Dancing in the Palm of His Hand (9 page)

Only a few months ago, the same dull-witted priest had pulled Lutz aside, his breath reeking of wine. He congratulated Lutz on his recent appointment to the Lower City Council. “Such a pity,” he'd said then, “that you have no son to carry on
your tradition of service to Würzburg. Yet a woman's barrenness is a judgement from God.” Lutz had spun away, his fists clenched, ready to strike the priest's doughy face. No, his wife was not to blame for their childlessness. How could the priest, or God, for that matter, find fault with the gentle and generous Maria?

She set a bowl of soup in front of him, filled a bowl for herself, and sat down.

If she was not to blame, who was? Lutz knew what
Der Hexenhammer
suggested:
It is witchcraft...when a woman is prevented from conceiving, or is made to miscarry after she has conceived
. Was it possible his wife's barrenness was the result of a curse?

Maria lifted a spoon to her full lips and blew on the steaming broth. “What happened at this morning's meeting?”

“The council decided to increase the number of begging licenses issued.”

“Good. Now if the Grain Steward would just release more rye and barley from the stores.”

Lutz reached for a thick slice of bread. “There is little enough to release, Maria.”

“I think there is more than he claims.” She bent her head over the bowl. “What else did the council decide?”

Lutz pursed his lips. “They voted to dismiss Frau Himmel's allegations against Herr Seiler.”

“Fra-a-anz!”

He held up a hand to ward off her rebuke. “Herr Meier's investigation found no grounds,” he said.

“No grounds? Everyone knows Herr Seiler is a pig.”

“A pig? He's a respectable goldsmith, a trade master.”

“Respectable to men perhaps. To women, he's a
schwein
. No woman wants to go into his shop alone.”

“Is this just women's gossip? Or is there something you haven't told me?”

She bowed her head. “It is shameful to speak of such things.” Lutz studied her down-turned face. “Maria?”

“We must not speak of it. The poor woman will be humiliated by the council's decision.” She toyed with her spoon and knife. “What else?”

Lutz swallowed. “I've been appointed to the Commission of Inquisition.”

Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“It is my duty as a city councilman.”

“But it's so dangerous.” She blinked back tears.

“Where is your faith, Maria? God protects those who do his work.” Lutz laid a hand over hers. To comfort her? Or himself? “We will be safe.”

Lutz walked slowly along the narrow street, his fingers combing absently through his beard. He stopped and leaned against the stone wall of a courtyard. The unopened buds held the promise of colour amidst the drab greys and browns of mud and stone and wood, a promise that would normally gladden Lutz's winter-weary heart. But on this sunny afternoon, he felt faint-hearted, not light-hearted. Despite his brave words to Maria, and to himself, he was afraid, and ashamed of his fear.

He breathed deeply of the soft spring air, taking in the sweet fragrance of the white blooms of a horse chestnut, then proceeded on. He could think of no better man to seek out for advice than the final confessor for condemned witches. Father Herzeim knew their wicked ways better than anyone. Certainly he could tell Lutz how to protect himself and Maria from their vindictiveness.

As Lutz approached
Dommerschulstrasse
, an old beggar hobbled toward him. He snatched at Lutz's breeches. “
Bitte
, a
pfennig
, just a
pfennig
for bread,” he rasped. Quickly, Lutz reached into the lining of his breeches, grabbed a coin, and tossed it at the man's hand so he would have to release the breeches to catch it. As the beggar did so, Lutz noticed his eyeless socket, the clean lines of the scars indicating that the eye had been deliberately plucked out. Lutz drew back, wondering what crime the man had committed to warrant such a punishment.

Lutz hurried away from the beggar and maintained his quick pace past the Jesuit House. He'd gone there only once, just after
his first consultation with Father Herzeim. The cool glances from the rector and the other Jesuits had made Lutz feel so unwelcome he'd never gone back. Which was what they wanted, he supposed. Now he always met the priest at his office at the university, and though it was late in the day, Lutz knew Father Herzeim would still be there. It wasn't hard to understand why. On his single visit to the Jesuit House, Lutz had seen Father Herzeim's stark room: a narrow wooden bed, a plain desk and chair, a single tallow candle, a small shelf for books, a crucifix on a wall the colour of mud, and little else, not even a window.

