Dancing in the Palm of His Hand

by Annamarie Beckel

  “Enough is enough,” said Chancellor Brandt. “We don’t wish to be cruel.”

  Herr Freude loosened the centre screw and lifted the iron bar. Fraulein Spatz stared blankly at her smashed thumbs. Blood dripped down her arms and spotted her shift. Lutz could not imagine the pain. If she was feigning, she was doing a damn good job. Tyrants, sanguinary judges, butchers, torturers who do not know mercy.

  Father Streng dipped the quill into the pot of black ink. “Now then, Fraulein Spatz, do you freely confirm the testimony – the answers, that is – that you gave while under torture?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Nothing...true. Midwife didn’t...kill baby.” She paused to breathe. “No Devil...no sabbath.”

  “Put her back in the screws,” hissed Chancellor Brandt.

  “Nein,” she screamed. “Nein. What I said before...true... all true.”

  “Should I put her back in?” asked the executioner.

  “Nein,” said Chancellor Brandt. “She has confirmed her confession freely, without torture. And we have enough new evidence to warrant additional torture if needed.”

  Confirmed her confession freely? Lutz examined his own thumbnails, smooth and undamaged. This was what they meant by confirming a confession freely? He felt his throat closing. He’d failed the girl, failed her completely. What, in God’s name, could he do?

  “Take her back to her cell, Herr Freude,” said Judge Steinbach. “And instruct the jailer’s wife to tend to her.”

  For a brief moment, Chancellor Brandt regarded Fraulein Spatz almost tenderly, then his face hardened. “Bring us the midwife then. That one is doubly damned, for she is the one who led this young girl to the Devil.”

  23

  Lucifer, Behemoth, Leviathan, Belial. They have given me many names. Satan, the fallen angel. Asmodeus, the evil spirit. Apollyon, angel of the bottomless pit. My favourite is Beelzebub. It rolls off the tongue with a clicking of teeth and a popping of lips.

  The little Jesuit writes that I, as Lucifer, the rebel who fell from grace, fucked (he purses his lips when he writes “fornicated with”) the girl with my huge cold cock. Why would I choose such a simple-minded and doughy-faced fool when I prefer cleverness and beauty?

  The priest is not beautiful, but he is clever. His eyes are bright, like polished silver coins, behind the glass disks that help him see the evils of the world more clearly. His logic, though ingenious, confounds me, so much so that I had to chuckle aloud when he claimed that I killed the old woman. Even if I could, why would I kill an old beggar who’s already lost her wits? What secrets of mine could she possess? The Jesuit, for all his cleverness, does not understand that I have no secrets not already known to the hearts of men. Already known to his own heart.

  They give me their secret desires and call them mine.

  I peer over his shoulder as he writes. He feels my cold breath on the back of his neck and pulls his black robe closer. He’s recording the midwife’s answers now, a monotonous nein, nein, nein. His eyelid twitches. She’s not easy, not weak like the girl. Already her thumbs have been smashed to a useless pulp, splattering blood all over the floor. It seeps into the stone, a memory, never to be washed away. Now her arms are bound behind her back. She dangles from the pulley, kicking in air that reeks of blood, sweat, and shit. She screams, hisses, spits, and pisses herself. The men sweat. Their shirts are damp, but their throats are as dry as Ezekiel’s bones. They have not yet found the way to make her tell them what they desire to hear. They cannot even make her weep.

  If I could choose my followers, she’s the one I’d select.

  The executioner lets go of the wooden wheel, then jerks it to a halt. The midwife’s shoulders snap. Her legs dance a grisly jig.

  The fat one leans to the side and vomits.

  24

  24 April 1626

  Now there was the stink of vomit, right at their feet, to add to all the other abominable odours. Hampelmann felt his own stomach begin to rise. He brought his pomander to his nose and inhaled lavender and hellebore.

  Freude lowered Frau Lamm to the floor. Father Streng stood over her. “When did you first meet with the Devil?” he said.

  “Nein.” A barely audible whisper.

  The priest knelt down beside her. He spoke softly, almost wheedling in his young boy’s voice. “Surely, Frau Lamm, you know that if you were to confess, and to show contrition, your life could be spared.”

