The Werewolf of Bamberg

4

BAMBERG, NOON, OCTOBER 27, 1668 AD

For the first time in weeks, Simon felt truly liberated.

The medicus and bathhouse owner wandered aimlessly through the narrow lanes, breathing in the smells of the city-not exactly pleasant, but at least interesting. The prevailing stench of garbage and feces did not completely mask the smell of the river, the sour wine, and the ever-present beer in the taverns, and as he passed through one of the many market squares, he thought he could even smell a faint hint of clove and nutmeg in the air.

In recent years, Simon had felt more and more confined in Schongau; that was the main reason he had decided to close his prosperous bathhouse for a while and accompany the Kuisls on the long trip to Bamberg. He understood the risk of doing that, as a second bathhouse had opened in town, and in the past year a new doctor had even set up business. Simon considered the man a complete charlatan, but that didn’t keep people from buying his highly overpriced and worthless tinctures and medications-just because the man had studied in the exotic city of Bologna on the other side of the Alps.

As Simon strolled through the little back streets-dodging carts and passersby and struggling in vain to avoid stepping into the deep piles of garbage in his new, freshly polished leather boots-his thoughts wandered back to Ingolstadt, where he had studied long ago. That’s where he had met Samuel, who came from a Jewish family that had converted to Christianity years ago. Samuel was smart and well read. But, just like Simon, he had a fondness for a good jug of wine, expensive clothing, and, above all, gambling-a passion that had led the two young students to many a disreputable tavern and had finally cost Simon his expensive place at the university. After just three semesters he had spent all his money on drink and gambling and had to return home to Schongau-a failure for which his father, the Schongau medicus Bonifaz Fronwieser, had never forgiven him.

Nor had he forgiven himself.

Samuel, on the other hand, had enjoyed great success. Since that time, he’d become the official doctor of Bamberg and, on occasion, had even attended the prince-bishop in letting his blood. The two former students corresponded from time to time, and Samuel, who was still single, always inquired about Simon’s family. So Simon was excited when they received the invitation to visit Bamberg. He wanted to finally see his old friend Samuel again, and he hoped to hear about recent advances in medicine that might be useful to him in Schongau.

Besides, Simon enjoyed-more than he wanted to admit to himself-wandering by himself through the little alleyways of Bamberg. He loved his two boys, but they could be incredibly tiring-especially Paul, a little hellion who tended to break out in temper tantrums. Simon hadn’t said when he would be back, so he was free to enjoy these precious moments visiting the many churches and chapels, buying a package of his beloved coffee beans in the spice market (despite the outrageous cost), and shopping for clothing fabric.

As Simon strolled past St. Martin’s Church, he saw a young girl standing by the church portal. Her hair had been shorn; she wore braids of straw and held a wooden tablet informing passersby that she’d had a casual affair with a young man prior to marriage. Some of those passing by spat on the ground in front of the girl, while others regarded her with pity. Simon’s face darkened; he couldn’t help thinking about how he and Magdalena had also been exposed to mockery and hatred in Schongau, before they’d finally been permitted to marry.

It’s always the same. Bathhouse owners, amateur doctors, and hangman’s children. . we’ll always be shunned as dishonorable, all our lives. Probably even in the sophisticated city of Paris they’d be singing lewd songs, making fun of us.

After stopping several times to get directions, Simon finally stood in front of the Burgher’s Enclave, adjacent to the distinguished Jesuit college, near the Hay Market. Several buildings surrounded an elegant interior courtyard full of flowers and fruit trees. Simon had learned that the head city clerk and the city physician were housed there. Gazing on the freshly roofed buildings, carefully pruned apple trees, and meticulously clean yard, he couldn’t help but think of his own wretched bathhouse back home.

Perhaps Father was right, after all. I’m just a miserable failure.

Then he thought of Magdalena, the boys, and all the exciting things that had happened since then, and his gloom evaporated.

Excitedly Simon knocked on the door that he had been directed to, and waited. After a while he heard footsteps, and an elderly woman-presumably Samuel’s housekeeper-opened the door. She was haggard, severe looking, unusually tall for a woman, and had her hair tied in a tightly wound bun. She cast a disapproving glance down at the short bathhouse owner in his rumpled clothing.

“The doctor is not in,” the haggard old woman snarled. “If you have an ailment that needs tending, come back tomorrow.” She scowled. “On Friday mornings, Master Samuel treats common people.”

