The Werewolf of Bamberg

7

MAIN ROOM OF THE BAMBERG HANGMAN’S HOUSE, MORNING, OCTOBER 30, 1668 AD

The next morning, the Kuisls sat around the table in the hangman’s house, spooning from a large communal bowl the warm barley porridge Magdalena had made for them earlier. The wedding was only four days off, and until then, everyone had their own daily chores to do to help in the preparations.

Bartholomäus and Georg had already been down to the city moat, where the Bamberg City Council had given the executioner the thankless task of shoveling out garbage that had been clogging the moat-a job responsibility that Bartholomäus hated even more than the occasional torturing of criminals. Jakob had promised to help him that day, but first there were a few loose shingles in the adjoining shed that had to be replaced. Magdalena planned to bake bread for the week with Barbara, while Katharina had to help her father with his paperwork at city hall.

The two boys were, for a change, playing tag peacefully with a few of the neighboring children outside in the alley, so the Schongau Kuisls could enjoy some quiet moments together for the first time in a long while-even though Georg was absent, and there seemed to be trouble brewing.

Magdalena blew onto her wooden spoon to cool the porridge a bit, though her mind was occupied with thoughts of the strange man her father had tried to catch the night before. Finally, Jakob had turned up, soaking wet and without his coat, by the furrier’s house, and Magdalena could tell from the way he looked that even the slightest query would make him explode like gunpowder-so she’d held her tongue.

“You still haven’t told us why you ran after that stranger,” she finally asked. “You were frozen when you got back here yesterday, and you’re lucky you didn’t come down with a cold.” She shook her head. “Falling into the river, at your age. Besides, your overcoat cost a lot of money. Do you know-”

“When I need a nurse, I’ll tell you,” Kuisl snorted angrily. “You’re worse than my beloved Anna used to be, God rest her soul.” For a moment he stared into space, then continued, speaking quickly. “But I will tell you what happened yesterday. The furrier described a man to me who’d bought five wolf skins from him last week, and this description seemed to match very closely the man who was watching you.”

Magdalena frowned. “Wolf skins? But why-”

“There are too many werewolf stories going around town now to suit my taste,” Kuisl interrupted. “When someone goes out and buys five wolf pelts, I get suspicious, especially when he tries to run away from me. I’d like to know what he’s doing with them. Perhaps he’s making himself a big coat, a coat he can hide under-”

“Just a minute,” said Simon, putting down his spoon. “Do you think this fellow bought the fur so he could dress up as a werewolf? But why would he do that?”

“To spread fear in the city? So no one recognizes him when he goes out to murder people? I don’t know.” Kuisl shrugged, then started rummaging in the pocket of his trousers, looking for his tobacco pouch. “Perhaps there really is a werewolf causing trouble around here. I’ve heard that some of them clothe themselves in pelts in order to look like animals.”

“So you believe in werewolves?” Simon asked skeptically.

“I’ve seen so many evil and crazy things in my life-so why shouldn’t there be werewolves as well? Or at least men who seriously believe they’re werewolves.” Jakob opened his tobacco pouch and began filling his pipe with the dry leaves.

“Lots of poor creatures live in the forests,” he continued. “Crazy people rejected by society who are more animal than human. Long ago, I had to break a man on the wheel who’d lived in the forest since childhood. During the great famine of ’49, he began hunting people to kill and eat them, especially children who’d run away from home. Their flesh was the most tender, he confessed later on the rack. Was he a werewolf?” Jakob picked up a burning piece of kindling to light his pipe and began puffing with enjoyment. “I don’t know. But in any case, he was a danger to people, and for that reason had to be put down.

“Here in Bamberg, the case is not as clear,” he continued. “I’m afraid this werewolf commission under our unholy prince-bishop will simply pick up some random person and have him tortured, just to find someone to blame.” Simon had already told them about the first meeting of the commission the night before, and the commission’s intention of finding an alleged perpetrator and dispatching him without any further ado.

Jakob grinned. “Good for Bartholomäus. Maybe he’ll have his new hangman’s house earlier than he’d even dreamed of.”

“You are disgusting, Father. How can you even say something like that about your own brother?”

