And all this while I’m visiting the theater. Well, my father-in-law told me straight out that he didn’t need me. Let’s see how the cranky old man gets along without me.
Nevertheless, Simon was having a hard time concentrating. What if the guards up on the cathedral square surprised Magdalena and the others in the act? He could only hope the Schongau hangman was still the old swashbuckling brawler he knew from earlier adventures.
“Almost the entire city council is here,” Samuel whispered, standing next to him dressed in the black coat of the doctors’ guild. “Strange, isn’t it? All these people who have been struggling to cast off the yoke of the church fall to their knees as soon as the archbishop of Würzburg arrives.”
“They say that Johann Philipp von Schönborn is very open-minded and tolerant of worldly things,” Simon replied, sipping on his glass of cool white Sylvaner. He was happy for this diversion. “I expect a few strong words from him about the werewolf panic here in Bamberg.”
“Hah! I’m not even sure Schönborn knows about it! Our own bishop will no doubt do everything he can to cover it up. After all, he wants to stay on good terms with his Würzburg colleague. He needs him to—” Samuel stopped short on hearing cheers suddenly coming from the entrance to the castle. He turned toward the sound and squinted, trying to see through the crowd of visitors.
“Well, speak of the devil,” he mumbled. “The noble gentlemen have arrived. It’s about time.”
Now Simon could see the bishop’s legates, a small group of clerics and some courtiers who fluttered around the bishop like moths around a candle. When the pompous-looking courtier stepped briefly to one side, Simon caught a glimpse of the Bamberg prince-bishop Philipp Valentin von Rieneck, and alongside him an elderly gentleman with wavy gray hair and a bushy beard. The elderly man smiled good-naturedly while representatives of the Bamberg citizenry stepped up and bowed to him and to their own sovereign. Behind the two bishops stood an ashen-faced Sebastian Harsee. His skullcap had partially slipped off his bald head, he staggered a bit, and he kept taking out his handkerchief to dab the sweat on his forehead.
“Didn’t I tell him he’d have to stay in bed?” Samuel whispered. “Just look, Simon. The man is running a fever. But no, he won’t listen.”
“There was something else about his illness you wanted to check,” Simon replied in an undertone. “Did you find anything else?”
Simon himself had been thinking about the illness of the suffragan bishop, especially the red circle around the wound on his neck. He’d consulted some books from Bartholomäus’s library, but the Bamberg executioner was not as interested in medicine as his brother was. Almost all his books were about curing animals, and they were of no help to Simon.
“Unfortunately, I’ve been busy caring for the bishop’s mistress for the last few days,” Samuel answered with a shrug, “and haven’t had much time to deal with Harsee’s illness, but I think—”
“Master Samuel!” cried Philipp Rieneck, interrupting the conversation. Evidently the Bamberg bishop had just discovered his personal physician in the crowd. “So here you are. I’d like to introduce you to our friend Johann Philipp.”
Samuel sighed softly, then took the surprised Simon by the arm and led him to the front row, where they both knelt down before the elector.
“This is a great honor for me, Your Excellency,” Samuel said, bowing reverently, “and also for my friend Simon Fronwieser, a widely traveled scholar who even in distant Munich has heard about your wisdom and kindness.”
Simon cringed. Once again, Samuel was lying through his teeth, this time to one of the most powerful men in the Reich. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Harsee, trembling and watching it all.
He suspects something, Simon thought. Perhaps it’s just as well he’s so sick.
“Philipp Rieneck has told me about your wondrous cures, Master Samuel,” the Würzburg bishop replied in a deep and pleasant voice. “They are said to be a bit unusual, but nevertheless effective. It seems you have been very helpful to a young woman Philipp cares greatly about.”
“Ah, a loyal servant, nothing more,” the Bamberg bishop interjected. “But it is indeed true that Master Samuel is caring for her at the moment with great success. Just this morning I spoke with her and . . . ah . . . took her confession.”
“Perhaps you could use your expertise to help our dear brother, Sebastian,” Schönborn said, turning to the shivering suffragan bishop, who was as white as a corpse. “You don’t look well at all, my friend.”
