Jakob cringed. The dead man was at least seventy years old, his gray hair curled in the water like seaweed, and the skin was white and bloated. His trousers, jacket, and shirt were in shreds, his right hand was missing, and Jakob could see that the fish and crabs had already started nibbling on the body. But that wasn’t what horrified him so much.
It was the signs of torture visible all over the man.
He couldn’t help but think of the woman’s leg he had examined in the guard station, which had also showed evidence of torture. Bartholomäus, standing on the dock alongside him, seemed also to have noticed the wounds. He gasped, sucking the air in through his teeth.
“Good Lord, all kinds of torture were used on this person,” he said, nodding partly in disgust and partly in recognition. “His fingernails were pulled out, there are burn marks on his torso, both legs are missing, an arm wrenched out. Whoever did this knows how to inflict pain. Do you think they chopped his hand off while he was still alive?”
Answin laughed softly. “I have to admit, at first I thought you were the one who did it,” he said, turning to Bartholomäus. “It looks a hell of a lot like the work of an executioner, and the only one I know is you.”
“The work of an executioner, indeed.” It was the first time Jakob had spoken. Carefully, he unbuttoned the dead man’s shirt, trying not to think about the sickly sweet, fishy odor.
“It’s hard to say how long he’s been in the water,” he mumbled, thinking it over. “But judging from the decomposition, it can’t have been very long. I don’t see any clear cause of death—it’s possible he simply died as a result of the torture.” Gently, he began removing the man’s overcoat. The shirt underneath was in shreds.
“Look at this,” Bartholomäus said suddenly, pointing. “The welts on his back. They come from a leather whip, without question. People call that the Bamberg torture, because it’s mainly used here.” He shrugged. “I myself prefer to hang the bastards up by their wrists, tie stones to their feet, then hoist them up. That’s the old way.”
“So our werewolf is a real expert,” Jakob said softly. “Where do you think he learned that?”
“Well in any case, he had a lot of practice,” Bartholomäus replied. “If this madman is responsible for all the missing and the dead, this here would be his seventh victim. How many are yet to follow?”
Jakob turned away from the horribly mangled corpse and looked at Answin.
“Exactly where did you find this body?” he asked.
The ragpicker scratched his nose. “This one got tangled in the waterwheel of a paper mill.” He pointed to the north. “You know, the mill on the right branch of the Regnitz not far from St. Gangolf, outside the city walls.”
“Aha! I thought it had come ashore here on the left branch of the river,” Bartholomäus chimed in.
“No, it didn’t, and it surprised me, too, because most of the corpses have been found on the left branch, where there are far more mills for them to get caught in.”
“Hmm.” Jakob frowned. “That means the perpetrator dumped the body outside the city, somewhere along the right branch of the river. But why did he do that? After all, according to the servant, Thadäus Vasold was attacked by the werewolf in the middle of town. That’s what Simon told me. So this monster took him out of Bamberg. Why?”
Again, Jakob turned to the ragpicker. “Didn’t you find any other parts of the corpse in the water?”
Answin shook his head. “Only a leg and an arm. The second leg was lying in a huge pile of garbage near the river. Some children found it while they were playing.”
“If it was so near the river, it’s possible it was in the water earlier and some dog picked it up and took it there.” Kuisl ground his teeth, thinking. “Where did you find the arm and the leg?”
Answin pointed to the north again and the right branch of the river. “They were entangled in the pillars of the bridge. There are a few shallow places and islands in the middle of the river, where it’s easy for things to get hung up. I told the guards right away.” He picked at his teeth, looking bored. “But there wasn’t much to see—clearly, animals had been chewing on them, and limbs had been ripped off, probably by wolves or who knows what.”
Jakob poked at the corpse one last time, and it turned around slowly in the water. Then he climbed up the ladder again to the pier.
