Dancing in the Palm of His Hand (17 page)

“My accusers are quite mistaken when they claim I have spoken in defence of witches,” said Silberhans. “I condemn them with all of my body, heart, and soul. And with my spoken words. I do not know what man my accusers heard defending witches or criticizing the commission, for it was not I. Perhaps they were deceived and prompted by the Devil to accuse an innocent man. As to Father Herzeim, I have never heard him speak of witches or witchcraft. Nor have I ever heard him instruct any man to question the authority or teachings of the Church.”

Lutz breathed out. Smart boy.

“Father Herzeim never mentions Johann Weyer or Adam
Tanner?” Hampelmann spat the names as if they were bitter fruit on his tongue.

Silberhans pressed his lips together. “Who?”

Lutz rubbed his forehead. Silberhans was feigning ignorance, and not very well. The commissioners, especially Father Streng and Hampelmann, would never believe that a law student at the University of Würzburg did not know the names of the two most infamous sceptics.

“How did you know Frau Basser, Fraulein Stolzberger, and Frau Imhof?” said Hampelmann.

“I did not know them,” said Silberhans. “I believe it is as the great French lawyer, Jean Bodin, has written:
It cannot be denied that witches occasionally conspire maliciously to accuse a totally innocent person of complicity in their crimes
.”

“Have you forgotten Bodin's next sentence?” Father Streng shot back. “
But in such cases, Almighty God has invariably revealed the innocence of such persons in a miraculous manner
.” He smirked at the youth. “By what miraculous manner will Almighty God reveal your innocence?”

“I cannot know the mind of God, but I believe he will find a way to reveal my innocence, precisely because I am innocent.”

Father Streng took off his spectacles and polished them on his cassock. “You have indicated, Herr Silberhans, that you are familiar with
Disquisitionum Magicarum
, in which Delrio proved that to doubt witchcraft was not only wrong but heretical.”

“I have never doubted the existence of witches.”

“So you are familiar with Martin Delrio and Jean Bodin,” said the priest, “but have never heard of Johann Weyer or Adam Tanner?”

Silberhans' face paled. “I-I may have heard of them, but I've never read them. I believe they are heretical sceptics.”

Father Streng placed his spectacles back on his nose. “You indicated before that you did not even know who they are.”

“I-I have so rarely heard their names...and never read their work. I had forgotten them.”

“Forgotten?” said Hampelmann.

There was a long silence. The logs settled in the wire basket. Lutz wanted desperately to intervene, but what could he say?

Finally, Judge Steinbach spoke. “Have you obeyed the Prince-Bishop's decrees regarding attending mass and confession?”

“
Ja
.”

“I've spoken with his parish priest,” Lutz said quickly, before he could be cut off, “and what Herr Silberhans says is true. He attends mass and goes to confession, more often than His Grace's decrees would require.”

Freude stepped within the curve of the table opposite Judge Steinbach. The other commissioners leaned forward. “I can find nothing about the young man to indicate that he is a witch, or even a defender of witches,” said the executioner, his voice hushed. “
Der Hexenhammer
does say that witchcraft is primarily a woman's crime.” His voice dropped even lower. “And Herr Silberhans is from a respected, and well-connected, family in Augsburg. If he's executed, there will be hell to pay in Würzburg.”

“
Nein
,” said Father Streng. “It doesn't matter what family he's from. If he's guilty and he's not executed, there will be a real hell to pay, for all of us.” He tapped the nib of the quill on the ledger. “Herr Silberhans should be brought back and tortured. If he is innocent, torture will reveal that.”

“Tortured on the basis of what evidence?” said Lutz. “We cannot ignore the principle of
constare de delicto
in the Carolina Code.” He thumbed through his ledger. “Here it is:
No person may be examined under torture unless sufficient evidence has first been found of the criminal act being investigated
.” He slammed the ledger closed. “For Herr Silberhans, there are only the accusations made by condemned witches. And unnamed persons who assert that he questioned the commission's procedures.”

