He turned his eyes to Heaven and asked God’s blessing with raised hands. ‘Deprecare Deum, sancte Michael Archangele, ut conterat satanam sub pedibus nostris, ne ultra valeat captivos tenere homines, et Ecclesiae nocere! Dominus vobiscum!’
All present murmured: ‘Et cum spiritu tuo.’
‘And now,’ the archbishop said, walking towards the count, ‘take me to Anna Ahrweiler.’
Anna was restlessly pacing up and down in her chamber. It was over an hour since the archbishop had been announced and the waiting was beginning to wear her down. But then there was a knock and the guard pulled open the door. Konrad von Hochstaden entered.
Standing in front of the cold fire, Anna, dressed as usual in her simple habit with the hood, looked at him proudly. The archbishop wore a dark red silk cape trimmed with fur over his snow white tunic and a zucchetto on his head. He waited until they were alone.
Anna didn’t utter a word of greeting, nor did she make the slightest move to bow. The archbishop coldly looked her over from head to toe.
Breaking the silence at last he began: ‘So we meet again, Anna from Ahrweiler, or should I say Brother Marian?’
‘As you please, your grace.’
The archbishop came closer, his gaze fixed on her, and Anna stood as if frozen. He walked around her the way a connoisseur of art might scrutinise an ancient statue.
‘Tomorrow will be your greatest day, Anna Ahrweiler. It will also be your last. But hear me first. I have an offer to make to you. If tomorrow morning bright and early you make a confession and admit that you are a witch, we would save a lot of time and effort. Should this be the case I will put mercy before justice and grant you a quick death by the executioner’s axe.’
‘I have nothing to confess.’
‘As you wish, but the offer ends as soon as I leave this room.’
Anna remained silent.
The archbishop nodded knowingly. ‘I should perhaps add that should you confess, your companions would get away.’
‘Or else?’
‘Well, whoever has had dealings with you will be charged with heresy. Without exception.’
For the first time Anna turned and faced him: ‘Tell me one thing: Why do you want to destroy me?’
The archbishop seemed to have expected this question. He replied softly but insistently: ‘You take yourself too seriously, Anna from Ahrweiler. But I will answer you as best as I can. People have to live in fear or there can be no faith in this world. Too much knowledge is dangerous, because with knowledge one overcomes fear and whoever has no fear of the Devil and the eternal fires of Hell has no longer any need of God. And you, Anna, belong to those who want to acquire knowledge and spread it. You see to it that there is less and less fear, and that undermines and destroys faith. As a good shepherd of my Christian flock I cannot permit that.’
‘Indeed, that may be a reason and an important one. But is it not also the case that I know too much about you?’
The archbishop had stopped circling his victim and now stood and looked into her eyes. Suddenly they were very close, but Anna didn’t blink and held his gaze as he said contemptuously: ‘You know nothing about me! Not the least thing!’
Anna steadfastly looked into his eyes as she replied: ‘And who gave the order for Father Urban to be poisoned?’
The archbishop inclined his head and smiled mysteriously ‘Oh, so that’s what you had in mind. But were you not the famulus of the infirmarius? Didn’t you have enough knowledge to poison your own master?’
At this accusation Anna turned red with rage, but with iron determination she held the archbishop’s gaze as Konrad von Hochstaden continued: ‘And why did you do that? I will give you the answer.’ He was whispering now. ‘Because even then you were a witch and the Devil told you to take the place of Father Urban!’
Anna pursed her lips and remained silent.
The archbishop was still smiling as he said softly: ‘From peasant girl to novice to a medica, a shining career indeed.’
He sniffed her.
‘How pleasantly you smell . . . of lavender and rose oil. Tell me one thing: Was it not your greatest wish to rid yourself of the stink of the common folk?’
Anna did not reply. It was only with the greatest difficulty that she focussed on not losing her composure.
Konrad von Hochstaden was now whispering into her ear. He had come so close she could feel his breath.
‘Did you sell your soul to Satan to get rid of the blight of lowly birth and raise yourself above ordinary mortals?’
Anna gathered all her courage and replied: ‘Are you talking about me or about yourself?’ And at that moment she lost all self-control and her suppressed anger burst forth like a volcano as she shouted at the archbishop: ‘You are prepared to walk over bodies to reach your goals. Father Urban was in your way just as I am in your way!’
The archbishop took a step back from her with a look of contempt. Then he leaned forward spitting the words into her face: ‘I was told your parents were squealing like pigs being slaughtered as they burnt to death in their miserable hovel. I am looking forward to your screams too when the flames at the stake purify you!’
With that, he turned and left the chamber, slamming the door behind him.
Anna flinched and only then noticed that her whole body was trembling like a leaf.
Chapter VIII
Festum Nativitatis Mariae, the day of the trial, had arrived.