“First, a few body parts, and now a torso,” he said when he got back up on the dock, “and all of them found in the north branch of the river. Somebody must have disposed of them there, then the fish and other animals did the rest.” He nodded, still lost in his thoughts. “I myself have also fished people out of the Lech who committed suicide. If they get tangled in the weirs or are found by wild animals, it can easily happen that only parts of those poor souls are ever found. There’s nothing magical about that.”
“You’re forgetting the victim’s hand.” Bartholomäus pointed down at the corpse again. “I heard that was found in front of widow Gotzendörfer’s house, so clearly the hand didn’t come from the water. And didn’t you find an arm in Bamberg Forest when you were coming to town?”
“That was on the bank of a smaller river. The whole area there is crisscrossed by brooks and rivers, as far as I can see, so it’s possible the arm was dumped somewhere else and drifted there.”
“And Vasold’s hand in front of widow Gotzendörfer’s house?”
Jakob spat into the dark water. “If you ask me, somebody intentionally put it there to cause a panic. And they succeeded.”
Bartholomäus frowned. “But who would do something like that? And why?” He kicked a rotted post. “Damn it, this all reminds me of the witch trials back then. I didn’t arrive here until just after the old hangman’s sudden disappearance, but according to what I heard, everybody was afraid, just like now.”
“Just like now . . .” Jakob stared into the distance with a furrowed brow. “Just like now,” he repeated.
He was about to say something else when the sound of marching feet was heard coming down one of the side streets, and moments later about a half dozen city guards appeared. At the head of the group was the commander of the guard, Martin Lebrecht, who looked even more bleary-eyed than the last time they’d met, in the guard station. When he recognized the two hangmen, he stopped, surprised, and removed his helmet.
“Master Bartholomäus,” he said with annoyance. “What are you doing here?”
“Ah, I was just about to ask Answin if he could help me and my brother clean the moat,” he replied a bit awkwardly. “And now he’s shown me his latest find.” He pointed at the corpse behind him. “You’ll be sad to learn that it’s the body of city councilor Thadäus Vasold. He’s clearly recognizable.”
“Damn it! As if I didn’t already have enough to do.” The captain closed his eyes briefly, as if struggling to get a hold of himself. “Answin already suggested to me that that might be the case, and I must admit I suspected we would eventually find Vasold’s corpse—especially since his hand was found early this morning.”
“I thought you would’ve come a lot sooner,” grumbled Answin, who was leaning against a post on the dock some distance away. “I’ve been waiting for you all day. Evidently the discovery of a city councilor’s corpse doesn’t mean much to you.”
Martin Lebrecht sighed. “Believe me, Answin, I would have come earlier, but all hell has broken loose out in town. Ever since the suffragan bishop offered a reward for any tips, we’re swamped with accusations. I’m just coming back from the home of old Ganswiener up on Kaulberg Hill, who swears that his neighbor turns into a hairy monster every night and barks like a wolf. It just so happens that Ganswiener has had an eye on his neighbor’s property for years.” The captain groaned loudly. “He’s a damn liar, but just try and prove it. If I don’t take his report, he’ll run straight to the suffragan bishop, and in the end they’ll say I’m a werewolf, too. And then tomorrow,” he continued with a desperate laugh, “His Excellency and elector the bishop of Würzburg
will be arriving, and I’ve got to reassign the guards so there will be no mishaps. Aside from all that, I’ve got to—” He stopped short, then shook his head in frustration. “In a word, I really don’t know whether I’m coming or going.”
Lebrecht looked at the two hangmen, trying to think. “But since the two of you are already here . . . can you at least say what killed old Vasold? His servant swears to God he was attacked by a werewolf, but perhaps the old man just fell in the river and drowned after a night of carousing.”
“I hardly think so,” replied Jakob with a grim smile. “From the looks of him, he might have been attacked by a half dozen werewolves.”
Martin Lebrecht turned as white as a ghost. “Oh, God. Is it that bad?”
Bartholomäus nodded. “Worse. And now, farewell.”
Before leaving with Jakob, the Bamberg executioner pointed at Answin again. “Don’t forget to give the corpse fisherman his reward. It’s said whoever declines to pay him his money will be the next one the river carries away.”