“Oh . . . I’m . . . managing,” Sebastian struggled to say. “A slight fever, nothing serious. Didn’t . . . want . . . to miss the performance. If only I could get rid of these damned headaches. But of course, our Savior also had to suffer.”
He struggled in vain to smile. Meanwhile, the Würzburg bishop had turned back to Samuel, who, like Simon, was still kneeling before him.
“But do stand up, dear doctor,” he said warmly, “and your friend, too.”
After the two had gotten to their feet, Schönborn continued. “I’d like very much to hear your opinion on one matter, Doctor. I have heard that a werewolf is prowling about here in Bamberg and magically abducting his victims.” He frowned. “As you may know, we don’t think much of this hocus-pocus in Würzburg, something I’ve debated often with my friend Philipp. Isn’t that right, Philipp?” He glanced at the Bamberg prince-bishop, who laughed stiffly. “On the other hand, such creatures appear again and again in stories and reports, and now here in Bamberg,” Schönborn continued. “Tell me, dear doctor, is there an explanation for this as far as you know?”
The entire courtyard fell strangely silent, as visitors halted their conversations. Simon looked at Philipp Rieneck, who politely nodded as if encouraging him to respond, though his eyes were as cold as ice. Right behind him stood Sebastian Harsee, who despite his fever suddenly looked very threatening.
If Samuel wants to continue practicing in Bamberg, he’s got to be very careful about what he says now, Simon thought. Sometimes it’s a real advantage to be just a barber surgeon in Schongau.
“Well . . . ,” Samuel said hesitantly, “a thorough answer to this question would probably not be appropriate for this large audience. But let me assure you that I and my learned friend”—he gave Simon a friendly pat on the shoulder—“have come a long way toward finding an answer. We have already reached some tentative conclusions.”
“That would really be of great interest to me,” Schönborn replied with a smile. “But you’re right. The first of the two theater performances will begin soon. Perhaps we’ll have time to debate this topic afterward.”
“Ah, indeed. It will be my pleasure.”
Samuel bowed one last time, then stepped back into the crowd with Simon while the suffragan bishop eyed them suspiciously.
“Good God, what are these tentative conclusions?” Simon whispered. “If Schönborn asks you about them later, you must have something to say.”
“Hopefully I’ll think of something by then,” Samuel replied. “What should I have done? If I question the existence of the werewolf, I’ll fall out of favor with my prince, and if I support it, I risk my reputation as a doctor and scholar and will lose favor with one of the most powerful men in the Reich.”
“A really impossible situation.” Simon nodded sympathetically. “Let’s hope the two plays are so boring we’ll have time to think about a compromise. Shall we enter?”
They entered the great dance hall of the palace with the other guests, passing through a low doorway. In the back third of the room, a stage had been constructed of spruce wood with stairs leading up to it and a red curtain in front. The room was illuminated by hundreds of candles, giving a lifelike appearance to the paintings of plants and animals on the vaulted ceiling.
In the first row there were fur-upholstered seats for the two ruling princes, the suffragan bishop, and some of the leading aristocrats. The rest of the audience, as usual, had to stand. Behind them, stair
s led up to a gallery, where Simon and Samuel managed to find room standing along the railing with a good view of the stage.
The excited murmurs in the audience stopped abruptly when the Bamberg prince-bishop gave a sign to one of his servants, who blew a fanfare on his trumpet, then took out a long parchment roll and began to read.
“Honored guests, noblemen, and gentlemen of Bamberg. It is with great joy that His Excellency Philipp Valentin Voit von Rieneck welcomes to the hallowed halls of Geyerswörth Castle his beloved friend, the Bishop of Mainz, Würzburg, and Worms, a prince of the Reich, defender of the faith and close confidant of the German kaiser, the honorable Johann Philipp von Schönborn . . .”