Simon choked back the nasty reply on the tip of his tongue. “I’m an old friend of his,” he said instead, smiling. “Where could I see him now?”

The housekeeper pursed her lips. “People like you wouldn’t be admitted there. Herr Doktor is over at Geyerswörth Castle with His Holiness the bishop. One of his”-she hesitated-“uh, chambermaids has a woman’s ailment that only Master Samuel is able to cure. But that’s no business of yours.”

“Aha, a chambermaid. I’ll wager she’s a bit younger, prettier, and, no doubt, more affectionate than your average chambermaid. Well, in any case, good day to you.”

While the housekeeper was still frowning and trying to figure out the meaning of what he’d just said, Simon had already turned away and left the Burgher’s Enclave. As it always did when someone alluded to his low social standing, a barely controllable rage rose up in him. Once again he swore to himself that his children and grandchildren would someday be better off than their father, who, despite all his talent, had made it no further in life than the post of a dishonorable bathhouse owner in a backwater town. Would things have turned out differently if he’d completed his studies in Ingolstadt? Would he, too, have become the personal physician of a duke or bishop?

Simon was still seething as he turned into a small lane leading to the hangman’s house, along the city moat. Then, on the spur of the moment, he decided to give it a try, after all, and go to Geyerswörth Castle to look for Samuel. There was no reason for the old woman to have turned him away so rudely; his clothing, though a bit rumpled, was still quite appropriate. His petticoat breeches and smart feathered hat had cost him a fortune. Simon attached great importance to his appearance, trying to make up for his small stature.

At the next corner he inquired about the way to the castle and was directed toward the left branch of the Regnitz. Soon he could make out, a bit upstream and not far from the city hall, a long island on whose northern half stood a magnificent building decorated with oriels and turrets. Stained-glass and lead-lined crown-glass windows reflected the light of the afternoon sun. It looked like a slightly smaller version of a royal hunting lodge. Suddenly, Simon was no longer so sure he should ask to see his friend Samuel in this splendid building.

Summoning up his courage, however, he strode across the bridge to a large doorway with two oaken wings, where the bishop’s guards stood on duty. Along the way he’d straightened his clothing a bit, and the soldiers who looked him up and down were not hostile toward him.

“Is the city physician available?” Simon asked, trying to sound both blasé and accustomed to giving orders.

One of the guards frowned. “He’s inside with one of the girls. Why do you ask?”

“Well, uh. . he forgot his package of Bengali fire beans.” Impulsively, Simon held up the small purse of coffee beans he’d just bought. “Without these, the patient’s treatment will probably be ineffective. I need to take them to the doctor right away.”

“Bengali fire. . what?” The guard’s forehead creased. “Do you think that will help cure the girl’s accursed French disease?”

Simon smiled inwardly. Now he at least knew what the bishop’s so-called maid was suffering from. The French disease, also known as syphilis, was a contagious and extremely dangerous sexual infection, often leading to madness and eventually death. It was especially feared in the royal courts, as there was practically no cure. The bathhouse owner shook the bag so that the beans rattled inside.

“A cure is possible only with the use of Bengali fire beans,” he announced solemnly. “They come directly from the West Indian Islands, and the prince-bishop paid a fortune for them. They’re effective for only one hour, and after that they start going bad.”

“For heaven’s sake!” It was clear from the look on the guard’s face that he was imagining what was in store for him if the bishop had any reason to complain. “Then get yourself in right away. The Jew must have forgotten to bring his medicine,” he grumbled softly, but Simon had already slipped by him and entered the shaded inner court of the palace. He could feel the suspicious gazes of the other guards like arrows in his back, so he hurried along, his head held high, toward a stone archway that appeared to lead to the back of the castle.

As soon as he’d passed through the arch, he stopped, overwhelmed by the sight in front of him. Before him lay a large park, with lines of green hedges bounded by two branches of a river. Some bushes were shaped in the form of animals, others stood in waving rows, and still others had leafy tops. Between the rows there were beds of all kinds of roses, many of which had faded. In the middle of the park stood a fountain with graceful statues; holy water sprayed from the antlers of a bronze stag. Colorful, exotic birds chirped in a nearby aviary, and next to it was a gleaming hothouse containing dark-green lemon trees. After all the filth and stench outside in the alleyways, this scene seemed so bizarre that Simon almost thought he was dreaming. A loud voice calling his name finally brought him back to the present.