Astonished, Magdalena looked over at the bench in the corner where Barbara sat. Until then, she’d been sitting silently, as if daydreaming and paying no attention to the conversation. Since the night before, Magdalena thought she’d detected a faint smile now and then on the lips of her little sister. Barbara hadn’t told her much about the performance with Matheo and the other actors, but that wasn’t necessary. Afterward, she’d been gone for a long time, and Magdalena thought she knew with whom. Until then, she’d told only Simon about her suspicions, and he’d cast a knowing look in her direction.

Now the smile was gone from Barbara’s face. “Georg is right,” she continued angrily, glaring at her father. “Ever since we’ve been here in Bamberg, you’ve been saying mean things about your brother. What did he do to you? You. . you’re just jealous because he’s more successful. And because, unlike you, he found another wife.”

Jakob slapped her hard on the cheek, and though she didn’t cry, Magdalena could tell she was having trouble holding back her tears.

“You don’t talk to your father like that, understand?” he growled. “Not you, and not your impudent brother, either. What do you know about Bartholomäus and me?”

“Yes, what do we know?” Magdalena said in a soft voice. “Actually, nothing, because you don’t tell us anything.”

“And that’s the way it’s going to be. Don’t poke your nose into things that are none of your business. And now, I’m going over to the moat to help your accursed uncle shovel shit. That’s better than sitting here and listening to you going on and on.”

Jakob was just about to get up from the table when the door flew open with a loud crash. Georg was standing in the doorway, completely out of breath.

“They. . got him,” he panted.

“Who did they get?” Magdalena asked, puzzled.

“Well, who else? The werewolf,” Georg replied, his eyes flashing. “I saw with my own eyes how the guards led him away. They found his wolf pelt, and a few citizens recognized him, too. But they say he won’t confess. Uncle Bartholomäus and I are going to put the screws to him as soon as possible.”

Barbara put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God! Who is it?” she asked anxiously.

Georg grinned. “One of that group of actors, by the name of Matheo-a little Italian-looking guy. If you ask me, I knew right away that something was fishy about those actors.”

For a long time, no one said a thing, and Georg looked from one to the other, puzzled.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Did I say something wrong?”

Magdalena looked at her sister, who was so shocked she couldn’t say a word. Simon, standing beside her, just stared at the floor. Jakob, the only one who didn’t know about their special friendship, just shrugged.

“Well, now the hunt is on, no doubt,” he grumbled. “But there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s always the same-they need someone to blame, the faster the better. And as I said, it’ll pay off for Bartholomäus, too, you’ll see.”

“Matheo is innocent!” Barbara suddenly shouted in despair. “There’s no way he’s a werewolf. And anyone who says that is. . is. .” She broke down sobbing and collapsed on the bench.

Magdalena took her gently in her arms and started talking to her softly, as if to a child.

Georg just stood there in the doorway, his mouth open wide in astonishment.

“You know this little punk?” he finally asked. “But why. .”

“Well, Georg, I’m beginning to feel like the two of us are the village idiots,” Jakob said, folding his arms in front of his broad chest. “Perhaps someone in this esteemed family can explain this to me, hm?”

Simon cleared his throat. “Well. . I don’t know the details, but it appears that Barbara and this Matheo. . well, they have some sort of special friendship. .”

“She’s in love with the guy. Is that so hard to understand, you dopes?” Magdalena looked up briefly as she continued to hug her crying sister. “We were at the theater performance two days ago,” she continued, a bit more calmly, “and then yesterday she was at the wedding house again, and she helped Matheo a bit during the performance. She told me they were standing together on the stage. . and since then the two have no doubt become closer.”

“My daughter stood on a stage?” Jakob shook his head in disbelief. “With these wandering rogues and pickpockets?” He clenched his fists angrily. “Good God, can’t we leave you women alone for a minute without you going out and doing something to embarrass us?”

“These actors are almost as dishonorable as hangmen’s families,” Magdalena answered dryly. “In that sense, Barbara is staying true to her social standing.”

“And to make matters worse, you’re sticking up for her?” Jakob laughed grimly. “Do you think she should marry the boy?”

“Well, at the moment this Matheo won’t marry anyone, because he’s sitting in the dungeon and suspected of being a werewolf,” Simon interjected hesitantly. “And unless there’s a miracle, your brother and Georg will no doubt be interrogating him.”

