approached her, smiling. When one of them pulled back her lips, Katharina discerned the sharp fangs of a she- wolf.
“No! Go away, get away from me! You’re nothing but an evil dream!”
The virgins, the priests, and the devil vanished, and all that remained was an empty room with a sweat- soaked Katharina lying on the cold floor. An itching sensation began to spread over her body, growing ever more intense until she had to rub her body against the wall like a wild boar. She couldn’t suppress a giggle.
Her laughter became uncontrollable, convulsive; she struggled for air until she finally collapsed, the laughter turning to sobs that became softer and softer until they finally died away. For a single moment Katharina could think clearly again, and she struggled desperately to hold on to her reason, which she could feel gradually slipping away.
There was a creak as the hatch opened and gloved hands delivered another round of delicacies-wine, white bread, veal still pink inside and drenched in a steaming cream sauce, with a side of dumplings and sweets dripping with honey.
The eye stared at Katharina until she sopped up the last of the thick sauce with the warm bread. Then its owner turned and ascended the stairs, whistling.
The experiment was progressing nicely.
8
REGENSBURG
EARLY MORNING, AUGUST 21, 1662 AD
The hour has come, Bavarian. We must begin.”
In the dungeon the Regensburg executioner bent down to Jakob Kuisl, who had fallen asleep on the grimy hard wooden floor, and gently shook him by the shoulder. When the Schongau hangman didn’t stir, Teuber nudged him with his foot.
“Come on, now, pull yourself together. The authorities have decided to have you tortured,” the executioner announced. “If you keep lolling around like this, we’ll have to summon the guards and light a fire under your ass.”
“It’ll never burn, as wet and moldy as it is down here.” Kuisl rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Even back home in little Schongau, the condemned are better off than here in your fine Imperial City.”
Teuber chuckled. “Just you wait. After the sentencing you’ll go to death row, just like all the others condemned to die. There’s at least a bit of sunlight there, and you’re allowed visitors.”
“I’m thrilled to hear it.” Kuisl struggled to his feet and turned toward the door. “Let’s go. Before I actually wake up.”
Outside, four bailiffs waited for the Schongau hangman, a mixture of fear and revulsion in their faces. To them he was the bathhouse monster who had sunk his fangs into the throats of two of their citizens-at least that was the word on the street. Because such a monster could even be expected to attack four guards armed to the teeth, the bailiffs lowered their halberds, ready to strike at any moment.
“Calm down,” Kuisl said. “I’m not going to attack you.”
Without paying further attention to the guards, he accompanied Teuber down the narrow corridor until they came to stairs leading down into a large room. Along the way they passed a brazier filled with glowing coals and a few pokers. The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and fear.
The Schongau hangman surveyed the torture chamber, impressed with both the equipment and the size of the room. On Kuisl’s left stood a rack topped with a bloodstained roller spiked with iron balls. Behind it was the so- called Naughty Liesl, a wooden triangle attached to a cord, which the hangman used to hoist the offender into the air. Scattered around the room lay stones of various sizes, which were attached as weights to the victim’s arms and legs as he swung from the device.
On the opposite wall were other torture instruments that Kuisl knew only by word of mouth, because the Schongau city council considered them too expensive. Among them were the Maiden’s Lap, a chair with iron spikes covering the seat; the Spanish Donkey; and the Slide, an upright rack with four polished rotating wood triangles. Two white tallow candles gave off flickering light, and between them hung a crucifix: a solemn reminder that everything happening here was God’s will.
“Well done, cousin. Nothing’s missing here.” Kuisl’s gaze wandered to one side where a portion of the basement was closed off by a thick wooden lattice. From behind it came quiet murmurs.
“The three inquisitors are already here,” Teuber whispered, pointing to the lattice. “We’re just waiting now for the surgeon. Until recently the bathhouse owner Hofmann played that part, but they had to replace him rather abruptly, of course. As far as I know, with the surgeon Dominik Elsperger.” Teuber shrugged. “If you ask me, he’s a real quack. But in here it doesn’t really matter, now does it?”
“So, who are my three inquisitors?” asked Kuisl. He tried to make out anything behind the mesh but could see only moving shadows. “They’re probably afraid I’m going to bite their heads off.”
“All three are aldermen,” Teuber said. “According to custom, it includes the oldest and the youngest members of the council. The third member is always someone different at each trial. Ah, here comes the doctor now.”
The bailiff led in a timid little man who reminded Kuisl of the Schongau medicus Bonifaz Fronwieser. Dominik Elsperger wore a tattered jacket and, beneath it, a bloodstained linen smock. He held a large leather bag in front of him like a shield. When he caught sight of the Schongau hangman, he flinched.
“I–I’m supposed to examine you first,” the surgeon stuttered. “To determine whether you’re fit for questioning, you understand. Please remove your shirt.”
Kuisl unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing a hairy chest marked by a number of scars from old gunshot wounds. The little physician fumbled around, anxiously eyeing the guards. He looked Kuisl in the eye briefly as he felt for his heartbeat. Finding it calm and measured, the doctor nodded ceremoniously.
“The offender is more than fit for questioning,” he said, looking toward the closed-off area. “Strong as an ox. He won’t keel over so fast. In my estimation we can proceed.”
Only a soft whisper could be heard from the niche behind the latticework. Finally Elsperger took his seat on a bench whose backrest, oddly, extended only half its length. Teuber noticed Kuisl’s bemused glance.
“The other half of the bench is for me,” the Regensburg executioner said with a grin. “We disreputable hangmen don’t deserve a backrest. But I don’t get to sit down very much anyway.”
“That’s right, Teuber,” a harsh voice finally said behind the lattice. It sounded like an older man accustomed to being obeyed. “Enough chitchat. Let’s begin.”
Teuber nodded. “As you wish.”
Once again the Regensburg executioner turned and whispered in Kuisl’s ear. “Confess, Kuisl. I promise you a quick, clean death.”
“Get to work, hangman,” Kuisl growled. “Leave the rest to me.”
A second voice with a strong Bavarian accent could be heard now behind the lattice, higher and brighter than the first. Kuisl assumed it belonged to the youngest council member. “Teuber, first show the man the instruments and explain their purpose. Maybe that will make him more cooperative.”
“Save yourself the trouble,” Kuisl said. “You know who I am. You don’t have to explain to a hangman what he does.”
Teuber sighed and led his colleague to the rack. With huge, callused hands he tied Kuisl’s hands and feet to a roller at each end of the rack so not even the slightest movement was possible.
“Jakob Kuisl of Schongau,” the harsh voice intoned once more from behind the lattice. “You stand accused of the murders of Andreas Hofmann and his wife, Lisbeth, nee Kuisl, on the morning of the fourteenth of August in their very own bathhouse. Do you acknowledge your guilt?”
