Chancellor Brandt elbowed Judge Steinbach, who quickly tapped the gavel. “Gentlemen, enough debate,” said the chancellor. “We have no choice in this matter. His Grace has given us his decision. However, we need not act on that decision today.”
He looked up and down the table. “All of us are weary and distressed by our duties. We need a day of rest and contemplation. I suggest that we meet tomorrow morning at eight to continue the questioning of Frau Rosen and her daughter. Herr Lutz, you may inform Frau Rosen of the professors’ recommendations and the Prince-Bishop’s decision.”
The hell he would. Lutz couldn’t bear even to think of facing Frau Rosen with this news. What could he do now? Resort to teaching Katharina how to behave as if she were possessed? Causing the possession of her own daughter would be enough to justify torturing Frau Rosen even more viciously than the midwife.
Lutz put his head in his hands. He no longer believed that God protected the innocent. What else had he ceased to believe? He’d become a heretic – a heretic without the courage to say so out loud.
Standing abruptly, he stormed from the chamber. He had to see Father Herzeim. Four to one against release! What in the world had gone wrong? Why had God failed them?
By the time he reached the university, Lutz was panting. The brief walk had done nothing to calm his outrage or his grief. He burst into Father Herzeim’s office. “Four to one! How could you allow that to happen?”
The priest stared at the stoneware goblet in his hands. When he finally turned, he looked like a man condemned. “I have failed her, Lutz. Failed her. I used every argument, even Weyer’s and Tanner’s, and I failed to convince even one of them. I succeeded only in making them more suspicious of me.” He raised the goblet to his lips and gulped. “I am quite certain they will report me to the Malefizamt.”
“The Malefizamt!” Lutz placed his hands on the desk and peered into Father Herzeim’s haggard face. The priest reeked of wine. “Dear God, what can we do?” said Lutz.
“Free her.” His dark eyes sparked with an odd light.
Lutz backed away. “Her? Father, I was talking about you.”
“I have a plan. It’s not a good one, but–”
“A plan?”
“If I can just get Frau Rosen and her daughter to Nuremberg, they will be safe. My family will take them in.”
“Nuremberg?”
“It’s a free city. Ruled by a town council, not a prince-bishop. They stopped killing witches years ago. They’ll refuse to send her back to Würzburg.”
Free Frau Rosen? Impossible. Lutz brought his pomander to his nose and inhaled deeply to clear his head. “But you’ll be arrested.”
“I will be arrested no matter what I do...or fail to do.” Father Herzeim picked up the empty goblet and rolled it between his hands. “Would that I could free Frau Lamm as well.”
“Nein,” shouted Lutz. “Not the midwife.”
“Nein, not the midwife,” Father Herzeim echoed wearily. “She would never survive the journey.”
Lowering himself to the chair opposite the desk, Lutz felt again the painful burning in his chest. “What is this plan?” he asked.
Father Herzeim filled the goblet from a decanter on his desk. “Wine?”
“Nein,” Lutz said firmly. “I want to hear about this plan.”
The priest licked his lips. “Well,” he said finally, “I’ll go to Frau Rosen late tonight, just before dawn. The guards will always admit the final confessor, no matter what the hour. A few of the commissioners already suspect that Katharina might be possessed, so I’ll teach her how to behave as if she really is. I’ll show her how to scream and howl, how to contort her body and speak in tongues. Then I’ll arrange myself as if she’s thrown me against the wall. When the guard comes running, someone will come from behind the door, strike him on the head, and knock him out. With any luck – or by God’s grace – the guard will believe that Katharina’s demons attacked him.”
“Demons?” Lutz said sceptically. “And just who is this someone who will come from behind the door?”
Father Herzeim waved a hand as if Lutz’s question were of no concern. “God will provide.”
“Might I remind you, Father,” said Lutz, “that God has failed to provide so far.”
The priest took another large gulp of wine, then continued as if he’d not even heard Lutz’s objection. “We’ll take the keys, unlock the shackles...and be gone.” He spoke hurriedly now, as if embarrassed by the foolishness and insufficiency of his plan. “God has already provided a yeoman with a hay cart to wait in the alley near the tower. He can leave the city by the gate at the Sander Tower at dawn without attracting notice.”