“Monster! You monster!” Barbara jumped up suddenly and charged at her twin brother, hammering his chest with her little fists. “If you harm even a hair on his head, I’m no longer your sister. I’ll. . I’ll scratch your eyes out, I’ll-”

“Barbara, Barbara! Just stop, please.” Georg tried to grab her arm, but each time she wriggled away. “What do you want me to do?” he wailed. “Even if you think this man is innocent, the new Inquisition Commission ordered me to question him and torture him. There’s nothing more I can do.”

“You. . you beast! You ogre! To hell with all executioners!” Beside herself with anger, Barbara kept beating her brother’s chest. Finally, Jakob Kuisl stepped in between them. With one hand he seized Barbara’s wrist and held it in a viselike grip, and with the other hand he gave her another resounding smack in the face.

Barbara fell silent at once and glared at her father while trembling all over. The blow seemed at least to have quieted her down.

“Now you listen to me, Barbara,” Jakob began in a slow, firm voice. “You’re striking the wrong person. Georg has nothing to do with the fact that your Matheo has been put in the dungeon. And there’s nothing he or Bartholomäus can do but torture the fellow. After all, he’s the executioner in this city, and you know what that means.”

He let go of her and walked over to the executioner’s sword hanging in the devotional corner. Barbara stood in the middle of the room as if turned to stone, her lips pressed together in two thin lines. “It’s our living, it’s what we do,” Jakob continued, pointing to the sword. “We didn’t go looking for it, God put us here in this place.” He tried to sound comforting. “But I can talk with Bartholomäus. If Matheo is cooperative, there are means of expediting him as painlessly as possible into the hereafter.”

“Is that what you’re suggesting?” Barbara asked in a toneless voice. “That you kill Matheo like. . like a sick mongrel, even if you yourself don’t believe he is this werewolf?”

“You heard your father,” Georg replied. “We’re just the tools, and-”

“Then let me tell you this, you. . you tool,” Barbara interrupted, slowly backing toward the door. Her voice was now sharp and cold, not at all like that of a fifteen-year-old. “I’m going now, and I won’t come back until you get Matheo out of prison.” She looked at her father. “I know you can do that. You’ve helped other people before. If he doesn’t get out, Sir Malcolm’s troupe will soon need someone new who can play the role of the girl, and that will be me, for God knows I have talent.”

The door slammed shut, and the rest of the family just sat there, motionless.

“It looks like we have real problems now,” said Simon, breaking the silence. He sighed. “There’s one thing I know for certain-Barbara is serious. After all, she’s just like the rest of you-an accursed, stubborn Kuisl.”

Down in the crypt of the Bamberg Cathedral, Suffragan Bishop Harsee knelt before a simple stone altar and struggled to commune with God. That was not so easy, as the large, whitewashed church was crowded with worshippers even on weekdays. Smaller masses were being held in the side aisles and individual chapels, pious sinners waited to speak with their confessor, and some beggars used the church pews for a short nap before the sexton came and roughly poked them to wake them up.

Sebastian Harsee closed his eyes, trying to ignore the loud sounds around him as best he could. In the last few days, his headaches had been getting worse from all the noise. How he hated this constant racket. Hadn’t the Savior himself ejected the merchants and loud salesmen from the temple? If it were up to Harsee, this cathedral would be a place of silent reflection. Anyone wanting to hear God had to be silent and obey.

But silence and obedience had always been hard for the people of Bamberg.

The suffragan bishop crossed himself, then lay down on his belly on the cold stone floor and spread his arms out-a gesture of obedience he had loved even as a young man. Most people were lacking in humility, especially these ambitious patricians who increasingly took a stand against God and were followers of the vile demon Mammon. Simple folk were for the most part devout, but even some of them rebelled from time to time against the holy Catholic Church and the divine order. Recently, Harsee had heard that the Bamberg executioner would be celebrating his marriage in the wedding house, just like an honorable man. The council had approved, apparently because his father-in-law was employed there as a lowly clerk. These were exactly the subtle, insidious changes that Harsee detested so much. After all, God had assigned a place to everyone in life: kaiser, bishop, tradesman, farmer-and hangman. To call that into question was heresy. Well, if things were heading in that direction, Harsee would know how to prevent this wedding celebration.