“My God, Simon! Tell me it’s really you.”

From a balcony with steps leading into the castle, a tall man came running toward him. He was wearing a broad, black cloak and a pointed hat, making him look like a magician, and his arms were spread out in greeting. Not until the man had drawn closer did Simon recognize the friendly face, slightly hooked nose, and bushy eyebrows. His hair had thinned and he had a few more wrinkles around his eyes, but otherwise he looked just like he used to.

“Samuel!” Simon replied with a laugh.

They embraced warmly, and for a moment, the park with the fountain, the hedges, the exotic birds-indeed, all of Geyerswörth Castle-was forgotten.

“You should have sent a messenger to tell me you were coming,” Samuel chided him, raising his finger playfully. “I was worried something might have happened to you on your long trip.”

Simon sighed. “I’m afraid you overestimate my financial means, Samuel. I’m just a simple bathhouse owner who can’t afford a messenger on horseback.” His gaze wandered, half in wonder and half with envy, to the castle towers. “You, on the other hand, evidently are a regular guest of the Bamberg prince-bishop.”

“And shoot enemas up his fat ass,” Samuel laughed, waving him off. “The life of an esteemed city physician is not always as pleasant as people think. You know, of course, that the richer the patient, the more difficult he is to deal with. At present I’m treating not His Excellency but one of his playmates-”

“The one suffering from the French disease, I know,” Simon interrupted.

Samuel grinned. “I see you haven’t changed. Curious and sly as an old Jew. I don’t even want to know how you got wind of this highly secret information-nor how you slipped by the guards of the bishop’s summer residence,” he added with playful mock-seriousness.

“Well, let’s just say I managed both at the same time,” Simon replied with a smile. But then his face darkened. “The French disease is a horrible scourge. Years ago my father had some cases to treat, and all the patients died. Is just the girl infected? Or the prince-bishop, as well?” He lowered his voice and looked around to see if anyone might be listening.

Samuel shook his head. “Probably not, though naturally that is Philipp Rieneck’s greatest worry at present. I spread quicksilver all over the girl’s body to stop the disease, and the young thing screamed like a stuck pig. If the syphilis doesn’t drive her mad, then possibly the treatment will-but what can I do? I don’t know any other treatment.” He sighed sadly. “That’s why we’ve quarantined the patient here in Geyerswörth and not in his palace up in Mengersdorf where the prince-bishop resides in the cooler months.” Samuel smiled with tightly pursed lips. “The screams remind His Excellency too much of his own mortality-though today, at least, he deigned to come and visit her. After all, until now she was his favorite concubine.”

“Did you ever try using the potion made from the guaiac tree?” Simon asked. “I read about it just a few months ago. The great humanist Ulrich von Hutten, in an experiment on himself-”

Samuel laughed. “I see in this regard, as well, you haven’t changed-always in search of the newest treatments. Perhaps you’re right. I’ll. .”

He fell silent as two elegantly dressed men, accompanied by several guards, appeared beneath the archway and walked toward them. With a sigh, Samuel removed his hat and motioned to Simon to do the same.

“What a schlimazel,” Samuel muttered, falling back into the Yiddish jargon of his childhood. “The prince-bishop and the suffragan bishop at the same time. I am spared nothing. Let’s just hope these two high-placed gentlemen don’t both want to be bled at the same time, so I can return home before morning.”

He bowed deeply, and Simon, hesitantly, did the same.

A deep, booming voice greeted the city physician: “Ah, my dear Samuel.” The cleric was large, with long, elegantly waved gray hair and a goatee, likewise gray. His garb was that of a nobleman, with only the cap on his head revealing to Simon that the man standing before him was none other than the prince-bishop himself. He appeared to be about fifty years old.

“So how is treatment going for my beloved Francesca?” Philipp Rieneck asked with concern. “When I visited her this morning, the poor creature was beside herself. She didn’t even recognize me, her father confessor.” Only now did he notice Simon, and his eyes turned to tiny slits. “Have you perhaps shared our little secret with one of your servants?”

Samuel shook his head vigorously. “Of course not. This gentleman is the renowned physician Simon Fronwieser, a professional friend and esteemed doctor from the Munich area. We’re just discussing other treatment possibilities that won’t be as painful as quicksilver.”

