The Werewolf of Bamberg (50 page)

Georg took a deep breath, then lowered his head and told his father about getting drunk at the Blue Lion, but also all the things he’d seen and how he’d been able to make sense of it in the end. He told him about the ingredients for the sleep sponge he’d discovered in Jeremias’s room, Jeremias’s extensive knowledge of Latin, and the broken executioner’s sword—but most importantly, he told about Jeremias’s confession that he was Michael Binder, the former executioner, and that he had just recently committed a murder.

“He confessed to having killed the young prostitute,” Georg said finally. “Only the murderer could know about the ripped-open rib cage. Jeremias is the werewolf you’ve been looking for.”

Jakob had listened silently the whole time, and now he turned to Jeremias, still sitting on the bed, rubbing a cool ointment on his red, scarred face.

“Is it true what the boy says?” the hangman asked.

Jeremias sighed. “Only part of it. Yes, I killed Clara, but I’m not the werewolf. You must believe that.”

“Then we’ll have to hear more,” Kuisl replied. He took out his pipe and lit it on a flaming wood chip he’d fetched from the stove. Soon, fragrant clouds of smoke were ascending toward the ceiling, dispelling the rotten stench of the beast of prey that had been clinging to his clothes.

“So speak up,” Jakob demanded. “Or must I first ask my brother to throw you on the rack and torture you with thumbscrews?”

Jeremias winked mischievously. “Believe me, when it comes to the rack and thumbscrews, you youngsters could still learn a lot from me.” But then he turned serious.

“It’s just as Georg told you. Indeed, I was once the Bamberg executioner Michael Binder—but Michael Binder is long dead and gone. He died almost forty years ago in a trough full of unslaked lime. Since then, I’ve been Jeremias. But I was never able to wash away the guilt weighing on me . . . only my old name.” The old man sighed deeply, and there was a strange rattle in his throat. “I could never forget the sight of my beloved Carlotta—the vision of her follows me in all my dreams. And then, about a year ago, this young girl appeared, the very image of Carlotta.”

“Do you mean the young prostitute?” Magdalena interrupted.

Jeremias nodded. “The first time I saw the girl, she came to me to abort a child. Prostitutes know about my knowledge of healing and visit me in secret. Ever since then, I couldn’t forget the girl. Her . . . her name was Clara. I went to her and told her I only wanted to touch her, nothing more. At first, she was disgusted, but I gave her money, lots of money, and she gave herself to me. I often visited her in the brothel in the Rosengasse, and once I persuaded her to sleep here with me.” A blissful smile spread across his face. “It was the most wonderful night in almost half a century. We talked a lot, just as I had talked back then with Carlotta—mostly inconsequential things, the way new lovers do. I was a fool. A stupid old fool.” He pounded his forehead with his fist before continuing.

“In a moment of weakness, I told Clara my secret. I told her that in my former life I’d been Michael Binder, the hangman of Bamberg.” His face darkened. “The next day she demanded money, and later, even more. She threatened to turn me over to the officials.”

“Why would that have been so bad?” Georg asked. “After all, you didn’t do anything illegal back then, you were just the hangman.”

Jeremias smiled. “That’s just it, I was the hangman. Remember, at that time, not only ordinary people, but more importantly many nobles and councilors were being burned at the stake. Their families swore bloody revenge. I can still see them standing there by the flaming stake and pointing at me.” He shuddered. “They could never call the ones responsible to account, as they were too powerful. But believe me, they would have taken out their anger on me
—
and they still would today, because I’m just a simple hangman.”

Jakob grumbled his agreement and took another drag on his pipe. “You’re probably right. It’s so easy for them to vent their anger and guilt on us, and that’s why they need us—to kill, and to heal sometimes, too, and so we can relieve them of their undesired offspring. And afterward, in the street, they look away, and behind our backs they make the sign of the cross.”

“What happened with this young Clara?” Magdalena asked.

Jeremias took a deep breath. “Once, when I had no money to pay her, I went to her and asked her to stop it. But she just laughed at me and said she’d go to Captain Lebrecht the next day to report me. She called me a stupid cripple and told me all the things the patricians would do to make my life hell. At that moment, I knew I had to act.” He paused. “I thought about all the ways I could hurt her, and I got the idea of using the sleep sponge, which I had used on criminals in the past. The very next night, I lay in wait for her and pressed the sleep sponge over her face. She cried out once, then fell to the ground. She didn’t even feel the blow that smashed her skull.”

