Bartholomäus gestured dismissively. “If Katharina will even take me anymore,” he said sadly. “After everything that’s happened in the last few days, I’m not so sure.”
Suddenly a hunting horn sounded in the distance. Jakob looked around in astonishment.
“Who is that? At this time of day it’s certainly not the bishop out hunting. Perhaps good old Answin?”
“Ah, not exactly,” said Simon as he cleared his throat and applied the last bandage. “I must confess I told Captain Lebrecht before we left. Aloysius was kind enough to tip off the city guards, and now it seems we can put them to good use here,” he said, pointing at Barbara and Georg, “if only to transport the injured and put out the fire before it spreads to the forest.” He rubbed his nose in embarrassment, then grinned. “They could also help us with a plan I’ve been thinking about for a long time that might end this miserable werewolf story once and for all.”
“A plan? Hah! I thought you were just scared,” Jakob replied with a smile. “I thought I’d always have to have a pussyfooter as a son-in-law.” He chuckled. “But then you went and killed a real live werewolf. What silly old bathhouse medicus can say that of himself?”
A few minutes later, the guards arrived. There were almost a dozen of them, led by the Bamberg captain Martin Lebrecht. Meanwhile, Simon had been trying to figure out how to win over the captain. The plan he’d thought up while studying Brutus’s carcass was quite risky, and it all depended on Lebrecht going along with it.
Him—and the apothecary’s wife.
The captain nodded when he saw the burning building. “Maybe it’s better that this building is finally going up in flames,” he said, mostly to himself. “There was always something evil about it. I’ve heard that all sorts of riffraff and strange people hung out here. I should have had it torn down long ago.”
He gave a sign to the guards, and they fanned out to extinguish some small fires smoldering in the woods despite the recent heavy rain. Only then did he turn to the small group of wretched-looking people in front of him. Simon had quickly covered Salter’s corpse and the dog’s cadaver with brush in order to avoid premature questions. Jeremias’s body, however, still lay there, covered only with Jakob’s coat, next to Barbara, who had passed out again, and Georg, who propped himself up on a makeshift crutch, pale and with clenched teeth.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” the captain burst out. “What the hell happened here? And whose corpse is that lying there?” He leaned down, holding his torch.
“Well, ah . . . It’s a long story,” Simon replied. “Perhaps it would be better if we talk about it in private first.”
“When you first called for us, I wasn’t sure if we should even come, but now . . .” Lebrecht frowned and looked at the victims as if trying to make sense of it all. “Sure, why not? My men are occupied over there, anyway. Tell me what happened.”
Simon took a deep breath. Now he’d see if his plan would work.
“We caught the werewolf,” he began in a firm voice. “Actually, two of them—one an animal and one human. Come and see for yourself.” He took Lebrecht off to the side, where Markus Salter’s corpse and Brutus’s carcass lay underneath a brush pile. Simon pulled the branches aside, and the captain blanched.
“My God,” he gasped. “This is the werewolf? And the man here is one of those actors. Did that monster mangle him? And what brave fellow finally killed the beast?”
Simon blushed. “Ah . . . that was me. But allow me to start at the beginning.”
He tried to explain as briefly as possible—the witch trial of Chancellor Haan and his family, Salter’s former life as Wolf Christoph Haan, and his plans for revenge that cost the life of the suffragan bishop. In conclusion, he explained how the trail had led to the old hunting lodge where there was a life-and-death battle.
“Salter often dressed up as a werewolf to spread fear in the city. First he observed his many victims, then he abducted them, and finally he tortured and killed them in this abandoned hunting lodge,” Simon explained. The captain listened in astonishment, his mouth agape. “As a former law student, he had precise knowledge of the different degrees of torture, just as they are described in the Bamberg Constitutio Criminalis, the criminal code. Salter punished his prisoners in exactly the same ways the members of his own family had been tortured, tit for tat.”
He pointed at the pale Adelheid Rinswieser, who up to then had been standing in the background. “The honorable wife of apothecary Rinswieser and my young sister-in-law are the only survivors; they can confirm all this for you. There was no real werewolf, only a man in search of revenge. Markus Salter, alias Wolf Christoph Haan, wanted to incite a panic in the city just like the one back then during the witch trials, when everyone in the city would point a finger at their neighbors. You must admit he succeeded.”