And indeed-things were heading in that direction.

Harsee couldn’t help thinking of events forty years before, when there had been a short period of sincere faith in Bamberg, and the church had regained its former strength in the struggle against witchcraft. Almost a thousand people had been put to the stake in Bamberg, and though even Harsee hadn’t believed they were all witches and magicians, the strict regiment had led the citizens back into the flock of the prince-bishop, and for that, no sacrifice was too great. Harsee smiled and pressed his cheek against the cool stone floor.

The Lord will know His own. .

Back then, at the time of the trials, he himself had still been a young theology student, but with the help of his father-the venerable councilor and zealous Catholic Georg Harsee-and a few loyal supporters, it had been possible to liquidate the enemies and turn Bamberg into a New Jerusalem. The power of the ambitious patricians had seemed broken, and the prince-bishop had regained the upper hand. With the House of the Inquisition and the special Witches Council they had created a perfect purgatorium, a court that was able to separate the true from the false, purify souls, and condemn useless bodies to the flames.

But then came the war, and with it the heretical Swedes who put an end to the promising experiment. The prince-bishop had fled into exile in Austria, and gradually the patricians regained the upper hand in Bamberg. The present bishop, Prince Philipp von Rieneck, was weak and interested more in palaces, formal gardens, and his exotic animals than in preserving the faith.

But now God had presented him, Suffragan Bishop Sebastian Harsee, one of His most loyal servants, a new instrument that would drive His wayward flock back onto the true path.

A werewolf.

Briefly, Harsee shifted around again to scratch a sore on the right side of his neck. Something had bitten him there a few days ago, probably while he was sleeping. The wound was small, but it was weeping, and the itching was damned unpleasant. For some time he’d been considering consulting Master Samuel, but after the bishop’s personal physician had attacked him in the council meeting, he no longer thought that was appropriate. No doubt the itching would just go away eventually. The suffragan bishop closed his eyes and concentrated again on what was important.

When the first reports had come in of people missing, Sebastian Harsee hadn’t thought much of it-a case for the civil authorities, nothing more. But suddenly there was talk of a hairy beast, new rumors surfaced, and that set the ball rolling. Harsee didn’t have to do anything but steer it in the right direction.

The disappearance of Thadäus Vasold, a good friend of Harsee’s family, had disturbed him, however. Back in the old days, Vasold and Harsee’s own father had joined in fighting the enemies of the church. The disappeared council member had been one of their own, much more than fat old Klaus Schwarzkontz, who had also been a colleague of his father. In recent years, Schwarzkontz had indulged much more in worldly matters, and his death struck Harsee as a just punishment. Vasold’s cruel abduction and probable murder, on the other hand, frightened Harsee. Evil was close at hand, and he thought he could even smell the werewolf’s foul breath.

Harsee pressed himself even harder against the stone floor, as if trying to be joined together as one with the cathedral, subsumed into the body of the church. He began to feel dizzy, as he so often did lately, as if a slight fever was spreading over his body. He couldn’t get sick now-not now, when he was so close to his goal.

He remembered with relief how quickly he’d been able to track down the beast that morning. The first troupe of actors had attracted attention through their demonic presentations in the wedding house, and he’d personally given the order to raid their quarters and search for evidence first thing the next morning. And indeed, stored in a trunk they’d found a few wolf pelts sewn together, making a cloak that the impersonator could slip into at night to look like a beast. What more was needed? Even the leader of that troupe of charlatans and vagabonds had been horrified. But Harsee was sure it would not be the last case; he would see to that. Forty years ago, it had also started with one witch, and by the time it was over there were hundreds.

The Bamberg suffragan bishop kissed the dusty stone floor, then he stood up, thanked the Lord God, and climbed the stairs up from the crypt to the cathedral, each step an agony for him. Cold sweat ran down his back, and the accursed little wound on his neck began to itch again.

He must have caught some kind of fever. He sent a brief prayer to heaven, asking God to protect him from sickness in the coming weeks.

It was high time for him to find the next werewolf.