“But the rib cage,” Georg whispered. He was both fascinated and repelled by Jeremias’s cold-blooded description of the young girl’s murder. “You cut open her rib cage. Why?”

Jeremias shrugged. “There were people who’d seen me with Clara, and I was afraid someone might get the wrong idea. An old man, an unrequited love . . . So I made it look like this werewolf had sunk its fangs into her.” He winked at Jakob. “And all of you were fooled by it.”

Georg now looked at the old man in disgust.

Is this what happens when you kill hundreds of people? How sick and unfeeling can you get?

For the first time he felt nothing but revulsion for the vocation of the executioner.

But this is probably what I’ll have to do someday.

The little room was now almost completely filled with smoke from Jakob’s pipe, and through the gray clouds, Jeremias’s scarred face looked almost like a ghost, a spirit from a long-forgotten past.

The silence in the room was broken by his question, uttered in a soft voice. “Are you going to hand me over now to the guards?”

“I’m not a judge, I’m just a hangman like you used to be,” Jakob replied hesitantly. “God knows there was a lot of pain in your life, but I’m sure that at least the great judge of us all will see to it that you pay for this deed in eternity. And you will pay more than for any of the others you have killed, because at least this one time you were able to make your decision freely. And you chose the path of darkness.”

“I know that,” Jeremias replied gloomily, and he looked to see what his visitors would do next. “So you’ll let me go?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Jakob said. He puffed on his pipe and seemed completely lost in his own thoughts. “It depends on what else we learn. Perhaps even with your help.” He stared at Jeremias sharply. “Do you swear you have nothing to do with the other murders?”

The old man held his hand to his skinny chest. “I swear by all the saints and the Holy Mother of Jesus.”

Jakob waved dismissively. “You can forget all that rot. I always thought there was something fishy about the murder of the young prostitute. The odor of henbane, her ripped-open chest—it didn’t seem to fit with the others.”

“But the other victims were also badly mangled,” Magdalena interrupted. “They’d been tortured, dismembered . . .”

“The werewolf,” Georg whispered, making the sign of the cross.

“Good God, just stop talking about this damn werewolf!” Jakob scolded. “Can’t you see that someone is playing us for fools? Jeremias exploited that horror story, as did someone before him. But who? And why?” The hangman frowned. “Well, at least we know this prostitute doesn’t belong with the others. She was the stone that didn’t fit in the mosaic. If we put this aside, who’s left? Who . . .”

Jakob, mulling it all over, reached out for the chess pieces lying on the table beside the chessboard.

“The first victim was probably this Klaus Schwarzkontz,” he mumbled without taking the pipe from his mouth. “An old Bamberg city councilor.” He placed a white castle on the board. “Thadäus Vasold was also an old councilor, and the old lady Agnes Gotzendörfer was the widow of an influential patrician, as well.” Another castle and a black queen followed. “So here we have three people connected by the power they had in the past.”

“But there were also some rather young women,” Magdalena chimed in. “The apothecary’s wife, Adelheid Rinswieser, for example, whose husband is also on the council. And Simon said that the fiancée of another young councilor also disappeared, a certain Johanna Steinhofer.”

Jakob placed two white knights alongside the black queen and the two rooks. “Look,” he said. “It’s just a thought. If you leave the prostitute out of the picture, it’s a struggle between the patricians and the other families. The only conclusion, then—”

Georg cleared his throat. “Father?” he asked softly.

Impatiently, Jakob turned to face him. “For God’s sake, what is it?”

“Uh, you forget there was one more woman who has disappeared,” Georg replied timidly. “A simple miller’s wife by the name of Barbara Leupnitz, who lived in the Bamberg Forest. Her husband is certain one of the dismembered arms belonged to her. After Councilor Schwarzkontz, she was the second victim.”

Jakob set down another white pawn among the other figures. “So, not one of the patricians. I thought the veil was lifting.”

“Well, perhaps it is, after all.”