The bishop seemed to be thinking it over for a moment, but finally nodded his head. “Very well, good. Anything is better than this screaming. Sometimes it’s so loud it goes right through you. But one thing has to be clear.” He looked Simon up and down sharply. “It concerns medical confidentiality-or I will soon be pleased to hear your own screams, Master. . Tell me your name again.”

“Fronwieser,” Simon said quickly in a hoarse voice. “Simon Fronwieser.” He couldn’t quite choke out the words to support Samuel’s bold lie, elevating him to the status of certified physician. “You. . you can depend on me.”

“Very well. I see we understand each other.” The prince-bishop flashed a friendly smile. Then he pointed to the elderly gentleman at his side, who, like himself, was wearing ecclesiastical garb-no doubt the suffragan bishop. While Philipp Valentin Voit von Rieneck was in charge of both the worldly and spiritual administration in Bamberg, the suffragan bishop concerned himself only with affairs of the church. He had the tonsure of a monk and a piercing gaze that Simon could feel going straight through him.

“Well, my dear Master Samuel,” Philipp Rieneck continued, turning to the doctor as his face darkened. “There’s bad news. Suffragan Bishop Sebastian Harsee has just informed me of another gruesome find reported to His Excellency by well-informed friends in the city guard. Evidently an arm belonging to the missing city councilman Schwarzkontz has been found in the Bamberg Forest. Dreadful, isn’t it?” Rieneck shivered. “That old city councilman was always such a strong pillar in the house of God.”

“This same Lord God will watch over him,” Samuel replied. “Probably the poor man was torn to bits by wild animals in the forest.”

“Or something else,” the suffragan bishop interjected. His creaking voice reminded Simon of the crunching sound of rotted wood.

Samuel looked at Harsee in bewilderment. “Something else? What do you mean by that, Your Excellency?”

“As His Eminence has just indicated, this is not the first discovery of a severed body part,” Harsee replied sharply. “And missing persons cases are mounting. Apparently the wife of the apothecary has disappeared, as well. But that’s not all.” He continued in a whisper, “I have just learned that last night a large, furry creature was sighted in the city, walking on its hind legs. It is said to be as large as a man, with long, pointed teeth.”

“A furry creature with long, pointed teeth?” Samuel stared at him open-mouthed. “But-”

“One of the night watchmen saw it, and the brave man reported it to me just this morning,” Harsee interrupted. “There is no doubt.”

Prince-Bishop Philipp Rieneck, who was standing beside him, cleared his throat nervously. “I told the suffragan bishop that I think the entire matter is. . well, pure fantasy. Evidently the witness is an old drunkard. Unfortunately, the man told other people about it, and the rumor is now coursing through the taverns. The church fears unrest.”

“Rightly so,” Sebastian Harsee noted. He straightened up as if about to deliver a long sermon. “With the earlier reports of men and women who have vanished, and now these gruesome findings of severed body parts, I come to a grave, though logical, conclusion.”

“And what would that be?” Samuel asked hesitantly.

“Well. .” The suffragan bishop paused briefly for dramatic effect before continuing in a whisper, “It’s not out of the question that a werewolf is afoot in Bamberg.”

For a moment, the men remained silent, and all that could be heard was the splashing of water in the fountain.

“A werewolf?” Simon finally ventured. “But. . that’s pure nonsense.”

Then he bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to speak out, but the suspicions of the suffragan bishop had completely flustered him.

Sebastian Harsee gave him an indignant look, as if he’d been disturbed by some hideous sound, then turned back to the Bamberg city medicus.

“The existence of werewolves has been proven. Ample proof is provided in that treatise used by the Inquisition, the Malleus Maleficarum-The Hammer of Witches-which cannot be praised highly enough. Not to mention in other books written by eminent scholars. There were many trials against magical creatures, especially in France, but also here in the German countries. The last of them took place in Landshut and Straubing just a few years ago.” Harsee’s voice began to rise and assumed a priestly tone. “Just like the witches, werewolves are evil ones who have entered into a pact with the devil; he gives them a mantle of wolf’s hide, transforming them into horrible, hairy beasts with a ravenous appetite for all living things. I have studied the scholarly treatises, and I’m certain that a werewolf is prowling the streets of our city.”

The prince-bishop had until then remained silent; he seemed to be struggling with his emotions. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I must admit that I’ve had my doubts, but now, as rumors are spreading and more and more people claim to have seen this beast-”

“This kind of thing is not uncommon,” Samuel interjected. “A person thinks they’ve seen something, and all of a sudden ten others are there to boast they’ve seen it as well. If we investigated every rumor, we’d probably not be able to save ourselves from all the witches, werewolves, and other magical creatures.”