“A full hay cart? Leaving the city?”
Father Herzeim shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps no one had kreuzer enough to buy the hay.”
“How can you trust this man to take them all the way to Nuremberg? That’s at least 60 miles away. More than three days of hard travelling, especially in a hay cart.”
“He’s been paid only half of what he asked. He’ll receive full payment only when he delivers my letter – and Frau Rosen and her daughter – to my family.”
“What if he gives the letter to the Malefizamt?”
“I’ll have to take that risk.”
Lutz leaned forward. “It’s a child’s plan, Father...or one inspired by drink...and desperation. You’ve not thought it through. Someone will see you.”
The priest smiled sheepishly. “Tonight is Walpurgisnacht. Everyone will be too frightened to be out in the dark while witches and demons are gathering.”
“But the guard will be scared when he hears voices and screaming. He’ll bring another guard with him. Frau Rosen’s cell is just below Frau Lamm’s, and Hampelmann has ordered that a special guard be posted outside the midwife’s cell specifically to prevent her escape on Walpurgisnacht.”
“Faith, Lutz, faith. God will provide. Perhaps only one guard will come. Perhaps the commissioners will believe the Devil freed Eva to attend the great festival of witches and demons on Fraw Rengberg.”
Lutz rolled his eyes. “What they’ll believe is that you freed Frau Rosen so you both could attend the festival together.”
Father Herzeim glanced toward the floorboards that hid Johann Weyer’s book and his own manuscript. “I must do this one courageous thing before the Prince-Bishop’s bailiff comes for me. I have nothing to lose. And eternal life to gain.”
One courageous thing. As if Weyer’s heretical pages were once again before him, Lutz could see the bold print. The great searcher of hearts, from whom nothing is hidden...the tribunal of the Great Judge...the truth you have trampled under foot and buried shall arise and condemn you.
“God has provided,” Lutz whispered. “I will be that someone.”
Father Herzeim came around the desk and put his hands on Lutz’s shoulders. “I cannot allow you to take that risk. There is no doubt they will come for me, but you are safe yet.”
“But I must, Father. Or I am damned for all eternity.”
36
30 April 1626
The ring of keys at her waist jangling, Frau Brugler shuffled in, carrying a basin of steaming water and clean bandages draped over her scrawny arm. The throbbing in Eva’s thumbs had eased only a little, and she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming as the woman peeled the bloody strips of cloth from her hands.
When Eva could finally speak, she asked the question that had worried her all day. “Why has Herr Lutz not come?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the woman grumbled. “Nobody tells me anything.”
“Has no decision been made?”
Her eyes flicked away from Eva’s. “I wouldn’t know.”
The jailer’s wife was unusually quiet as she dressed Eva’s hands. When she’d finished, she said, “Be strong, Frau Rosen. For the girl’s sake, be strong.” She looked down at the floor. “And if you ask,” she whispered, “I will bring you a razor.”
“Tell me
what you know,” Eva begged.
Shaking her head sadly, Frau Brugler picked up the basin and dirty cloths and left.
Eva waited into the night. Where was Herr Lutz?
To calm herself, she tried to pray, to be thankful that God had protected her and given her strength to endure the torture, that he’d protected Katharina. Surely he’d not forsake them now. She must be faithful, like Job.
The scrape of the key startled her. She looked anxiously toward the small square of light, but could see no faces. The door opened, the wedge of flickering light slowly widening. Eva’s ears caught whispered mutterings as Frau Brugler came into the cell. “Visitors at ungodly hours...Walpurgisnacht...witches and demons about.”
Wilhelm stepped in behind her.
Eva stopped breathing. Why was he here?
“Leave us,” he ordered.
“Improper,” snapped the jailer’s wife. With a look of disdain for Wilhelm, she drew herself up and stomped out the door.
Eva laid a protective hand on Katharina. The girl still slept quietly beside her, her body curled around the hollow she’d made for the white dog.
Setting his lantern aside, Wilhelm knelt down in front of Eva. “Don’t be afraid. I will protect you.”
