Dancing in the Palm of His Hand (23 page)

Tears spilled from her eyes. “I-I am telling the truth.”

“You leave us no choice,” Chancellor Brandt said wearily. “Wherefore, that the truth may be known from your own mouth and that henceforth, you may not offend the ears of the commissioners, we declare that on Friday, April 24, 1626–” he glanced at the judge's gold watch “–at 9:10 in the morning, you be placed under torture for questioning. Proceed, Father Streng, Herr Freude.”

The priest picked up the vial and stepped forward. He made the sign of the cross over Fraulein Spatz and then over the thumbscrews. Dipping his fingertips into the holy water, he sprinkled both the girl and the instrument. “Dear Father in heaven,” he prayed, “may these procedures free this girl from the Devil's grasp and bring forth truth from her lips.
In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti
. Amen.”

Freude grabbed Fraulein Spatz's bound wrists and forced her thumbs under the metal bar. She screamed and tried to pull away, but the executioner held her hands in place and tightened the large centre screw, just enough to secure her thumbs under the bar.

“You have one more opportunity before we begin, Fraulein Spatz,” said Chancellor Brandt. “Will you speak the truth?”

“I have,” she whimpered. “I have.”

“Proceed, Herr Freude.”

The executioner tightened the screw. Wailing, the girl rocked back and forth in the chair. Lutz felt his stomach rise into his chest. His fingers curled around his own thumbs.

Lindner leaned forward. “How did you get your mark?”

“No mark,” she sobbed. “There is no mark.”

“When and where did you first meet with the Devil?” said Judge Steinbach.

“Never,” she whispered.

“Who killed the baby?” said Hampelmann.

“No one,” she screamed. “Then how did it die?”

“Born dead. I swear.”

At Chancellor Brandt's nod, Herr Freude gave the screw another turn. Blood trickled onto the instrument. The girl vomited, then fainted, her head falling forward onto her outstretched arms.

“So weak,” said the executioner, disgusted. He went to a wooden box on the shelf and pulled out a small bottle. He uncorked it and waved it under her nose. The astringent scent of hartshorn mingled with the stink of sour vomit and blood. Lutz gagged.

Herr Freude slapped the girl. Her head bobbed up.

“Who killed the baby?” said Father Streng.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Midwife.”

The priest smiled thinly. “How?”

“Potion.”

Lutz put a hand to his forehead. So Fraulein Spatz had taken herbs to kill the child. Or had she? What would he say if those were his thumbs being crushed?

“Did you see the midwife eat any part of the infant or drink its blood?” said Father Streng.

“Wait!” shouted Lutz. “Herr Doktor Lindner has already reported that the infant was unblemished.”

Father Streng turned slowly, the torchlight reflecting off his spectacles so that Lutz could not see his eyes, only two golden disks. “Herr Lutz,” said the priest, “the Devil is the master of illusion. He can make anything appear to be there, and he can make what's there appear not to be there.” He adjusted the spectacles. “Fraulein Spatz, did you see the midwife eat any part of the infant or drink its blood?”

She shook her head weakly.

“Were you planning to take the infant to the sabbath to share its flesh with other witches?”

“Bury. Tried to bury...”

“To be dug up later to be used in your foul rituals?” said Judge Steinbach.

“When and where did you first meet with the Devil?” said Chancellor Brandt.

Herr Freude placed his hand on the screw. The girl's plump face contorted with anguish. “Frau Lamm's,” she screeched.

“What did he ask you to do?” said Hampelmann.

Her lips moved, but she did not answer.

“Did he ask you to sign a contract granting him your eternal soul in exchange for ridding you of the child?”

She shook her head. Herr Freude gave the screw another turn. “
Ja
,” she howled. “A contract.”

“In your own blood?”

She nodded.

“How could she sign a contract?” Lutz protested. “She can't even read or write.”

Father Streng stopped writing. “Simple, Herr Lutz. The Devil explains the contract to the illiterate, then guides her hand to sign it.”

“What was his name?” said Hampelmann

“Name?” she mouthed silently.

Father Streng waved the quill. “Beelzebub? Satan? Lucifer?”

“Lucifer.” She blinked rapidly, as if trying to focus her eyes. Her head lolled.

“Was that when you received your mark, Fraulein Spatz, after you'd signed the contract?” said Father Streng.

