Dancing in the Palm of His Hand (31 page)

“I understand your concern,” said Lindner, “but anything more will almost certainly kill her.”

Judge Steinbach tapped the gavel. “Take her back to her cell, Herr Freude. Then come back for Frau Rosen.”

Father Streng smiled at Frau Rosen. “
Danke
, Frau Rosen. Your presence appears to have freed the midwife from the Devil's grasp. I'll be sure to include that in the report to the university.”

Lutz tossed his hat to the side and sank into the rickety chair opposite the desk. “They will recommend release, won't they?”

Candlelight cast Father Herzeim's face in shadow, accentuating its grim and angled aspect. “It is not a foregone conclusion,” he said. “But there are only five of us, so I need convince only two to vote with me. The professors are stubborn and arrogant in their certainty, but the evidence in Frau Rosen's case is so weak they may be willing to listen to reason.” He glanced toward the corner where his manuscript and heretical books lay hidden. “I promise you, Lutz, I will do everything I can to protect her and Katharina. Everything.”

He turned back to Lutz. “If only you – or someone else – had seen the sign Herr Hampelmann saw, the arguments for release would be that much stronger.”

Signs
. Lutz had never seen a sign in his life. Not one that he recognized anyway. He wished now that he'd seen whatever Hampelmann had, or at least had thought quickly enough to claim he had. He was willing to lie to save Frau Rosen's life. There would be time enough later to beg God's forgiveness. Now, there were larger truths at stake. “Do you really believe Hampelmann saw a sign?”

The priest's mouth twisted on one side. “With God, all things are possible. I would certainly like to believe he intervened on Frau Rosen's behalf. It would give me greater confidence that he will guide the professors to make the right decision. Have you told Frau Rosen about the commission's decision?”

“I just came from her cell,” said Lutz. “She is hopeful, especially since I told her that you would be among the professors who will be making the decision. She knows you believe her to be innocent.”

“A woman of great faith. Perhaps greater than mine.” Father Herzeim's fingers trailed over his cedar cross. “I can only hope her faith in me is not unfounded.”

The candle had burned down to a flickering nub. Father Herzeim reached into a desk drawer for another and placed it into the holder. Hot wax dripped onto his thumb and forefinger, but he seemed not to notice. “And what of Frau Lamm?” he said.

Though he tried, desperately, Lutz couldn't stop the flood of images, sounds, and smells provoked by the mention of the midwife: red-hot pincers tearing at breasts, blood spurting, vomit, joints popping, piss, bones grinding, shit. The small bit of dark bread and fish he'd eaten for supper rose into his throat. He swallowed it back. “She finally made a confession today.”

“Confession,” spat the priest. His face showing fierce disgust, he stared into the candle flame. “How can they continue to do this? I visited her today. The woman is barely alive.”

“It's horrible, I know, but she's guilty. She deserves her punishment.”

“Does she? Did the commissioners have one shred of solid evidence she'd committed a crime worthy of such torture, worthy of such a death?”

“There may be no evidence, but the woman just...just–”

“Just what?”

“Just seems evil.”

“Why?” His dark eyes narrowed to slits. “Because she defied the commissioners and refused to lie? Refused to confirm the foul conjurings of their own minds?” Father Herzeim slammed a fist on the desk, making the small flame waver. “Damn them.” He looked toward the ceiling, tears in his eyes. “Would that I had her
courage. She may be the bravest one of us all, Lutz.”

“I admire her courage, but I still believe she's guilty.” Lutz saw again the midwife's evil eye fixed upon him. Guilty. And wicked enough to accuse an innocent: Frau Hampelmann. Thank God she hadn't named Maria.

“You should know,” Lutz said, pulling his fingers through his tangled beard, “that when Hampelmann suggests names to the accused, yours is the name he mentions most often.”

Father Herzeim gave Lutz his crooked half smile. “I am like a thorn in his soul. In a secret part of him, he knows that what I say is true. The thorn pricks at his own doubts, and the pricking drives him to try and silence me.”

“I've heard precious few doubts from Hampelmann.”

“Even Father Streng has his doubts.”

