She put her hands on her hips. “Those commissioners make me mad, they do. I bring the prisoners food twice a day, clean up the messes, and tend to the wounds. You’d think they’d want to know what I think about who’s guilty and who’s not. But they never ask. Not me.” She started pacing. “Oh sure, most of those accused of witchcraft are guilty. That’s clear enough. But I’m not so certain about some...like you and your daughter...or that poor Fraulein Spatz.”
Frau Brugler wagged a finger. “What I’d like to ask those fancy commissioners in all their fancy silk and satin is why there’s never any of their wives or daughters in here. Always beggars and whores. Or spinsters. Or widows like yourself. How come there’s never a Frau Lutz, a Frau Hampelmann, or a Frau Brandt? That’s what I’d like to know.”
Eva was hardly listening. Her gut – and her heart – still ached.
“I’m willing to bet there’s some witches among the high and mighty, but their husbands and fathers protect them.” The jailer’s wife leaned closer to Eva. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? Why wouldn’t the Devil choose followers from among the rich and powerful instead of carousing with ugly old spinsters and widows?” She laid a finger on her chin. “Well, you’re not old and ugly, and I don’t mean to offend, but, honestly, why would the Devil waste his time with you or Fraulein Spatz when he could be seducing somebody who has some real power in this world?” She shrugged. “But they never ask what I think.”
Frau Brugler picked up the bucket and left, locking the door behind her.
Still holding a hand over her mouth, Katharina came to her mother and sat in her lap. Eva wrapped her arms around her. Dear God, she wondered, what would the commissioners do to them now? Why had Katharina told them she’d seen her mother with the Devil?
“Why, oh why, child, do you see the world the way you do? Herr Freude is evil, but he is not the Devil.”
“Oh, but he is.” Katharina was silent for a long time. “When I was over there by the wall and that old woman was talking, I was wishing I’d never been born.”
Eva put her fingers over Katharina’s lips, but the girl pulled her hand away. “You were right to hit me, Mama. Because of me, they’re going to hurt you. I’m a curse to you.”
“Nein, Liebchen!” Eva said the words, but felt the terrible truth of what Katharina had said. She had thought it herself.
Tears stung her eyes. Had her heart and soul died? How could she wish that Katharina, the only good thing in her life, had never been born? She hugged her daughter to her chest. “You are not a curse, Liebchen. You are a blessing. A wonderful blessing.”
Eva was startled awake by the rasp of the key. Yellow light shone at the small barred window. The door creaked open, and a wedge of light sliced through the dark. A rat scurried along the wall until it found the shadows. Carrying a lantern before her, Frau Brugler came in. Wilhelm stepped in behind her, a lantern in his own hand.
Eva gasped. What could he want?
“Such an hour,” Frau Brugler said nervously. “Decent folk are asleep in their beds.”
“Leave us,” Wilhelm said quietly, but firmly, breathing through his pomander. “And give me the key, then you can leave and go to your bed. I’ll leave the key with the guard downstairs.”
“That’s not allowed,” said Frau Brugler.
“Leave us,” he shouted, the black plumes on his hat fluttering. “Or do you forget, old woman, that I am head of the Malefizamt?” He held out a gloved hand.
Katharina crept from Eva’s arms to crouch in the shadows against the wall. Eva held her breath. Would he try to force her the way Herr Freude had? The way he’d once tried? Would he force Katharina?
Frau Brugler set down the lantern, unscrewed a key from the ring at her waist, and placed it into Wilhelm’s palm. “This is not right, sir,” she mumbled. She picked up the lantern and scurried out the door.
Wilhelm slipped the key into his breeches and walked slowly toward Katharina. Flipping his cape over one shoulder, he stooped down beside her and held the lantern close to her face. She edged away from him, but he reached out and cupped her chin in his gloved hand, turning her terrified face from one side to the other. With a forefinger, he traced her nose, chin, and jaw. He touched the stubble on her scalp. Finally he stood and came toward Eva. The gold thread in his brocade doublet gleamed in the candlelight.
