The Werewolf of Bamberg (67 page)

“Just a moment,” Bartholomäus interrupted. “Do you think people will believe that my dear Brutus abducted and killed all these people?”

“Yes, a truly horrible beast.” Simon nodded with a dark, theatrical look in his eyes. “And not just that. Brutus prowled the streets of Bamberg and put a curse on the suffragan bishop, turning him into a werewolf as well. Believe me, when we show Brutus to the citizenry, many of them will remember having seen him—in the night, in a dark corner of the city, on their way home from the tavern . . . They’ll remember how they barely managed to elude him, and even the guards up in the old castle will be convinced that this is the real werewolf.”

“You can just forget about that,” Lebrecht sneered, shaking his head. “You’ll never get away with it. The Bamberg bishop will never—”

“Suppose I told you we had His Excellency Bishop Johann Philipp von Schönborn on our side—a real, living elector?” Simon interrupted sternly. “Just today, Schönborn assured me he completely supports us. He wants to make sure this case does not turn into something like what happened forty years ago.
How
we prevent that is entirely up to us—those were his words exactly.” He smiled with pursed lips. “And Bishop Rieneck certainly won’t oppose Schönborn’s wishes, especially since he depends on the money he gets from his powerful friend to finish his palace. Don’t you agree?”

There was a tense silence, and Simon thought he could hear Jakob and Bartholomäus suddenly inhaling between their teeth in surprise.

“You have the support of the elector?” Martin Lebrecht gulped. “Well, that’s naturally something else. We, ah . . . could at least give it a try.”

“How nice.” Simon winked, then clapped his hands with determination. “So I’ll ask you now for the following, Captain: Call your men over and tell them about this terrible werewolf. Tell them we killed the beast in a heroic struggle, in which we suffered some injured and dead. Then we’ll tie the beast to a heavy branch, carry it to the Green Market in Bamberg, and put it in the stocks for all to see, so they will know it’s dead and this horrible time has finally come to an end.”

Lebrecht hesitated, then pointed with concern to the unconscious Barbara and to Adelheid Rinswieser, who, like the others, had been following the conversation closely. “But how about those two? They know that’s not the truth.”

Simon turned to Adelheid and looked at her intently. He was sure Barbara would keep quiet, as it was doubtful she had even heard much of what was going on that night, but what about the apothecary’s wife?

It all depends on that,
he thought.
Will she help us? Will she understand how important this plan is for the future of the city?

“I shall keep my silence,” Adelheid finally said in a soft voice. “Everything will have happened just as you said. The werewolf abducted me. It cast a spell on me. I only awoke today in this hunting lodge, and that will be all I have to say.”

Simon breathed a sigh of relief, but the captain still appeared uncertain, biting his lips and studying the huge, bloody cadaver.

Suddenly Jakob Kuisl stepped forward, seized the beast in one hand, and held it up like a light bundle of fur.

“Damn it! Quit your foolish hesitation,” he growled. “I seldom compliment my son-in-law, as you know, but this time he really has a sensible idea. I’m telling you, string this beast up on the gallows in Bamberg for everyone to see, and then we’ll finally get back our peace and quiet—and I can return to Schongau.” He dropped the carcass as Bartholomäus, standing behind him, groaned.

“On the gallows? A dog?” A smile spread across the captain’s face, then he burst out laughing. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. But since we have the blessing of a real elector and the experience of two executioners, we’ll try it.
Men!
”

He motioned to the guards, who quickly gathered around Brutus’s cadaver and began talking excitedly. Some crossed themselves or murmured a prayer, while others bent down carefully and tore off a piece of the hide or dipped their fingers in the congealing blood of the massive hound.

“There he is, our werewolf,” Martin Lebrecht proclaimed dramatically. “The hunt is finally over. Thank God! Now let’s take the beast to Bamberg and tell the people what has happened here.”

The men cheered, even as they cast furtive looks at the dead animal, as if fearing it might suddenly come back to life and attack them.

While the soldiers looked around in the forest for a suitable branch to transport the carcass, Jakob carefully picked up his daughter and made his way down to the river, where Answin’s boat was waiting, and Bartholomäus looked after Georg, who came along behind. It was a strangely moving scene as the Bamberg executioner and his nephew hobbled away together into the night. When Adelheid Rinswieser had also said her last farewell, Magdalena turned to Simon with a knowing look.

“Tell me, that bit about the Würzburg bishop,” she asked in a quiet voice. “Is that true? Is the elector really on our side?”