  Hampelmann twisted his gold ring. He knew that Father Streng was only following procedures recommended in Der Hexenhammer, but misleading the accused made him uneasy. Hampelmann had studied the Dominicans’ recommendations, and they seemed to him duplicitous at times. Some hold that if the accused is of a notoriously bad reputation and gravely suspected on unequivocal evidence of the crime, and if she is herself a great source of danger, as being the mistress of other witches, then she may be promised her life on the following conditions: that she be sentenced to imprisonment for life on bread and water, provided that she supply evidence which will lead to the conviction of other witches. And she is not to be told, when she is promised her life, that she is to be imprisoned in this way, but should be led to suppose that some other penance, such as exile, will be imposed on her as punishment...Others think that, after she has been consigned to prison in this way, the promise to spare her life should be kept for a time, but that after a certain period she should be burned. A third opinion is that the judge may safely promise the accused her life, but in such a way that he should afterwards disclaim the duty of passing sentence on her, deputing another judge in his place.

  The midwife’s body convulsed. She was weeping. Or laughing. “Bastard,” she spat. Father Streng recoiled, and in that moment, Hampelmann glimpsed a dark shadow flit across the wall behind Frau Lamm. He caught his breath. The Devil was here, helping her. Hampelmann crossed himself, then touched the ball of wax at his throat.

  “Pull her up again,” said Chancellor Brandt. “And this time, add the weights.”

  “Just a moment,” said Lindner. The physician walked around the table to examine Frau Lamm. He directed Freude to hold up her head.

  “I recommend that we end the torture for today,” said Lindner. “We’re getting nothing from her, and if Herr Freude does much more, she may be damaged so badly we’ll never get anything.”

  “I agree,” said Freude. “Don’t want to lose another one to the Devil.”

  Hampelmann turned to the chancellor and nodded. The Devil was keeping the woman’s resolve far too strong and protecting her from pain. After a few days of sitting and contemplating the torture yet to come, she would weaken, especially after the Devil abandoned her. He had no loyalty to his followers. Hampelmann wondered if he should suggest to Chancellor Brandt that he bring in the Prince-Bishop’s reliquary. Surely a thorn from the crown would force the Devil to flee.

  “All right,” said Chancellor Brandt. “We can continue the torture on Monday.”

  Lutz raised a hand, pulled it back, then raised it again.

  “According to the Carolina Code,” he said tentatively, “torture cannot be repeated unless there is new evidence. Frau Lamm has confessed to nothing. There is no new evidence.”

  “Apparently, Herr Lutz, you did not hear me correctly,” said Chancellor Brandt. “I did not say we would repeat the torture on Monday. I said we would continue it. Continuation of torture is permitted under the Carolina Code.” He brought his gold pomander to his nose and breathed deeply of the costly spices it contained: clove and cinnamon. “Herr Freude, take Frau Lamm back to her cell and instruct the jailer’s wife to tend to her. But tell her to clean up the mess in this chamber first. The stench is unbearable.” He turned to Judge Steinbach. “I suggest we take an early dinner, then return to question Frau Rosen.”

  “Dinner?” said Lutz, as if he’d never heard the word before. Hampelmann looked at him closely. As always, his collar was rumpled and his starched cuffs smudged, but his doublet no longer strained to cover his belly. His pl
ump face had thinned, and his skin was sallow. His white hair and beard were shaggier than ever. Had he even combed them this morning?

  “Two hours, gentlemen,” said Judge Steinbach. “Then return here promptly.”

  As the men pulled on their hats and filed out of the chamber, Hampelmann considered foregoing dinner and returning to the Lusam Garden. He’d been there early that morning, praying for forgiveness for the sin of Onan. He hadn’t intended to sin, but when he awakened that morning, the mess was already there. He’d spilled his seed uselessly. While he was praying, he heard a loud flapping of wings. He looked up, expecting to see a wood-pigeon, but saw instead a dark shadow on the stone wall, a shadow as tall as a man. The jagged outline of wings showed over both shoulders. Trembling, Hampelmann bowed his head and waited for the angel to speak, but he heard only the warbling of blackbirds. When he looked up again, the shadow was gone. Hampelmann had waited for as long as he could, praying for the angel to return, but it did not, and by the time he’d left the garden, he was apprehensive, unsure what he’d seen.