“Who is that child’s father?” he said bluntly.
“Jacob Rosen.”
“Doubtful. The line of her nose and jaw bears a certain... nobility. Jacob Rosen was no noble.”
“Her father was Jacob Rosen.” Eva’s voice shook.
“And you would swear that to be true...just as you have sworn to all your other lies before the commission?”
“Everything I’ve told the commissioners is true. I am not a witch, Wilhelm. You know that. How can you possibly believe that I am?”
“Would you swear before the commission that Jacob Rosen is the father of your daughter?”
Eva pressed her lips together.
“So I am right.” Wilhelm bared his teeth in a grimace. “How did you seduce my father?”
“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.”
“It hardly matters what you swear – daughter of Eve.” His eyes were an icy blue. “You rejected me...then seduced him.”
“I was forced.”
“Forced!” Wilhelm barked a harsh laugh. “Never would my father do such a thing. Never.” He pointed at Katharina. “And there’s the evidence, Eva. You conceived a child.”
“He forced me.”
“But conception requires pleasure.”
Eva ran a hand over the prickly stubble on her scalp. “There was no pleasure, Wilhelm. Only shame. Only shame.”
“My father was an honourable and righteous man. How could you do such a thing?” Wilhelm held the lantern close to her face. “You are truly a witch. You will pay for this with your life.” He started toward the door, then turned back. Towering over her, he raised an arm. Eva readied herself for the blow.
His arm dropped to his side. “Damn you, Eva. Damn you.”
26
25 April 1626
Eva watched a black rat creep along the wall, sniffing, perhaps drawn to the scent of her blood. There was nothing but dirty straw to soak up the darkness of her womb. She closed her eyes. She would not think of rats licking at bloody straw.
The morning bells rang out, prompting memories of the bakery and the warm fragrance of yeast and bread. Were the journeymen even baking bread anymore? Was anyone buying it, or did everyone believe the accusations against her?
Eva had been awake all night, her mind and heart roiling with contrition, sorrow, and deep foreboding. Daughter of Eve, Wilhelm had called her. A wicked temptress who’d seduced his father. She leaned against the wall, her whole body weighted down with shame. Wilhelm was right: she was a seductress. But it was not his father she’d seduced, but Jacob, as soon as she’d realized she was carrying a child. She couldn’t bear the thought of being publicly dismissed from the Hampelmann household and having all of Würzburg know her shame, so she’d had to choose, quickly, a man who would marry her, a man who would believe her when she claimed the child was born early. Eva chose Jacob, an old childless widower, who was astounded and delighted by her attentions.
She had seduced a man, and she had lied to him. And for her sins, God had crippled her daughter. Jacob had been right to beat her.
Katharina dozed in Eva’s lap, her arms held out to embrace the white dog. In the darkness before dawn, she’d stirred from her sleep to tell her mother that the white dog had kept the Devil away. She’d seen no visions in the night.
The white dog. Why did her daughter see it? What in the world was it? Mother of God, Eva prayed, please don’t let her speak of the dog to anyone, especially the commissioners.
The commissioners. Her bowels twisted in her gut. All through the night Eva had wondered, again and again, what Wilhelm would do. Now that he knew Katharina was his sister, would h
e find a way to protect her, or, in his wrath, would he be determined to see her die, as if she had never been?
Eva had little doubt what he’d do to her. She’d seen the fury in his icy eyes. And Herr Lutz had no power to protect her. She’d seen that, too. But God had the power to save her. And surely he would. She might be guilty of other sins, but she was innocent of witchcraft. God protected the innocent.
She put her hands to her face and felt the wetness of tears. She knew the story of Job all too well. God had permitted Satan to test Job, a man who was righteous and upright in all ways. God had allowed Satan to destroy all that Job owned, to kill all of his sons and daughters, to make him ill and despised. Yet Job never lost faith.