When Lutz reached the university, he proceeded through the arched gates into the inner courtyard, entered a tan stone building, and made his way through the empty corridors. His footsteps echoed off dark walls. Knocking softly on the door to Father Herzeim's office, he heard a muffled, “
Bitte
, a moment,” then the stacking of books, quick footsteps, and the scrape of a chair or table. When Father Herzeim finally opened the door, he was breathing rapidly and his cheeks were pink. If Lutz hadn't known him better, he would have suspected that there was a woman hidden somewhere in the office.

“It's always good to see you, Lutz,” said the priest, “but what brings you here at this hour?”

Lutz surveyed the room, trying to discern what Father Herzeim had been doing. The tall shelves of leather-bound volumes were unusually neat. Tidying up? Remembering his mission then, Lutz laid his hat to the side. “The Prince-Bishop has appointed me to the Commission of Inquisition.”

Father Herzeim inhaled sharply. “I am sorry to hear that.” He sat down behind the desk, which was piled high with books and ledgers, all neatly stacked. “But it was bound to happen.” He gestured toward the wooden chair across from the desk.

As always, Lutz lowered himself gingerly, wondering if the rickety chair would support his bulk. “Maria is concerned, and
fearful. We've never had any dealings with witches.” He thought briefly of their dead daughter and all the babies who'd never been born. “None that we know of anyway. What can we do to protect ourselves?”

Father Herzeim's long fingers smoothed the edges of a leather binding that had begun to split. “Prayer. Faith. Confession. Daily meditation and examination of your conscience.”

“That's it? What about consecrated wax and herbs? Relics?”

“None of that would hurt, but...” the priest shrugged.

“Aren't you afraid when you go into their cells?”

“I believe it's not so easy for witches to work their mischief as many men seem to think.”

“You believe, but don't know? There must be something else you can advise us to do.”

“What could be more powerful than prayer?”

“I don't know, but...” Lutz teetered on the chair.

“When is the first meeting of the commission?”

“Monday morning.”

His fingers still worrying the damaged binding, Father Herzeim scanned the corner of the room as if searching for something. “Three days. Not much time.”

“For what?”

“For you to familiarize yourself with the laws concerning witchcraft.”

“I already know more than I want to about witchcraft.”

Father Herzeim turned to Lutz, his dark eyes piercing, as if he could see into Lutz's chest and examine his cowardly heart. “Would you allow innocent people to be condemned because you are afraid?”

Lutz picked up his hat and ran his fingers around its broad brim. The priest was right. Somehow he must summon his courage. “All right, Father. But my gut feeling is that people accused by known witches are almost certainly witches themselves.”

Father Herzeim's lips curved into the crooked smile that had become so familiar to Lutz. “Your considerable gut may say they are guilty,” said the priest, “but my heart says that at least some of them are not.”

“And the commission will recommend release for those who are innocent.”

The smile faded. “There are some on the commission who are overly zealous to execute.”

“So you still believe that Frau Basser was innocent?” said Lutz.

“I do.”

“But the Church teaches that God protects the innocent.”

“
Ja
, it teaches that.” Father Herzeim put a hand to his chin and pinched his bottom lip between a thumb and forefinger. “But could it be that God protects the innocent by moving the truly faithful to search out the truth? It is your duty to the accused, and to God, to pursue truth. Despite whatever fears you have.” He stood and went to the window. “I do not fear witches, Lutz, because I am doing God's work: offering these lost souls comfort and consolation, bringing them back to God.”

“The commissioners are doing God's work as well.”

Father Herzeim turned to Lutz. “You will be doing God's work if you are as zealous to protect the innocent as to prosecute the guilty.”

“I will try, Father.” Lutz studied the hard angles of the priest's face and hoped that his friend's strength and fearlessness would help him find whatever fragments of courage lay hidden within his own heart.