“But what do you say about all the missing persons and the horribly dismembered bodies?” Philipp Rieneck shook his head. “I’m afraid I can no longer close my eyes to all this, even if I wanted to. People are becoming restless, and if this continues, I won’t be able to find beaters for my hunting trips, because no one will dare to go into the forest anymore.” He sighed. “Moreover, in just a few days, Johann Philipp von Schönborn-His Excellency the elector’s representative and the bishop of Würzburg-will be paying us a courtesy visit. He is one of the most powerful men in the Reich and a friend of the kaiser, and we cannot allow any unresolved horrible acts to mar this occasion. I have therefore decided, with great regret, to call together a commission to investigate these matters more closely.” Rieneck pointed to Harsee, who was standing alongside him, looking grim with his arms folded. “Suffragan Bishop Harsee will head the commission, and I would also like to have you join the group, Master Samuel. After all, everything needs to be scientifically verified. Bamberg cannot afford to be placed once again in a bad light.”

Simon had no idea what the prince-bishop meant by that last sentence. He cast a questioning look at Samuel, but Rieneck had already turned back to address the city physician. “I’d like to discuss a few details with you. Alone.” He glanced briefly at Simon. “Your friend will certainly be able to find his way out by himself.”

“Of course.” Simon bowed deeply and was about to hurry off when Samuel held him back.

“When this nonsense has passed, I’d be glad to have a glass of wine with you,” he whispered discreetly in Simon’s ear. “Let’s say tomorrow afternoon at my house?”

Simon nodded nearly imperceptibly, then headed toward the exit. When he turned around again, he saw Bishop Philipp Rieneck walking along the row of hedges with Samuel, in animated conversation.

Only the suffragan bishop was still standing in the same place, watching Simon suspiciously as if wondering if a short, brash doctor might be in truth a dastardly werewolf.

A few hours later, in a far less hospitable place, Adelheid Rinswieser, the wife of the apothecary, stared at the flickering wick of a small candle, which was about to go out. Her voice was hoarse from screaming, and her bones and muscles ached from the leather straps tying her to the bench. She could move only her right arm, and she used it to reach for an earthenware cup of water on the ground beside her, which she used to wet her fingers and moisten her lips.

Where am I? How did I get here?

The cell she was in was square and stuffy, and it smelled of sour wine and the feces of rats, which scampered now and then across the dirt floor, squeaking. Most of the time there was a leaden silence, as if she’d been buried somewhere in the bowels of the earth. Now and then Adelheid heard the screams of the other woman, and then she knew it was starting again.

When is it my turn? Oh, God, when?

Adelheid had long ago given up calling for help, and now the only sound coming from her mouth was an occasional whimper. She had no idea how long she’d been lying down here. The last thing she could remember was that crackling sound when the creature had thrown itself upon her in the forest-that, and the odor of wet fur. Then she had awakened in this cell with a headache as if she’d drunk a bottle of brandy. On one side of her head, above the temple, a large bump was throbbing.

Since then, the dreary hours dragged on. There was no window, not even a crack where light might penetrate into the damp chamber; the only light came from a tallow candle that cast dancing shadows on the walls. The only sounds she could hear were the occasional shrill screams of the other woman. Adelheid had never seen the poor woman but assumed she was in a room at the other end of the hall. Adelheid feared this room more than anything else.

The torture chamber.

Shortly after she had regained consciousness, a man wearing a hangman’s hood had led her there in chains. Even now, she shuddered when she thought of all the strange instruments she’d seen there. Though Adelheid didn’t know what most of them were, she suspected they all served the same purpose: to inflict as much pain as possible on a human being. Her suspicions were confirmed by hastily sketched drawings on the walls of the chamber. They were drawn on strips of cloth that hung down from the ceiling like the flags of an evil kingdom, and they showed images so horrible that even hours later she was still gagging with fear.

Adelheid remembered the image of a man riding astride a sharp wooden cone, his mouth opened wide in agony, and the face of a woman whose jaw was propped open by an iron clamp while her tongue was cut out with a knife. A third image showed a naked, red-haired girl lying on the rack while a masked hangman poured water into her mouth through a funnel. Other torture victims wore bronze boots full of pitch, were hung from the ceiling like slaughtered animals, or were driven with pitchforks into the rushing, dark waters of a river. The images in the chamber showed a more horrible vision of hell than anything she’d seen in the Bamberg Cathedral. And Adelheid still had no idea what her offense had been.