“Very serious charges,” said Hampelmann. “Those students were so alarmed they reported Herr Silberhans directly to the
Malefizamt
. And although he denies it, I think he has been reading Weyer and Tanner. I, for one, do not believe that he merely
forgot
the names of those heretics.”

“Nor do I,” said Father Streng.

“There is no evidence,” Lutz insisted. He began counting on his fingers. “No Devil's mark. No mysterious deaths. No claims that he's made anyone or their livestock ill. No charges that he's conjured bad weather. No herbs or potions found in his quarters. Not even any questionable literature there. There are absolutely no grounds for torturing this young man.”

“Even so,” said Hampelmann, “there is still the question of why all three witches denounced Herr Silberhans as an accomplice.”

“Ach, a clear case of malicious conspiracy,” Freude said authoritatively. “If witches can foretell the future, surely they can conspire...even when they can't talk to each other.”

Judge Steinbach chewed his lip. “Herr Freude has had more experience with witches than any of us. And the boy is from a respected family in Augsburg. What say the rest of you?”

“We must recommend release,” Lutz shouted.

“Release,” said Freude. Lindner raised a hand to indicate agreement, and Chancellor Brandt gave a small reluctant nod. Father Streng and Hampelmann shook their heads.

Judge Steinbach tapped the gavel. “The decision is made then. Father Streng, draft a report to the Prince-Bishop recommending release for Herr Silberhans.”

The young man looked as if he might faint with relief.

“The report should also recommend that Herr Silberhans be expelled from Würzburg,” Father Streng said acidly.

“Agreed,” said Chancellor Brandt.

“Nonetheless,” said Father Streng, “the young man should not
be released without a strong admonition.” He picked up his breviary and walked toward Silberhans, who shrank away from the small priest.

“You have indicated that you are familiar with the writing of Jean Bodin,” said Father Streng. “Do you recall what he wrote about craving knowledge?”

“He wrote that the c-craving for knowledge can lead to bl-blasphemy,” Silberhans said, his voice small and shaking, “since any man who could explain the reason for all things would be the equal to God, who alone has knowledge of all things.”

Father Streng's thin lips curved into a smile. “Very good, Herr Silberhans. Bodin also wrote that those who call into question things that cannot be explained according to the laws of physics are blinded by arrogance.” He began pacing, his breviary clasped behind his back. “The best proof against witches is that the infallible law of God expressly condemns them. And only those, as Bodin himself would say:
who balance everything on the point of a needle and doubt whether the sun is bright, or ice cold, or fire hot, could doubt the existence of witches
.”

The priest pointed the breviary at Silberhans. “It is no less a form of atheism to doubt the existence of witches than to doubt the existence of God.”

Hampelmann stood. “
And those who seek deliberately, by means of printed books, to excuse and to redeem witches...are themselves led by Satan's halter
. That's also from Jean Bodin, and–”

Father Streng spoke quickly, interrupting Hampelmann. “Do not forget the names Johann Weyer and Adam Tanner. They are the Devil's own specially appointed men, who write and teach that all that is said of witches is but fairytales and fancy. Do not be so foolish as to follow those who are led by the Devil.”

“
N-nein
, Father, I will not.”

“And do not forget,” said Hampelmann, “that we are recommending release only because there is a lack of evidence,
Herr Silberhans. Not because you have been found innocent.”

“Herr Freude,” Chancellor Brandt said wearily, “return Herr Silberhans to his cell and bring us Frau Rosen.”

Freude scratched at his crotch. “And the girl?”

“Not yet.”

Eva leaned against the wall, her neck and shoulders taut, her head aching where it had been slammed against stone. Katharina lay listless in her lap, her fingers trailing over her scalp again and again, as if she could not believe her white-blond hair was gone.

Earlier, Eva had heard footsteps passing on the stairs outside the door, at least two sets going up, as many or more coming down. She'd heard no voices, though. Whoever had passed by, had passed in silence.

The sound of footsteps had paralysed Eva, so that even her heart stopped beating. Her greatest hope was that Herr Lutz would come to take her before the commission so she could prove her innocence and be set free. But even as she hoped, she was terrified that Freude would return. She was ugly now, but to a man like him, her ugliness and her revolting stink would offer no protection.