While the servant reeled off the usual tributes, Simon’s eyes wandered over the audience, where he caught sight of Hieronymus Hauser and Katharina, whom he had overlooked earlier in the milling crowd. Magdalena had told him that the Hausers were also invited to the reception. Katharina had put on her best dress, and her father wore a coat and vest like a real councilor, but he looked almost as pale as the suffragan bishop. He seemed distracted and kept turning around carefully, as if looking for someone in the audience. In the next moment, though, he seemed completely lost in his thoughts.
I wonder if it has anything to do with our conversation yesterday, Simon thought.
By now, the herald had greeted all the important guests by name and started explaining the rules of the theater competition.
“In his infinite kindness, our bishop has decided to offer winter quarters to a group of itinerant actors,” he proclaimed. “Since there are two groups in Bamberg this year, a competition will decide which one will be permitted to remain in the city. Each group has selected a short piece to perform for us now, and after that the bishop will choose the winner. The two pieces are entitled”—he looked down at his parchment roll—“Papinian and Peter Squenz, both from the pen of the esteemed author Andreas Gryphius. Good luck to everyone.”
One last time he played the fanfare on his trumpet, then the candles in the audience were extinguished, bathing only the stage in a warm light. The curtain rose, and out stepped a pale, made-up, somewhat feminine-looking actor who spread his arms and turned toward the two bishops while declaiming the prologue in a slight French accent.
“Those who climb over everyone else, then looook down prouuudly as reeech people at how pooor people behave,” he began in a fervent voice, pronouncing each vowel in a peculiar way. “As ooonder heeem a Reich gooz uup in flaaames, or theeere the miiighty waaaves cooover the feeelds . . .”
Simon wasn’t familiar with Gryphius’s Papinian, but it was soon clear it was very melodramatic and yet also very boring. It concerned a courtier in a Roman royal family who stood between two feuding emperors, brothers who eventually killed each other. There was also an almost endless number of characters in the play but only a limited number of actors, so that each actor played multiple parts, and Simon was soon completely confused.
Well, at least we have enough time now to think about what we’re going to say to the Würzburg bishop, he thought.
And indeed, within a few minutes his thoughts wandered, while up in front the actors declaimed, whined, and died. How was Magdalena doing? Was she already up on the cathedral mount with Jakob and Bartholomäus, preparing to free Matheo? If so, by now the tower guard would surely have already sounded the alarm . . .
Now and then he glanced at the two prince-bishops in the first row. While Johann Philipp von Schönborn listened attentively, observing the action on the stage, Prince-Bishop Rieneck appeared extremely bored, shifting back and forth in his chair and even yawning loudly one time. Moments later he demanded a glass of wine, which startled the actor playing Papinian on the stage. Other guests followed the example of their leader and began talking or loudly clinking their glasses, while the actors continued to struggle through their lines.
The person most distracted from the performance on the stage, however, was the suffragan bishop Sebastian Harsee. He was having difficulty even sitting up in his chair and occasionally slumped forward, but then caught himself at the last moment. He appeared to be in great pain, kept putting his hands to his head, and Simon wasn’t certain he would be able to hold out through the two performances.
After what seemed like an eternity, Papinian finally spoke his final lines.
“Receeeve my innocent bloood, and show meeercy to thiiis innocent empire.”
He bared his naked chest to the executioner, and as he uttered a death rattle, the curtain came down. There was some restrained applause, but also a few boos. The garishly made-up leading man grimaced, stepped forward with the cast, and curtsied effeminately in response to the nonexistent ovations.
He was mercilessly booed off the stage, and from behind the curtain came the sound of trunks and heavy props being moved around. Finally the curtain opened again, and Simon saw the second group of actors in threadbare costumes, among them a skinny beanpole of a fellow with a wig, evidently the director of the troupe. From talking with Magdalena, Simon knew he was an Englishman by the name of Sir Malcolm. There was whispering in the crowd, as naturally most of the guests knew that the werewolf who had been caught came from this group of actors. Simon’s heart began to pound.
They must be very good to have avoided any hint of suspicion.
