The others laughed and clapped their hands.
“Quiet, damn it!” repeated the mayor.
Once order had been restored, Savini turned to Johann, his face flushed with anger.
“You come from faraway and might find all this amusing. But believe me, for the people here it is anything but. Just this morning I heard that children went missing from around Metz. How much longer should we wait before passing this witch into the purging flames?”
“How long have the children been missing?” asked Agrippa.
Savini frowned. “They are children of travelers. I only learned of it today, so I assume it happened within the last few days.”
“Then the accused can hardly have anything to do with it,” Agrippa said pointedly. “Josette Corbin has been in jail for much longer.”
“She may have helpers.” The inquisitor’s gaze traveled across the audience. “Perhaps even in this room.”
People began to mutter, and the mayor knocked his gavel on the table again. “Please don’t digress, Your Honor! We are dealing with the case of Corbin. So long as the accused doesn’t name any helpers, we will leave it at that. It is bad enough as it is.”
“As you wish, monsieur,” replied Savini with pinched lips. He seemed to realize that the mood was turning against him.
When Johann and Agrippa walked past the accused late in the afternoon, she cast them a hopeful glance. Josette Corbin probably hadn’t caught much of what the gentlemen had discussed at the table, but she must have sensed that these two men were her only hope of escaping the pyre.
“Not a bad move,” said Agrippa once they were back at his house with their books. He gave a chuckle. “Childish weather spells. How did you come up with that?” He lit a pipe and inhaled the smoke hungrily.
“I’m merely stalling,” said Johann soberly. “You said it yourself: once the Inquisition has sunk their teeth into someone, they don’t let go. I’m afraid we won’t be able to help this woman.” He lowered his voice. “And then there are those missing children Savini mentioned. Did you know about that?”
“I’ve heard of it, yes.” Agrippa shrugged indifferently. “But I don’t think they’ll have an impact on our trial. We’re talking two or three children of traveling folks—scissor sharpeners, peddlers, gypsies. My guess is they moved on, or they ran away from their parents in search of a better life. And Savini knows it, too—that is why he’s putting his money on the witness statements.”
Johann shuddered. Missing children always reminded him of Tonio and the tower near the Alps where he had found blood and a pile of children’s clothes. And of the horrific night near Nördlingen.
Small, whimpering bundles in the trees.
“I know what we’ll do—we change tack.” Agrippa’s loud voice brought Johann back to the present. The scholar rummaged between his books on the table until he found the one he wanted, picking it up gingerly with an expression of disgust. “The accursed Hexenhammer—the hammer of witches—by Heinrich Kramer, from which the Inquisition loves to quote. The author, a German Dominican, tried to present their bloody deeds in a scholarly light.” Agrippa grinned. “And therein lies our chance.”
“What do you mean?” asked Johann with a frown.
“Well, we should beat those white-robes at their own game. I am well aware that whoever denies sorcery runs in danger of being named a sorcerer. But we can prove that the Inquisition made procedural mistakes. This is a court trial, after all, and held according to the Roman laws. The judge is an old drunkard and Savini not nearly as clever as the two of us.” He nodded with determination. “We are going to drive them to where we want them with judicial finesse. You’ll see, my friend: this trial is going to make history. No one picks a quarrel with Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa and Doctor Faustus!”
They used the next few days of the trial to pick apart the reasons for Josette Corbin’s arrest. Whatever issue Savini raised, Johann and Agrippa had an answer. When the Dominican cited Bible passages in Latin, they produced the correct translations from the Hebrew. When Savini quoted the witness statements, they pointed out to the mayor that those statements had been unlawfully obtained. Savini was growing more insecure by the day, and Judge Leonard, too, struggled with the perpetual probing.
“So what you’re saying is that after the accused was arrested and taken to Metz, you handed her back to the peasants?” asked Agrippa. “On what legal basis?”
The judge groaned and rubbed his hands nervously; it was obvious he was longing for a drink. “On . . . the basis of . . . ,” he mumbled. “Of . . .”
“Of money? Were you perhaps offered money?” said Agrippa. “Money from the farmers who want Josette Corbin’s property for themselves?”
The spectators whistled and cheered, and several of the witnesses blushed. Not for the first time, the mayor had the room cleared.
Johann gave a little smile. He was glad Agrippa’s judicial games were distracting him from his own worries. His friend might not have given him a cure for his curse yet, but at least he allowed him to forget his disease for a while.
The weeks passed, and December turned to January. Ankle-deep snow in the lanes covered the worst of the city muck. The old emperor, Maximilian, had died during one of his many arduous journeys. People were saying that he put on his own burial gown beforehand and ordered his men to flog him once he was dead, cut off his hair, and break out his teeth as a sign of penitence. Everyone speculated about who the new emperor was going to be—Maximilian’s grandson Charles, who resided in Spain, or perhaps the French king Francis?
Johann didn’t hear much of the gossip, and he didn’t have time to visit the many churches and palaces of Metz, some of which dated back to Roman times. On most days, he saw Karl and Greta only for supper,
