Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

“Tell me, that bit about the Würzburg bishop,” she asked in a quiet voice. “Is that true? Is the elector really on our side?”

Simon smiled and shrugged. “Well, I think Johann Philipp von Schönborn will support us if I tell him about it. In any case, he told me he’d be behind us as much as possible. The Würzburg bishop is a reasonable man who doesn’t believe in magicians and witches, nor in werewolves, either. But so far”-he winked-“well, he doesn’t know any more about it than the rest of Bamberg.” He laughed and embraced Magdalena.

“Simon, Simon,” she said. “You’re a scaredy-cat, a swindler, and-”

“And a brave killer of werewolves,” her husband interrupted with feigned severity. “Don’t forget that. And now let’s leave as fast as we can and go check on the children. I think they have earned themselves a bedtime story or two.”

“But nothing scary,” Magdalena pleaded.

“Nothing scary, I promise. I’ve had enough of scary stories.”

Arm in arm they walked down the dark path through the forest while, behind them, the last of the flames in the sinister building died out.

ST.MARY’S, THE UPPER PARISH CHURCH ON THEKAULBERG, BAMBERG,NOVEMBER 7, 1668 AD

The bells of St. Mary’s Church rang out loud and clear that Wednesday morning for the newly wedded Bamberg executioner and his bride. There was a slight drizzle, and fog drifted through the streets, but it couldn’t dampen the spirits of the attendees.

Hand in hand, Bartholomäus and Katharina stood under the stone canopy in the so-called bridal entryway where, for ages, couples had exchanged their vows. The fact that a dishonorable hangman was permitted to do so had much to do with the influence of the bishop of Würzburg. Johann Philipp von Schönborn had left the city two days earlier but, at Simon’s request, had put in a good word with the priest there, and thus the church wedding was finally permitted-though not on Sunday, the holy day. Beneath the famous sculptures of the wise and foolish virgins, the priest had placed rings on the fingers of the couple and pronounced his blessing.

Magdalena, Simon, and the other wedding guests stood at the foot of the church stairway. The boys’ trousers were more or less clean, and for this festive occasion Simon had borrowed a fresh shirt from his friend Samuel. Magdalena fanned herself as she watched her aunt in her low-cut dress standing proudly under the canopy, looking like an aging blond cherub. Though it was clear she was still mourning the loss of her father, at that moment joy seemed to prevail.

On hearing of her father’s death, Katharina had at first collapsed and wept all night. The next morning, however, she arrived, pale and red-eyed, at Bartholomäus’s house and in a firm voice consented to the marriage. That was four days ago.

“My father would have wanted it this way,” she said, looking lovingly at her future husband. “Life goes on, and Father never wanted me to spend the rest of my life as a bitter old maid. I’m sure he’s looking down on us from heaven and sending us his best wishes.”

Bartholomäus thought it prudent not to tell her how her father had actually died, and he also spared her from hearing that almost their entire fortune had been bought with the blood of the Haan family. Things were bad enough for her as it was.

“I don’t think Bartholomäus has anything to complain about,” Jakob muttered as he stood beside Magdalena at the foot of the stairway. In his brother’s honor, he’d worn a fresh shirt and even put away his stinking pipe. “Katharina is maybe a bit fat, but her heart is in the right place,” he said, studying his sister-inlaw like a cow for sale in the market square. “If she’d just stop that constant puttering around, cleaning and moving furniture. . Bartl will have to cure her of that. It’s enough to drive you crazy.”

Magdalena grinned. “I think a woman in the house would do wonders for you, as well,” she said with a wink. “Who knows, perhaps you’ll find someone in Schongau who can put up with you.”

Kuisl let out a dry laugh. “God forbid. You and Barbara are almost more than I can take. Why would I need another female around who can’t keep her mouth shut? Torture on the rack is a pleasure compared to that.”

Magdalena was ready with a fresh answer, but at that moment the couple started down the wide staircase, and the small party of wedding guests broke into applause, which Bartholomäus acknowledged with a nod. He was clearly proud-before him, no Bamberg executioner had ever been permitted to step through the bridal portal.

“If Bartholomäus gets puffed up any more, he’ll fly away,” Jakob growled, spitting on the ground.

“What did we say? No nasty words on the wedding day.” Magdalena glared at her father. “You don’t have to marry your brother, after all. Katharina is doing that. And tomorrow we’ll be on our way home.”

Jakob Kuisl grumbled something incomprehensible into his beard. They had decided to leave right after the wedding reception, as Jakob, and especially Simon, were anxious to get back. The hangman’s house and the bathhouse had been empty for far too long, and Simon had complained more than once about how the new doctor in town would be taking his patients.

After a last look at the church, Magdalena joined the small, motley crowd marching through the streets of Bamberg in the direction of the city moat. Now that the scheming suffragan bishop was no longer able to interfere, the city councilors had allowed Katharina and Bartholomäus to celebrate in the wedding house after all.

But surprisingly, Katharina had changed her mind and decided to have a small party at the executioner’s house. After the death of her father, such a big party no longer seemed appropriate to her. Perhaps, though, she had also come around to the realization that it was more important to celebrate with a few real friends than with a crowd of almost-total strangers who would just start gossiping afterward and, in any case, were only interested in the wine and the meat patties.

Together they crossed the City Hall Bridge on their way to the Green Market, which on this foggy Wednesday morning was not nearly as busy as on market days. The few people who passed them in the street stared with a mixture of fear, disgust, and respect. Ever since the soldiers had carried the dead werewolf into town a few days ago and had told the first horror stories, rumors had swept the city. A short, traveling scholar, well versed in the field of alchemy and magic, was said to have shot the beast with a silver bullet-the only way to kill a werewolf. Others claimed to know that the Bamberg executioner himself had cast a magic spell and then quickly strangled the beast. And some spoke of a giant stranger, evidently the brother of the executioner, practiced in the art of transmutation, who had vanquished his greatest enemy in an epic battle.

Almost no one spoke of the dead Jeremias or Markus Salter. Adelheid Rinswieser also kept her silence, even though her husband and other meddlesome busybodies urged her to speak. All she would say was that the werewolf had dragged her off and cast a spell on her. Magdalena had come to know Adelheid as a strong woman, and she was certain the apothecary’s wife would remain silent for the good of the city. Since then, there hadn’t been any arrests, and even the actors were released after it turned out there weren’t any witches among them after all. Evidently, the influence of the enlightened elector was far-reaching, and Magdalena assumed that one or more of his contributions for the building of the Bamberg bishop’s palace had a role to play in that.

Bartholomäus never gave the slightest hint that his dear Brutus was involved in any of this, and only once did Magdalena notice a tear in the corner of his eye. The dead beast remained on the gallows, but soon nothing much was left of him, due in part to time and weather, but primarily to the many superstitious citizens who came to the gallows hill at night looking for scraps of fur, teeth, and claws.