The tribunal was sitting behind the heavy table in the reception hall in the count’s palas. It consisted of the archbishop in full regalia, his mitre on his head; a grim-looking Count Georg von Landskron; the witless city mayor; Abbot Sixtus, sternly gazing around; the castle chaplain, who had been designated to record the proceedings; as well as two further assessors, fancy gentlemen bursting with pride to be of assistance to the archbishop and the Church.
In a roped-off area opposite the tribunal stood the common people, simple folk who had come from far and wide, out of curiosity or lured by the thrilling prospect of a dramatic trial. Every few feet there was a heavily armed guard to quell any disorder. There was an expectant tension before suddenly an icy silence descended, and the murmur of voices faded away.
Two guards led Anna down the stairs from the floors above followed by the countess, Chassim and Berbelin. As she entered the reception hall, the archbishop scowled seeing that she was not bound and fettered. Chassim had seen to that in consultation with his brother-in-law.
Anna shuddered and pulled her black cloak tighter around her. Steady and composed she walked to the dock and stopped in front of it. At a sign from the archbishop, the two guards accompanying her retired and Anna stood alone, calmly surveying her judges.
Her appearance caused a certain restlessness among the audience. Abbot Sixtus rose and bellowed for silence.
He waited until all was quiet and every murmur and even the rustling of the straw beneath the feet of the crowd had died away.
Speaking loudly enough for everybody to hear, he announced: ‘We will now start the trial of the accused Anna from Ahrweiler, called medica. Count Georg von Landskron, on receiving notice from the honourable castle chaplain, has handed her over to us that we may sit and pass judgment on her. In virtue of their Christian faith and on pain of excommunication, every one present is obliged to assist the inquisitor, the honourable Archbishop Konrad von Hochstaden, in his search for truth and his battle against heresy. Anyone questioning the judgment of the inquisitor is a heretic and to be punished as such.’
As the echo of these solemn words faded away, a deathly silence followed. Then the sharp voice of the archbishop cut the tense atmosphere like a knife.
‘Your name, defendant!’
Anna very clearly replied, ‘Anna.’
‘Where were you born?’
‘In Ahrweiler.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I will be precisely seventeen in three weeks’ time.’
‘Do you understand that you are
obliged to answer all questions truthfully?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Then swear so on the Bible!’
The castle chaplain stepped close and held out the Bible to Anna. But he kept a certain distance as if she stank of sulphur. Anna deliberately did not look at him as she put her hand on the Bible, saying: ‘I swear by almighty God.’
The archbishop waited till the castle chaplain had taken his seat again and said: ‘Anna Ahrweiler, have you been you baptised?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Who are your parents?’
‘Caspar and Gret from Ahrweiler. Both of them are dead. But you know that already.’
‘Your grace, defendant!’ Abbot Sixtus intervened, ranting: ‘The bishop is to be addressed as your grace!’
‘You know already that my parents are dead . . . your grace,’ Anna repeated, clearly emphasising the title as if it was an obscenity.
‘That’s irrelevant,’ the archbishop said dismissively. ‘You call yourself medica?’
‘Yes, your grace.’
‘How can you be so conceited as to call yourself thus at sixteen years of age? Did Satan bestow this title on you?’
‘No, your grace. The count did.’
‘I see.’ The archbishop cast a disapproving glance in the count’s direction.
‘Have you ever encountered the Devil?’ he asked.
Anna nodded. ‘Yes, in various human forms.’
A murmur went through the crowd.
The eyes of the archbishop narrowed. ‘Do you mean to say that you have fornicated with the Devil?’
‘No, your grace. But it appears to me at times that human beings act like devils towards other human beings without respecting God’s commandments of brotherly love and forgiveness.’
‘We are not holding a theological debate here, defendant. It is not up to you to judge basic questions of faith. You only have to answer my questions. You have been working as a medica and healing people?’
‘Yes, for as long as I was permitted to do so, your grace.’
‘In so doing have you been using magic potions, curses, incantations or similar rituals of a damnable nature?’
‘No, never, your grace. I have treated all my patients to the best of my knowledge and belief with generally available healing methods that I had learned and which I considered appropriate.’
‘And what is this?’ The archbishop beckoned his nephew who brought up a pile of books which he dropped at Anna’s feet, raising a cloud of dust.
‘Do these books belong to you?’ the archbishop asked.
Anna knelt down, took her time and looked at each book before rising to her feet nodding. ‘Yes, they are mine.’
‘Why then did you bury them in a chest behind your house?’
‘Because I feared that they might end up in the wrong hands and be burnt. They are very valuable.’
‘So you did know that they were forbidden because of their damnable content and that they drag the teachings of the Church through the mire and blaspheme God?’
‘They are the works of eminent scholars which can be of great use in the healing arts and for the understanding of bodily functions . . .’
‘Be quiet, shut up!’ the archbishop barked at her. ‘Have you ever, with the help of Satan who is the author or at least the inspirer of such books, brought a human being back from death to life?’
Anna stared at him. ‘No. Never.’
The archbishop nodded to his abbot who took over.