He gave the ragpicker a discreet wink, then continued walking with his brother down the stinking Regnitz, where dead branches and leaves seemed to reach out like long fingers as the river carried them away.
When Simon knocked on the door of the Bamberg city physician’s house that evening, it wasn’t the arrogant old housekeeper who opened the door, but the master of the house himself. Samuel looked overworked and was pale and unshaven, but when he saw Simon, his face brightened.
“Thank God!” he cried in relief. “I thought at first you were another patient coming to ask me for a magic potion to protect them from werewolf bites.”
Simon frowned. “Are there people like that?”
Samuel let out a pained laugh. “There were three of them here already today, and it’s Magda’s day off, so she’s not here to turn away this superstitious riffraff. One of them even demanded a silver wolf’s tooth. I sent them all packing, telling them I was a university-educated doctor and not a magician or charlatan.” He groaned. “But since I come from a Jewish family, they seem to consider me an especially gifted doctor. Sooner or later one of them will probably turn me in as a werewolf. Oh, but excuse me.” Samuel gestured for his friend to enter. “Do come in. I still have a little freshly ground coffee, if you’d like.”
Soon the two were sitting in Samuel’s little study, slurping the bitter, black drink. The doctor gave Simon a worried glance.
“It’s really bad, what’s going on out there since the suffragan bishop offered this reward,” he lamented. “I’ve heard there were nearly a half dozen arrests already today, and that’s surely just the beginning.”
Simon nodded. “I’m worried, too. If you ask me, the only real werewolf in this city is the suffragan bishop himself. He’s infecting everyone else with his rabid hatred.”
Samuel laughed softly. “A good comparison, but at least we won’t have to worry about Harsee for a while. He’s got a bad fever that will keep him in bed for a few days at least, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.” The city physician suddenly turned serious. “I visited him just this afternoon. He’s really sick, with severe headaches, joint pain, sweating . . . and something else . . .” He hesitated for a moment, then told Simon about the little wound on Harsee’s neck.
“It might be nothing to worry about, but there’s a red ring around the wound that I don’t like at all,” he concluded.
“Probably it’s just become inflamed,” Simon speculated. “Do you think it’s somehow related to the fever?”
Samuel frowned. “I don’t know, but there’s something strange about it. In addition, he refuses to drink anything; he says every time he drinks, he throws it up.” Simon shook his head. “I looked it up in my books, but I couldn’t find anything.” He sighed, took a sip of coffee, and turned to Simon with a smile.
“If I know you, you didn’t just come to drink coffee with me,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “So what’s on your mind?”
Simon took a deep breath. He’d been wondering for a long time whether to let his friend in on the plan, but he’d finally decided against it. If something went wrong, it was better for as few people as possible to know about it. He didn’t want to burden Samuel unnecessarily.
And there was another matter he’d been troubled about for days, but he’d kept putting it out of his mind until just now.
“What I’m going to tell you now may sound a bit strange,” he began hesitantly, “but believe me, I know what I’m doing.” He ran down the list of ingredients his father-in-law had asked him to get from the doctor.
For a moment, Samuel just stood there with his mouth open. “Mandrake, henbane, sulfur, saltpeter . . .” he finally said, shaking his head. “Damn it, Simon, what’s all that for? Magic incantations? Are you trying to conjure up your own werewolf?”
Simon smiled weakly. “Something like that. But believe me, it’s for the good of the city and has nothing to do with magic. On the contrary. Nevertheless, for the time being it’s best for you not to know anything more about it.”
Samuel leaned back and looked at Simon suspiciously. “You’re asking quite a lot of me. You want me to give you all these strange ingredients, but won’t tell me why?”
“Because I don’t want to put you at risk unnecessarily. Understand—if it all works out, you’ll be the first to know.”
After a while, Samuel nodded. “Very well, but only because it’s you. I have most of the ingredients over in my office. Saltpeter and sulfur I’ll have to get from the court pharmacy, but that shouldn’t be any problem. I’ll just tell them I need the ingredients for a new medical procedure. As the bishop’s personal physician, I can do things like that.” He leaned forward. “When do you need them?”