  Why would God send an angel who would not speak and deliver his message? Or had he been visited by a demon, come to tempt him in the guise of an angel? Tempt him to what?

  Stepping out of the Prisoners’ Tower and into the warm sunlight, Hampelmann made his decision. He would go to the garden to meditate and to wait. He would be patient and give God’s messenger every opportunity to visit him again and to speak. He had nothing to fear from the Devil and his demons. He knew their tricks far too well.

  Hampelmann could see the curve of breast through the thin linen shift. He forced himself to look away. Filthy and disgusting as she was, Eva was still seductive. Even her shaved skull was somehow attractive. Only a witch could manage that.

  Father Streng stood before her with the crucifix. “By the belief that you have in God and in the expectation of paradise, and being aware of the peril of your soul’s eternal damnation, do you swear that the testimony you are about to give is true, such that you are willing to exchange heaven for hell should you tell a lie?”

  “I swear, by all that is holy, to tell the truth.”

  “Frau Rosen,” said Judge Steinbach, reading from Father Streng’s ledger, “during the previous questioning, you denied having any knowledge of Fraulein Stolzberger, Frau Imhof, and Frau Basser, even though all three confirmed they’d seen you at the sabbath.” He paused until the priest had sat down and picked up his quill.

  “You denied making Herr Kaiser ill,” the judge continued in his thin reedy voice, “denied responsibility for Herr Rosen’s inexplicable and untimely death. You also denied collecting suspicious objects like rocks and feathers to use in rituals.” He looked up, the white plume on his hat bobbing. “Do you wish to reconsider any of these denials?”

  “Nein.”

  “Are you quite certain?” said Chancellor Brandt.

  Eva nodded.

  His mouth twisted to one side, Chancellor Brandt drummed his fingers on the table. Father Streng held the open ledger in front of the judge and the chancellor. “There’s that. And that. As well as that,” said the priest, pointing at the pages and jabbing at one section, then another.

  Chancellor Brandt conferred with Judge Steinbach, who then picked up the gavel, tapped it once, and read from Father Streng’s ledger. “We, the members of the Commission of Inquisition for the Würzburg Court, having considered the details of the inquiry enacted by us against you, Frau Rosen, find that you have been taciturn in withholding information from us. Nevertheless, there is enough evidence to warrant examining you under torture to get that information.”

  Lutz leapt up, colour rising into his sallow cheeks. “I object. Frau Rosen cannot be tortured. We have established no grounds.” He walked around the table to stand in front of the other commissioners. “The Carolina Code states that no person may be examined under torture unless sufficient evidence has first been found of the criminal act being investigated. I ask you, what evidence do we have that Frau Rosen has committed a criminal act?”

  “Herr Kaiser’s illness and her husband’s death,” said the judge. “That’s evidence.”

  “But no one has established that Frau Rosen is responsible,” said Lutz, pounding a fist into his palm.

  “We have certainly established a reasonable suspicion,” said Father Streng.

  “Suspicion is not the same as evidence,” Lutz insisted. “And the evidence can be explained a dozen other ways than by concluding that Frau Rosen is a witch. It is a travesty of the law to engage in torture on the basis of circumstantial evidence.”

  Chancellor Brandt ran his tongue over his teeth. “You are new to the commission, Herr Lutz. Does it not strike you as...premature to instruct us in what is and is not a travesty of the law?”

  Lutz threw up his hands. “But Frau Rosen doesn’t even have a Devil’s mark.”

  “Precisely,” said Freude. “The Devil had no need to mark her. She’s belonged to him since birth.”

  “I concur,” said Hampelmann, trying not to look at Eva’s desperate face. “Her own parents named this woman Eva, Eve. That alone should tell us something about her true nature.”

  “The nuns at Unterzell chose Frau Rosen to work in their convent,” said Lutz. “They kept her, educated her. That should tell us about her true nature. Quite obviously they did not believe she was a witch.”