Brooding darkly, Jakob Kuisl sat in the devotional corner of the hangman’s house, cracking his knuckles. He had the strength of a bear and a sharp mind, but seldom had he felt as helpless as when his youngest daughter ran away.

First Georg, and now Barbara as well. What would my beloved Anna have said to all of this? Oh, Anna, how I miss you.

Furious, he pounded the table with his hand, and the other members of the family, who had been sitting quietly beside him, cringed.

“What in hell is wrong with that girl?” Kuisl ranted to let off steam. “Gets involved with a traveling actor and threatens me as well. I’ll drag her back to Schongau by the hair.”

“Oh, and then? Are you going to tie her down there by her hair?” Magdalena asked. “You know Barbara. I’d bet my life she’ll run away from you again if you don’t help her now. She’s crazy about the fellow, and neither words nor force will do any good.”

“She’ll come to her senses again, don’t you think?” Georg asked hesitantly.

Magdalena shook her head. “You menfolk don’t understand anything about that. If you let Barbara down now, we’ll lose her forever. I’m as sure of that as the fact that I’m sitting here now.”

Kuisl laughed dryly. “So what do you think I should do? Go to the dungeon, tell the guards that Matheo is innocent, and simply bring him back with me? Or just knock them around a few times?”

“You can at least have a talk with your brother,” Simon interjected. “There are ways of delaying the torture, drawing it out, and you know that better than I do. Think of Stechlin back then.”

The hangman was silent; he just sat there grinding his teeth. Almost ten years ago he had saved the Schongau midwife, Martha Stechlin, from the worst torture by using ruses and subterfuge to put off the torture again and again. But that had been in his hometown, where he knew the councilors and was able to better weigh the possibilities. Here, though, his brother was the hangman. What would Bartholomäus say if Jakob proposed he do the same?

He certainly would hold it against me.

“I know that Uncle Bartholomäus doesn’t like to torture,” Georg finally said after thinking it over, as if reading his father’s mind. “He finds torturing horrible, just like the long executions. I’m sure if he could, he’d just stay in the Bamberg Forest caring for his dogs and the bishop’s menagerie. If we can convince him that this Matheo is really innocent-”

“He is innocent,” Jakob interrupted. “There’s no question about it. These actors have not been in town more than a few days, but the first of the missing persons was discovered more than a month ago. And there’s a connection between all these cases, even if I don’t know yet what it is. It can’t be the actors-it must be someone who’s been in or around the city for some time.”

Simon frowned. “You’re right, but no matter how logical that is-”

“I know,” Jakob snorted. “That doesn’t mean the councilors sitting around on their fat butts are going to care a whit. If you want to, you can explain anything by calling it witchcraft, and this damned commission wants to please the Bambergers by finding a culprit. They won’t point to anyone living here, if they can get their hands on a fine scapegoat like Matheo. Even if we drew out the interrogation, sooner or later they’d put Matheo to the stake, as sure as the amen in church.”

“Unless. . we can find the true perpetrator.” Magdalena sat at the table, her arms crossed, looking expectantly at the others. “Come now,” she continued. “It wouldn’t be the first time that we’ve hunted down a criminal.”

“Except that this time the evildoer is a werewolf.” Simon weighed his head in his hands. “Or at least someone dressing up as one, if you are to accept your father’s assumptions.” Suddenly his face brightened. “This wolf pelt that they found in Matheo’s possession. Isn’t it possible that the real perpetrator planted it on him to deflect suspicion from himself?”

Magdalena nodded. “It’s possible. In any case, someone needs to talk to Matheo. Perhaps he knows who might be behind this.”

“That’s something Uncle Bartholomäus and I can do,” Georg replied hesitantly. “Provided my uncle agrees.” He sighed. “I’ll do anything to try to bring my sister back, even though I still think this actor is a dubious character.”

“Someone also has to go and look for Barbara,” said Jakob as he struggled to his feet, grunting. “Not that she’d do anything to harm herself. Perhaps I, myself-”

“Certainly not! You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Magdalena replied, patting her father on the arm. “You’ve caused enough trouble here with your boorish behavior. This is a woman’s job.” She smiled grimly. “And as chance would have it, I think I know where Barbara is hiding.”