What agony is in store for me? Oh, God, let me lose my mind first, so I no longer can feel the pain. Or am I perhaps already mad? Is this hell?

The man had not removed his hangman’s hood and at first spoke not a word, not breaking his silence until they were in the torture chamber. His voice was firm and matter-of-fact, and he kept asking the same questions.

Confess, witch! Who taught you your magic?

Who are your brothers and sisters?

Where do you meet? In the forest? In the cemetery? Up in the old castle?

Where do you meet on the witches’ Sabbath?

How do you brew the drink that makes you fly?

Confess, witch, confess, confess, confess. .

There was nothing Adelheid could tell him-she just shook her head and pleaded for her life. But he had continued asking the same questions, his voice an unending torrent of words.

Confess, witch, confess, confess, confess. .

Then he took her back to her cell and whispered in her ear one final, strange sentence.

This is the first degree.

Adelheid knew from stories she’d heard that suspects were always first shown the instruments of torture. Often that, by itself, was enough, and they confessed out of sheer terror. But the apothecary’s wife had no idea what to confess to, and the man had brought her back without saying a word, tied her to the bench again, and left her alone.

What the second, third, or fourth degree might be, she could now hear in the next room.

From deep within the walls she heard another high-pitched scream, and she groaned softly. There was no doubt that the torture was continuing in the chamber. The screams of the other prisoner faded in and out, but somehow Adelheid knew the man would not inflict pain on her until the other woman was dead.

Hang on, whoever you are. Hang on as long as possible.

A while ago Adelheid had made out some bits of words amid all the screams-shrill calls for help, pleading, praying-but since then, the words had begun to sound like the whimpers of a mad person.

And they grew weaker and weaker.

Hang on.

Adelheid closed her eyes and mumbled a quiet prayer as the screams seemed to pierce her like needles.

Hang on!

“Damn, this is tobacco the way I love it. Black as the devil’s hair and sweet as the ass of a young whore.”

His eyes closed, Jakob Kuisl sat in the Bamberg hangman’s dining room, puffing on his pipe as dark clouds of smoke rose to the ceiling. The foul-smelling tobacco seemed to transform the hangman into a more peaceful, sociable creature. The others present rubbed their stinging eyes and occasionally coughed, but accepted that as the price they had to pay.

The fading light of autumn had turned to night several hours earlier, and the Kuisls were sitting together around the huge oaken table while Katharina cleared away the bowls, plates, and tableware. From the ingredients Magdalena and Barbara had brought back to her from the Bamberg markets, Bartholomäus’s fiancée had conjured up the most delicious meal Magdalena had eaten in months. Now she sat across the table from her father, feeling full, relaxed, and tired, watching as he blew smoke rings of various sizes across the room. The boys, Peter and Paul, were already asleep after Barbara had told them a long bedtime story.

Outside, the autumn rain beat against the shutters and the wind howled like a wild beast. With dread, Magdalena thought about the previous night and the terrible events her father and Uncle Bartholomäus had just related to them.

“And someone really slit open this poor girl’s chest in order to take out her heart?” she asked in the ensuing silence. “For heaven’s sake, who would do such a thing?”

“What rubbish,” growled Bartholomäus, who was sitting at the table off to one side, whittling a piece of pinewood. “Your father just made that up. The perpetrator probably just took a swing at the poor child to keep her quiet.”

“And what about the toenails that were ripped out on the leg the captain showed us?” Jakob said. “Did the perpetrator just take a wild swing there, too? This is one too many coincidences for me.”

“Well, even if that’s the case,” Bartholomäus said, casting a dark glance at his brother, “I really can’t understand why you have to tell us all about it here, Jakob. The head of the city guards expressly-”

“What I tell my family is none of your damned business,” Kuisl interrupted, nodding toward Georg and Simon. “Georg already knows about it, and he’ll take it to his grave with him-and my son-in-law may be just a bathhouse owner, but he knows a thing or two about medicine. So why shouldn’t I ask them for their advice?”

Magdalena couldn’t help laughing. “Good God, wonders never cease! This would be the first time you asked my husband for advice,” she said, turning to Simon. “Right?”

