Oliver Pötzsch: The Werewolf of Bamberg

“Uncle Georg, Uncle Georg!” Paul shouted excitedly. “Will you whittle another executioner’s sword for me?”

“An executioner’s sword?” Georg asked, perplexed.

“I told him how you always used to whittle swords,” explained Simon, sitting off to one side. “You know how kids are. I’m afraid they won’t stop pestering you until they both have swords.”

Georg grinned, set the boys down, and shook Simon’s hand. “They’ll get some, on my honor as a dishonorable hangman,” he said with a conspiratorial glance at Paul. “And if you behave yourself, you can also touch your great-uncle’s sword. It’s even bigger than the one your grandfather has.”

“As if that’s all that mattered,” Jakob growled. “I can slit open a throat with a kitchen knife.”

“Can’t you men talk about anything else?” Magdalena said, shaking her head. “Swords, nothing but swords! At least Peter inherited his father’s peaceful temperament. Just one like you men is all I can take.” She sighed and gestured at little Paul, who had just stabbed his brother in the stomach with an imaginary sword.

Simon smiled and put his arms around Peter, who had started to cry.

“Peter is only five, but he can read,” he said in a proud tone of voice. “Latin and German, and even a few Greek letters. I taught him myself, and with the medicines-”

Jakob finally spoke up. “Can’t you even invite your old father to come in, Georg? It’s a chilly autumn night, and I think we’ve stood outside here in the fog long enough. But if you prefer, I can sleep at an inn.”

“Of course not, Father.” Georg stepped aside and ushered the family into the living room.

The warmth from the green tiled stove in the corner made Magdalena quickly forget the damp cold and fog outside. The room was homey and neat. Fresh, fragrant reeds were strewn on the floor, and a wide, recently built table provided room for an entire large family. Behind it was the family shrine, with a crucifix, dried roses, and the Bamberg hangman’s execution sword. It was, in fact, a little larger than Jakob’s sword. Paul started to run over to touch it, but Georg laughed and grabbed the tails of the boy’s shirt to pull him back.

“You’ll be holding it in your hands soon enough,” he said, trying to appease the boy. “Why don’t you let Barbara take you up to your room instead? It’s time for you to go to bed now.”

Barbara rolled her eyes and took the two boys, yawning and only slightly protesting, up the steep stairs to their room. Soon, they heard the soothing sounds of a lullaby.

For a while, none of those in the room said a thing, but then Georg reached for the mighty executioner’s sword and held it out to his father. “The handle is sharkskin,” he said proudly. “When the hangman’s hands are sweaty, the leather becomes as raw as a thousand little teeth. It won’t slip out of your hands. As far as I know, only Bamberg executioners have such swords. Try it.”

Jakob shrugged and turned away. “When his hands are wet, it can mean only one thing. The hangman is shitting in his pants-and an anxious hangman is worth about as much as an old toothless whore.” He turned around and inspected the room. “But I must say, there have been some changes since my last visit. Bartholomäus really has done well. Who would have thought that pale, nervous little kid would have turned out this way?”

“Just wait until he marries Katharina,” Georg replied. “His last wife came from a family of knackers. Dear Johanna, God rest her soul, died of consumption. She didn’t bring much money to the marriage, and there were no children.” He sighed softly, then straightened up. “But this time he has a good catch. His new wife is the daughter of a Bamberg court clerk, the dowry is pretty impressive, and Katharina really doesn’t look like she’s going to waste away anytime soon,” he added with a slight smirk. “Well, you’ll get to see her shortly. She wants a really big celebration, and she’s the one who urged Uncle Bartholomäus to invite our whole family.”

Kuisl frowned. “Did Bartl get permission from the town council for this? As an executioner, he’s not allowed to marry into a higher class.”

“He already has the permission, signed and sealed. His future father-in-law is a district magistrate and somehow managed to do it.” Georg smiled and turned to Magdalena. “A hangman in Bamberg,” he explained, “is something quite different from one in Schongau. We are perhaps not esteemed citizens, but at least no one shies away from us in the street. We are respected. You’d like it here, Sister.”

“It’s no surprise, then, that Bartholomäus lives here like a maggot in the shit heap,” Jakob interrupted. “With everything going on in this city, executioners make out as well here as the clergy elsewhere.”

Magdalena looked at her father, somewhat confused. “What do you mean by that?”

But Kuisl waved her off. “What’s it to me? Where is he, anyway, my esteemed Herr Brother, hm?”

Georg placed the sword back in the devotional corner, where it seemed like a heathen symbol next to the roses and the crucifix. “He’s still over in the torture chamber. We had a difficult interrogation just yesterday, and he’s putting the instruments back in their places. A stubborn thief who is said to have emptied the offertory box over at St. Martin’s.” The young apprentice sighed. “All the evidence is against him, but you know how it is. You can’t convict anyone without a confession. He didn’t confess on the rack, so today we had to let him go.”

“I see, a difficult case. Did you have any part in it?”

“My uncle lets me help out with the torture and hangings.” He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Different from when I worked with you, where all I could do was scrub the cart that carried prisoners to their executions.”

“Then it’s fine by you that they threw you out of town, hm?” Kuisl bellowed, slamming his hand down on the table so that the dishes rattled. “Don’t worry, as the elector’s representative, Lecher will see to it that you’ll not be coming back anytime soon.”

There was an awkward pause, and Magdalena sighed softly. Two years ago, her brother had gotten into a fight with the infamous Berchtholdt brothers and had beaten the youngest of the three half to death. Ever since, the baker’s son walked with a limp, and the court clerk Johann Lecher had banished Georg from the city for five years. That had been a hard blow for his father. Since that time, the Schongau hangman went about his duties as best he could with the drunken knacker at his side, and the hangman’s son from neighboring Steingaden had an eye on his job.

“Just outside of town, on the other side of the ford, we saw something really strange,” Magdalena finally said to change the topic. She told Georg about the severed arm and how terrified the travelers were. “The general mood here is very unsettling. On Tandstrasse people are talking about some kind of bloodthirsty beast. Do you know anything about it?”

Her brother hesitated, then shook his head slowly. “But you should by all means tell the city guard about the arm they found. The way you’ve described it, it could have been that of Schwarzkontz.”

“And who is this Schwarzkontz?” Simon asked.

Georg sighed. “An elderly member of the Bamberg city council, a clothing merchant, who took a trip to Nuremberg more than a month ago and never came back. They say he never even arrived there. And he’s not the only one. Two other citizens-two women-have disappeared since then. To top it all, some children playing not far from here found a human arm, and later a leg was found floating in the Regnitz.” He shrugged. “Since then, people say there’s a man-eating beast prowling around and up to no good. Some people even claim to have actually seen it.”