Dancing in the Palm of His Hand (25 page)

Urine pooled on the stones between the girl's feet.

“Do you swear to tell the truth?” Lutz said gently.

She nodded. Freude prodded the girl toward the chair. She sat
down, her bare feet dangling above the floor.

The priest resumed his seat and took up a quill. “State your name and age.”

The girl remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor. Lutz placed a hand on her shoulder, but she pushed it off. Freude poked her with a birch rod.

Chancellor Brandt's lips curled as if he were trying to smile. “My dear child, you need not be frightened. You are here only to answer a few questions.”

“But you believe my mother's a witch. She's not.”

Freude drew back his arm. “You are not to speak–”

Lutz moved quickly to block the executioner's blow. “She is not one of the accused, Herr Freude. She's a witness.”

“That's quite correct,” the chancellor said kindly. “You have not been accused of anything, child. We're simply gathering information...information that could free you and your mother.”

“State your name and age,” repeated Father Streng.

Her head still bowed, the girl suddenly grinned. She swept a hand in front of her, then held out her arms as if to cradle a baby. “Fraulein Katharina Rosen, named for Saint Katharina of Siena,” she said formally. “I am eleven.”

Hampelmann squinted to see the girl more clearly. Katharina, the mystic saint. Eva had chosen a beautiful name for such a damaged child, though she did have a delicate, almost noble, profile. And the girl had spoken with an unusual dignity and composure for the child of a common baker and his low-born wife, for a child who'd just pissed herself.

“Your date of birth?”

“Sixteenth of March, 1615. And I know my numbers and my letters,” she said proudly.

“And how have you come by those skills?” said Hampelmann.

“Mama taught me.”

Hampelmann smiled. “Very good, Katharina. That's precisely
what we're here to discover...what your mother has taught you.”

Judge Steinbach read from Father Streng's ledger. “Did you ever see your mother with Frau Imhof, Fraulein Stolzberger, or Frau Basser?”

“I do not know them, sir.”

“You're sure?” said Father Streng.

“
Ja
.” Again, she swept her hand in front of her.

Hampelmann placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his laced fingers. “Did you ever see your mother meet with Frau Lamm or Fraulein Spatz?”

“I do not know them either.”

“Did you ever see your mother talk with anyone who looked wicked?” asked Father Streng.

Katharina pointed at Freude. “Only him.”

The executioner's glare took in both the girl and Lutz.

“Have you seen your mother with anyone of ill repute...or strangers?” said Hampelmann.

“Lots of strangers come into the bakery, but Mama would never let a witch in...if that's what you mean.”

Clever girl, thought Hampelmann, to know what he was really asking. Or had Eva prepared her? “And why would your mother not associate with witches?” he said.

“She's deathly afraid of them. She won't even let me watch when they're carted through the marketplace. And she never goes to the burnings. Won't let me go either.”

Father Streng dipped the quill. “Is your mother gone a lot?”

“
Nein
, she never leaves the bakery...except to go to mass.”

“Why is that?”

“Who would tell Rudolf and Hans what to do?”

“Rudolf and Hans?” said Hampelmann.

“The journeymen.”

“And what, exactly, does your mother do with Rudolf and Hans?” said Hampelmann.

“She tells them what bread to make, and when.”

“Your mother gives orders to men?” said Father Streng. The mole above his eyebrow jumped.

The girl looked down at her hands.

“Does she sometimes go to the journeymen at night?” asked Hampelmann.

“Mama sleeps with me. She never leaves me. I'd be scared if she left.”

“Did you ever hear your mother say that she wished your father would die?” said Judge Steinbach.

“
Nein
. Mama was sad when he died. She cried a lot. That's when I got to sleep in her bed. She cried at night, too.”

“Didn't he discipline you and your mother by beating you?” said Hampelmann.

“
Ja
.”

“Didn't you – and she – hate him for that?”

She hunched her shoulders, shrinking into herself. “
Ja
,” she said softly. “But we didn't want him to die.”

