“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this wedding?” Katharina finally continued in a soft voice. “People in Bamberg thought of me as a dried-up old maid who’d never find a man. Too old, too fat. .,” she sighed. “There were a few men earlier, but when the time came, they always ran off.”
“And then?” Magdalena asked.
“Then Bartholomäus came along.” She smiled and her eyes began to sparkle. “I met him down at the fish market when he offered to carry my heavy basket. Most people steer clear of him. He’s the Bamberg executioner, after all, and people don’t want anything to do with him. But I’ve seen what kind of a person he really is-he can be very warmhearted, you know.”
Magdalena laughed. “Up to now, he’s kept that well hidden from me, but of course, you know him better.”
“Well, that’s the way he is.” Katharina rubbed her chubby fingers, which were sticky from baking, and looked down. “At first, everyone opposed this marriage-my father, my friends. Being married to an executioner-what can be worse than that? It would be better to die an old maid. But I got my way, even with my father.” She laughed sadly. “I was even able to talk him into a big, expensive reception, though Bartl was so reluctant at first. He said he didn’t want any more to do with his family than was absolutely necessary. But do you know what?” She winked at Magdalena. “I think in the end he was proud to show his big brother what he’d made of himself here-the big house, the marriage to a clerk’s daughter, a good dowry, a beautiful wedding reception. .” She sighed deeply. “But the last of those, at least, is not to be.”
They both fell silent for a while, then finally Magdalena asked, “Was your father able to make any progress with the city council? He was going to put another word in for the wedding reception.”
Katharina shook her head. “He hasn’t gotten to it yet. In the last few weeks he’s seemed lost in his thoughts, almost constantly up in his study because he has to copy some old lists for the city. I was getting used to it, but since yesterday I’ve not even been able to talk to him. He keeps leaving the house without telling me where he’s going. I really wish I knew what’s wrong with him.” She shook her head. “Just this morning I was up in his room to clean up, and I’m telling you, it looks like lightning has struck the place! He didn’t even look at me, just shouted at me to get out.”
Magdalena remembered what Simon had told her about Hieronymus Hauser. Was it possible that his preoccupation had something to do with yesterday’s conversation?
“Simon was here yesterday to visit your father,” she said carefully, “and he learned that Hieronymus attended the witch trials back then as a young scribe. Do you think all this werewolf business has upset him?”
Katharina seemed to be thinking it over. “Hmm, it’s possible. That was before I was born, but I know it upset him very much. He sometimes dreams of the torturing that he had to witness, as the scribe, in order to document the statements. Then he screams in his sleep. But he doesn’t want to talk about it.” She shrugged. “Just like everyone else in Bamberg, as if they wanted to forget and bury what happened.”
“Simon thinks he saw your father in the bishop’s archive after their meeting,” Magdalena added. “Is it possible he was looking for something there? Something having to do with the events back then?”
Her aunt was silent for a while, then she picked up one of the crisp apple pastries and took a bite. “Unfortunately, I just don’t know,” she said, chewing on the cake. She gestured apologetically. “Excuse me, but I think the constant crying has made me hungry.” After she’d finished, she continued. “It would be best for you to ask my father yourself. He probably won’t be back from his office until late afternoon, but you can stop by and see us again then.”
“This isn’t a good day for it,” Magdalena replied hesitantly, “as I have other things to do.” She pointed at her two children. “I just wanted to ask you if you could look after the boys for a while. Simon is visiting the bishop today, and Father and I have some things to discuss with Georg. It’s been such a long time since we’ve seen each other. .”
Magdalena cleared her throat, embarrassed. She’d made Uncle Bartholomäus promise not to tell Katharina about their plans for that night, and she searched desperately for some explanation. The idea of leaving the children in Katharina’s care had just occurred to her. She had already asked Georg to do that, but he hadn’t been especially fond of the idea. And after asking him again several times that morning, his reply was still gruff and noncommittal. Evidently he could not get over the fact that Magdalena was being allowed to take part in freeing Matheo that evening, and he wasn’t.
Katharina appeared to accept her vague excuse, but then she gestured apologetically. “You know I love your boys, Magdalena, but on this particular evening I can’t do it. Believe it or not, my father is also invited to the bishop’s reception, and he even managed to get an invitation for me.” She smiled slightly. “He thought that would cheer me up a bit. Such a celebration will only make me think of my own wedding reception, of course, but I can’t turn him down. It’s a great honor for our family. Only the better classes of citizens are invited.” She hesitated. “Many members of the city council will be there, and of course Father still hopes he can do something about the wedding reception.”
“I understand.” Magdalena nodded. “Then you’ve got to go.”
She looked over at the two boys, who had by now wolfed down their apple fritters and turned their attention to the pot of butter, which they were taking out and smearing in each other’s hair.
“I think it’s time to take the kids back to their strict grandfather, so he can tweak their ears a bit,” Magdalena said with a grin, then she stood up and embraced Katharina. “Good luck to you. You’ll see-everything will work out.”
As she left the house with her two boys, she wasn’t sure that her last wish hadn’t been directed primarily at herself.
At about the same time, a man was sitting somewhere along the banks of the Regnitz, daydreaming and staring out over the water. Branches and leaves floated past him, and occasionally dirty rags or the carcass of a small animal. Further upriver there had been an autumn storm, and brown whirlpools formed in the water, making the leaves dance around until they finally sank and popped up again downstream.
Nothing disappeared forever, it all eventually returned to the surface.
He flung a branch out into the river as far as he could and watched it drift along like a ship pitching and rolling in the waves. Briefly, he felt the urge to jump in after it and end his own life. He felt empty, so empty, but he still had to complete his plan-he was almost finished.
Just two more to go.
It was only a day ago that the clever woman had ripped his hood from his head. She’d seen his face and thus sealed her fate. Now she was tied up again in the cell, and he wouldn’t let that happen to him again. He had briefly lost control of himself, of the entire situation, but now his decision was firm.
He would not waver again.
He had, in fact, even before the previous day’s event, considered letting the woman live. It had gotten harder and harder for him to torture and kill the women-while with the two old men he’d felt nothing but elation with every blow, every squeeze of the tongs, every turn of the wheel.
When old widow Gotzendörfer died of fear, he’d even felt a sense of relief. He’d walked up to the window to terrify the old woman, but also in the hope that she’d open the window for him. When he’d seen the solid iron gate in front of the window, he had almost been ready to give up, but then the mere sight of him (and the woman’s own weak heart) had been enough to kill her. It had been a clean death, and he hadn’t had to hear that screaming again.