Simon smiled and shrugged. “Well, I think Johann Philipp von Schönborn will support us if I tell him about it. In any case, he told me he’d be behind us as much as possible. The Würzburg bishop is a reasonable man who doesn’t believe in magicians and witches, nor in werewolves, either. But so far”—he winked—“well, he doesn’t know any more about it than the rest of Bamberg.” He laughed and embraced Magdalena.

“Simon, Simon,” she said. “You’re a scaredy-cat, a swindler, and—”

“And a brave killer of werewolves,” her husband interrupted with feigned severity. “Don’t forget that. And now let’s leave as fast as we can and go check on the children. I think they have earned themselves a bedtime story or two.”

“But nothing scary,” Magdalena pleaded.

“Nothing scary, I promise. I’ve had enough of scary stories.”

Arm in arm they walked down the dark path through the forest while, behind them, the last of the flames in the sinister building died out.

EPILOGUE

S
T
.
M
ARY
’S, THE UPPER PARISH CHURCH ON THE
K
AULBERG
, B
AMBERG
,
N
OVEMBER
7, 1668 AD

T
HE BELLS OF ST. MARY’S
Church rang out loud and clear that Wednesday morning for the newly wedded Bamberg executioner and his bride. There was a slight drizzle, and fog drifted through the streets, but it couldn’t dampen the spirits of the attendees.

Hand in hand, Bartholomäus and Katharina stood under the stone canopy in the so-called bridal entryway where, for ages, couples had exchanged their vows. The fact that a dishonorable hangman was permitted to do so had much to do with the influence of the bishop of Würzburg. Johann Philipp von Schönborn had left the city two days earlier but, at Simon’s request, had put in a good word with the priest there, and thus the church wedding was finally permitted—though not on Sunday, the holy day. Beneath the famous sculptures of the wise and foolish virgins, the priest had placed rings on the fingers of the couple and pronounced his blessing.

Magdalena, Simon, and the other wedding guests stood at the foot of the church stairway. The boys’ trousers were more or less clean, and for this festive occasion Simon had borrowed a fresh shirt from his friend Samuel. Magdalena fanned herself as she watched her aunt in her low-cut dress standing proudly under the canopy, looking like an aging blond cherub. Though it was clear she was still mourning the loss of her father, at that moment joy seemed to prevail.

On hearing of her father’s death, Katharina had at first collapsed and wept all night. The next morning, however, she arrived, pale and red-eyed, at Bartholomäus’s house and in a firm voice consented to the marriage. That was four days ago.

“My father would have wanted it this way,” she said, looking lovingly at her future husband. “Life goes on, and Father never wanted me to spend the rest of my life as a bitter old maid. I’m sure he’s looking down on us from heaven and sending us his best wishes.”

Bartholomäus thought it prudent not to tell her how her father had actually died, and he also spared her from hearing that almost their entire fortune had been bought with the blood of the Haan family. Things were bad enough for her as it was.

“I don’t think Bartholomäus has anything to complain about,” Jakob muttered as he stood beside Magdalena at the foot of the stairway. In his brother’s honor, he’d worn a fresh shirt and even put away his stinking pipe. “Katharina is maybe a bit fat, but her heart is in the right place,” he said, studying his sister-inlaw like a cow for sale in the market square. “If she’d just stop that constant puttering around, cleaning and moving furniture . . . Bartl will have to cure her of that. It’s enough to drive you crazy.”

Magdalena grinned. “I think a woman in the house would do wonders for you, as well,” she said with a wink. “Who knows, perhaps you’ll find someone in Schongau who can put up with you.”

Kuisl let out a dry laugh. “God forbid. You and Barbara are almost more than I can take. Why would I need another female around who can’t keep her mouth shut? Torture on the rack is a pleasure compared to that.”

Magdalena was ready with a fresh answer, but at that moment the couple started down the wide staircase, and the small party of wedding guests broke into applause, which Bartholomäus acknowledged with a nod. He was clearly proud—before him, no Bamberg executioner had ever been permitted to step through the bridal portal.

“If Bartholomäus gets puffed up any more, he’ll fly away,” Jakob growled, spitting on the ground.

“What did we say? No nasty words on the wedding day.” Magdalena glared at her father. “You don’t have to marry your brother, after all. Katharina is doing that. And tomorrow we’ll be on our way home.”

Jakob Kuisl grumbled something incomprehensible into his beard. They had decided to leave right after the wedding reception, as Jakob, and especially Simon, were anxious to get back. The hangman’s house and the bathhouse had been empty for far too long, and Simon had complained more than once about how the new doctor in town would be taking his patients.