Lebrecht looked around suspiciously. “Do you mean to say this Haan fellow duped my men up in the old castle by presenting them with a dead wolf and putting on a show of hocus-pocus?”
“Ah, well . . .” For a brief moment Simon seemed uncertain, but Magdalena came to his aid.
“Evidently he wanted to free his friend Matheo, because he knew he was innocent and the wolf pelts actually belonged to Salter,” she suggested with a straight face. “The dead wolf was only a distraction, and your night watchmen promptly fell for it. They’d perhaps had a bit too much to drink.” She winked at the captain. “They say people who make their own schnapps at home sometimes meet the devil in person.”
“Hm . . .” The captain scratched his unshaved chin. “That’s possible. In fact, I found an empty bottle in the guardhouse, and the horror stories the fellows came up with made it seem like they were covering something up. I thought—”
“That it was the bishop’s baboon you’d been looking for for so long?” Magdalena interrupted. “Well, the baboon could hardly have killed the wolf.”
Lebrecht looked at her severely. “Didn’t I tell you not to reveal a word about that in public?”
Simon raised his hands apologetically. “Trust us, we’ll be sure to keep this little secret, as I’m embarrassed I didn’t realize earlier what was going on. I visited the bishop’s menagerie along with Master Samuel, and I saw the empty monkey cage there. But at the time I was too occupied with other things.”
“That damned monkey has been driving me crazy,” said Lebrecht. “I’d like to put a stone around his neck and throw him in the Regnitz—but then the prince-bishop would probably throw me in after him,” he sighed. “Oh, well, now the beast is back in its cage.” He shook his head in amazement. “And His Excellency Sebastian Harsee was infected with rabies, you say? Damn, and I thought he’d been bitten by a real werewolf.” He gazed across the clearing, now illuminated by torches, where the guards were still on the lookout for smoldering fires and pulling apart some of the burning timbers. “Actually, the bishop’s master of the hunt told me just last week there had been an increase in rabies cases in Bamberg Forest. He had to put down a few foxes and wolves.”
Lebrecht hesitated, then pointed at the huge dog carcass. “That brings me to the matter of this creature. You said there was no werewolf. So what is that? And what’s a beast like this doing here in the forest so close to the city?”
“That’s something you should hear about from someone else.”
Simon stared at Bartholomäus, waiting for him to speak up, but the Bamberg executioner just stood there defiantly, his arms crossed. After a while, Jakob gave his brother a kick in the shins. Bartholomäus glared at him briefly, then hesitantly started talking.
“The dog is an alaunt, an ancient race that I have reintroduced,” he said. “It escaped from the knacker’s house and somehow got infected with rabies, the poor animal.”
“Poor animal?” Lebrecht scoffed. “It’s a damned monster, Master Bartholomäus. Do you have permission from the bishop to keep this animal?”
Bartholomäus lowered his eyes. “No, I don’t. No one except us knows it even
exists.”
“You see, that’s just what I was getting around to.” Simon beamed, as he always did when he had what he thought was a brilliant plan. He turned to the Bamberg executioner. “So nobody knows about this dog?”
“That’s right,” said Bartholomäus, folding his arms. “Didn’t I just say that?”
“Well, then I’d like to introduce you all to the real werewolf.” With a dramatic gesture he pointed at Brutus—with his huge body, muscular chest, and long teeth, still looking very dangerous, even in death. “Here it is.”
Martin Lebrecht looked at him, confused. “Now I don’t understand a word. You just said there was no werewolf.”
“Correct, there is no such thing, but we still need a beast for the people—because until they see it lying dead in front of them, they’ll keep looking for it. That would mean more suspects, more trials, and more innocent people thrown into prison, tortured, or even burned at the stake.”
Simon leaned down to the dead Brutus, grabbing him by the neck and struggling to lift him up, so that the dog’s eyes seemed to glare diabolically at the group.
“The people need evil. It must lie dead in front of them, or they will never believe it has been vanquished,” he continued. “Brutus is our werewolf. He’s big, looks strange and dangerous, and, above all, has already been captured and is dead. We’ll never find a better scapegoat.”
“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
ST. MARY’S, THE UPPER PARISH CHURCH ON THE KAULBERG, BAMBERG, NOVEMBER 7, 1668 AD
THE 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.”
The Werewolf of Bamberg Page 56