“We say God is love,” said Father Herzeim, his hand over the cedar cross that hung near his heart. “Yet the world is consumed by hate.” He looked as if he were in pain. “Catholics and Protestants hate each other, both hate witches, and both imagine that God hates with them.”

“Surely God hates evil.”

“The sin, but not the sinner. I believe God wants the sinner brought back to him, not killed.”

In the silence, Lutz could hear the soft coos of wood-pigeons outside the window. “What is it I need to learn?” he said.

“More than you can imagine.” Father Herzeim started pulling books from the shelves. “Let's start with the recent opinion from the theologians at the University of Ingolstadt.”

“I have given that some thought,” said Lutz, “and despite what Hampelmann says, I do see some problems with accusations made by condemned witches. It is quite reasonable to assume that they'd want to do additional harm by denouncing innocent people. It also brings up the legal difficulty of allowing testimony from a
testes infamis
, a disreputable witness.”

“There's more than that. Much more.” The priest's face was animated as he flipped through a leather-bound volume. “You must raise those questions, and also the question of evidence,
corpus delicti
. Where is the evidence that a crime has been committed? Particularly for Frau Rosen and Herr Silberhans. There is absolutely no evidence but hearsay. By law, that should not be admissible at the hearings.”

Father Herzeim glanced up from the book. “You must get them both released, Lutz. I am convinced they are innocent.” As if it were a mask, the excitement dropped from his face, replaced by a look of profound melancholy. “The cases of the beggar, the maidservant, and Frau Lamm are... more complicated.”

Holding her breath, Eva sipped the rancid broth. The jailer's wife was right. Eva and Katharina had begun to eat the food, even though the smell of it made them gag. Twice a day the woman brought them thin greasy soup and hunks of stale bread. Katharina whined for the loaves from their own bakery. Warm barley bread and cherry jam. Just thinking of it made Eva's mouth water.

She set down the empty bowl and allowed herself to take a deep breath, then put a hand over her nose. There were times when she believed she could bear the stench not one moment longer. Everything reeked: the spoiled food, the dank stone walls, the foul slop bucket filled with their own wastes, the soiled straw, her own body. Even Katharina smelled of piss. When it rained, the dampness made the stench even worse; it hung so heavy Eva could almost see it, a grey-brown fetid haze.

Eva tried to conjure pleasant smells: baking bread, freshly laundered linens, lye soap, hay that had just been scythed, beeswax candles, wild pink roses. And for just a moment she could catch the fragrance, just a whiff, before the stench intruded. She had asked the jailer's wife to open the window, but they'd grown so cold during the night, Katharina shivering uncontrollably, that Eva had had to ask her to close it again.

During those long nights, Eva held her daughter, and while the girl slept, tried to think of why Frau Basser had accused her. Always she came to the same conclusion: the witch had denounced her out of sheer malice and evil. The commissioners
would realize that as soon as they questioned Eva. They had to. The priest believed in her innocence. Eva had seen that in his eyes, heard it in his words.
You must insist on your innocence. No matter what they say, no matter what they do, you must insist on your innocence
. But what if Katharina told them of her strange visions?

The girl wrinkled her nose, then set down the bowl, most of the broth uneaten. She wrapped her thin arms around her knees and bowed her head, her eyes open and staring.

A prickling chill crept across the back of Eva's neck. The night before, Katharina had seen them again: angels in golden gowns, orange flames at their feet, the Devil, with his red eyes and leering grin, crouched against the wall. Eva had seen nothing, and as she listened to her daughter's whispers in the darkness before dawn, Eva's heart beat against her chest like a wild bird, trapped. “Don't listen to him,” she'd said. “No matter what he offers, accept nothing...from him or the angels.”

“But they're beautiful, Mama. Why don't you like them?”

“You are not to speak of them,” she'd said. “To anyone. Ever.” Then Eva had hugged Katharina to her chest to quiet her own heart.

Now, in the morning light, Eva studied the huddled girl, so pale and listless. The Devil was tempting her daughter. It was just as their parish priest had warned: the Devil took advantage of misery. And if witches could appear in the guise of the righteous, surely the Devil could conjure images of angels. He'd been one himself.