The Werewolf of Bamberg Read online

  Only then did she see a woman standing out in the hallway by the stove, stirring a pot. She was sturdily built, heavy, and seemed a bit larger than life. She appeared to be wearing some woolen petticoats beneath her skirt and jacket, so that sweat ran down her slightly pasty, red face in streams.

  The heavyset woman handed the stirring spoon to Paul, standing beside her in anticipation, and playfully shook her finger at him.

  “Keep stirring,” she cautioned the boy, “or the porridge will stick to the bottom and the pigs will enjoy a second breakfast.”

  Her hands had become sticky from the constant stirring, so she wiped them off on her apron and turned to Magdalena with a smile. She beamed with a warmth that made Magdalena like her immediately.

  “You must be Jakob’s eldest daughter, Magdalena,” she began cheerily. “What a great pleasure that you have made the long trip to our wedding. I especially wanted you to come so we could all get acquainted. I must admit that Bartl scolded and grumbled at first,” she added with a smile. “He wanted to celebrate just with me and save all the money, but finally the stubborn old guy gave in. I told him I wouldn’t tolerate any discord within my future family, and a wedding celebration like this was a good chance to bury any disagreements, even though I still don’t know exactly what happened between the two old grumps.”

  She tipped her head to one side and looked closely at Magdalena. “Well, I must say that you don’t take after the Kuisls. I had not expected such a beautiful woman.”

  Magdalena laughed. “Then just wait until you meet my younger sister, Barbara. When the young fellows here in Bamberg see her, their eyes will pop out. Fortunately she inherited neither the nose nor the build of our father.” She grinned. “Only his feisty temper.”

  “Oh . . . if she’s anything like your uncle, this will be an exciting week.” The chubby woman gave Magdalena a hearty kiss on both cheeks. “I’m Katharina, as you no doubt already know. Make yourself at home here. I hope I didn’t wake you up while I was airing out and cleaning up the rooms. It’s already after eight.” She flashed a big smile. “This house has been in need of a woman’s touch for some time—it urgently needs someone to get things in order.”

  Magdalena sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me? Ever since my mother died, Father’s place is like a pigsty. Men should really not be alone for too long.” She looked around. “Where is Father, anyway?”

  “He and Bartholomäus had to pay a visit early this morning to the town manager in city hall. It seems some poor woman was killed last night in a dark alleyway, and Bartholomäus and your father were witnesses. Georg is here, too,” she said, gesturing toward the living room. “But let’s not begin the day with such dark news. Drink this—it will get you moving again. It’s an old recipe of my grandmother’s, with crushed clove and a little pepper.” Katharina gave Magdalena a cup of steaming-hot mulled wine diluted with water. With an approving look, she pointed at little Peter sitting at the other end of the table, leafing through a book on anatomy. “Smart lad you’ve got there. Went straight to Bartl’s study, took out a big book, and has already told me some things about bloodletting and checking the urine.” She laughed. “Just like a little medicus. He must get that from his father.”

  Magdalena nodded and took a gulp of the hot mulled wine. It tasted wonderful, both sharp and sweet, and not too strong. But she couldn’t help thinking of her father, evidently in trouble again.

  Trying to change the subject, she asked, “When will the wedding take place?”

  “This Sunday, in just five days. Just imagine, even though your uncle is the executioner here in Bamberg, the city gave him permission to use the wedding house—that’s the addition to the large tavern over in the harbor. They’ll give us the little room there. Nearly a hundred guests are invited.” Katharina smiled. “I assume my father made use of his influence with the city councilors. As you may know, he’s one of the city clerks.”

  Magdalena nodded. It was, in fact, unusual that a hangman was allowed to celebrate his wedding just like any local shoemaker or tailor. In many parts of Germany, executioners were shunned; in the streets, people went out of their way to avoid them, believing that a hangman could bring misfortune with a single glance. Magdalena couldn’t help remembering what her brother Georg had said to her the previous evening.

  You’d like it here, Sister.

  Secretly she watched Katharina, who was now humming as she dashed through the room, sweeping cobwebs from the windows. Bartholomäus’s fiancée was in her midthirties, and it was a wonder she was still unmarried. Though Katharina wasn’t especially beautiful, and was clearly too fat, Magdalena could appreciate what her uncle saw in the woman. She was a good catch, strong and healthy, and her friendliness was genuine and contagious. Magdalena was surprised that such a nice person could tolerate a grouch like Bartholomäus.

  But that’s just the way it was with Mother and Father, it occurred to her, and she smiled mischievously.

  “What are you thinking about?” Katharina asked, but at that moment the steps began to creak, and Simon and a sleepy-looking Barbara entered the room. Katharina greeted the new arrivals just as warmly as she had Magdalena, but then stopped when she smelled something burning.

  “Oh, God, the porridge!” she cried out, running out into the hallway. “I shouldn’t have left the boy alone at the stove.”

  Simon sat down at the table next to Magdalena, took a piece of bread, and dunked it in the wine.

  “It seems she’s not an old battle-ax, as you suspected,” he said with a smile between bites, and gestured with his head toward Katharina.

  Magdalena shook her head. “No, certainly not. Clearly Peter and Paul like their new aunt, too. At least, they haven’t played any tricks on her yet, and it’s already eight in the morning. That’s pretty unusual.” She grinned, but then her expression grew serious. “On the other hand, Father seems to have a problem.”