Simon just shrugged. He was warming his hands on a cup of hot coffee-his favorite brew, Magdalena knew, for stimulating his thinking. “In any case, I don’t believe this crime can be kept secret very long,” he finally said. “By now, half the city already knows about the hairy monster.”

“You’re right.” said Georg, stretching. The long, strenuous day had clearly tired him out, as well. “I was in the Bamberg Forest today, and later I went over to St. Gangolf to pick up a few dead sheep. Even there, people are talking about this beast, and they think it can only be a werewolf.” He shook his head. “If the prince-bishop learns about this. .”

“Unfortunately, he already has,” Simon interrupted with a sigh, “from his own suffragan bishop, Sebastian Harsee. Do you know him? He’s really a disagreeable fellow.”

He briefly told about his meeting with Master Samuel and the dark suspicions expressed by the suffragan bishop.

“They want to put together a council to consider if it’s really a werewolf,” Simon concluded, “even though this Harsee bastard has already made up his mind. Thank God Samuel will also be on the commission-at least one enlightened voice in this crowd of superstitious and bigoted agitators.”

“But suppose it really is a werewolf?” Barbara asked anxiously. After helping Katharina clear the table, she sat down beside her brother Georg and looked around at everyone. “I mean, people have disappeared, severed body parts have been found, and then this furry creature. .”

“And don’t forget the horribly mangled stag carcass that Simon told us about yesterday, and things you hear from people who have traveled through the forest,” Magdalena added, turning to her father. “There may be nothing to it, but isn’t it possible that some beast is really lurking around Bamberg and causing this trouble? It doesn’t have to be a werewolf. Maybe it’s just a large wolf, or-”

“Good God, just stop this!” Bartholomäus shouted, stabbing his knife into the table. “I don’t want to hear anything more about this in my house. Werewolf? Bah! These are horror stories that only sow hatred and discord, as if we didn’t already have enough of that in Bamberg.” He stood up and stomped off to the downstairs bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“What’s the matter with him?” Simon asked. “You might almost think tobacco doesn’t agree with him.”

“You’ll have to excuse him.” With a sigh, Katharina took off her apron and sat down in her fiancé’s empty chair. She stared disapprovingly at the knife in front of her, jammed into the top of the table, still quivering. “You’re not Bambergers,” she said softly, “and you don’t know what this city went through back then, when they burned hundreds of accused wizards and witches here. Bartholomäus just doesn’t want to go through all that again.”

“Even though, as the Bamberg hangman, it would bring him a lot of business,” Jakob replied sullenly. Then he started counting on his fingers. “Let’s see: if Bartholomäus receives two guilders each time he tortures a person and ten more for every witch put to the stake and burned, that would amount to-”

“You! You just can’t bear the fact that your brother is more successful than you are,” Georg burst out angrily. “Admit it, Father. Our uncle has really made something of himself here in Bamberg, and now he’s marrying the daughter of a city secretary, while back in Schongau you’re still cleaning garbage from the street. And that gets under your skin.”

Jakob looked down at the reeds on the floor, and spat. “Better to have your feet in the shit than to crawl up the perfumed asses of the noble gentlemen. By the way, that’s no way to talk to your father. What has your uncle taught you in the last two years?”

“More than you in ten.”

“Enough of this, now.” Katharina had jumped up and was glaring angrily at the father and son. “Perhaps some of you have forgotten, but we’ll be celebrating a wedding soon, and I want you all to get along. I invited you to Bamberg so Bartholomäus could finally be reconciled with his relatives. After all, we’re one family.” She pointed at Georg. “And you will apologize at once. That’s no way to speak to your father.”

For a while no one said a thing. Finally, Georg nodded. “Very well. I’m. . I’m sorry, Father.”

Jakob Kuisl remained silent, but Magdalena could see how he was struggling. He crushed his pipe stem between his teeth while exhaling little clouds of smoke like a smokestack. Finally, he nodded as well, but still not a word escaped his lips. Magdalena decided to change the topic and turned to Katharina.

“Was Bartholomäus already the Bamberg executioner back then, during the terrible witch trials?” she asked.

Katharina stared at her, at a loss. “I’m not sure. I was just a baby at the time. If he was here then, he couldn’t have been more than a young assistant, so it was no fault of his.”

“We hangmen are never at fault,” Jakob Kuisl said between two puffs on his pipe. “Even if the noble gentlemen wished we were. We are just the sword in their hands.”