Father Streng pointed his quill at her. “How did your mother use the rocks and white feathers?”

The girl swallowed.

“Truth,” said Lutz.

“The rocks and feathers are mine, not Mama's. I collect them.”

“Why?”

“They're pretty.”

Chancellor Brandt leaned toward the priest. “
Bitte
, a clarification, Father Streng.” His dark eyebrows came together. “Does the Church forbid collecting feathers?”

“That would depend. If they're used as a sort of charm, that would be forbidden. But if they're merely collected and used in a practical manner, as in a mattress or a pen, that, of course, would be permissible.” He stroked the quill against his chin. “To collect them because one finds them pretty would not appear to be
expressly forbidden, though it's certainly not advisable as there would always be the temptation to use them in a diabolical manner.”

Hampelmann's stomach growled. They were getting nowhere, and he was tired and hungry. He'd gone to the Lusam Garden and waited nearly two hours. Nothing. Nonetheless, he would be patient. God had a message for him.

“Have you ever seen your mother with the Devil?” said Hampelmann.

The girl pulled her feet up onto the bottom rung and gripped her knees.

“Truth,” said Lutz.

She began to rock back and forth. “
Ja
,” she said quietly.

Lutz's mouth dropped open. He grabbed the back of the chair.

“When and where?” Hampelmann said eagerly.

“In the cell.” The girl looked up at Freude. “When he comes in.”

“Fraulein Rosen,” said Father Streng, “explain what you mean.”

She pointed. “He's the Devil.” The girl peered into Freude's face. “Why aren't your eyes red now?”

Freude laughed uneasily. “She's a lunatic...or possessed.”

“What did your mother do with the Devil?” asked Hampelmann.

“Do?”

“Have you ever seen the Devil and your mother engage in fornication?”

She stared blankly.

Lutz leaned toward her. “Have you ever seen your mother and the Devil...naked together?”

Katharina brought her small hand to her face and whispered to Lutz.

“What's she saying?” said Chancellor Brandt.

Lutz straightened and took a deep breath. “Fraulein Rosen
claims that when this man – she means Herr Freude, whom she believes to be the Devil – shaved them, her mother was naked. She also says that he touched her mother...in private places, and that he started to take off his breeches, but the jailer's wife came in.”

Freude moved to strike the girl. Lutz stepped between him and Katharina. The executioner turned to the other commissioners. “We need to search her,” he said. “She has a charm hidden on her somewhere. The Devil's using it to speak through her. She's possessed.”

“Herr Freude,” Hampelmann said coolly. “Have there been improprieties between you and the accused?”

“Of course not,” Freude snapped. “When I shaved Frau Rosen, she was naked – as they all are. She tried her best to seduce me. That's what the girl saw. But I did not succumb to her witch's wiles. And quite obviously, I am not the Devil.” He scowled at the girl. “We need to prepare for an exorcism.”

“I don't think so,” said Father Streng. “Fraulein Rosen's terribly confused. Her mind, as well as her foot, has been damaged. And though she moves her arms a bit oddly now and again, she shows no other signs of possession: no strange voices, no vomiting of foreign objects, no bodily contortions. Am I correct, Herr Hampelmann, in believing that there have been no reports to the
Malefizamt
about the girl herself?”

“Only that her crippled foot may be a sign that her mother's a witch. And, as we all know, witchcraft does run from mother to daughter.”

“But we've not yet established that the mother is a witch,” protested Lutz. “Fraulein Rosen says that she's seen her mother with the Devil, but if she believes that Herr Freude is the Devil, we cannot possibly conclude that her mother's actually met with the real Devil.”

Hampelmann's head was beginning to throb. He breathed lavender through his pomander. They'd been sitting in that cold
stinking chamber for hours, and the girl's testimony had only muddled the evidence even more. She'd admitted seeing her mother with the Devil, but since she'd identified Freude as the Devil, Lutz was right to raise the question. What, exactly, could they make of the girl's admission?

