The old man seemed to sense Georg looking at him. He winked, and his face contorted into a grimace.
“You’d better watch out if you ever work with unslaked lime,” he said. “One careless moment and you’ll never find a woman who wants to marry you.” He laughed mischievously. “I made advances to your two sisters, but I fear it was in vain.”
Georg stopped short. “Do you know Barbara, too?”
Jeremias hesitated, then he nodded. “Oh, yes, she was here once with her big sister. She was very interested in my library.” He pointed to a shelf in the back of the room, where Georg could see a row of large books. He struggled to read some of the titles, among them books of medicine he’d seen in his father’s collection, but also some he didn’t recognize. Then he shrugged and turned away.
“Books aren’t my thing,” he replied. “I prefer to work with my hands.”
Jeremias smiled. “I know your family, Georg, and believe me, I respect your profession.”
Georg looked at his two nephews, wondering. As usual, it was Paul who had cornered the older boy with the broken sword handle while the dog barked excitedly at both of them.
Someday they’ll be executioners, too, he thought. Soon I’ll be taking Peter along to his first execution.
But then it occurred to him he’d probably be staying in Bamberg.
Or maybe not? What do I want, anyway?
To get his mind off things, he stood up and wandered along the shelves, on which some full vials and crucibles stood alongside the books. Little boxes were labeled in Latin, and Georg read the names Hyoscyamus niger, Papaver somniferum, and Conium maculatum. His blood ran cold as he remembered how his father had tried to drill some Latin into him-without much success. That, too, was better with Uncle Bartholomäus. His uncle was only interested in Latin terms when dealing with herbs for curing diseases in animals.
“This is quite a pharmaceutical library,” Georg finally said, turning to Jeremias. “There’s almost as much here as in my father’s library in Schongau.”
“Well, I know a bit about medicine-the sorts of things you learn in the course of a long life,” the old man responded. “Sick people visit me, especially those so poor they can’t afford a doctor or a barber surgeon, and I can earn a heller or two that way, too.” He winked conspiratorially. “Just don’t tell the city council, or the honorable Magnus Rinswieser and the other members of the Bamberg apothecaries’ guild will see to it that I spend the rest of my days in a dungeon.”
Georg laughed. “I think the council has bigger things to worry about right now.”
“Indeed.” Jeremias nodded sadly. “This matter of the werewolf is serious. People never learn. Homo homini lupus, as the playwright Plautus used to say. Man is a wolf to man. In those cruel witch trials back then, they attacked one another like animals. Yes, I remember them as if they were just yesterday.” But then he brushed the thought aside. “But why am I telling a young fellow these old stories? I’m sure you want to go off and have a good time. So go ahead, leave.”
Georg looked at him, amazed. “What? Go?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted to do?” He grinned. “Drop the boys off here so you can knock about town a bit. So, be off with you.”
“Well, actually. .” Georg was about to say something, but then he burst out laughing. “I’ll admit, you’ve seen through me. And it looks like the children would rather stay with you than with me.” He pointed at Paul, who was happily hacking away at one of the dolls with the broken sword, and Peter, who was looking at illustrations in one of the old books, leafing through it attentively. “I’ll be back in two hours,” Georg said. “All right?”
Jeremias cut him off. “It doesn’t matter if it’s three hours. Most of the guards are down at the castle for the bishop’s reception, so you can go home after curfew without being thrown into the stocks. And now, off with you, at once.”
Georg thanked him with a smile, then bid good-bye to his nephews, who hardly paid any attention.
Moments later he was standing out in front of the wedding house. Night was falling, and for a moment he considered returning to the executioner’s house. He suspected, however, that his big sister wouldn’t be happy with how he’d shirked his responsibilities, so he started drifting aimlessly through the alleyways.
He crossed the City Hall Bridge, which was still open at this hour, and turned off into the section of town near the Sand Gate, where he could hear noise and laughter. Here along the river below the cathedral mount, there were almost as many taverns as houses. The Bambergers liked to drink and carouse, especially on a holiday like this when an important visitor was in town. Georg had once heard there were more breweries here than in any other city in Franconia. Everywhere he turned, he could hear music and the clinking of beer mugs.
The party was especially raucous in the Blue Lion tavern, famous for its smoked beer-which took a little getting used to. Georg had often been here to fetch a jug of beer for his uncle. As the Bamberg executioner, Bartholomäus Kuisl was not especially welcome in the taverns, so he preferred to drink alone at home. Georg, on the other hand, had always enjoyed the atmosphere in the Blue Lion, even if he hadn’t frequented it much lately. He stopped to think.
Well, why not?
He was just fifteen, but with the dark fuzz on his face and his imposing size, he looked considerably older. And as a hangman’s journeyman, he was nowhere near as well known as the Bamberg executioner himself. He’d always wanted to stop here and have a beer. He thought some more as he fingered the few coins in his pants pocket, his pay for the week.
I think I’ve earned it.
Pulling himself together, he opened the door latch and entered the noisy tavern. The odor of fermented mash, smoke, and hot sauerkraut drifted toward him. Someone was plucking the fiddle, and people were shouting and laughing. The noise enveloped him like a soft cocoon, and in the back he noticed an empty seat. He pushed his way through the crowd with his broad chest, took a seat at the scratched wooden table, and ordered his first beer.
It would not be his last.
In the meantime, the first guests had arrived in Geyerswörth Castle.
Simon stood off to one side with Samuel, watching the activity in the inner courtyard. Yesterday, his friend had lent him a new pair of petticoat breeches, a clean shirt with a lace collar, and a strikingly handsome dark-green jacket that was a bit too large but looked much better on him than the dirty street clothes he’d taken for the trip. He was also wearing a flashy hat with a red feather, an expensive accessory that he’d bought from the Bamberg hatmaker with the last of his money. After all, the reception and the theater performance that day were given in honor of a German elector, and he didn’t want to embarrass himself by looking out of place.
Crossing his arms, he leaned against an ivy-covered fountain where water flowed from the mouths of nymphs, and he observed the Bamberg citizens strolling by, nodding to each other with a smile and making pleasant conversation. The constant chatter, laughter, and clinking of glasses made it hard to believe there was a werewolf just outside the city gates striking terror into people’s hearts. In spite of the open fires burning in iron pots all around the city, it was uncomfortably cool and damp at the castle. Simon couldn’t help but think of Magdalena, who, along with her father and uncle, was making final preparations for freeing Matheo.
And all this while I’m visiting the theater. Well, my father-in-law told me straight out that he didn’t need me. Let’s see how the cranky old man gets along without me.