“They cannot arrest you, a Jesuit.” Even as he said the words, Lutz knew them to be untrue. Hampelmann could, and he would, if he could find a way. Yet Lutz couldn’t bear just to sit there and listen to his friend speak calmly of being arrested for witchcraft. Father Herzeim had to know the commissioners would treat him – a man of God who’d betrayed the true faith and turned to the Devil – even more brutally than they did the midwife.
Could it be that his friend was truly guilty of turning from God, of being in league with the Devil? He was, after all, claiming that even the midwife was innocent. Lutz shook his head, vigorously, to erase these suspicions from his mind. Father Herzeim defended the innocent. He might err now and again in going too far in that zealous defence, but he was not in league with the Devil. He couldn’t be.
The priest placed his elbows on the desk and brought the fingertips of both hands together. “If I cannot persuade the other professors to recommend release, we must teach Katharina how to feign possession.”
“What?” Lutz started as if he’d just been awakened from a deep sleep.
“Possession is always caused by someone else: the Devil or a witch. So the blame cannot fall on Katharina. She can be exorcised, but not tortured.”
“But the blame will almost certainly fall on Frau Rosen.” Father Herzeim pressed his fingers to his lips, as if to stop the flow of his own words. “I know that,” he said. “But Katharina will be spared. Frau Rosen is a mother. It is what she herself would wish.”
34
29 April 1626
Hampelmann twisted the gold ring around his finger. What to do about the midwife? Her testimony could not be allowed to stand. Though Father Streng had assured him he hadn’t recorded Helena’s name in his ledger, Hampelmann knew he couldn’t rest until Frau Lamm had retracted her false accusation. He rubbed his eyes, which felt raw and burning, and tried to bring his attention back to the hearing.
“The documents relating to Frau Rosen and her daughter were sent by courier to the university late yesterday,” said Father Streng. “Has Frau Rosen been informed?”
“She has,” said Lutz, “and she’s waiting anxiously for a decision.” The dark half moons under his eyes stood in stark contrast to his pallid cheeks.
“You can tell her that the professors agreed to act quickly,” said the priest. “They will then send the documents – and their recommendations – to the Prince-Bishop. We may have their recommendations, as well His Grace’s decision, as early as tomorrow afternoon. Friday morning at the latest.”
Chancellor Brandt flicked the chain on the judge’s gold watch, then carefully pulled it straight again. “How shall we proceed with Frau Lamm, gentlemen?”
“I examined her more thoroughly yesterday afternoon,” said Lindner, crossing his arms over his thick chest. Red blood vessels webbed the physician’s eyes and his bulbous nose glowed.
Drinking heavily last night, thought Hampelmann. This wretched business was wearing on all of them. Except Freude and Father Streng, who looked rosy-cheeked and rested. Everyone else looked sallow and unwell, especially Lutz, who appeared to have aged at least ten years. Hampelmann brought his pomander to his nose and inhaled lavender and hellebore. Headaches, constant headaches. He couldn’t remember how it felt not to have a headache.
“I doubt the woman can withstand more torture,” continued Lindner. “She’s lost a lot of blood, and some of her wounds are beginning to fester. She cannot eat. She can barely swallow water.”
“But she must be made to retract her false accusations,” Hampelmann insisted.
“Herr Hampelmann,” said Father Streng, “I assure you – once again – your wife’s name was not recorded. I knew full well that accusation was false. And malicious.” He smoothed the quill between a thumb and forefinger. “But we need to proceed carefully. If Frau Rosen is released and Frau Lamm dies, there will be no one left to go to the stake. The commission will have nothing to show for all of its hard work.”
“But we must have more names,” said Hampelmann, “true names. Surely the midwife can name many more accomplices. We must get those names.”
Freude combed his fingers through his greasy beard, trapping a louse. “I agree with Father Streng. At this point, it’s more important to have a public execution than to obtain more names. And that one’ll give us nothing more unless I put her in the Spanish boots.”