Judge Steinbach conferred briefly with Father Streng and Chancellor Brandt, then tapped the gavel. “The child has testified that she's seen her mother with the Devil,” said the judge. “Even if she's confused about who the Devil is, the admission certainly provides enough evidence to justify light torture. That, gentlemen, will force Frau Rosen to reveal the truth.”

Katharina pulled on Lutz's arm. “Does that mean they're going to hurt Mama?”

Lutz looked as if the executioner had put his thumbs under the screws.

The girl turned to the commissioners, her green eyes glinting. “You're all very wicked men.”

Katharina limped toward Eva, who searched her daughter's face for a sign of what had happened. Her heart clenched tight when she saw only fear and distress in Katharina's wild eyes.

Freude reached out to poke the girl with a birch rod, but Lutz wrenched it from his hand and threw it down. The rod clattered across the wood floor, coming to rest at Frau Brugler's feet.

“For God's sake,” muttered Lutz, “leave the child alone.”

“This is my profession, Herr Lutz. I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you? Does it ever cross your mind that an innocent person may have died because of your certainty that you know what you're doing?”

“God would never allow it.” Freude pointed a gloved finger at the lawyer. “I'll tell you what does cross my mind: that you might be one of them. You'd do well to heed the chancellor – and keep your mouth shut. You're risking everything...for nothing. It's as plain as the nose on your face that this damned stupid girl is possessed and her mother is the one responsible. Frau Rosen is a witch.”

“She is not a witch! And the girl is not possessed!”

Eva rattled the chains of her shackles to attract Lutz's attention. “Please,” she said softly, “do not leave us alone with him.”

Lutz eyed Freude suspiciously. “I won't,” he said.

“They're all guilty...of something,” said Freude, sneering at Eva, then at Frau Brugler, and finally at Katharina, who'd pressed herself against the wall. “You know what the Bible says:
From the
woman came the beginning of sin, and by her we all die
. Damn them all.”

“And what book would that be in?” said Lutz sarcastically.

Freude spat on the floor. “Watch yourself, Lutz.” He spun away from the lawyer and strode out the door. Frau Brugler closed it behind him.

“Ecclesiasticus,” said Eva.

“What?”

“It's from Ecclesiasticus.” She turned to Katharina. “Did they hurt you? Are you all right?”

Katharina moved into her mother's lap, cupped her hands around Eva's ear, and whispered. “The white dog came. She jumped into my lap and growled at them. I was scared, but she kept them from hurting me. And I didn't say anything about her, or about angels or angel wings either.”

Eva nodded as if she'd heard nothing unusual, but she felt worms gnawing in the pit of her stomach.

Katharina dropped her hands. “I told them the truth. I told them you're not a witch and you don't know any of the people they asked about.”

“You did well.” Eva stroked her daughter's face. “What else did you tell them?”

Katharina averted her eyes. “Only the truth.”

Gripping his ledger in both hands, Lutz leaned forward. “What is this...about your meeting with the Devil?”

“Mother of God, Katharina, you didn't?”

The jailer's wife wrapped her arms around her waist as if to protect herself, her eyes huge dark circles in a blanched face.

“I only told them the truth, Mama. That he came in and hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” said Eva. What are you talking about? I've never even seen the Devil.”

“He shaved you. And he hurt you. I saw him.”

“Oh dear God,” Eva wailed, shaking Katharina by the shoulders. “That's Herr Freude, not the Devil!”

“
Nein
, Mama, he is the Devil. He's the same man who–”

Eva slapped Katharina's mouth to silence her. The girl put a hand to her face and crept away, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“The same man who what?” asked Lutz, watching Katharina.

Hugging the wall, her back to her mother and the lawyer, Katharina rubbed her misshapen foot against her ankle. “The same man who comes to fetch us to answer questions for the other men,” she said, sniffing.

“So it's true then?” said Lutz, turning to Eva. “The girl is simply confused about who the Devil is? She's never actually seen you with the real Devil?”

Frau Brugler stepped forward. The keys at her waist jangled. “Well, it's easy to see why the poor girl would think Herr Freude was the Devil himself.”