Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

“I’m not going back, if that’s what you mean,” Barbara said, crossing her arms defiantly in front of her chest. “Not until Father really tries to get Matheo released.” She glared at Magdalena. “And if you squeal on me and tell Father where I am, then. . then I’m leaving with Sir Malcolm and the other actors, going far, far away, and never coming back. Because I’ve got-”

“Talent, I know,” Magdalena sighed, finishing the sentence. “For something or other.” She stood up and stroked her little sister’s hair again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just tell Father you are well, and if I know him, he already has a plan to help you.” She looked sternly at Barbara. “But do me a favor, will you? Don’t read so much of this sentimental nonsense. It’s not good for you. You are Barbara Kuisl and not a princess or noble lady. Do you hear me?”

As the morning fog began to rise over the Bamberg Forest, a solitary person could be seen trudging determinedly down the muddy road. The few people coming toward him looked down and passed without greeting. The man didn’t look like anyone who would return a greeting, in any case: his whole being exuded something threatening and unapproachable.

Jakob Kuisl was angrier than he’d been in a long time. To make matters worse, he’d forgotten his tobacco in the Bamberg hangman’s house. He was actually supposed to be helping his brother clean the city moats, and that would have been his chance to tell Bartholomäus about the lad that he and Georg would soon be torturing. But the fast-moving events required intensive thought, and that was something he could best do in the forest-if necessary, even without tobacco.

The Schongau hangman was torn in two directions. He no longer had much interest in hunting down scoundrels and solving crimes, especially in a city that was no concern of his. Besides, he’d become too old for such adventures. In his recent fight with the Bamberg street mob he’d been able to hear his own bones creaking. He wished he could just leave town immediately, along with his whole family, and return to Schongau. But now his beloved Barbara, his youngest child, had run away, and Jakob knew that the little one was just as stubborn as the rest of the family, and she’d carry through on her threat. Barbara wouldn’t return to him until he’d helped this rascal Matheo. But how, for God’s sake, could he do that? Who or what was this monster lurking around Bamberg?

Jakob was certain that something was out there. There were missing people, severed body parts; people had seen a furry monster in the streets; and he himself had come upon the horribly disfigured corpse of the young prostitute whose attacker had evidently tried to rip out her heart. The strange musky odor emanating from the corpse allowed only one conclusion: the girl had, in fact, been attacked by a wild animal.

Was that possible?

And then there was that man he’d seen the day before, in front of the furrier’s house, who had presumably bought five wolf pelts there. Was it conceivable that the stranger had dressed up in these wolf skins to spread panic in the city? Or was the secret hidden somewhere here in the Bamberg Forest, where Jakob had actually seen a strange, large beast two days ago? But above all, could the limping stranger have been his brother? Afterward, Magdalena had also said that she thought she’d seen the man somewhere before.

To find an answer to this last question, the Schongau hangman had set out into the forest after breakfast to pay another visit to the knacker’s house.

A thin column of smoke rising above the trees showed him the way, and after a good hour he finally reached the fenced clearing. A cool breeze was blowing, and Jakob was glad Katharina had given him one of Bartl’s old coats the night before, after he’d lost his own in the waters of the Regnitz.

Just as before, a fire was burning in front of the huge log house and Aloysius was apparently boiling the bones of some carcass. The wind turned suddenly, and Jakob held his nose in disgust. To the right of the log house was the dog compound. The dogs had scented the new arrival much earlier and now broke out into loud barking, jumping up against the fence.

“Good day, Aloysius,” Jakob called out amid the racket. “What you’re stirring there stinks all the way to Bamberg.”

The hangman’s journeyman looked at him suspiciously, then set down the stirring pole and wiped his hands on his apron.

“The master’s not here,” he grumbled without responding to Jakob’s remark. “He’s over in the city cleaning out the moats.”

The hangman saw the innumerable pockmarks on the man’s face, only partly concealed under his stubbly beard, and couldn’t help remembering how, just a few days ago, Bartholomäus had suggested his servant as a possible husband for Barbara.

Well, perhaps a better choice than some vagrant actor.

“I know Bartl isn’t here,” Jakob replied. “I’m just looking for some sweet cicely that Katharina needs to make cakes for the wedding. Do you have any idea where I can find it?”

“Recently, it’s been dangerous to go out there alone to search for herbs,” Aloysius said. “Lots of wolves out there.” He turned his head to one side and pointed to a few stiff carcasses lying nearby on some pine branches. “I caught these right around here with a few wolf traps. You’ve got to be really careful. .” His words hung in the air like a vague threat.

He’s not as dumb as he looks, thought Jakob.

With a shrug, the hangman walked over to the dog compound, where the bloodhounds and mastiffs had calmed down a bit. They ran nervously back and forth behind the fence, and some whined while others growled at the visitor.

“Nice dogs you have,” Jakob said with admiration. “Well fed and cared for-and smart. I bet they can be easily trained. They belong to the bishop, I’ve heard. Does he ever take them out hunting?”

Aloysius nodded silently.

“It’s really a shame. They ought to be taken out more often,” the hangman continued after a while, then he cast a conspiratorial glance at Aloysius. “It’s a big forest here. One could easily take them out hunting without the sovereign getting wind of it. Bears. . wolves. . deer. . Come now, tell me-don’t you and Bartholomäus itch to take them out sometimes?” He paused for a moment. “Or perhaps. . someone else?”

“Only the lords are permitted to go hunting,” Aloysius answered stiffly, as if reciting the words from memory. “Poachers are hanged. As an executioner you really should know that.”

Jakob nodded. “Of course, of course.”

He walked along the fence, examining the mastiffs that, with their black, shining pelts and red chops, looked like the hounds of hell.

“Besides, all the dogs are branded with the bishop’s seal,” the servant continued, his voice now sounding a bit nervous. He walked over to Jakob and pointed to one of the young hounds lying near the gate, panting. When it saw Aloysius, it came over to him, whimpering happily, and licked his hand. The seal of the Bamberg prince-bishop was indeed branded on its right side near the foreleg: a lion and a diagonal line.

“Each of the dogs is branded like that soon after birth,” Aloysius explained. “The bishop’s master of the hunt carefully records all the new births. They’re an expensive breed, and he can’t miss a single one.”

“Are you trying to say it’s impossible to steal these dogs?” Jakob inquired.

The servant grinned. “Precisely. It can’t be done. When a nobleman loses one of his charges in the hunt to a bear or a boar, we hear about it and take charge of replacing it. There are strict procedures for all that.”

“Well, too bad,” Jakob said, shrugging. “I thought I might be allowed to take out a few dogs-”