It was Jeremias, lying on the bed. Apparently the pain in his face had subsided. Now he stood up, shuffled over to the table, and stood there thinking about the six figures on the chessboard. He reached out with his gout-plagued fingers for the lone white pawn, then turned to Georg with a questioning look.

“Did you say the miller’s wife is Barbara Leupnitz?”

When Georg nodded, Jeremias continued, lost deep in thought: “I knew her father well. Johannes Schramb. He was just a simple scribe in the city hall, like a number of others. But there was a time when I saw Schramb almost every day.”

“And when was that?” Magdalena asked.

Jeremias took a deep breath before answering.

“That was at the time of the witch trials. Johannes Schramb was at that time a scribe for the so-called Witches Commission.”

“The Witches Commission?” asked Magdalena, frowning. “Like the one they’ve set up because of this werewolf?”

“Something like that,” Jeremias nodded. “Back then, the members of the Witches Commission were the so-called
Fragherren
—the inquisitors—and they alone decided who looked suspicious and whom to question. They were also present every time a suspect was tortured. The Bamberg Witches Commission ruled in cases involving life and death. They were appointed by the bishop, and there was no one in the city who could question their decisions.”

Magdalena murmured, “A small circle of powerful men who could decide whether people lived or died. They must have felt like they were gods.” She stopped short. “Wait!” She pointed excitedly at the other pieces on the chessboard. “Were any of the present victims members of that Witches Commission?”

“The members of the commission changed from one trial to the next,” Jeremias replied with a shrug, “but there were some who served every time, and I can remember very clearly who they were. One of them was Klaus Schwarzkontz, and I think also Thadäus Vasold and Egidius Gotzendörfer, the husband of Agnes Gotzendörfer.” He sighed. “But old Egidius is long gone, and all the other victims are naturally much too young. After all, all this happened nearly forty years ago.”

“What about the scribe, this Johannes Schramb?” Jakob asked. “Is he still living?”

Jeremias shook his head. “Surely not. Even then he was no youngster. I think he died more than ten years ago.”

“But his daughter . . . she passed away just recently,” Jakob replied, taking another deep drag on his pipe. He glared at old Jeremias. “Do you think there’s a way we can find out whether the two other young women had a father or grandfather who served on this commission? If they got married, then their surnames would be different, of course.”

Jeremias thought for a while. “It wouldn’t be especially difficult to find out their maiden names. Perhaps Berthold Lamprecht can help us with that. As the tavern keeper of the Wild Man, there isn’t a soul in Bamberg he doesn’t know.” He shrugged. “But whether their fathers or grandfathers were members of the commission then—”

Georg couldn’t contain himself any longer and jumped up urgently from his stool. “Let’s see if I’ve got this right. Do you seriously believe there’s someone out there deliberately targeting these former commission members? And once he disposes of them, he strings up their spouses, children, and grandchildren?”

“Good Lord, how often do I have to tell you to keep your mouth shut when adults are talking,” Jakob scolded, looking at Georg so angrily that the young man meekly returned to his seat.

“He’s fifteen, almost sixteen, Father,” Magdalena objected. “Georg is no longer a little boy. Besides, we have a lot to thank him for.” She gave her younger brother a sarcastic look. “Even though he’s unfortunately worthless as a babysitter.”

Jakob grunted his disapproval, then offered an explanation.

“I told you before, there are two possibilities. This alleged werewolf could be a madman who kills people indiscriminately. Or he could have a plan. If he has a plan, and I’m beginning to believe he does, then there’s some connection between all these murders. It can’t be an accident that among the victims there are two former inquisitors, the widow of another, and the daughter of one of the scribes. The other murders no doubt have some connection to it all, as well, and that’s what we have to find out.” He turned back to Jeremias. “So what can you tell me about the names of the commission members?”

Jeremias sighed wearily. “I already told you. There was not just one commission, but many—a new group was assembled for each trial. I can remember Schwarzkontz and the two old councilors, as well as the scribe Schramb, but as far as the others are concerned”—he hesitated—“for the life of me, I can’t remember who they were. Those were uncivil, barbaric times, and moreover, it all happened ages ago. You’d have to look at the old records to find out what lists all those inquisitors were on.”