Judge Steinbach cringed. Hampelmann, too, found the leg vises revolting. The grinding crunch of bone and the oozing of pink marrow nearly always made his stomach heave. Still, he wanted to force the midwife to retract what she’d said about Helena. He’d even be willing to endure watching the boots for that.
Linder shook his head. “She’ll never survive the boots.”
“Then just threaten her with them,” said Hampelmann.
Freude snorted. “When has Frau Lamm given us anything just by being threatened?”
“Then bring in Frau Rosen again,” said Hampelmann. “That loosened the witch’s tongue yesterday.”
“We cannot delay any longer,” said Chancellor Brandt. “I recommend that we bring in Frau Lamm, have her confirm her confession freely, then send the documents to the Prince-Bishop for his review. Soon. Before she can die.”
There were nods all along the table, except for Hampelmann, and Lutz, who sat morosely with his head in his hands.
“Father Streng,” said the chancellor, “has Frau Lamm’s confession been written out? Is it ready for her to sign?”
“Of course.”
“Herr Freude, bring in Frau Lamm,” said Judge Steinbach.
After the executioner left, Chancellor Brandt continued, “We’ll recommend that His Grace set the date for Frau Lamm’s public trial and execution for next Monday. Are we all agreed?”
Again, everyone but Hampelmann and Lutz nodded. Hampelmann sat, silently fuming. He would yet force the midwife to retract her lies about Helena.
Freude returned, carrying Frau Lamm, who hung limp in his arms. He tied her upright in the chair facing the commissioners. Were it not for her laboured breathing and occasional groans, Hampelmann would have thought her dead. The jailer’s wife had changed the woman’s shift, but there were bloodstains on her chest, bright red and dark brown. The cloying stink of blood and putrid stench of infection hung thick in the air.
Chancellor Brandt put his gold pomander to his nose. “Frau Lamm, you have been brought before the Commission of Inquisition for the Würzburg Court to confirm your confession on this day, the twenty-ninth of April, 1626. Father Streng, read Frau Lamm her confession.”
The priest stood and began reading his account of the previous day’s interrogation. As was customary, he’d numbered the questions – and the answers. Hampelmann listened closely as Father Streng droned on and on. The confession was at least ten pages long and described in grisly detail – much of it added by the young Jesuit – the crimes to which Frau Lamm had finally admitted: turning away from God and signing a pact with the Devil, fornication with the Devil, killing Fraulein Spatz’s baby and taking its body to the sabbath to share its flesh and blood with other witches.
Judge Steinbach trembled as if he were witnessing the crimes himself.
Lutz raised a hand, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “My understanding was that Fraulein Spatz was caught trying to bury the child’s body.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Father Streng, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. “Even if the Devil only deluded Frau Lamm into believing she carried the child’s body to the sabbath, her intentions were evil. And merit death.”
Lutz sat, scratching his chin, his face still perplexed.
When Father Streng finally sat down and picked up his quill, Hampelmann let out a long sigh. Just as he’d claimed, the priest had not listed Helena among the newly accused.
Chancellor Brandt leaned forward. “You have had a day to think about your confession, Frau Lamm, and you are no longer under torture. Do you confirm your confession freely?”
“But Frau Hamp...” She was too weak to continue.
Hampelmann gripped the edge of the table. He could strangle the woman, right then and there. Father Streng laid a hand on his arm. “Relax, Herr Hampelmann, we know that accusation is false.”
Hampelmann stood. “You have nothing to lose, Frau Lamm, and everything to gain from God by retracting the names of those you’ve falsely accused and giving us the names of true accomplices.”
“That is quite enough!” Chancellor Brandt glared at Hampelmann, who sank to his chair. The chancellor turned back to the midwife. “Do you confirm your confession freely?”
“If I do not...” Her words were barely audible.
Freude leaned in close. “If you recant now, or tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, you will come again into my hands, and then you’ll learn that up to now I’ve been only playing with you. I’ll plague and torture you in such a way that even a stone would cry out.”
“Are you prepared to sign your confession, Frau Lamm?” said Judge Steinbach.