The girl's face wrinkled in confusion.

“What was it like, fornicating with the Devil?” Hampelmann breathed heavily, as if he'd been running. “Many women have told us that his member is huge and cold, that the act is painful rather than pleasurable. Is that true, Fraulein Spatz?”

Lutz couldn't tell if the girl actually nodded or if she'd simply tried to lift her head and couldn't. He watched Father Streng record her answer, the speckled quill bobbing along hurriedly. How could they believe she was speaking the truth? This was exactly what Father Herzeim had meant. If they're tortured, they'll tell you anything. And Weyer, what about Weyer? Lutz had read the passage only once, but it was as if the words had been burned into his head, right behind his eyes.
Tyrants, sanguinary judges, butchers, torturers who do not know mercy. This cruelty is continued until the most innocent are forced to confess themselves guilty
.

“Tell us what you remember of the act,” said Hampelmann. “Was the Devil's touch cold?”

“Stop!” Lutz shouted. “In the name of God, stop. The girl is delirious. She doesn't even understand the questions. And you're
suggesting to her exactly how she should answer. How can we possibly consider her answers to be true?”

“That is why we use torture,” Father Streng said impatiently. “To reveal truth.”

“Truth? She'd say anything, anything at all, to stop the torture.”

The priest pointed the quill at Lutz. “Are you questioning the sacred teachings of the Church?”

“I'm not questioning anything. It's just...just...” Lutz gestured toward Fraulein Spatz. “Look at her.”

Hampelmann patted Lutz on the shoulder. “You're new to this. It's always difficult the first time. We should have prepared you. The girl appears to be in torment, but she's feigning. She's not like us, Herr Lutz. She doesn't even feel the pain.”

The buzzing in Lutz's ears had grown louder. He wanted to lay his head on the table.

“The Devil makes them insensible to pain,” continued Hampelmann. “That's why we have to use torture. To free them from the Devil's grasp. You'll see.”

“When and where did you go to the sabbath?” said Father Streng. “And with whom?”

“No sabbath.”

Herr Freude reached toward the screw.

“Easter,” she murmured. “With the midwife.”

“Did you recognize any of the others there?” said Hampelmann. “Was that where you met Frau Imhof, Fraulein Stolzberger, and Frau Basser?”

“
Ja
.”

“Any others?” Hampelmann leafed through his ledger. “Did you see a young woman named Fraulein Wagner, or a beggar woman who goes by the name of Old Frau Holtzman... or Frau Rosen?”

“Or the Rosen girl?” said Freude.

Lutz stood, nearly losing his balance. He leaned against the table and waited for his vision to clear. He now understood why condemned witches all named the same accomplices. Frau Basser had spoken the truth to Father Herzeim: names had been suggested to her. Dear God, had the woman really been innocent?

“This is not right,” said Lutz. “You're suggesting names to her.”

“Torture is God's instrument to reveal truth,” said Hampelmann. “If these accusations are not true, God will not allow Fraulein Spatz to confirm them.”

The girl remained silent, her eyes glazed, chin on her chest.

“See,” said Hampelmann. Lutz slumped to his chair. Lindner approached the girl. “Lift her head,” he said to Freude. The physician peered into her eyes. “That's enough for today. No good to overdo on the first day.”

“Release her from the instrument,” ordered Judge Steinbach.

“
Nein
, not yet,” said Father Streng. “We're just beginning to make progress. Have you considered the dangers of the Devil coming to her and strengthening her resolve? Or killing her the way he did the old beggar?”

“Enough is enough,” said Chancellor Brandt. “We don't wish to be cruel.”

Herr Freude loosened the centre screw and lifted the iron bar. Fraulein Spatz stared blankly at her smashed thumbs. Blood dripped down her arms and spotted her shift. Lutz could not imagine the pain. If she was feigning, she was doing a damn good job.
Tyrants, sanguinary judges, butchers, torturers who do not know mercy
.

Father Streng dipped the quill into the pot of black ink. “Now then, Fraulein Spatz, do you freely confirm the testimony – the answers, that is – that you gave while under torture?”

She shook her head slowly. “Nothing...true. Midwife didn't...kill baby.” She paused to breathe. “No Devil...no sabbath.”

“Put her back in the screws,” hissed Chancellor Brandt.