“So Bartholomäus’s worries are actually justified.” Simon was thinking it all over as he slurped his strong brew. He, too, seemed glad that the quarrel between the father and the son had been put aside, at least temporarily. “If they really do set up a commission because of this werewolf, it won’t be long before the first burnings at the stake.” He turned to Jakob. “Think of Schongau. Wasn’t it your grandfather, back then, who beheaded and burned more than sixty women in that ill-fated witch trial? The whole town went crazy.”

“That was long ago,” Jakob growled. “The times were different.”

“Really?” Magdalena looked at her father, mulling it all over. “For my part, I pray that men have changed since that time. But I’m pretty skeptical. Even if-”

A knock at the door interrupted her words, and a shiver ran up her spine, as if something evil were lurking out there, demanding to be let in. The other members of the family looked questioningly at one another.

“Don’t worry,” Katharina said, trying to calm them. “That’s just my father. He insisted on picking me up personally today. After everything that has happened in the last few weeks, he doesn’t want me to walk alone through the dark backstreets.” She opened the door, and in stepped a portly gentleman wrapped in a heavy woolen cape with a hood, from which the rain dripped in little rivulets to the ground. A lantern dangling from his hand cast a dim, flickering light around him. Magdalena couldn’t suppress a smile. Katharina’s father looked as if someone had dumped a barrel of water over him, shrinking his clothing so it clung tightly to his body.

“Horrid weather outside,” he said, shivering. “Wouldn’t even allow a dog out in this weather.”

“Let’s hope it’s too wet and cold for the evildoers, as well,” Katharina responded with a smile. “You don’t look like you could scare them off very easily.”

She gestured to the others at the table. “But even in such terrible weather, we mustn’t forget our manners and ignore our guests. This is my father, Hieronymus Hauser. You already met Jakob earlier; behind him is Magdalena and her husband, Simon, and between them, that pretty young lady is Georg’s twin sister, Barbara.”

Hauser bowed politely, then he winked at Barbara. “I can’t say you look very much like your brother, but that isn’t necessarily a disadvantage.”

Jakob Kuisl laughed grimly. “You’re right, Master Hauser. Barbara is more like her mother.”

“Well, when it comes to corpulence, I’m more like my father,” Katharina lamented, rolling her eyes playfully. “I can count myself lucky that Bartl prefers bigger women.” She stretched, rubbing her tired eyes. “Excuse me, but the day has been long, and at the first light of dawn tomorrow we need to go back to preparing for the wedding. I’m afraid we must leave.”

Hauser nodded. “Yes, I think we must. The night watchman is just going by outside along the moat, and I’d like to join him. These autumn nights feel a bit eerie to me. .” He shook himself and turned to Simon. “I’d like to continue our talk sometime, in the light of day. They say you know something about books, and I have some at home that might interest you.”

Simon looked up at him, delighted. “Oh, of course! What are they, what-”

Magdalena yawned loudly. When Simon started talking about books, there was usually no end to it. “Katharina’s right, it’s already late,” she said as she stood up. “Besides, I promised to help her tomorrow.”

“I’m so glad for the help.” Her aunt-to-be smiled. “We must pick out the material for my dress and cut it to size, and given my figure, it will take a couple of rolls. Thank you very much, Magdalena.” She clapped her hands as if trying to scare off an evil spirit. “A little sleep should do everyone some good and drive away the gloomy thoughts, so let’s hurry and get to bed.” She wagged her finger in mock admonishment. “And remember, no more quarreling in the family. After the wedding you can rip each other to shreds, for all I care.”

Hauser frowned. “I hope there will be no occasion to do that. Or is there?” He looked all around. “Where is Bartholomäus, anyway?”

Katharina brushed off the remark lightly. “Oh, he’s just gone off to sulk a bit. It’s nothing serious, Father, believe me. I’ll tell you all about it on the way home.”

She put on her coat and hugged Magdalena once more. “Take care that Bartl and your father don’t squabble too much, will you?” she whispered. “It would be the best wedding present you could give me.”

Magdalena nodded silently, and with one last nod, Katharina and Hieronymus Hauser stepped out into the rain.

Everyone at table rose, each heading for their own bedroom, except for Jakob Kuisl, who remained, puffing rings of smoke and watching them rise slowly toward the ceiling. When Magdalena turned around one last time to look at her father, she felt as if she were being pursued by hordes of strange, hairy creatures with long fangs.

Then the beasts slipped out through cracks in the windows and disappeared into the night.