The midwife sat, her mouth working. Never had Hampelmann wished more fervently for the death of a witch. After a long silence, she spat on the floor, a glob laced with bright red blood.
Chancellor Brandt flushed. “Are you prepared to sign your confession?”
With great effort, the woman raised her head, but it fell back to her chest.
Father Streng brought the written confession and a quill toward her. He looked at her hands, then pursed his lips. “Do you authorize me to sign for you, Frau Lamm?”
Her head bobbed slightly. The priest drew a large black “X” at the bottom of the last page. Beneath it, he wrote her name in bold and elegant script.
“It is done then,” said Judge Steinbach. “His Grace willing, Frau Lilie Lamm’s public trial will be Monday, the fourth of May, in the year of Our Lord 1626.” He tapped the gavel lightly on the table.
“You have five days to make your peace with God, Frau Lamm,” said Father Streng.
“A special guard should be posted outside her cell,” said Hampelmann, “so that she cannot take her own life or be killed or rescued by the Devil. She is, after all, one of his specially anointed servants, and tomorrow night is Walpurgisnacht. She’ll want to join the other witches and the Devil in their obscene celebrations on Fraw Rengberg.”
Chancellor Brandt nodded gravely. “Agreed. You will instruct the jailer and the selected guard yourself, Herr Hampelmann. They must understand the importance of not allowing Frau Lamm to escape just punishment for her crimes.”
He turned then to the midwife. “Because you have confessed to your crimes, this commission will recommend that you be mercifully beheaded before your body is burned. Your final sacramental confession is between you and God, Frau Lamm, and I would remind you that your eternal soul hangs in the balance. I would also remind you that, if you publicly recant your signed confession to the Commission of Inquisition for the Würzburg Court, you shall be burned alive.”
35
30 April 1626
The guard unlocked the tower door for Lutz, then, with a deferential nod, withdrew from the chamber. For the first time since the commission had begun meeting, Lutz had arrived early, leaving his dinner untouched and Maria clucking her tongue, her eyes filling with tears yet again.
Sitting alone at the table, Lutz tried not to inhale the ever-present odours of blood and vomit and piss. He toyed with his pomander, turning it in his palm and examining his distorted reflection in the tarnished silver. He’d been waiting only two days for the professors’ recommendations, but it felt like weeks. He’d been unable to sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw mutilated flesh and blood, heard the midwife’s haunting screams.
Dressing that morning, he’d been surprised at the looseness of his doublet. Maria had put her soft hands to his face and wept. He’d wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her face in his neck, sobbing. When he finally released her, there were tears on his own cheeks, but he could not think for whom or what he was weeping. The midwife was guilty. She’d brought her horrible suffering upon herself. And surely Frau Rosen would be released. Were his tears for Fraulein Spatz? The old beggar woman? Or for himself, because he’d failed them so miserably?
In the flickering torchlight, the pomander reflected the dark hollows under his red-rimmed eyes. How relieved he would be when this nightmare was finally finished and he could return to his old clients with their old complaints about contracts, when he could return to a courtroom where the law was the law and there were no crimena excepta. A courtroom where no one was tortured.
Lutz rubbed his stinging eyes before they could leak more tears. He’d never be finished with this. He’d never sleep peacefully again. He’d always see the blood, and hear the screams and the grinding crunch of bone. He’d always know that innocent women had suffered and died because he had failed to protect them. Lutz felt a burning pain in his chest and tasted bitterness at the back of his throat.
The door creaked open and Hampelmann came in, looking as drawn and weary as Lutz. He sat down at the table. “If there’s a God in heaven,” he muttered, “they must recommend release.” He stretched out his hands, then clenched them to still their trembling.
Freude, Lindner, Father Streng, and Judge Steinbach filed slowly into the chamber. They nodded to each other, hung up their hats, then all but Freude took their places at the table, once again shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee. Freude lit a few more torches before he sat down, the light and shadow dancing eerily across the stone walls.