Lutz snorted. “
Nein
, the Jesuit seems absolutely certain about what he and the other commissioners are doing.”

“Why then are they so quick to quote to each other long passages from Jean Bodin, Martin Delrio, and
Der Hexenhammer
, if not to reassure themselves and to quell the doubts that plague them?”

Lutz fingered his starched cuff. The spots of red blood, the midwife's blood, had turned brown. He touched the ball of wax at his throat.
Doubts
. Possible, but not likely. It was only he who seemed plagued with doubts about the commission's work.

Father Herzeim gazed into the darkness beyond the window. A few evening stars had appeared in the clear night sky. “Sooner or later,” he said, “Hampelmann will get what he wants: three accused witches who are willing to name me as an accomplice. And then he can send the Prince-Bishop's bailiff to arrest me. I only hope that I can complete my manuscript before he does.”

“They cannot arrest you, a Jesuit.” Even as he said the words, Lutz knew them to be untrue. Hampelmann could, and he would, if he could find a way. Yet Lutz couldn't bear just to sit
there and listen to his friend speak calmly of being arrested for witchcraft. Father Herzeim had to know the commissioners would treat him – a man of God who'd betrayed the true faith and turned to the Devil – even more brutally than they did the midwife.

Could it be that his friend was truly guilty of turning from God, of being in league with the Devil? He was, after all, claiming that even the midwife was innocent. Lutz shook his head, vigorously, to erase these suspicions from his mind. Father Herzeim defended the innocent. He might err now and again in going too far in that zealous defence, but he was not in league with the Devil. He couldn't be.

The priest placed his elbows on the desk and brought the fingertips of both hands together. “If I cannot persuade the other professors to recommend release, we must teach Katharina how to feign possession.”

“What?” Lutz started as if he'd just been awakened from a deep sleep.

“Possession is always caused by someone else: the Devil or a witch. So the blame cannot fall on Katharina. She can be exorcised, but not tortured.”

“But the blame will almost certainly fall on Frau Rosen.” Father Herzeim pressed his fingers to his lips, as if to stop the flow of his own words. “I know that,” he said. “But Katharina will be spared. Frau Rosen is a mother. It is what she herself would wish.”

Hampelmann twisted the gold ring around his finger. What to do about the midwife? Her testimony could not be allowed to stand. Though Father Streng had assured him he hadn't recorded Helena's name in his ledger, Hampelmann knew he couldn't rest until Frau Lamm had retracted her false accusation. He rubbed his eyes, which felt raw and burning, and tried to bring his attention back to the hearing.

“The documents relating to Frau Rosen and her daughter were sent by courier to the university late yesterday,” said Father Streng. “Has Frau Rosen been informed?”

“She has,” said Lutz, “and she's waiting anxiously for a decision.” The dark half moons under his eyes stood in stark contrast to his pallid cheeks.

“You can tell her that the professors agreed to act quickly,” said the priest. “They will then send the documents – and their recommendations – to the Prince-Bishop. We may have their recommendations, as well His Grace's decision, as early as tomorrow afternoon. Friday morning at the latest.”

Chancellor Brandt flicked the chain on the judge's gold watch, then carefully pulled it straight again. “How shall we proceed with Frau Lamm, gentlemen?”

“I examined her more thoroughly yesterday afternoon,” said Lindner, crossing his arms over his thick chest. Red blood vessels webbed the physician's eyes and his bulbous nose glowed.

Drinking heavily last night, thought Hampelmann. This wretched business was wearing on all of them. Except Freude and
Father Streng, who looked rosy-cheeked and rested. Everyone else looked sallow and unwell, especially Lutz, who appeared to have aged at least ten years. Hampelmann brought his pomander to his nose and inhaled lavender and hellebore. Headaches, constant headaches. He couldn't remember how it felt not to have a headache.

“I doubt the woman can withstand more torture,” continued Lindner. “She's lost a lot of blood, and some of her wounds are beginning to fester. She cannot eat. She can barely swallow water.”

“But she must be made to retract her false accusations,” Hampelmann insisted.

