Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

She was about to hurry on when Markus put his hand on her shoulder.

“Magdalena, believe me,” he pleaded, “I am very sorry about what happened to Matheo. And your assumption is correct. The trunks were in the room next door, and the guards could easily have put the pelts into Matheo’s chest.”

“If they were in the next room, anyone could have done it,” Magdalena mused. Then she stopped short. “Just a minute. Sir Malcolm spoke about this other troupe of actors. I wonder if one of them could have planted the pelts in Matheo’s chest in order to do away with a troublesome competitor?”

Markus Salter nodded hesitantly. “You’re right, I didn’t even think of that. Sir Malcolm and Guiscard Brolet had a nasty fight yesterday, and Matheo was also involved in it. This French tramp and plagiarist certainly wouldn’t stop at treachery in order to get us out of the way.” His face darkened “I’ll go and talk with Sir Malcolm about that right away-though I doubt he’ll go to the prince-bishop to plead Matheo’s case. What proof does he have that Guiscard is the culprit?”

Magdalena sighed. “You’re right, that will be difficult.” Suddenly an idea came to her. “Oh, and by the way, did they find your dear little pet, the ferret, in their search?”

“Juliet?” Markus smiled. “Fortunately not. The guards were so happy to find the wolf pelt that they got a bit careless after that.” He looked darkly at Magdalena. “But you won’t go to Sir Malcolm or the city guards-”

“Believe me, Master Salter,” Magdalena interrupted, “at the moment I have much more important things to do than worry about a pet ferret. And now, please excuse me, I’m looking for my sister.”

She found Barbara sitting on a bed in the little room occupied by the custodian, right next to the tavern, leafing through a dog-eared copy of Shakespeare’s works translated into German. It seemed almost as if Barbara had been expecting her sister. She closed the book and looked at her with sad, red eyes swollen from crying.

“This Shakespeare really knows how to make someone cry,” Barbara said softly. “This play is about Romeo and Juliet, who come from two quarreling families, the Capulets and the Montagues. The lovers die at the end, because they can’t marry. Perhaps that’s the way it has to be with a great love.”

Magdalena sat down beside her sister and hugged her. She could imagine how Barbara felt. No doubt this Matheo was her first real love, and now he was locked in a dungeon and could expect a slow, painful death. Magdalena doubted this was a good time for her to become involved in a book of tragic love stories.

“I spoke with Father,” she said. “He promised he’d do everything he could to gain Matheo’s freedom.” That wasn’t quite the truth, but she was certain God would excuse this little white lie.

Barbara shrugged defiantly. “Hah! What can he do? He’s not even from around here. The only ones who can torture people here are my uncle and Georg.”

“You know what Father can do. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s helped an innocent person obtain justice. And Georg, too, is going to talk to Uncle Bartholomäus.”

Barbara looked at Magdalena hopefully. “Then. . then you also think Matheo is innocent?”

“Of course. We all think so. The family will not abandon you.”

Magdalena was embracing her sister again when suddenly the door opened, and in the doorway the scarred face of Jeremias appeared. Magdalena flinched at the sight of the terrible scars. At the old man’s feet, his crippled dog danced around and then hobbled toward Barbara to lick her hand.

“Ah, I see the two ladies have already found each other,” Jeremias said with a smile, his mouth twisting into a horrific grimace. Then he turned to Magdalena. “I found your sister in the yard, crying, and offered her my room as a temporary refuge. I hope that’s all right.” He pointed to some vials standing on a shelf in his tiny, cramped room. “I gave her a little Saint John’s wort and valerian, to calm the nerves.”

“Do you know anything about medicine?” Magdalena inquired curiously.

Jeremias rocked his head from side to side. “Well. . a little. One learns all sorts of things in a long life.” He made a mournful face. “In any case, it’s a sad story your sister told me. The poor lad.”

Barbara started to cry again, and Jeremias stroked her hair sympathetically. “Well, it’s not the end of the world-there’s still time to do something. There’s a regular, prescribed procedure in a trial. First, there’s the accusation. Then, the hangman shows the accused the instruments of torture, probably several times. That’s the first stage, and then-”

“Thank you,” Magdalena interrupted, fearing that Jeremias was about to explain all the details to her sister. “We know all about the different stages of torture-after all, we come from a hangman’s family.”

“Oh, excuse me, I forgot.” For a moment it appeared that Jeremias was about to say something else, but then he just gave a kindly smile. “Well, then there’s nothing I have to tell you. I just wanted to say there are still some things that can be done. You mustn’t give up hope-ever.” He sighed. “Though this accusation is especially serious. The whole city is already swept up in this madness. A werewolf?” He shook his head. “As if Bamberg hasn’t already had enough bloody trials.”

“You mean the witch trials held here forty years ago,” Magdalena replied. “Were you in Bamberg at the time?”

Jeremias nodded grimly. “I was a young man then, and I saw things. .” He paused, as if trying to shake off some terrible memory, and then continued. “It always begins with just one incident, but then it’s like an avalanche, more and more cases, and finally half the city is condemned. That’s the reason they had the accursed Inquisition House built, with its dungeons, torture chambers, courtrooms, and a chapel for the last confession. Above the entryway was the statue of Justitia, as if there was ever any justice in that dreadful place. It was always a question of power.” He shrugged. “A wave of prosecutions is just what the powers wanted in order to dispose of their enemies.”

“What do you mean by that?” Magdalena asked, frowning.

“Well, back then it didn’t only affect the poor and the dregs of society-there were many decent patricians among them, even a chancellor and some mayors with their wives and children. Entire families of city councilmen were wiped out. Looking back now, it’s clear that it was mostly a redistribution of power.” Jeremias walked over to the birdcage in the middle of the room and tossed a few crumbs to the sparrows. “When positions became free, others could move up, do you see? The dead person can no longer be a troublesome competitor.” He brushed the remaining crumbs from his scarred hands.

“Do you think something like that could happen again?” Barbara gasped. “Then Matheo would be just the first pawn in the game, with many other higher-placed people to follow.”

Jeremias shook his smooth, oval head. “I didn’t say that. But in any case, two venerable councilmen-Herrs Schwarzkontz and Vasold-have already disappeared. Who knows, perhaps soon a patrician will be suspected of being a wolfish magician and tearing his own colleague to bits. Some people would be very happy if that happened.”

“You forget that this time, a lot of very strange things have happened,” Magdalena replied. “Corpses with severed body parts have been found, and many people have also seen this beast. It’s different this time. There is something or someone prowling around out there-so there’s every reason for people to start looking for a perpetrator.”

“You’re right, I’m just talking nonsense.” Jeremias bent over to pet Biff. “Anyway, we ought to be thinking about your sister instead of those dark, forgotten times.”