After a last look at the church, Magdalena joined the small, motley crowd marching through the streets of Bamberg in the direction of the city moat. Now that the scheming suffragan bishop was no longer able to interfere, the city councilors had allowed Katharina and Bartholomäus to celebrate in the wedding house after all.

But surprisingly, Katharina had changed her mind and decided to have a small party at the executioner’s house. After the death of her father, such a big party no longer seemed appropriate to her. Perhaps, though, she had also come around to the realization that it was more important to celebrate with a few real friends than with a crowd of almost-total strangers who would just start gossiping afterward and, in any case, were only interested in the wine and the meat patties.

Together they crossed the City Hall Bridge on their way to the Green Market, which on this foggy Wednesday morning was not nearly as busy as on market days. The few people who passed them in the street stared with a mixture of fear, disgust, and respect. Ever since the soldiers had carried the dead werewolf into town a few days ago and had told the first horror stories, rumors had swept the city. A short, traveling scholar, well versed in the field of alchemy and magic, was said to have shot the beast with a silver bullet—the only way to kill a werewolf. Others claimed to know that the Bamberg executioner himself had cast a magic spell and then quickly strangled the beast. And some spoke of a giant stranger, evidently the brother of the executioner, practiced in the art of transmutation, who had vanquished his greatest enemy in an epic battle.

Almost no one spoke of the dead Jeremias or Markus Salter. Adelheid Rinswieser also kept her silence, even though her husband and other meddlesome busybodies urged her to speak. All she would say was that the werewolf had dragged her off and cast a spell on her. Magdalena had come to know Adelheid as a strong woman, and she was certain the apothecary’s wife would remain silent for the good of the city. Since then, there hadn’t been any arrests, and even the actors were released after it turned out there weren’t any witches among them after all. Evidently, the influence of the enlightened elector was far-reaching, and Magdalena assumed that one or more of his contributions for the building of the Bamberg bishop’s palace had a role to play in that.

Bartholomäus never gave the slightest hint that his dear Brutus was involved in any of this, and only once did Magdalena notice a tear in the corner of his eye. The dead beast remained on the gallows, but soon nothing much was left of him, due in part to time and weather, but primarily to the many superstitious citizens who came to the gallows hill at night looking for scraps of fur, teeth, and claws.

The procession turned left into the lane along the moat and soon reached the tumbledown home of the executioner.

Katharina had gone to lots of trouble to decorate it as festively as possible, with mistletoe and ivy branches over the front door; fragrant, dry flowers along the walls; and fresh reeds on the floors. There was a fragrance of braised meat, onions, and dumplings in the air. Hungrily, the guests helped themselves to the food. Laughter was heard in the house, and quarreling; the boys raced whooping through the rooms; and somewhere there was the sound of a glass breaking. Magdalena cut into a steaming dumpling, smiling inwardly. It was like every other family party, and a chance visitor would never suspect he was in the house of an executioner.

He’d find a mix of guests gathered around the large table. In a back corner sat the ragpicker Answin—who in honor of this festive day had actually taken a bath—and Berthold Lamprecht, the tavern keeper of the Wild Man, who appeared to be enjoying an animated conversation with him. When Lamprecht had heard the news of Jeremias’s death, he paid a decent sum to assure a respectable burial for his old custodian. The former Bamberg hangman now rested in the city cemetery next to St. Martin’s, not far from the gravestone marking the spot where his former fiancée was buried.

At the far end of the table sat the hangman’s servant, Aloysius, silent as always, enjoying Katharina’s roast. And even the old furrier arrived and was once again telling the story of how Jakob had bought the fox skin from him for Katharina’s wedding dress.

“Believe me, I would have advised badger fur,” he announced to everyone, though no one seemed to be listening. “By God, the badger fur makes you look like a king. But no, he said it had to be fox. And then Georg came later and bought all those stinking hides from me. God knows why the boy wanted them.” He shook his head, then took a spoon and, smacking his lips, spread caraway seeds on his spicy sausage.

Magdalena had to grin, watching how her father’s face flushed with anger and shame on hearing the furrier’s story. Jakob still hadn’t completely gotten over how the actor Markus Salter, disguised in a beard and a floppy hat, had gotten away from him while he himself foolishly fell into the river.