Eva heard footsteps approaching, at least two sets, one light and quick, the other slow and shuffling, and perhaps a third. She crouched closer to the wall, but the footsteps did not stop. They climbed past her door.

She longed for the comfort of her Bible, to cradle the soft leather in her hands, to smell it, to turn the fragile pages, and read again the story of Job, the story of how God allowed the Devil to test Job, and of how he suffered. Job was a good and righteous man, a prosperous man, yet he lost everything: his sons and daughters, his cattle and land, his health. Everything. Except his faith. Perhaps, like Job, she was being tested. And like God's
faithful servant, she would be steadfast. In the end, her life would be restored. Like Job's. But would she have to lose Katharina?

The rasp of the key. She shuddered with hope. And terror. And tried to see who was behind the door before it swung open. Freude filled the doorway. He held ropes and a birch rod. Frau Brugler stood behind him.

Eva tried to pull Katharina closer, but the girl scooted across the floor like a spider, then pressed herself against the wall. Without a word, the jailer's wife unlocked Eva's shackles. The man came toward her. The smell of him, and her own fear, made her gasp for air. He grabbed her arm with his gloved hand and pulled her to her feet. Her legs were so weak she could hardly stand. He bound her wrists and shoved her through the door, using the rod to prod her down the dark winding staircase, the steps so narrow and smooth she nearly slipped. They descended past two wooden doors before they finally reached the bottom of the stairs. He poked her in the back. “Turn around.”

Confused, Eva hesitated.

“Turn around, you bitch. You can't see them 'til after they see you.”

The man pushed the door open and prodded Eva in the stomach. She stepped backwards into the dimly lit chamber. Light and shadow flickered on grey stone walls. The bright bulbous eyes of a rat shone from a crevice between two stones. The man prodded Eva again. She turned and faced the men sitting at the table: Judge Steinbach; Chancellor Brandt; a boyish looking priest with a brown quill poised above a ledger; a plump freckle-faced man wearing a physician's loose robes; Herr Lutz, smiling as if his round belly ached. And Wilhelm Hampelmann. Eva nearly collapsed with relief. Wilhelm knew her. He had to know she wasn't a witch. Under his cool gaze, however, Eva's relief turned to shame. Her scalp was as smooth as an egg, her feet bare, the shift dirty, her breasts visible through the thin linen, and she carried the
same rank odour as the man who had brought her there.

“Father Streng,” said the judge.

Holding a large wooden crucifix before him, the priest stepped forward. “By the belief that you have in God,” he said, “and in the expectation of paradise, and being aware of the peril of your soul's eternal damnation, do you swear that the testimony you are about to give is true, such that you are willing to exchange heaven for hell should you tell a lie?”

“I swear, by all that is holy, to tell the truth.”

Father Streng took his seat at the table and picked up the brown quill. “State your name and age.”

“Frau Eva Rosen, age 37.”

“Date of birth,” said the priest, still writing.

“March 2, 1589.” In the wavering torchlight, Eva could see iron pincers hanging on the wall. Ropes and birch rods were piled on wooden shelves, which also held thumbscrews and other instruments she didn't recognize. Stone weights were lined up beneath the shelves. A huge wooden wheel stood off to one side. Her throat went dry; her tongue felt thick.

“Parents,” said Chancellor Brandt.

“Joseph and Anna Hirsch.”

“From Würzburg?” said the judge.

“
Ja.
”

“And are they still in Würzburg?” The judge's voice shook as much as the gavel in his hands.

“They passed away when I was a child.”

“How did they die?” asked Chancellor Brandt. Father Streng looked up from his ledger, his face curious.

“Plague. I was eight.”

“Who raised you then?” said Chancellor Brandt.

“I was taken to the Julius Hospital. I lived there for two years until the Prioress of the Unterzell Convent chose me from among the other girls to be a maidservant for the nuns. Her intention was
that I should become a nun myself.”

“Quite obviously, you didn't,” said Father Streng.

“I lived and worked at the convent for six years, until–”

Hampelmann interrupted. “Frau Rosen, do you know why you've been brought here?”