‘Bring the first witness!’ Abbot Sixtus called to Gero von Hochstaden, who opened the entrance door and summoned a scared-looking woman whom Anna recognised only at a second glance.
‘Come closer, woman!’ the abbot said and beckoned.
With her eyes lowered, the woman stood next to Anna desperately avoiding having to look at her even though Anna was facing her.
‘Closer still, you need not fear,’ the abbot said in a mild tone as if he was talking to a child.
Anna recognised the woman. She was the mother of the little girl who had been presumed drowned because she had fallen into the well and had been pulled out lifeless.
‘You have watched the medica as she was practising her sorcery?’ Abbot Sixtus asked.
The woman nodded.
‘What did she do?’
‘She put her hand on my dead daughter, murmured something and brought her back to life.’
‘Are there others who have witnessed this?’
‘Yes, my husband and several neighbours were present and watching.’
‘Thank you, you may go.’
The woman turned around, her gaze still on the floor and went to walk past Anna. But Anna stepped out to block her way.
‘Your grace,’ she addressed the tribunal. ‘My I speak to the witness?’
‘Let the witness go immediately!’ the archbishop thundered.
Anna stepped back behind the dock.
‘If you do something like that again or speak without being asked to do so you can wait in the dungeons in chains until the hearing of witnesses is over!’ the archbishop hissed and with a nod dismissed the woman.
The sequence of the questioning of witnesses repeated itself several times. Even the mother of the woman whom Master Aaron had examined and who had later given birth to two healthy girls appeared. The old woman claimed that the medica’s master had been the Devil himself because he knew she was expecting twins having but listened to her daughter’s belly.
Anna didn’t intervene any more, didn’t say anything further and simply listened to what Abbot Sixtus managed to get out of the numerous witnesses with unnerving thoroughness. She had helped these people using all her expertise and knowledge, had managed to restore most of them to health or had alleviated their suffering, and this was their thanks. They knew that by their statements they were betraying Anna and leading her to execution.
She saw the Count of Landskron sunk into himself sitting amidst the prosecutors and denouncers, guilt and anger written all over his face. It was obvious that he could do nothing to oppose the inquisitor.
Anna gave a furtive glance around to see where the countess and Chassim were among the crowd but couldn’t locate them. Maybe they were not present at all, or perhaps the guards had sent them out. And where was Brother Thomas? She had set all her hopes on him and his mission and now it looked as if he had let her down. Or was he unable to return because he was no longer alive? At this thought a black panic seized her heart.
Anna had to force herself to focus on the proceedings and to listen to the speeches of the abbot and the witnesses. She ardently wished that the nightmare would soon be over.
But it seemed that the archbishop was not yet finished. He now asked for the count’s army surgeon to be called. Unlike the previous witnesses he came forward with his head held high.
Abbot Sixtus asked him: ‘You are the army surgeon and are in the service of the Count of Landskron?’
‘Indeed I am, Reverend Abbot.’
‘Please tell us what happened at the delivery of the countess.’
At this Count of Landskron indignantly rose to his feet.
‘This is going too far. What does the birth of my son have to do with the indictment?’ he exclaimed, filled with rage.
Pointedly patient, the archbishop replied: ‘Well, the medica was present and involved in it, was she not, count?’
‘Yes, that is so. She and the medicus of the time saved the life of my wife and my son as true as I am here!’
‘That may well be so,’ the archbishop said. ‘But by what means is what is relevant here! Sit down while the army surgeon is being interrogated. Sit down!’
Only having been requested twice to sit down did the count reluctantly obey the archbishop’s order.
‘Now then, army surgeon, describe your impressions of the event,’ the archbishop continued.
‘I saw immediately that the countess, who was long overdue, was past help. She was in labour and the child
did not want to come, so I fetched the chaplain to administer extreme unction to her.’
‘And did this happen, honourable chaplain?’ the archbishop turned to his assessor.
The castle chaplain shook his head. ‘No, I was not admitted. Because this Jewish medicus and his assistant, the witch standing here before us, had already begun to light candles to enact their satanic ritual, which eventually was crowned with success. The count supported them in this.’
The count jumped up again: ‘The candles were there to provide light. The medicus needed light!’
‘Just sit down and keep your mouth shut while the honourable chaplain is speaking!’ the archbishop interjected sharply.
The castle chaplain continued unperturbed. ‘As everybody knows, the countess and her son are enjoying the best of health in the meantime. There is something odd here. Ita me Deus adiuvet!’
The army surgeon made the sign of the cross. ‘It happened precisely as the honourable chaplain described it.’
The archbishop nodded. ‘We now come to the last of these miracle healings with the blessing of Satan. The healing of a bone fracture which is usually incurable. Is that so, army surgeon?’
‘That’s correct, your grace. Sir Chassim von Greifenklau was seriously injured during the tournament. As army surgeon this falls within my remit, so I examined the terrible fracture of the lower leg. It was an open wound with one bone sticking out. I could see amputation as the only way to save the knight’s life.’
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