“Herr Hampelmann,” said Father Streng, “I assure you – once again – your wife's name was not recorded. I knew full well that accusation was false. And malicious.” He smoothed the quill between a thumb and forefinger. “But we need to proceed carefully. If Frau Rosen is released and Frau Lamm dies, there will be no one left to go to the stake. The commission will have nothing to show for all of its hard work.”

“But we must have more names,” said Hampelmann, “true names. Surely the midwife can name many more accomplices. We must get those names.”

Freude combed his fingers through his greasy beard, trapping a louse. “I agree with Father Streng. At this point, it's more important to have a public execution than to obtain more names. And that one'll give us nothing more unless I put her in the Spanish boots.”

Judge Steinbach cringed. Hampelmann, too, found the leg vises revolting. The grinding crunch of bone and the oozing of pink marrow nearly always made his stomach heave. Still, he wanted to force the midwife to retract what she'd said about Helena. He'd even be willing to endure watching the boots for that.

Linder shook his head. “She'll never survive the boots.”

“Then just threaten her with them,” said Hampelmann.

Freude snorted. “When has Frau Lamm given us anything just by being threatened?”

“Then bring in Frau Rosen again,” said Hampelmann. “That loosened the witch's tongue yesterday.”

“We cannot delay any longer,” said Chancellor Brandt. “I recommend that we bring in Frau Lamm, have her confirm her confession freely, then send the documents to the Prince-Bishop for his review. Soon. Before she can die.”

There were nods all along the table, except for Hampelmann, and Lutz, who sat morosely with his head in his hands.

“Father Streng,” said the chancellor, “has Frau Lamm's confession been written out? Is it ready for her to sign?”

“Of course.”

“Herr Freude, bring in Frau Lamm,” said Judge Steinbach.

After the executioner left, Chancellor Brandt continued, “We'll recommend that His Grace set the date for Frau Lamm's public trial and execution for next Monday. Are we all agreed?”

Again, everyone but Hampelmann and Lutz nodded. Hampelmann sat, silently fuming. He would yet force the midwife to retract her lies about Helena.

Freude returned, carrying Frau Lamm, who hung limp in his arms. He tied her upright in the chair facing the commissioners. Were it not for her laboured breathing and occasional groans, Hampelmann would have thought her dead. The jailer's wife had changed the woman's shift, but there were bloodstains on her chest, bright red and dark brown. The cloying stink of blood and putrid stench of infection hung thick in the air.

Chancellor Brandt put his gold pomander to his nose. “Frau Lamm, you have been brought before the Commission of Inquisition for the Würzburg Court to confirm your confession on this day, the twenty-ninth of April, 1626. Father Streng, read Frau Lamm her confession.”

The priest stood and began reading his account of the previous day's interrogation. As was customary, he'd numbered the questions – and the answers. Hampelmann listened closely as Father Streng droned on and on. The confession was at least ten pages long and described in grisly detail – much of it added by the young Jesuit – the crimes to which Frau Lamm had finally admitted: turning away from God and signing a pact with the Devil, fornication with the Devil, killing Fraulein Spatz's baby and taking its body to the sabbath to share its flesh and blood with other witches.

Judge Steinbach trembled as if he were witnessing the crimes himself.

Lutz raised a hand, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “My understanding was that Fraulein Spatz was caught trying to bury the child's body.”

“Doesn't matter,” said Father Streng, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. “Even if the Devil only deluded Frau Lamm into believing she carried the child's body to the sabbath, her intentions were evil. And merit death.”

Lutz sat, scratching his chin, his face still perplexed.

When Father Streng finally sat down and picked up his quill, Hampelmann let out a long sigh. Just as he'd claimed, the priest had not listed Helena among the newly accused.

Chancellor Brandt leaned forward. “You have had a day to think about your confession, Frau Lamm, and you are no longer under torture. Do you confirm your confession freely?”

“But Frau Hamp...” She was too weak to continue.

Hampelmann gripped the edge of the table. He could strangle the woman, right then and there. Father Streng laid a hand on his arm. “Relax, Herr Hampelmann, we know that accusation is false.”

Hampelmann stood. “You have nothing to lose, Frau Lamm, and everything to gain from God by retracting the names of those
you've falsely accused and giving us the names of true accomplices.”