Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

“Do you see the yellow scarf?” Bartholomäus pointed to a piece of cloth crumpled up in a corner. “The sign of the Bamberg prostitutes. The Green Market is nearby in the Rosengasse, and that’s where the prostitutes usually ply their trade. Evidently the girl and her client weren’t able to agree on the price.”

“And for that he slits her throat?”

Bartholomäus shrugged. “These things happen. In former days the executioner here in Bamberg was concerned about the prostitutes and protected them, but in recent years the women do that themselves. I keep telling them they ought to at least work under the protection of the whorehouse on Frauengasse, but some just want to work for themselves.” He examined the corpse. “I’m sure I’ve seen this one here before. Had her nose up in the air and took only rich clients.” He looked down at her with contempt. “Well, she certainly was pretty, and it’s too bad what happened to her.”

Jakob Kuisl bent down and scrutinized the cut on her throat. It wasn’t smooth but ragged, as if the wound had been inflicted by a heavy tool or a claw, and blood was still seeping out. The Schongau hangman noticed a strange, barely perceptible odor that reminded him of the urine of predatory animals and wet dogs.

“That’s strange,” he mumbled. “The wound is actually too large to have been made by a knife. It’s almost as if an animal-”

“Now you’re starting in with that, too!” Bartholomäus groaned.

Without answering him, Jakob took the lantern from his brother’s hand, went up the steps again, and examined the ground. He bent down and held up a piece of the young woman’s ripped clothing.

“She was probably attacked here,” he said to his brother, who had come along behind him. Jakob pointed to some prints in the muddy ground. “There was a struggle, the girl ran. .” He hesitated. “No, that’s not right. Look at the marks on the ground here. Evidently the murderer struck her down, grabbed her by the arms. .” He returned to the steps. “Then he carried her down the steps and calmly slit her throat. But this odor. .” Kuisl shook his head, trying to figure out what it was. He couldn’t think what these smells reminded him of.

Except what was the most obvious, and at the same time the most improbable. .

“What odor? I can’t smell anything-but you always had a better nose for these things.” Bartholomäus shook his head. “In any case, she’s dead. We’ll have to alert the guards.” He stumbled over one of the splintered staves. “Damn it, they’ll probably make us take the girl to the potter’s field outside the city in my cart. We’ll have to forget about the horse carcass,” he added, hobbling away. “So let’s get over to the guardhouse near city hall as soon as we can and let them know. The sooner we can get this behind us, the better.”

Jakob took a close look at his brother. He was puzzled about the rush. It seemed to him that for some reason Bartholomäus wanted to put this matter to rest as quickly as possible. Did he fear the criticism of the guards? Once again Jakob looked down the staircase, where the poor woman was lying in her own blood. Then, with a grim expression, he followed the light of his brother’s lantern.

It looked like they’d be transporting not a horse cadaver but the corpse of a young girl through the city. It couldn’t be said that the auspices for his brother’s wedding were favorable.

THE HOUSE OF THE BAMBERG HANGMAN, MORNING, OCTOBER 27, 1668 AD

When Magdalena awakened the next morning, the sun was already shining brightly, warming her room on the second floor. Someone had opened the shutters wide, emptied the chamber pots, and strewn fresh herbs and reeds on the floor.

How long did I sleep ? she wondered as she yawned and opened her eyes.

She turned to Simon, whose snoring almost drowned out the sparrows chirping outside the window. Barbara was sleeping as well. The bed the two boys had slept in, however, was empty. Magdalena began to worry, but at that moment she heard happy laughter coming from downstairs. She also heard a soft, warm woman’s voice among them, plus the sound of clattering pots and an oven door squeaking as it was opened and closed. She rose to her feet carefully in order not to awaken her husband and her sister, washed her face quickly in the washbowl in the corner, straightened her tousled black hair, and then went downstairs to the living room.

“Mama, Mama!” Peter shouted, running toward her with outstretched arms. “Aunt Katharina is making us some porridge with lots and lots of honey, just as Grandma used to do.”

“Aunt Katharina?” Magdalena asked, puzzled. “Where. .”

Only then did she see a woman standing out in the hallway by the stove, stirring a pot. She was sturdily built, heavy, and seemed a bit larger than life. She appeared to be wearing some woolen petticoats beneath her skirt and jacket, so that sweat ran down her slightly pasty, red face in streams.

The heavyset woman handed the stirring spoon to Paul, standing beside her in anticipation, and playfully shook her finger at him.

“Keep stirring,” she cautioned the boy, “or the porridge will stick to the bottom and the pigs will enjoy a second breakfast.”

Her hands had become sticky from the constant stirring, so she wiped them off on her apron and turned to Magdalena with a smile. She beamed with a warmth that made Magdalena like her immediately.

“You must be Jakob’s eldest daughter, Magdalena,” she began cheerily. “What a great pleasure that you have made the long trip to our wedding. I especially wanted you to come so we could all get acquainted. I must admit that Bartl scolded and grumbled at first,” she added with a smile. “He wanted to celebrate just with me and save all the money, but finally the stubborn old guy gave in. I told him I wouldn’t tolerate any discord within my future family, and a wedding celebration like this was a good chance to bury any disagreements, even though I still don’t know exactly what happened between the two old grumps.”

She tipped her head to one side and looked closely at Magdalena. “Well, I must say that you don’t take after the Kuisls. I had not expected such a beautiful woman.”

Magdalena laughed. “Then just wait until you meet my younger sister, Barbara. When the young fellows here in Bamberg see her, their eyes will pop out. Fortunately she inherited neither the nose nor the build of our father.” She grinned. “Only his feisty temper.”

“Oh. . if she’s anything like your uncle, this will be an exciting week.” The chubby woman gave Magdalena a hearty kiss on both cheeks. “I’m Katharina, as you no doubt already know. Make yourself at home here. I hope I didn’t wake you up while I was airing out and cleaning up the rooms. It’s already after eight.” She flashed a big smile. “This house has been in need of a woman’s touch for some time-it urgently needs someone to get things in order.”

Magdalena sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me? Ever since my mother died, Father’s place is like a pigsty. Men should really not be alone for too long.” She looked around. “Where is Father, anyway?”

“He and Bartholomäus had to pay a visit early this morning to the town manager in city hall. It seems some poor woman was killed last night in a dark alleyway, and Bartholomäus and your father were witnesses. Georg is here, too,” she said, gesturing toward the living room. “But let’s not begin the day with such dark news. Drink this-it will get you moving again. It’s an old recipe of my grandmother’s, with crushed clove and a little pepper.” Katharina gave Magdalena a cup of steaming-hot mulled wine diluted with water. With an approving look, she pointed at little Peter sitting at the other end of the table, leafing through a book on anatomy. “Smart lad you’ve got there. Went straight to Bartl’s study, took out a big book, and has already told me some things about bloodletting and checking the urine.” She laughed. “Just like a little medicus. He must get that from his father.”