Next to the furrier sat Georg, talking to his twin sister. At that moment she laughed out loud. Apparently she had recovered well and, except for a few scars, would have little lasting damage from the horrors in the old hunting lodge. The burn blisters would heal, and her beautiful black hair would grow back. In the meantime she was wearing a trim head scarf. Georg, however, appeared grimmer than ever, though perhaps older and more mature. The wolf trap had injured him more than they’d first thought, and he would probably always limp a bit, making him look astonishingly like his uncle. Just the same, Georg had decided to return to Schongau after one more year as an apprentice in Bamberg, in order to one day take his father’s position.

Magdalena wanted to speak with Simon about that, but he was talking shop with his friend Samuel about some new theory of blood circulation, which practically put Magdalena to sleep. Not until the discussion turned to the Bamberg suffragan bishop did she sit up and take notice again.

“Harsee is still as stiff as a board,” Samuel was saying. “But his eyes look at you full of hate. It’s really strange. Perhaps he’s not really conscious anymore. I hope he isn’t, for his sake; that would be hell for him.” He sighed. “I give him some water from time to time, but his body shrivels up more and more every day. I think he has only a few days left, and the Bamberg bishop is already planning his funeral.”

Simon shook his head sadly. “It’s really terrible there’s no cure for rabies. I hope very much that the learned doctors will find one someday.”

“Let’s not give up hope,” Samuel replied. “After all, it took Harvey a long time to gain acceptance of his theories on the circulation of blood. Even good old Galen . . .”

The conversation turned once again to veins and arteries, and Magdalena turned to her father, on her left, who was chewing sullenly on his meat patty.

“I’d really like to have a good pipe now,” he grumbled between bites. “With lots of smoke so I’d no longer see this bunch of blabbering people.”

“Don’t forget you promised Katharina not to smoke in her house today,” Magdalena admonished him. “And that tobacco really smells bad. It’s enough that you stink up everything at home in Schongau.”

Kuisl grinned and picked his teeth. “You sound just like my Anna, God bless her soul. Do you know that?”

Magdalena changed the topic. “What ever became of Bartholomäus’s other two dogs?” she asked. “He certainly can’t keep the alaunts now that people think Brutus was a werewolf.”

“Aloysius thinks Bartl found a buyer for the beasts, some nobleman in Franconia with a large dog kennel.” Kuisl shrugged. “My brother will certainly get a pile of money for the animals, and perhaps then he can buy himself an even bigger house—or his citizenship, the old show-off.”

Magdalena sighed. “Now enough of that, Father. Anyway, you wanted to have a beer together and talk, you and Bartholomäus. You promised me you would.” She looked at him, pleading. “So how about it?”

Jakob poked sheepishly at the dumpling on the plate in front of him. “Hm . . . well . . . we had a big fight about the venue for the wedding party, then we both went our separate ways and got drunk. I doubt Bartholomäus and I will be getting together anytime in this life.”

“Oh, don’t talk such nonsense. You don’t have to hug each other every day, but it isn’t asking too much for you to make peace with one another. Even if it’s just for Katharina’s sake.” Magdalena nodded toward her aunt, sitting proudly alongside her bridegroom, looking out over all her illustrious wedding guests. On her left, her cousin, who was just as fat, was taking one of Bartholomäus’s veterinary books from Peter’s greasy little fingers. “She doesn’t want any quarreling in the family,” Magdalena said softly. “So pull yourself together and have a talk with him before we finally leave town tomorrow.”

“I don’t know . . . ,” Jakob grumbled.

“You’ll do that, by God, or I swear I’ll clean up the living room and move the furniture around every day.”

Jakob groaned. “Now you’re really just like my Anna. All right, I promise, but leave me alone now.”

Grinning, Magdalena turned to her two boys, who were begging for some more doughnuts spread with honey. Just as she was leaning down to them, there was a knock on the door.

“Well? Who could that be?” said Katharina with surprise. “I’m not expecting any more guests.”

“Perhaps it’s the bishop himself,” Berthold said with a laugh. “I think he owes all of you here a big thank-you.”

Shaking her head, Katharina got up, and when she opened the door she let out a loud shriek of delight.

“Good Lord—Matheo! And your esteemed director himself, if I’m not mistaken. Isn’t this a surprise!”

Barbara, blushing, quickly jumped from her seat, wiping the gravy from around her mouth.

In the doorway stood Sir Malcolm, who, with his tall, haggard stature, had to stoop in order to enter the low-ceilinged room. He was followed by the delicate, diminutive Matheo, who still looked rather battered after the beatings in the Old Residence, though the welts on his face would no doubt heal in the weeks and months to follow. Just the same, he smiled brightly.