“
Nein
,” she screamed. “
Nein
. What I said before...true... all true.”

“Should I put her back in?” asked the executioner.

“
Nein
,” said Chancellor Brandt. “She has confirmed her confession freely, without torture. And we have enough new evidence to warrant additional torture if needed.”

Confirmed her confession freely
? Lutz examined his own thumbnails, smooth and undamaged. This was what they meant by confirming a confession freely? He felt his throat closing. He'd failed the girl, failed her completely. What, in God's name, could he do?

“Take her back to her cell, Herr Freude,” said Judge Steinbach. “And instruct the jailer's wife to tend to her.”

For a brief moment, Chancellor Brandt regarded Fraulein Spatz almost tenderly, then his face hardened. “Bring us the midwife then. That one is doubly damned, for she is the one who led this young girl to the Devil.”

Lucifer, Behemoth, Leviathan, Belial. They have given me many names. Satan, the fallen angel. Asmodeus, the evil spirit. Apollyon, angel of the bottomless pit. My favourite is Beelzebub. It rolls off the tongue with a clicking of teeth and a popping of lips.

The little Jesuit writes that I, as Lucifer, the rebel who fell from grace, fucked (he purses his lips when he writes “fornicated with”) the girl with my huge cold cock. Why would I choose such a simple-minded and doughy-faced fool when I prefer cleverness and beauty?

The priest is not beautiful, but he is clever. His eyes are bright, like polished silver coins, behind the glass disks that help him see the evils of the world more clearly. His logic, though ingenious, confounds me, so much so that I had to chuckle aloud when he claimed that I killed the old woman. Even if I could, why would I kill an old beggar who's already lost her wits? What secrets of mine could she possess? The Jesuit, for all his cleverness, does not understand that I have no secrets not already known to the hearts of men. Already known to his own heart.

They give me their secret desires and call them mine.

I peer over his shoulder as he writes. He feels my cold breath on the back of his neck and pulls his black robe closer. He's recording the midwife's answers now, a monotonous nein, nein, nein. His eyelid twitches. She's not easy, not weak like the girl. Already her thumbs have been smashed to a useless pulp, splattering blood all over the floor. It seeps into the stone, a memory, never to be washed away. Now her arms are bound behind her back. She dangles from the pulley
,
kicking in air that reeks of blood, sweat, and shit. She screams, hisses, spits, and pisses herself. The men sweat. Their shirts are damp, but their throats are as dry as Ezekiel's bones. They have not yet found the way to make her tell them what they desire to hear. They cannot even make her weep
.

If I could choose my followers, she's the one I'd select.

The executioner lets go of the wooden wheel, then jerks it to a halt. The midwife's shoulders snap. Her legs dance a grisly jig.

The fat one leans to the side and vomits.

Now there was the stink of vomit, right at their feet, to add to all the other abominable odours. Hampelmann felt his own stomach begin to rise. He brought his pomander to his nose and inhaled lavender and hellebore.

Freude lowered Frau Lamm to the floor. Father Streng stood over her. “When did you first meet with the Devil?” he said.

“
Nein
.” A barely audible whisper.

The priest knelt down beside her. He spoke softly, almost wheedling in his young boy's voice. “Surely, Frau Lamm, you know that if you were to confess, and to show contrition, your life could be spared.”

Hampelmann twisted his gold ring. He knew that Father Streng was only following procedures recommended in
Der Hexenhammer
, but misleading the accused made him uneasy. Hampelmann had studied the Dominicans' recommendations, and they seemed to him duplicitous at times.
Some hold that if the accused is of a notoriously bad reputation and gravely suspected on unequivocal evidence of the crime, and if she is herself a great source of danger, as being the mistress of other witches, then she may be promised her life on the following conditions: that she be sentenced to imprisonment for life on bread and water, provided that she supply evidence which will lead to the conviction of other witches. And she is not to be told, when she is promised her life, that she is to be imprisoned in this way, but should be led to suppose that some other penance, such as exile, will be imposed on her as punishment...Others think that, after she has been consigned to prison in this way, the
promise to spare her life should be kept for a time, but that after a certain period she should be burned. A third opinion is that the judge may safely promise the accused her life, but in such a way that he should afterwards disclaim the duty of passing sentence on her, deputing another judge in his place
.