The excited murmurs in the audience stopped abruptly when the Bamberg prince-bishop gave a sign to one of his servants, who blew a fanfare on his trumpet, then took out a long parchment roll and began to read.
“Honored guests, noblemen, and gentlemen of Bamberg. It is with great joy that His Excellency Philipp Valentin Voit von Rieneck welcomes to the hallowed halls of Geyerswörth Castle his beloved friend, the Bishop of Mainz, Würzburg, and Worms, a prince of the Reich, defender of the faith and close confidant of the German kaiser, the honorable Johann Philipp von Schönborn. .”
While the servant reeled off the usual tributes, Simon’s eyes wandered over the audience, where he caught sight of Hieronymus Hauser and Katharina, whom he had overlooked earlier in the milling crowd. Magdalena had told him that the Hausers were also invited to the reception. Katharina had put on her best dress, and her father wore a coat and vest like a real councilor, but he looked almost as pale as the suffragan bishop. He seemed distracted and kept turning around carefully, as if looking for someone in the audience. In the next moment, though, he seemed completely lost in his thoughts.
I wonder if it has anything to do with our conversation yesterday, Simon thought.
By now, the herald had greeted all the important guests by name and started explaining the rules of the theater competition.
“In his infinite kindness, our bishop has decided to offer winter quarters to a group of itinerant actors,” he proclaimed. “Since there are two groups in Bamberg this year, a competition will decide which one will be permitted to remain in the city. Each group has selected a short piece to perform for us now, and after that the bishop will choose the winner. The two pieces are entitled”-he looked down at his parchment roll-“Papinian and Peter Squenz, both from the pen of the esteemed author Andreas Gryphius. Good luck to everyone.”
One last time he played the fanfare on his trumpet, then the candles in the audience were extinguished, bathing only the stage in a warm light. The curtain rose, and out stepped a pale, made-up, somewhat feminine-looking actor who spread his arms and turned toward the two bishops while declaiming the prologue in a slight French accent.
“Those who climb over everyone else, then looook down prouuudly as reeech people at how pooor people behave,” he began in a fervent voice, pronouncing each vowel in a peculiar way. “As ooonder heeem a Reich gooz uup in flaaames, or theeere the miiighty waaaves cooover the feeelds. .”
Simon wasn’t familiar with Gryphius’s Papinian, but it was soon clear it was very melodramatic and yet also very boring. It concerned a courtier in a Roman royal family who stood between two feuding emperors, brothers who eventually killed each other. There was also an almost endless number of characters in the play but only a limited number of actors, so that each actor played multiple parts, and Simon was soon completely confused.
Well, at least we have enough time now to think about what we’re going to say to the Würzburg bishop, he thought.
And indeed, within a few minutes his thoughts wandered, while up in front the actors declaimed, whined, and died. How was Magdalena doing? Was she already up on the cathedral mount with Jakob and Bartholomäus, preparing to free Matheo? If so, by now the tower guard would surely have already sounded the alarm. .
Now and then he glanced at the two prince-bishops in the first row. While Johann Philipp von Schönborn listened attentively, observing the action on the stage, Prince-Bishop Rieneck appeared extremely bored, shifting back and forth in his chair and even yawning loudly one time. Moments later he demanded a glass of wine, which startled the actor playing Papinian on the stage. Other guests followed the example of their leader and began talking or loudly clinking their glasses, while the actors continued to struggle through their lines.
The person most distracted from the performance on the stage, however, was the suffragan bishop Sebastian Harsee. He was having difficulty even sitting up in his chair and occasionally slumped forward, but then caught himself at the last moment. He appeared to be in great pain, kept putting his hands to his head, and Simon wasn’t certain he would be able to hold out through the two performances.
After what seemed like an eternity, Papinian finally spoke his final lines.
“Receeeve my innocent bloood, and show meeercy to thiiis innocent empire.”
He bared his naked chest to the executioner, and as he uttered a death rattle, the curtain came down. There was some restrained applause, but also a few boos. The garishly made-up leading man grimaced, stepped forward with the cast, and curtsied effeminately in response to the nonexistent ovations.
He was mercilessly booed off the stage, and from behind the curtain came the sound of trunks and heavy props being moved around. Finally the curtain opened again, and Simon saw the second group of actors in threadbare costumes, among them a skinny beanpole of a fellow with a wig, evidently the director of the troupe. From talking with Magdalena, Simon knew he was an Englishman by the name of Sir Malcolm. There was whispering in the crowd, as naturally most of the guests knew that the werewolf who had been caught came from this group of actors. Simon’s heart began to pound.
They must be very good to have avoided any hint of suspicion.
But it soon became clear that Malcolm’s people had chosen the right piece to perform. Two actors played the parts of stupid workmen rehearsing a play for their king and his entourage and getting involved in all sorts of foolishness. Sir Malcolm proved to be a superb comedian. The mood of the audience grew much more relaxed as people laughed and slapped their thighs. The Bamberg bishop laughed loudest of all, causing the audience to burst out laughing even louder.
After a while, the clueless workers exited the stage to more loud laughter and applause, and the second act began with the entrance of the king and his retinue. A dainty maiden in a red dress-no doubt the character mentioned previously, the beautiful Princess Violandra-walked alongside the monarch. A murmur went through the crowd, as it was unusual for women to appear on the stage.
The young child is quite beautiful, Simon thought. She almost reminds me a bit of Magdalena.
He couldn’t help admiring her grace and noble bearing as she stepped to the front of the stage. For the first time, her face gleamed in the light of the candles.
“We all enjoy comedies and tragedies,” she said in a clear, bright voice, her right hand trembling just a bit. “Which type do you wish to see?”
Simon was stunned, and a muffled cry escaped his lips. He knew the voice.
“What in the world. .,” he gasped.
The stunning Princess Violandra was none other than Barbara.
Night had fallen over Bamberg and the gates of Geyerswörth Castle, and the autumn fog rose from the river, embracing the city and, soon, the hills around it, enveloping everything in a damp, billowing quilt with only a few church spires rising above it.
Under the protection of darkness and fog, three disguised figures slunk toward the cathedral mount, each holding a large, wrapped bundle. They stayed off the main streets and took long detours to avoid the night watchmen. When the bell of the church struck eight, they could hear the watchman’s call somewhere nearby, but his steps receded, so they pressed on up the hill until finally they reached the vast, deserted cathedral square.
Magdalena pushed her head scarf down inside her collar and looked around, squinting while her eyes grew accustomed to the dark. On the left, the towers of the cathedral rose up like long, black shadows, while on her right was the new building site for the royal residence, with only the two rear wings of the building so far complete. Faint music could be heard coming from the city below, but otherwise it was as silent as a tomb.