But it soon became clear that Malcolm’s people had chosen the right piece to perform. Two actors played the parts of stupid workmen rehearsing a play for their king and his entourage and getting involved in all sorts of foolishness. Sir Malcolm proved to be a superb comedian. The mood of the audience grew much more relaxed as people laughed and slapped their thighs. The Bamberg bishop laughed loudest of all, causing the audience to burst out laughing even louder.
After a while, the clueless workers exited the stage to more loud laughter and applause, and the second act began with the entrance of the king and his retinue. A dainty maiden in a red dress—no doubt the character mentioned previously, the beautiful Princess Violandra—walked alongside the monarch. A murmur went through the crowd, as it was unusual for women to appear on the stage.
The young child is quite beautiful, Simon thought. She almost reminds me a bit of Magdalena.
He couldn’t help admiring her grace and noble bearing as she stepped to the front of the stage. For the first time, her face gleamed in the light of the candles.
“We all enjoy comedies and tragedies,” she said in a clear, bright voice, her right hand trembling just a bit. “Which type do you wish to see?”
Simon was stunned, and a muffled cry escaped his lips. He knew the voice.
“What in the world . . . ,” he gasped.
The stunning Princess Violandra was none other than Barbara.
Night had fallen over Bamberg and the gates of Geyerswörth Castle, and the autumn fog rose from the river, embracing the city and, soon, the hills around it, enveloping everything in a damp, billowing quilt with only a few church spires rising above it.
Under the protection of darkness and fog, three disguised figures slunk toward the cathedral mount, each holding a large, wrapped bundle. They stayed off the main streets and took long detours to avoid the night watchmen. When the bell of the church struck eight, they could hear the watchman’s call somewhere nearby, but his steps receded, so they pressed on up the hill until finally they reached the vast, deserted cathedral square.
Magdalena pushed her head scarf down inside her collar and looked around, squinting while her eyes grew accustomed to the dark. On the left, the towers of the cathedral rose up like long, black shadows, while on her right was the new building site for the royal residence, with only the two rear wings of the building so far complete. Faint music could be heard coming from the city below, but otherwise it was as silent as a tomb.
“We’re too early,” Magdalena whispered, out of breath from the steep climb and the bundle she was carrying. “We should have at least waited for the next ringing of the bells. How do we know there aren’t a few night ow
ls still roaming around?”
“The sooner this is over, the happier I’ll be,” Bartholomäus growled. “Besides, this is the best time, believe me. Most of the guards are still down at the reception in the castle, but later they’ll return with the two bishops when they come here to sleep. And the good citizens are carousing in the taverns.” He gave a dry laugh. “The Bambergers drink and party for any reason at all, even if it’s just the visit of some bishop.”
“We need a place to change,” Jakob Kuisl grumbled, looking around the cathedral square. “Here we’re as easy to see as the devil’s naked ass.”
“Don’t worry, I know where we can go,” his brother replied. “Follow me.”
With Bartholomäus leading the way, they slipped along the walls of the cathedral, then, just before reaching the old palace, they turned left into an alleyway so dark they could barely see anything. After a few paces, Bartholomäus stopped, set down his bundle, and drew back the lantern shade so that for the first time since leaving they had a bit of light.
“We’re safe here for the time being,” Bartholomäus whispered. “I’ve checked this out. The only one pulling guard duty tonight is Matthias, the old drunk.” He turned with a wide grin and looked at his older brother. “You remember—the old boozehound from our first nighttime expedition. I stopped by earlier and brought him a bottle of brandy. Right now he’s no doubt off in dreamland. But of course that doesn’t apply to the guards in front of the old palace.”
“We’ll send them off to dreamland, as well,” Jakob replied. “And now stop talking so much and give me the pelt.”
Bartholomäus unrolled his bundle, which contained a number of animal hides along with some pots sealed with beeswax. Magdalena, though standing a way off, could smell the odor of decomposition. She, too, was carrying a bundle of pots and pelts. Her father had dragged the almost-one-hundred-pound wolf, wrapped in nothing but a thin cloth, up to the cathedral mount. Now he threw it down in front of them like a sack of stones.