Jakob had not noticed the night before beneath her bloody dress; it extended from her breastbone to her navel. It looked just like the incisions the Schongau hangman sometimes made himself on hanged criminals in order to study the body’s internal organs. Clotted blood had formed along the incision, where a fat blowfly, buzzing loudly, alighted and started crawling down toward her navel. The girl looked like a doll that had been torn to pieces and clumsily stitched back together again.

“Who would do something like that?” asked a horrified Hieronymus Hauser after a while. His pasty face had suddenly turned gray, and he took a deep gulp.

“Well, that’s the reason I wanted to hear more about what happened last night,” Martin Lebrecht replied. “The girl was evidently a whore. An unhappy client probably slit her throat, but what about this here?” He shook his head in disgust and turned to Bartholomäus. “When you brought me the corpse last night, I discovered the incision at once and decided not to have the girl taken to potter’s field, as I usually would. That would only have started rumors, and we have enough of those in the city already.” He stopped to think. “In addition, look what the rag collector Answin brought me early this morning. He fished it out of the Regnitz just a few hours ago.” Lebrecht pulled aside the second, smaller sheet, revealing the pale leg of a woman. It seemed to have been in the water for some time, as rats and fish had already been nibbling on it.

“This is the third body part we’ve found this month,” the captain continued.

“The fourth,” Jakob interrupted.

Martin Lebrecht looked at him, obviously confused. “What are you saying?”

“I said, the fourth. Yesterday evening, just before we arrived in Bamberg, we came upon a right arm in the river that had been washed ashore.” In a few words, Jakob Kuisl told the captain about their discovery in the Bamberg Forest. “Evidently it belonged to a man about sixty years old who did a lot of writing . . . and had gout,” he said finally. “The fingers were all gnarled.”

“Hm, that could indeed be Councilor Schwarzkontz, who has been missing for four weeks,” Lebrecht mumbled. “Did he have a ring on his finger?”

“It looked like he used to wear one. There was a pale circle on his finger, but the ring was gone.”

The captain thought for a moment and nodded. “That must have been the ring with the city seal. Schwarzkontz was known to have worn it wherever he went.”

For a moment, Jakob closed his eyes and cursed himself for being such a fool. He was so certain the man had worn a wedding ring that he’d ignored any other possibilities. Now he realized how rash his judgment had been.

You never stop learning. Not even in your old age. Well, at least Magdalena won’t hear anything about it . . .

“The arm you found brings the total to four body parts,” Lebrecht continued, “some male, some female. I assume that at least both arms belonged to Klaus Schwarzkontz. His son Walther was able to recognize a scar on one of them, and he is sure it was his father.”

“Just a moment.” Bartholomäus stared in confusion at the captain. “The left arm belonged to Councilor Schwarzkontz? But . . .”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Lebrecht interrupted. “If Klaus Schwarzkontz was slain by highwaymen somewhere in the forest, what in the world is his left arm doing here in Bamberg?”

“The entire area around the city is full of small rivers and streams,” Hieronymus interrupted. “It’s quite possible that one of the body parts was carried here by the water. Wild animals ripped up the corpse and—”

“This wasn’t any wild animal,” Jakob retorted crossly. “I saw the arm, and someone had been working on it with a knife or an ax.”

“Well, isn’t that just fine. One more riddle.” Lebrecht groaned, then began counting off on his fingers. “Including Klaus Schwarzkontz, I have three missing people and a bunch of body parts, and now the apothecary Magnus Rinswieser comes to me early this morning whining and complaining that his young wife has vanished into thin air. Guards saw her entering the forest near the city late at night.” He took a deep breath. “But as if that’s not enough, now that old drunk Matthias is running through town telling everyone that last night he saw a hairy monster that walks on its two hind legs. This . . . this idiot!” Lebrecht rubbed his bloodshot eyes, and again Jakob Kuisl had the feeling that the captain was withholding something from them.

“I immediately put Matthias in the city jail to sober him up,” Lebrecht continued, “but by then the whole city had heard about it. Until now, isolated reports could be discounted—a tragic accident, wild animals, marital discord, what have you—but when this gets out . . .” He paused for a moment, gesturing toward the girl’s mutilated body. “When this gets out I’ll have to report the matter to the prince-bishop, whether I like it or not. And we all know what that means.” His final words hovered in the air, fraught with meaning. Finally he continued. “So, for God’s sake, tell me exactly what happened yesterday. I pray to God we can find a natural explanation for all this.”

Bartholomäus cleared his throat, then started talking. Occasionally he brought Jakob into the picture, and the latter responded in a few words.

“So there was a struggle,” the captain summarized. “The girl tried to defend herself, but the murderer struck her down and for whatever reason slit her throat. It’s clear up to this point, but what caused the incision in her chest?”

“May I have another look at the corpse and the leg?” asked Jakob.

Martin Lebrecht looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“My brother is skilled in medicine,” Bartholomäus tried to explain. “It was always the case. It runs in the family. I’m the only black sheep in this respect.”

Jakob nodded almost imperceptibly. Like many other executioners, he knew how to torture and kill, but also how to cure. The medical expertise of the Kuisls was known far and wide, but his brother Bartholomäus had never been interested. Bartl was good at doctoring animals and knew a lot about horses and dogs, but people, Jakob assumed, appealed to him only when they were already dead.

The captain stepped aside and motioned for the Schongau hangman to step up and take a closer look at the cadaver. “Go right ahead. You certainly are welcome to try, though I don’t think you’re going to find out anything I haven’t seen already.”

First, Jakob turned to the severed leg that had been lying in the water for several days. It was already in such bad shape that it was impossible to say anything more about it, except that it probably belonged to an elderly woman. It was not even possible to tell if the leg had been severed with a knife or simply ripped off. Before turning away, Jakob took one last look at the toes. He froze suddenly, then stood up again and looked all around him.

“Two of this woman’s toenails have been ripped off,” he said.

“What?” Martin Lebrecht frowned. “Are you trying to say she has been tortured?”

“I can’t be sure of that, but what point would there be otherwise in pulling someone’s toenails out? So she wouldn’t have to cut them again?”