Some people were already making their way to the cathedral. Many of them had first visited the graves of their deceased relatives and left behind a fresh-baked loaf of so-called soul bread in the shape of a stag or a little man. It was said that on All Souls’ Day the dead returned from purgatory for a day of rest. Jakob clenched his teeth and hoped that at least the ghosts would not harass him down below in the crypt.
Looking around the square, he soon spotted Jeremias, waiting for him as planned at the “Adam’s Portal” on the east side of the cathedral. He, too, was wearing a nondescript cloak with a wide hood; Jakob thought it a good idea, given Jeremias’s badly scarred face.
“All hell has broken loose here,” grumbled Jakob when he reached Jeremias.
The old man giggled. “Or rather, an angry God. Fear has always driven people to church, just like in the time of the witch trials.” He winked at Jakob. “Let’s just go along with the crowd, and we won’t attract attention,” he said, hurrying ahead.
They entered the cathedral through the east entrance and joined the long line of worshipers. Jakob was always amazed at the splendor in the cathedrals. Here in Bamberg, there were precious statues of saints, bishops, and martyrs; the altars were decorated in gold leaf; and silver and gold candelabras encircled huge sarcophagi. Bright morning light fell through the tall windows onto the many columns, arches, and niches.
Even if the world outside is going to hell, Jakob couldn’t help thinking, the church is a window on the paradise to come. It makes this wretched life not seem so terrible.
They passed a statue of a king riding a dapple-gray horse and were soon crushed between praying old women, crippled old men, and many young people and children who were all pushing their way forward to the pews in the nave. It seemed to Jakob that all of Bamberg had come to attend the All Souls’ mass. Clouds of incense drifted past the pillars, giving off an intoxicating fragrance, while deep, hypnotic tones emanated from the organ. In the pews, some people kneeled in prayer on the cold stone floor, still holding the empty baskets they had used to take bread to the cemeteries.
Looking toward the front of the cathedral, Jakob noticed that this church had two chancels, one facing east and another facing west, unlike the church in Schongau, which had only one. Jeremias followed his gaze.
“The service today is in front of the east altar,” he explained in a soft voice. “That’s good for us-since we’re going to the opposite side, hopefully no one will be looking in our direction.”
They continued to push their way through the crowd and finally took a seat in one of the back pews. The organ fell silent, and then the ministrant, the vicar-general representing the suffragan bishop, appeared in his clerical vestments swinging the censer. People rose to their feet and there were some words of greeting in Latin, but soon the vicar digressed from the usual order of the mass. With a serious mien he turned to the congregation.
“Dear fellow Christians,” he began in a quavering voice. “You all know that our beloved suffragan bishop Sebastian Harsee has”-he paused to cross himself-“has fallen victim to the werewolf. I have been told that his soul is still struggling with the devil, and let us therefore all pray for him.”
The faithful knelt down and murmured their prayers. Some cried, while others rocked back and forth as if in a trance. In order to blend in, Jakob also muttered a quiet prayer. From what Simon had told him, he knew the suffragan bishop was an unloved, evil son of a bitch, but nonetheless the people mourned for him as if he were the Lamb of God incarnate.
Finally the vicar continued with his sermon. “I stand here today,” he droned, “in the firm hope that this suffering inflicted on Bamberg will soon come to an end. I hear that our highly esteemed prince-bishop will now tackle the root of this problem. Some citizens who have given their souls to the devil have already been arrested. Each one of you is now summoned to do his part to throw light on this problem. Look around. Witches, druids, and magicians often disguise themselves as the most charming fellow citizens. Indeed, it could be your own neighbor. .”
Jeremias, standing beside Jakob, groaned softly. “I can’t listen to this rubbish any longer,” he whispered. “That’s just how it all began back then. Anyway, we’ve got to hurry. The mass lasts about an hour, and we’ll have to finish by then. So let’s get going.”
The next time the faithful knelt down and lowered their heads in prayer, Jeremias and Jakob quietly stood up and headed as inconspicuously as possible toward the western side of the cathedral. With their black robes and their hoods still drawn over their heads, they looked somewhat like Franciscan monks on a pilgrimage, and thus no one paid any attention to them as they passed the rear altar in the northwest part of the transept. No one stopped them there, where the murmuring of the faithful could be heard in the distance. As they passed by, Jeremias picked up two burning candles and handed one to his companion.
“We’ll soon need these,” he whispered. “Let’s go, the time is right.”
Just as the congregation struck up a loud hymn, Jeremias beckoned Jakob to a stairway that seemed to lead down underneath the western altar. Once they reached the bottom, they found themselves standing in front of a locked door.
“And now?” Jakob asked impatiently.
Grinning, Jeremias fetched a rusty key chain from his pocket. “Luckily I kept a few other things along with my executioner’s sword from my former life. Before those bigoted zealots built the House of the Inquisition, many trials took place in the Old Residence. With all the torturing, I was soon one of the most sought-after men in the residence-I was needed and respected-so at some point they gave me this ring of keys, allowing me unrestricted access everywhere.”
Jakob looked at him skeptically. “Including to the crypt in the cathedral?”
Jeremias giggled and jingled the keys. “They needed me, but they also wanted to avoid a fuss-too many patricians had already died at the stake. Every time I walked through the Schöne Pforte and into the residence, everyone in the city knew what was going on, so eventually they came up with the idea of smuggling me in unnoticed-through the cathedral. So come along quickly.”
He opened the door and led Jakob into a square room with stone walls and floor; it appeared to be located directly beneath the western altar. The floor was strewn with rubble, rotted beams, and old sacks of mortar as hard as stone, making their progress difficult.
“Long ago, this was the crypt of an earlier cathedral,” Jeremias explained. “During the construction work it was excavated, but then the part above ground was renovated and what was down here was forgotten. Lucky for us.”
He climbed over the rubble until he finally reached a low archway with blocks of stone and beams of wood piled in front of it. Panting and puffing, the old man started to pull away some of the lighter beams.
“Come on, big fellow, lend a hand,” he said to Jakob. “It’s been more than thirty years since anyone cleaned up down here.”
The hangman moved the heavy stone blocks aside as if they were small chunks of plaster, and before long, the doorway was cleared, revealing a narrow, dark corridor.
“Now comes the unpleasant part of our trip,” Jeremias announced, picking up the candle he’d set down on the rubble. “Just make sure your little light doesn’t go out, or things could become rather nasty.”
Once again he giggled, then climbed over the last few pieces of rubble and entered the narrow passage. Jakob followed, ducking so as not to hit his head.
There was not much to see, since the candles illuminated only a small circle of light around them. The tunnel was straight at first. Dense cobwebs hung from the ceiling and clung to Jakob’s face. Again and again, the tall hangman bumped his head on the ceiling and walls, stirring up clouds of stone dust.