  She quickly told Simon and Barbara what had happened to Jakob and Bartholomäus the night before.

  Simon groaned and passed his hand through his hair. “It’s enough to drive you crazy. No sooner has your father come to town than the first cadaver shows up.”

  “Oh, come now. There was one before we even set foot in town. True, they are attracted to him like bees to honey—but perhaps that’s the way it is for hangmen.”

  Simon took another piece of the fresh, delicious-smelling bread that Katharina had no doubt baked earlier that morning. “Well, at least this time I assume he’s not suspected of being the perpetrator, like he was back in Regensburg,” he said with a full mouth. “That alone is progress.”

  Magdalena remembered with horror her time in Regensburg, six years ago, when her father had been suspected of murder and was tortured, and could only be saved at the last moment. Shortly after that, she and Simon had married.

  “I, for one, don’t want to sit around here all day waiting for Father and Uncle Bartholomäus,” said Barbara, who until then had been sitting listlessly, playing with her hair. “I want to see something of the city.” She turned to Magdalena and said in a pleading tone, “How about if we go down to the marketplace together?” Her eyes sparkled expectantly. “Please! I’ve never been to such a large city, and now in the light of day it doesn’t look as scary as it did last night.”

  Magdalena gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I don’t see any reason not to. Unless . . .” With a questioning look she turned around to Katharina, who was just entering the room hand in hand with Paul, who had porridge smeared all over him. “Unless my future aunt needs me today to help with preparations for the wedding.”

  Katharina waved her off with a laugh. “If you can do a little shopping for me, feel free to leave the boys here and go sightseeing in the city. I hear that my future brother-in-law needs some tobacco—which stinks at least as bad as burned porridge.” She opened a window to let the smell out. “Well, it looks like we’ll have to make a second breakfast.”

  Simon qu
ickly stood up and carefully looked through some books lying on the table next to Peter.

  “Many thanks for the bread and wine, Katharina. If you don’t mind, I’ll take this chance to visit my old friend Samuel.” Magdalena frowned, but he looked to her with pleading eyes. “You know that I also came to Bamberg to see him. He’s now a respected physician—apparently he even treats the bishop himself. I hope I may be allowed to have a look at some books that have just been printed. There are a few interesting new theories about the circulation of blood . . .”

  “Just stop.” Magdalena rolled her eyes with annoyance. “It would be nice if your interest in books brought in some money from time to time. Other bathhouse owners do bloodlettings without giving much thought to circulation.”

  “Other bathhouse owners are quacks,” Simon replied bitterly.

  “Now just stop fighting,” Katharina interrupted. “Enjoy the day, each of you in your own way. I don’t want to see any sad faces around me so soon before my wedding.” She led the two boys over into the pantry. “And you two can help me now to stir a new pot of porridge. Let’s see if we can find some more honey.”

  Magdalena smiled at her younger sister. “It looks like this could turn out to be a nice day.” She stood up and buttoned her bodice. “Well, then, come along before there’s nothing left to buy but mushy cabbage leaves.”

  Jakob Kuisl’s stomach growled so loudly he thought for a moment some monster had crept up behind him. It was late in the afternoon and several hours since he’d had his last skimpy meal. He stopped for a moment, wiped the sweat from his brow, and now, cursing under his breath, went back to helping his brother pull the filthy, foul-smelling cart through one more narrow lane along the city moat.

  He wanted more than anything else just to sit back and smoke his pipe, but they’d been working since early morning and hadn’t returned to the hangman’s house, where his future sister-in-law would, he hoped, be awaiting him with the promised tobacco.

  It had been a long night. They’d followed their orders and taken the corpse of the young prostitute to the office of the city guards, but the captain on duty, by the name of Martin Lebrecht, was not available. They’d first tried to see him earlier that morning, to inform him of what had happened in the night, but he was suddenly busy with other things. Jakob had the vague feeling that the guards, and especially their captain, had something to hide. Finally he’d left with Bartholomäus and Georg to take the dead horse out of town. Georg had stayed in the Bamberg Forest to flay and butcher the carcass, while Jakob and Bartholomäus brought the empty cart to city hall, where the two executioners would finally be cross-examined as witnesses.

  After a few more bends and dead ends, Bartholomäus reached a shed near the river and pushed the cart in between two rotted boats stacked inside. He wiped his hands on his apron and headed for the nearby stone bridge that led straight to the city hall.

  “The shed belongs to Answin, the rag collector, who delivers his goods to the paper mill farther down the river,” Bartholomäus explained. “We’re good friends. The cart can stay there for a while,” he said with a grin. “The noble gentlemen aren’t so happy to see us and our filthy work, and only wish we could make ourselves invisible.” He cast a critical eye at Jakob. “You should wash off a bit in the river before we go to the city hall. It’s quite possible my future father-in-law will be there. As one of the assistant clerks, he sometimes helps out in the guardhouse. It won’t put our family in a very good light if he sees you like this.”

  “That’s all I need—my little brother telling me when to take a bath,” Jakob growled, and he kept stomping forward. “Nobody asked me to give them a report, and if the gentlemen want to question me, then they’ll just have to smell me as well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The stench of decay.

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

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

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

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

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

  It will always be so; some things never change.

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

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

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

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