Finally, Chancellor Brandt arrived, a sheaf of documents tucked under his arm. The top one carried the Prince-Bishop’s seal, but Lutz could not read the words. He studied the chancellor’s face for a sign, but his fixed expression revealed nothing.
Judge Steinbach tapped the gavel. The men rose together, crossed themselves, and bowed their heads. Lutz hardly heard Father Streng’s words, he was praying so hard himself. Please, God, please, let the decision be for release. Let me believe again that you protect the innocent. In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti. The men crossed themselves and sat down.
Chancellor Brandt folded his hands and placed them on the documents. “I have before me Prince-Bishop Philipp Adolf’s decision about the Commission of Inquisition’s recommendations regarding the case of Frau Lilie Lamm. He has approved our recommendations, gentlemen. Her public trial and execution will be on Monday, the fourth of May, 1626.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I also have before me the recommendations from the professors of ecclesiastical and civil law at the University of Würzburg regarding the case of Frau Eva Rosen, as well as His Grace’s approval of those recommendations.”
Lutz felt as if his heart would explode from his chest.
Chancellor Brandt looked toward the pulley on the ceiling. “His Grace’s decision is that there is enough evidence to warrant the further questioning of Frau Rosen under torture.”
“Nein!” shouted Lutz. “Nein!”
“Moreover,” the chancellor continued, ignoring Lutz’s outburst, “the professors recommend, and the Prince-Bishop concurs, that Fraulein Rosen should be questioned under torture as well.” He turned to Lutz, who sat, stunned into silence. “The recommendation was four to one against release, Herr Lutz. And His Grace has reminded us that witchcraft is high treason against God’s majesty, crimen laesae maiestatis divinae, and not to be dealt with lightly.”
Lutz closed his eyes against Freude’s lurid grin. He felt tears pushing against his eyelids. Four to one? How could that be?
“But-but I saw a sign from God,” stammered Hampelmann. “Frau Rosen is innocent.”
“If she is truly innocent,” said Father Streng, “it will be proved so under torture.”
“We cannot do this,” said Lutz, weeping openly now. “It’s wrong.” He wiped the back of his hand across his cheek.
Father Streng cleared his throat. “I believe a quote from Ignatius may help us to see how we should
proceed in this matter: Look upon your superior, whoever he may be, as the representative of Christ. And Prince-Bishop Philipp Adolf is, after all, our superior, gentlemen.” He pointed the grey quill at Lutz. “Ignatius also wrote: Obedience in execution consists of doing what is ordered; obedience in will consists of willing the same thing as he who gives the order; obedience in understanding consists of thinking as the superior thinks and in believing what he ordains is rightly ordained. Otherwise obedience is imperfect. We have no choice but to obey.”
It was not the words of the Jesuit founder that flooded Lutz’s brain, but the words of Johann Weyer: So I summon you before the Great Judge, who shall decide between us, where the truth you have trampled under foot and buried shall arise and condemn you. “We cannot do this,” he gasped. “The woman – and her daughter – are innocent. We will all be condemned to hell.”
“In that, you are quite wrong,” said Father Streng. “If I might quote the honourable Jesuit Alfonso Rodriguez in that regard: The superior may commit fault in commanding you to do this or that, but you are certain that you commit no fault so long as you obey, because God will only ask if you have duly performed what orders you have received, and if you can give a clear account in that respect, you are absolved entirely...The moment what you did was done obediently, God wipes it out of your account, and charges it to your superior. If what we do here is wrong, Herr Lutz, the sin will be charged to the Prince-Bishop, not to us.”
Hampelmann’s face had gone from stark white to flaming red. “What then, do you make of what Ignatius wrote at the very beginning of the Spiritual Exercises? Preserve always your liberty of mind; see that you lose it not by anyone’s authority.”
The priest sniffed. “I think Ignatius’ thoughts on this matter are made perfectly clear in the thirteenth rule of the Exercises: To make sure of being right in all things, we ought always to hold by the principle that the white that I see I would believe to be black, if the hierarchical Church were so to rule it.”
Dancing in the Palm of His Hand Page 24