Was God allowing Satan to test her, a woman who’d grievously sinned? Eva tried to wipe the back of her hand across her cheek, but the shackle scratched her skin. Was her faith strong enough to withstand the test? To withstand losing everything, even her only child?
The rat scuttled into a crevice. Eva turned toward the sound of the key and saw Father Herzeim’s face in the window. Stepping quietly into the cell, the priest made the sign of the cross. “Herr Lutz said you wanted to see me.”
“You must tell me the story of Job, Father. I must be strong in my faith. Like Job. I am to be tortured on Monday.”
His haggard face paled.
“My soul is weary of my life,” she recited, recalling a lament from the Book of Job. She could not stop the flow of tears. “I should have been as if I had not been, carried from the womb to the grave.”
Father Herzeim knelt down in front of her. He placed his breviary by his knee and laid a hand on Katharina’s forehead. A blessing. “Job was a righteous and faithful man,” he said. “Yet he suffered – suffered horribly. He was not the author of his own suffering, Frau Rosen. Just as you are not the author of your suffering. Remember Job also said: If we have received good things at the hand of God, why should we not receive evil? Suffering is a mystery only God understands. But you must continue to have faith. And to insist on your innocence...no matter what they do.”
“I am innocent.” Eva looked away. “At least of witchcraft.”
Father Herzeim put a hand to her cheek and wiped away a tear with his thumb. His touch was warm, and she tried not to flinch away from the fragrance of soap. His dark eyes held hers, and Eva saw not only kindness and grief, but also despair at her despair. She realized, in that moment, that she could love this man, his gentleness and his strength. But it would be a sin. He was a priest, a man of God, not an ordinary man. Were there no bounds to her sinfulness?
“If I tell the truth, will God protect me?” she asked.
His hand dropped. “God protects the innocent – in his own way. But you must help. No matter what the commissioners do, you must give them no grounds to continue the torture.”
Katharina lifted her head. “Will God stop those awful men from hurting Mama?”
“The truth will stop them. And innocence.” The priest’s words lacked conviction, as if he did not believe them himself.
Eva touched his black sleeve. “Bitte, confess me, Father.”
He scanned the cell. “What sins could you have committed while confined in this place?”
“Wicked thoughts.”
Father Herzeim placed one hand on his breviary and the other on her bowed head.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have been weak. I have been guilty of losing faith, and I have doubted God’s love and protection.” Eva paused.
“Is there anything else you wish to confess?”
“I have thought wicked things about the commissioners...and about my daughter.” Eva took a hiccupping breath. “I have blamed her when the fault is not hers.” She began again to cry. Had she not wept every tear within her?
“Let the day perish wherein I was born,” she whispered, feeling Job’s curse in the marrow of her bones. “Let darkness, and the shadow of death cover it, let a mist overspread it, and let it be wrapped up in bitterness.”
She felt his hand cup her chin. “Nein, Eva, nein. Do not lose faith. There are those who will be punished, severely, in the eternal life to come, but you are not among them.”
“But what of this life, Father?” She looked up and saw a tear threatening to spill onto his own cheek.
“You are forgiven,” he said. “Everything. Ego te absolvo, in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti.”
27
25 April 1626
Fraulein Spatz stared at her damaged hands. The mutilated thumbs made Lutz cringe. Herr Hampelmann was wrong about them feeling no pain. Lutz and Father Herzeim had visited the midwife earlier that day, and she’d been nearly out of her mind with pain, both arms useless, pulled from their sockets. The visit had been brief, very brief. Frau Lamm had spat at them only one word: schwein.
Fraulein Spatz talked to herself as she rocked back and forth. “I’m dead...dead. They’ll burn me. Lies. All of it. I never did those things. The midwife never did those things. Why didn’t God protect me? I must be wicked. I must be guilty.” She turned to Father Herzeim. “What can I do?”
Lutz stepped toward her. “When you are questioned again, you must retract your lies. You must insist on your innocence.”