“Protect me?”
There was a long aching silence while he studied her face. “You haven’t been told?”
“Told what?” Eva’s heart pounded, making the throbbing in her thumbs nearly unbearable.
Wilhelm put his hands together, as if to pray, then brought his forefingers to his lips. His gold ring flashed in the candlelight. “The recommendations from the university, and the Prince-Bishop’s decision, came back this morning.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “We have been directed to question you and your daughter again. Under torture.”
Eva released a strangled wail.
Katharina sat up and rubbed her eyes. Eva looked at her daughter’s small fists and tried not to imagine her thumbs in the screws. Why had God abandoned them?
Wilhelm’s face came close to hers, a frightening intensity in his eyes. “You must be strong, Eva. I will protect you. God will protect you. He has shown me that you are innocent.” He embraced her, bumping her hands and bringing excruciating pain to her thumbs.
“I won’t let them hurt you,” he said, releasing her. “Even if they accuse me of being a defender of witches, I will protect you.” He put a hand to her cheek. “You are good and pure. And innocent.”
“Leave me now.”
“But I would stay a while. And comfort you.”
What comfort could he offer? She’d seen what they’d done to the midwife. How could she possibly withstand that? How could Katharina? God had forsaken them. They were not like Job. They were like Job’s children. Their lives meant nothing to God.
She felt numb, as if she were already dying. If this was death – a numbing of all pain – she would welcome it. But she would not suffer the way Frau Lamm had suffered. She would ask Frau Brugler for the razor. But what of Katharina?
“Leave me.”
Wilhelm picked up the lantern and slowly backed away, the candlelight illuminating the anguish on his face. He knocked on the door and called out.
Frau Brugler was there at once, as if she’d been waiting, and listening. As the door opened, Eva caught another stream of grumbling invective. “No sleep...running a brothel...Walpurgisnacht.”
Wilhelm turned. “Be strong, Eva. God is with you.” Then he and Frau Brugler were gone, the light with them.
Katharina put her arms around Eva’s waist. “Mama?”
“We will be all right, Liebchen. Go back to sleep.”
“But Mama?”
Eva stroked Katharina’s face with the heel of her hand, then brought her palms carefully together. She needed to pray. But to whom? Wilhelm was wrong. God was not with her. God had abandoned her. She would pray to the Holy Mother. Never would the Holy Mother have given Satan permission to slaughter Job’s children just to test Job’s faith. Eva would pray to her.
She recited the Ave Maria, but could not keep her thoughts from the terror to come: the ropes and pulley, red-hot pincers, leg vises, eye gougers. The midwife’s screams. Her maimed and broken body.
Why had Herr Lutz not come to tell her about the decision? Would he no longer even try to protect them? Would Wilhelm? No. He might try, but he could not. Eva knew now that no matter what she said, or did, they would find a way to kill her – and Katharina. God would not protect them.
Her shoulders shook with her weeping. And yet, to slit her own throat, and Katharina’s, would be sin, grievous sin, for which there could be no forgiveness or redemption.
37
30 April 1626
Hampelmann waited until Frau Brugler had turned the key in the lock. “Go on to your bed now,” he said. “I want to speak to the guard upstairs.”
She gave him a quick nod and descended the stairs. Hampelmann watched until the light of her lantern had faded away. An old crone, he thought, suspicious in manner and looks. There’d been no reports about her to the Malefizamt, but still, he should investigate. Perhaps it was she, acting as an agent of the Devil, who’d killed Frau Bettler and Fraulein Spatz.
He turned and climbed the winding stairs as quietly as he could. His lantern cast long shadows on the grey stone walls, shadows that appeared to be stalking him. More than once, he turned to look behind him.
He heard the low rumble of snoring even before the glow from his lantern revealed the guard slumped against the cell door. “Herr Klingen,” Hampelmann shouted, furious.
The guard started, then jumped to his feet. “H-h-herr Hampelmann,” he stammered. “I-I was asleep for only a moment, sir. Only a moment. I wake at the slightest sound, and it’s been quiet all evening.”