  Hampelmann picked up one of Father Streng’s quills, dipped it into the ink, and made a note in his ledger. That was something to watch, he thought. Some of the nuns at Unterzell might be complicit in the Devil’s work.

  “And, no doubt, the nuns loved her like a daughter,” Lutz added.

  Lindner ran a hand over his bald pate. “I have to agree with Herr Lutz in this particular case. The evidence is circumstantial.”

  Hampelmann held out his ledger. “The reports to the Malefizamt are alarming. There is Herr Kaiser’s illness as well as men who claim to have become ill after eating bread from the Rosen bakery.”

  “Probably other bakers,” muttered Lutz, “who want to put the Rosen Bakery out of business.”

  “And there are the accusations made by Fraulein Stolzberger, Frau Imhof, and Frau Basser?” Hampelmann said pointedly. “All three saw Frau Rosen at the sabbath.”

  “But we’ve dismissed denunciations before,” said Lindner, “when it’s obvious they were made with malicious intent.”

  Lutz squared his shoulders. “And I think we all know how those accusations were secured.”

  “Are you implying,” said Hampelmann, “that there is a problem in the commission’s procedures?”

  Lutz stood silent.

  Eva’s lips moved, in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti.

  Chancellor Brandt folded his hands and placed them on the table. “It seems we have a dilemma, gentlemen. There is serious disagreement about the veracity of the evidence in this case. We will have to question the girl.”

  “Not my daughter,” Eva wailed.

  “But the accusations,” said Hampelmann. “They’re solid evidence.”

  The chancellor shook his head. “Accusations alone do not justify torture.”

  “But calling children as witnesses is not permitted,” said Lutz, “particularly when they must testify against their own parents.”

  Father Streng put a finger to his twitching eyelid. “As you’ve already been reminded, Herr Lutz, a number of times already, witchcraft is a crimen exceptum. We need not adhere to strict legal procedures. And in a crime so secret as witchcraft, sometimes the only witnesses are a woman’s own children. We have no choice.”

  Chancellor Brandt placed an open palm over the gold medallion on his chest. “I understand your concern for the child, Herr Lutz, but these rules are not of our own making, but the rules of civil and ecclesiastical law. Father Streng is right. Frau Rosen has left us no choice. We must question the child.”

  “Nein,” Eva moaned.

  Wet, her green eyes were even more alluring. Hampe
lmann averted his gaze to the floor. If Eva were any kind of mother, she would speak the truth now to protect her daughter. If she chose not to, it was just more evidence against her. “Do you wish now to tell us the truth?” he said.

  “I have told the truth.”

  “Take her away,” said Judge Steinbach, “and bring us the girl.” Freude grabbed Eva’s bound hands and yanked her toward the door. “But I must be here,” she protested, “with my daughter. She’ll be terrified.”

  “Not permitted,” said Father Streng. “Your mere presence will keep her from revealing anything.”

  Freude pulled Eva from the chamber. Lutz returned to his place at the table and bent over his ledger, thumbing through the pages. Chancellor Brandt leaned toward him. “For your own good, Herr Lutz, I urge you to temper your zealous defence. Do not forget the words of Martin Delrio: It is an indicium of witchcraft to defend witches.”

  Lutz closed the ledger with a loud snap, making Judge Steinbach jump. “I am not defending witches, sir. I believe Frau Rosen to be innocent.”

  “If she is truly innocent,” said Father Streng, “she needs no defence from you. God himself will give us a sign.”

  “Be careful,” Hampelmann said to Lutz. “Don’t let the woman bewitch you with her beauty, nor allow yourself to be seduced into risking your own life to defend hers.”

  “But all of you know that I am only carrying out the responsibilities assigned to me.”

  Chancellor Brandt sniffed. “Carrying them out a bit too zealously, I would say.”

  Freude returned with the girl. She crept backwards into the chamber, her whole body shaking.

  “Unbind her wrists and turn her around,” Hampelmann snapped. “She is not one of the accused. And why has she been shaved, Herr Freude?”

  “Thought I’d save myself the trouble of doing it later.”