Father Herzeim grabbed Lutz’s arm and spun him away from Fraulein Spatz. “Don’t do this,” he whispered. “If she has truly confessed, it is done. If she withdraws her confession, they’ll torture her until she confesses again. Doing what you ask will only prolong her agony.”
“But if she’s put to the test and maintains her innocence, they’ll have to believe her.”
The priest grimaced. “You saw Frau Lamm. Do you think this girl can withstand that? And there is more Herr Freude can do, much more. He has only begun with Frau Lamm. Because of Fraulein Spatz’s confession, the commissioners have all the evidence they need to proceed to the third degree. The girl would never survive it.”
“But if she’s innocent, God will help her. He protects the innocent. Doesn’t he?” Lutz could hear the pleading in his own voice.
Father Herzeim put a hand on his cedar cross. “Do not encourage her to retract her confession. That will only make it worse for her...and more dangerous for you.”
“But what can I do?”
“Nothing. She is my responsibility now.”
Stunned, Lutz stepped back. Nothing? He could do nothing? He brought his pomander to his nose. The scent of hartshorn was unpleasantly sharp, but it kept him from fainting.
“What can I do?” said Fraulein Spatz, echoing Lutz’s question.
Looking older and more haggard than Lutz had ever seen him, Father Herzeim knelt down beside the girl. “Unless you truly believe you can withstand more torture, do not retract your confession to the commissioners.”
“No more,” she mouthed. Tears made dirty trails down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.
Lutz felt hollow, impotent, useless. He had failed, utterly, to protect this girl. Why hadn’t God protected her?
“You must confess your sins,” said Father Herzeim.
Fraulein Spatz bowed her head, tried to make the sign of the cross, then cried out in pain. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I lied to the commissioners. All of it lies. Frau Lamm will die because of me,” she wailed. “They’re right. I am wicked. And evil. I am a murderer.”
“Nein, child, you are not evil. And if you are a murderer, it is only because they have made you so. It is their sin, not yours.” Father Herzeim’s words were hard and bitter. He made the sign of the cross over her. “Ego te absolvo, in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti. All of your sins are forgiven, Fraulein Spatz.”
“Forgiven?” She did not lift her head. “Even Frau Lamm’s death?”
“Forgiven.”
“Will I burn in hell?”
“If you have confessed the truth now, you will not burn in hell. Ego te absolvo, in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti.”
“Will I burn here?�
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Father Herzeim laid a hand on her shoulder. “If you do not retract your confession to the commission, you will be beheaded or strangled first.” His voice cracked.
She slumped against the wall. “Thanks be to God.”
28
26 April 1626
Shifting on the hard wooden bench, Lutz glanced around the crowded cathedral. His own thoughts buzzed so loudly he could hardly hear the priest’s droning voice. He could not remove Fraulein Spatz from his mind. He had little doubt now that she’d confessed the truth to Father Herzeim. She’d been terrified for the fate of her soul.
Lutz rubbed his temples, trying to ease the throbbing. Would he ever know such torment that beheading or strangling would seem a mercy? That he’d be grateful to God for such a mercy?
How could Father Streng be so certain the young woman was guilty? Lutz craned his neck, looking for the young priest, who sat near the front of Saint Kilian’s with the other members of the Cathedral Chapter. Father Streng also claimed it was the Devil who helped Frau Lamm, not God. How could he be so sure? As a Jesuit, did he have some secret knowledge that Lutz wasn’t privy to? But Father Herzeim was a Jesuit, and he and Father Streng couldn’t be further apart on the question of who was helping the midwife. Father Herzeim had even made Lutz doubt his own certainty about Frau Lamm’s guilt.
He felt a shiver of fear go through him. Was it possible that he – and Father Herzeim – were being deluded by the Devil into believing the accused were innocent? Perhaps that’s why God hadn’t helped them. They were guilty. Or was the Devil, with all his powers, deluding the other commissioners into believing that innocent women were guilty? Either way, the Devil won.
Dancing in the Palm of His Hand Page 20