“I came all the way up the stairs without you waking, and the candle in your lantern has burned out, you fool.” Hampelmann glowered at the guard, then held up his own lantern and peered in the small barred window.
Frau Lamm lay completely still. Just the sight of her made the bile rise in his throat. He wished she were writhing in pain.The filthy bitch. “She’s not dead?”
“Nein, sir. I’ve heard her moan now and again. Not much, but enough to know she’s still alive, sir.”
“And you’ve heard or seen nothing strange tonight?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Hampelmann held up the lantern so he could see the young guard’s face and eyes. “You are absolutely not to leave this post, Herr Klingen, except to prevent Frau Lamm’s murder or escape. And you are not to admit Frau Brugler to this cell. I’ll not have her killing another one.” He hissed through his teeth. “And you are not to sleep, no matter how quiet it may be. The Devil never fails to take full advantage of our weaknesses. Do you understand?”
The guard gulped and nodded.
“And for God’s sake, man, replace that candle. Do you want to be caught in the dark with demons?” Hampelmann took one last look at the midwife, waited until the guard had lit a new candle from his lantern, then descended the stairs.
He stopped outside Eva’s door, longing to go back into the cell, to hold and comfort her through this long dark night. He peeked in the window. She appeared to be sleeping, Katharina nestled at her side.
Hampelmann squared his shoulders. Only he could protect them. Herr Lutz was too weak and stupid, and the priest would be arrested in the morning. He felt some regret about that, since the Jesuit had argued so fervently for Eva’s release. But it was, after all, the right thing to do. The other professors had reported Father Herzeim as a defender of witches.
That left only him. And with God’s help, he would do all that he could to protect Eva. He had to. She was innocent. He had seen God’s sign.
How could his father have forced such a good and holy woman? His father’s sin grieved Hampelmann, creating an aching hollowness in his chest. Had his father confessed and begged God’s forgiveness before he died?
Reluctantly, he cont
inued on, winding his way past the doors of two empty cells before he reached the lowest chamber. He knocked on the thick door, then heard the key turn from the other side. He pushed it open and saw a guard and Frau Brugler, who was just sitting down at the curved table, the commissioners’ table. They’d been drinking beer and playing cards. A few shiny pfennigs lay between them. A small fire burned in the wire basket, and white rags had been hung on the wooden wheel to dry. The pine torches guttered as Hampelmann strode through the chamber.
Frau Brugler stood up again to unlock the outside door. She gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Business all done, is it?” she said derisively. “Good night, Herr Hampelmann.”
With a barely civil nod toward the guard and Frau Brugler, Hampelmann stepped out into the cool night air. He heard the door lock behind him. It was a clear night, but the wind was whistling and howling around the Prisoners’ Tower and the scattered buildings nearby. A few wispy clouds raced across a crescent moon, its outline fuzzy to Hampelmann’s eyes. He looked up at Marienberg Castle, ghostly white in the pale moonlight, and wondered how he would persuade the Prince-Bishop that he’d erred in his decision about Eva. He’d tried to visit His Grace that afternoon, but been turned away, the Prince-Bishop having been ill with a griping of the bowels. Hampelmann would go to him again tomorrow and quote to him Jean Bodin and his words about God’s miraculous signs. If he could somehow silence Father Streng, Hampelmann was sure he could persuade His Grace of Eva’s innocence.
He glanced around him then, squinting into the darkness. He could see no other lanterns. No one ventured forth on Walpurgisnacht, not even the beggars. He imagined the great orgiastic festival on Fraw Rengberg, and shuddered. The witches and demons would be there now, fornicating lasciviously with each other, engaging in sodomy of all sorts and a myriad of other abominations.
He walked quickly, his lantern swinging in front of him, the candle burning low. As he passed Saint Stephan’s, he was startled when the candlelight revealed two beggars huddled on the church steps, a skinny cur at their feet. Witches? Hampelmann’s heart raced. The man and woman turned toward him, their faces deeply lined, their ancient eyes shadowed by the hoods of ragged cloaks. The cur snarled. Hampelmann saw the glint of metal in the old man’s bony hand. A knife?
Dancing in the Palm of His Hand Page 25
