Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

Harsee couldn’t help thinking of events forty years before, when there had been a short period of sincere faith in Bamberg, and the church had regained its former strength in the struggle against witchcraft. Almost a thousand people had been put to the stake in Bamberg, and though even Harsee hadn’t believed they were all witches and magicians, the strict regiment had led the citizens back into the flock of the prince-bishop, and for that, no sacrifice was too great. Harsee smiled and pressed his cheek against the cool stone floor.

The Lord will know His own. .

Back then, at the time of the trials, he himself had still been a young theology student, but with the help of his father-the venerable councilor and zealous Catholic Georg Harsee-and a few loyal supporters, it had been possible to liquidate the enemies and turn Bamberg into a New Jerusalem. The power of the ambitious patricians had seemed broken, and the prince-bishop had regained the upper hand. With the House of the Inquisition and the special Witches Council they had created a perfect purgatorium , a court that was able to separate the true from the false, purify souls, and condemn useless bodies to the flames.

But then came the war, and with it the heretical Swedes who put an end to the promising experiment. The prince-bishop had fled into exile in Austria, and gradually the patricians regained the upper hand in Bamberg. The present bishop, Prince Philipp von Rieneck, was weak and interested more in palaces, formal gardens, and his exotic animals than in preserving the faith.

But now God had presented him, Suffragan Bishop Sebastian Harsee, one of His most loyal servants, a new instrument that would drive His wayward flock back onto the true path.

A werewolf.

Briefly, Harsee shifted around again to scratch a sore on the right side of his neck. Something had bitten him there a few days ago, probably while he was sleeping. The wound was small, but it was weeping, and the itching was damned unpleasant. For some time he’d been considering consulting Master Samuel, but after the bishop’s personal physician had attacked him in the council meeting, he no longer thought that was appropriate. No doubt the itching would just go away eventually. The suffragan bishop closed his eyes and concentrated again on what was important.

When the first reports had come in of people missing, Sebastian Harsee hadn’t thought much of it-a case for the civil authorities, nothing more. But suddenly there was talk of a hairy beast, new rumors surfaced, and that set the ball rolling. Harsee didn’t have to do anything but steer it in the right direction.

The disappearance of Thadäus Vasold, a good friend of Harsee’s family, had disturbed him, however. Back in the old days, Vasold and Harsee’s own father had joined in fighting the enemies of the church. The disappeared council member had been one of their own, much more than fat old Klaus Schwarzkontz, who had also been a colleague of his father. In recent years, Schwarzkontz had indulged much more in worldly matters, and his death struck Harsee as a just punishment. Vasold’s cruel abduction and probable murder, on the other hand, frightened Harsee. Evil was close at hand, and he thought he could even smell the werewolf’s foul breath.

Harsee pressed himself even harder against the stone floor, as if trying to be joined together as one with the cathedral, subsumed into the body of the church. He began to feel dizzy, as he so often did lately, as if a slight fever was spreading over his body. He couldn’t get sick now-not now, when he was so close to his goal.

He remembered with relief how quickly he’d been able to track down the beast that morning. The first troupe of actors had attracted attention through their demonic presentations in the wedding house, and he’d personally given the order to raid their quarters and search for evidence first thing the next morning. And indeed, stored in a trunk they’d found a few wolf pelts sewn together, making a cloak that the impersonator could slip into at night to look like a beast. What more was needed? Even the leader of that troupe of charlatans and vagabonds had been horrified. But Harsee was sure it would not be the last case; he would see to that. Forty years ago, it had also started with one witch, and by the time it was over there were hundreds.

The Bamberg suffragan bishop kissed the dusty stone floor, then he stood up, thanked the Lord God, and climbed the stairs up from the crypt to the cathedral, each step an agony for him. Cold sweat ran down his back, and the accursed little wound on his neck began to itch again.

He must have caught some kind of fever. He sent a brief prayer to heaven, asking God to protect him from sickness in the coming weeks.

It was high time for him to find the next werewolf.

Brooding darkly, Jakob Kuisl sat in the devotional corner of the hangman’s house, cracking his knuckles. He had the strength of a bear and a sharp mind, but seldom had he felt as helpless as when his youngest daughter ran away.

First Georg, and now Barbara as well. What would my beloved Anna have said to all of this? Oh, Anna, how I miss you.

Furious, he pounded the table with his hand, and the other members of the family, who had been sitting quietly beside him, cringed.

“What in hell is wrong with that girl?” Kuisl ranted to let off steam. “Gets involved with a traveling actor and threatens me as well. I’ll drag her back to Schongau by the hair.”

“Oh, and then? Are you going to tie her down there by her hair?” Magdalena asked. “You know Barbara. I’d bet my life she’ll run away from you again if you don’t help her now. She’s crazy about the fellow, and neither words nor force will do any good.”

“She’ll come to her senses again, don’t you think?” Georg asked hesitantly.

Magdalena shook her head. “You menfolk don’t understand anything about that. If you let Barbara down now, we’ll lose her forever. I’m as sure of that as the fact that I’m sitting here now.”

Kuisl laughed dryly. “So what do you think I should do? Go to the dungeon, tell the guards that Matheo is innocent, and simply bring him back with me? Or just knock them around a few times?”

“You can at least have a talk with your brother,” Simon interjected. “There are ways of delaying the torture, drawing it out, and you know that better than I do. Think of Stechlin back then.”

The hangman was silent; he just sat there grinding his teeth. Almost ten years ago he had saved the Schongau midwife, Martha Stechlin, from the worst torture by using ruses and subterfuge to put off the torture again and again. But that had been in his hometown, where he knew the councilors and was able to better weigh the possibilities. Here, though, his brother was the hangman. What would Bartholomäus say if Jakob proposed he do the same?

He certainly would hold it against me.

“I know that Uncle Bartholomäus doesn’t like to torture,” Georg finally said after thinking it over, as if reading his father’s mind. “He finds torturing horrible, just like the long executions. I’m sure if he could, he’d just stay in the Bamberg Forest caring for his dogs and the bishop’s menagerie. If we can convince him that this Matheo is really innocent-”

“He is innocent,” Jakob interrupted. “There’s no question about it. These actors have not been in town more than a few days, but the first of the missing persons was discovered more than a month ago. And there’s a connection between all these cases, even if I don’t know yet what it is. It can’t be the actors-it must be someone who’s been in or around the city for some time.”

Simon frowned. “You’re right, but no matter how logical that is-”