Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

“The shed belongs to Answin, the rag collector, who delivers his goods to the paper mill farther down the river,” Bartholomäus explained. “We’re good friends. The cart can stay there for a while,” he said with a grin. “The noble gentlemen aren’t so happy to see us and our filthy work, and only wish we could make ourselves invisible.” He cast a critical eye at Jakob. “You should wash off a bit in the river before we go to the city hall. It’s quite possible my future father-in-law will be there. As one of the assistant clerks, he sometimes helps out in the guardhouse. It won’t put our family in a very good light if he sees you like this.”

“That’s all I need-my little brother telling me when to take a bath,” Jakob growled, and he kept stomping forward. “Nobody asked me to give them a report, and if the gentlemen want to question me, then they’ll just have to smell me as well.”

Some worn steps led up to the bridge, which was crowded with people at this hour. Patricians with bulging purses rushed by on their way to the financial sector by the cathedral; two Benedictine monks walked slowly by in silent prayer on their way to their monastery on the Michelsberg; some children climbed around on the stone parapet. When the boys and girls saw the Bamberg executioner, they began whispering nervously to one another.

Paying no attention to the others around him, Jakob suddenly stopped and stared up at the huge structure before them. He couldn’t help but wonder what builder would ever have had the crazy idea to build something in the middle of the river. The Bamberg city hall stood on a tiny island and hung out over the river on all sides like an overgrown mushroom. The wide stone bridge connected it to both the north and south shores, and upstream there was an additional bridge. The Regnitz rushed past the point of the island, where a small building huddled up against the main structure. It looked almost as if the little building could break off at any moment and plunge into the river.

Bartholomäus did not seem to notice his brother’s amazement as he stood alongside him, pointing to the building.

“It stands right between the two parts of town,” the younger brother explained. “As Bamberg continued to grow, the citizens on this side of the river built the new city over there, and ever since then, they’ve been quarreling with the bishop.” He spat into the foul-smelling water below. “With the city hall, they’re telling the bishop he can kiss their ass. And they get bolder every year.”

He continued toward the building, and Jakob followed over a narrow path along the shore to the defiant little building clinging to the south side of the city hall, evidently the office of the city guards.

Bartholomäus turned to speak to his brother. “Captain Martin Lebrecht is not a bad fellow,” he said. “He often asks for my advice when his men have to extricate the corpse of a starved beggar, or some other poor creature, from the mud and garbage of the city moat.” He frowned. “But I can’t figure out why he wants to see us both at the same time. We told the guard everything last night.”

Two sleepy guards were leaning on their halberds in front of the guardhouse. When they saw Bartholomäus, their faces darkened.

“Isn’t it enough that they brought a bloody corpse to the guardhouse and sent us off on a wild-goose chase looking for the devil? Now the hangman is coming to pay us a visit,” said the older one, making the sign of the cross. “So much disaster has rained down on us since yesterday that I can’t even pray anymore.” There were dark rings under the watchman’s eyes; it looked as if he’d had a long, sleepless night.

“What devil?” Bartholomäus asked. “And who are you looking for?”

The guard waved him off. “None of your business, hangman. Get out of here.”

“It certainly is our business,” Bartholomäus replied curtly. “The captain sent for me and my brother. So just let us through before he gets impatient.”

“Your brother?” The second guard, a short, mousy, nervous-looking fellow, regarded Jakob, wide-eyed. “Do you mean we now have two hangmen in the city?”

“It looks like you need them,” Jakob jested, “with all the filth and vermin here.”

Without another word, the two brothers pushed their way past the guards and entered the chief’s office. An older, powerfully built officer was having a conversation with a gray-haired, potbellied man. They were standing next to a table, looking at a long bundle wrapped in a sheet. Next to it was a smaller bundle, also wrapped in a cloth. Jakob knew at once what was underneath the sheets; he was all too familiar with the odor in the air.

The stench of decay.

When the chief noticed the new arrivals, he raised his head, and a thin smile spread over his lips. Just like the guards outside, he looked pale and weary, and black stubble covered his angular face. Jakob assumed the man in front of him was Martin Lebrecht, the captain of the Bamberg city guards.

“Ah, Master Bartholomäus,” the captain exclaimed with relief. “Please excuse me for not having any time for you earlier, but there were. . well. . some things that had to be taken care of.” He hesitated briefly, then pointed with a sigh to the portly gentleman on his right, dressed in the simple garb of a clerk and nervously rubbing a roll of paper in front of him with calloused fingers. “I’m sure I don’t need to introduce you to Master Hieronymus Hauser.”

Bartholomäus nodded. “I’m glad to see you, esteemed Father-in-Law. Katharina, by the way, is well and rearranges the furniture in my house every day. Soon I won’t be able to find my way around in my own room.”

The fat man smiled. “You can forget about calling me father-in-law until after the wedding,” he replied, shaking his finger playfully at Bartholomäus. “And don’t tell me I never warned you about Katharina’s compulsion for cleaning.”

Jakob was amazed to see the degree of collegiality and respect the men showed for each other. Here, the hangman appeared to be one of the local authorities-unlike in Schongau, where he had to live outside the city walls and was avoided by everyone. But then Jakob suddenly thought about the whispering children over on the bridge.

It will always be so; some things never change.

“And I assume this is your brother?” asked Hieronymus Hauser, turning to Jakob with a smile and extending his ink-stained fingers. Jakob shook hands, embarrassed; now he regretted not having washed off in the river earlier. “Welcome to the family,” said the clerk. “We were surprised you came. It was just last week that I learned Bartholomäus even had a brother.”

“We Kuisls don’t talk very much,” Jakob explained hesitantly.

Hieronymus laughed. “Indeed! But my daughter compensates for that three times over. It was one of her fondest wishes to have all the members of the Kuisl clan sit down sometime at a table.” With a smile, he added, “Even though it means, or so I’ve heard, bringing together two obstinate executioners who are always quarreling with one another.”

Martin Lebrecht, who had been standing awkwardly next to them, interrupted: “May I ask you to put off the family affairs until later? We’re here to discuss a very important matter.” He looked intently at the two hangmen. “First, you must assure me that everything we discuss here today is confidential. We will keep minutes and then bury them in a mountain of documentation. Have I made myself clear?”

Bartholomäus and Jakob nodded, and the captain took a deep breath.

“Then take another look at the corpse you found, and tell me exactly what happened yesterday.”

He pulled the sheet away from the table. Hieronymus gasped softly while the two hangmen looked down with interest at the naked corpse. They had seen too many corpses and too much sorrow in their lives, but just the same, anger started welling up in Jakob.