Simon swallowed hard. “Ah . . . tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow!” Samuel looked at him in astonishment. “But tomorrow is the bishop’s reception. I thought you’d be coming along with me.”
“I don’t need them for myself, but for a . . . a friend,” Simon replied hesitantly.
Samuel rolled his eyes. “Very well, I’ll go to the cathedral mount first thing tomorrow.” But then he shook his finger threateningly. “But make damn sure I don’t know what you’re going to do with it.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m sure the news will quickly . . . um, get around.” Simon set his cup down, squirmed restlessly in his seat, and blushed. “There’s one final favor I have to ask of you,” he said in a halting voice.
Samuel groaned. “For God’s sake, what else do you want?”
“It concerns the reception tomorrow night in Geyerswörth Castle,” he began. “Many noble gentlemen will be there, even the bishop of Würzburg, an elector, no less. You have introduced me as a widely traveled scholar, and in fact I’m able to put on a pretty good act. It’s just that . . .” He looked down at his sweaty shirt and filthy petticoat breeches. “I’m afraid I’ve got nothing suitable to wear. Do you have, perhaps . . .”
His question was drowned out by Samuel’s loud laughter.
“Simon, Simon,” the doctor finally replied, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You haven’t changed at all—still the same proud dandy as back when we were in school.” He rose from his seat. “Let’s go and have a look in the closet. You’re not exactly my size, but I’m sure we’ll find something that will make you the bestdressed scholar in all of Bamberg.”
11
BAMBERG, NOON, NOVEMBER 1, 1668 AD
THE BISHOP OF WÜRZBURG ARRIVED the following afternoon with a large entourage.
Since early morning, people had been standing at the wooden bridge by the town gate to welcome and show homage to His Excellency the elector. This display was not completely selfless. Johann Philipp von Schönborn was a good-natured and, above all, generous leader who liked to throw coins and small gifts to the crowds who came to meet him on his trips. Accordingly, the crowd was large at the bridge and everyone wanted to be standing in the first row.
Magdalena st
ood off to one side with the children. The boys had climbed a scraggly willow tree with a good view of the proceedings. Though they had no idea who or what a bishop was, they were clearly enjoying the excitement as well as the fragrance of chestnuts and candied apples that street vendors were roasting over glowing coals and hawking to the crowd. Magdalena, too, couldn’t help smiling. The fear of the werewolf, the paralyzing horror that lay over Bamberg like a dark cloud, seemed to have lifted, at least for a while.
Magdalena had wanted to help her father and uncle prepare the tincture for the sleep sponge, but Peter and Paul kept grabbing the henbane and hemlock from the table and throwing it around, and Jakob was getting angrier and angrier. After little Paul had almost taken a sip of the opium juice, the hangman lost his temper and Magdalena hastily left the house with the children. Now she was standing near the busy bridge, each of the children was holding a slice of apple in his hand, and she could reflect in peace on the plans they’d made.
At first, the plan sounded so far-fetched that she couldn’t decide if the idea was crazy or a stroke of genius. Tonight they’d actually create a werewolf, a fiendish monster on which the people of Bamberg could vent their anger.
The tense mood in the city was evident here, as well, among the people in the waiting crowd. Two young journeymen in front of her kept whispering and turning around cautiously to make sure no one was listening.
“. . . and early this morning they came to arrest Jäckel Riemer, that drunk tower guard in the church,” one of them whispered. He was wearing the kind of hat traditionally worn by raftsmen on the river. “They say that the sexton at St. Martin’s Church saw him at night in the cemetery, digging up corpses to eat.”
“Bah!” the other journeyman replied with disgust, shaking his head. “You just have to hope this will all be cleared up before the whole city goes mad.”
“What are you trying to say?” the raftsman asked suspiciously. “You mean to tell me you don’t believe in the werewolf?”