Over a year after our return, Godke and I began looking for new opportunities to ply our trade, sans Fleur and the rest of the warband. By this time I was unhindered by my wound which was merely a scar. Fleur had begun basket-weaving and contributed a small portion of the weekly rent to the landlord which I was thankful for. Without it we would have been unable to make afford to live on our own. The townsfolk had not blamed Fleur for the events at the gate and she remained free to buy wares from every vendor in Metz, so I had no fear of leaving her behind on her own.
I don’t know how Godke survived given that he had lost his last penny to Karsten, perhaps he had a stash concealed somewhere as I did. If he did, it was a large stash for he had purchased a horse and carriage by the time we left Metz. More likely he had discreetly performed smaller solo witch hunts in nearby villages or the other Bishoprics of Lorraine while I was still recovering from my injury.
If that was the case then it was very impressive. I was uncertain how we were going to continue hunting witches with just the two of us. For most of my life we’d travelled with six and I’d had my doubts about doing it with four after Hurland and Jacob had died. But I realised that in my training as Godke’s acolyte I had learnt the roles of all four men who had fallen, and Godke knew them just as well or better than I.
I thought back to the witch hunts I had performed in recent years. In Reims and Leer I had extracted the confession on my own. In Leer I had written the statement of confession without supervision. And in Reims and Cologne I had shown myself to be a warrior capable of holding my own against any.
We might have been a partnership rather than a warband, but we were still witch hunters and we had a duty to God and to ourselves.
It was with that thought that we set out in the autumn of 1625. The Kingdom of Denmark had entered the war in support of the Protestant German nations and we knew that we might encounter trouble on the road, but we also knew that we had faced worse before.
I had said my farewells to Fleur and though she had cried and held me against her I knew that I was making the right decision. She did not protest and I told her that she could use my stash of coins if things became desperate, though I put some in my purse in case I had expenses on the road.
Godke said he was taking me to a town called Dessau in a place called Anhalt-Dessau. We had purchased fresh horses for the journey, and I christened mine Tencendur, after Charlemagne’s own steed. The stablemaster from whom I purchased Tencendur had offered me a gelding, but after Reims I was inclined to choose a stallion. Tencendur was such a beast, though young and of a similar size to most of his peers he had power and vitality that would serve me well in future confrontations. After buying horses and supplies we were left with insufficient money for a carriage, and all that we possessed we carried in our saddlebags or on our person. Godke had acquired a pair of cheap thumbscrews, but that was the extent of our interrogative arsenal.
Another thing he’d said was that we should be on the lookout for capable men to join us. He said that he’d found Hurland and Gunnar and Jacob and Thies while witch hunting, and I realised that I too had joined his band when he had visited Bielefeld to pursue a witch.
I was now 19 years of age. I had more scars than most men double my age, and I had defied death on multiple occasions. I knew that I had the strength to face whatever challenge met us in Dessau, and Godke was as strong as ever.
For the first time since East Frisia three years earlier, we were going witch hunting.
Dessau was further east than I’d ever travelled in Germany before. The journey was nearly as long as the journey to Prague five years earlier. Bielefeld and Metz and Leer and Cologne were all in the western reaches of the German-speaking region, and even Bavaria through which I’d passed a number of times was only halfway between France and Dessau. Dessau was more in line with the Bohemian lands, though the people spoke German, and the people there spoke of Brandenburg rather than France or the Habsburgs.
The city itself was little different to the many other German towns I’d by now seen on my travels, though there appeared to be more beggars than was normal. It was also devoid of men of fighting age, and I guessed that they had been called to war. The last thing I wanted was to be caught in another war between Protestants and Catholics like we had been in Bohemia, but Godke assured me that such a conflict could not occur for months at least. We wasted little time in travelling to see the Prince of Anhalt-Dessau, a man who introduced himself as John Casimir.
‘And who are you?’ he asked.
‘We are Godke and Karl,’ my master – no, my partner – said. ‘We are witch hunters.’
Casimir gently sighed, and I’m not sure but I think he rolled his eyes. I don’t think he was very interested in talking to us.
‘It’s hunting season and my daughter is unwell,’ he said. ‘A member of the town council will do business with you in my stead.’
Godke looked at me thinking that it was unusual, but it was the prerogative of a Prince to delegate and so Casimir left and we waited patiently for a bureaucrat to appear. A short man with specks of poorly kept facial hair across his cheeks eventually met us.
‘I am Councillor Heine,’ he said to us. He wore a Star of David necklace and spoke with a strange accent. It was obvious he was Jewish, and I think that he was also Austrian, which made sense because the previous Emperor Ferdinand had banished many Jews from Austria. ‘You are witch hunters?’
‘We are,’ I said. I was nineteen years old and no longer needed Godke to speak for me. There was no warband that Godke needed to maintain his authority over so he allowed it. ‘We would appreciate being led to the accused witch.’
Godke looked at me for that one. Accused witch? When did I start presuming innocence?
Outside of Cologne, I thought in silent response. I brushed such things from my mind as Heine responded.
‘The witch is in the witch house behind the church,’ he said. ‘I’d appreciate if you could deal with this matter quickly and publicly.’
‘We shall question her immediately,’ I said.
‘Good,’ Heine replied. ‘She is responsible for cursing our harvest. Many suffer and starve because of her witchcraft. We are prepared to pay you upon her execution.’
‘We need a confession first,’ I replied and Heine seemed to become perturbed at my responses so Godke stepped in.
‘Thank you, Councillor. We will talk to you again once we have the signed confession.’
Heine nodded and departed and Godke and I made our way to the witch house.
‘What were you thinking?’ Godke asked me.
‘Well, we haven’t even met the woman. How do we know if she’s a witch or not?’ I responded.
‘I thought you had learned enough to talk to the town’s representative,’ Godke said. ‘Clearly not. You always tell the client what they want to hear. If we end up not executing the witch then so be it, but if you leave doubt in their minds they might entertain other offers or try and handle matters themselves.’
‘My apologies,’ I said, and I meant it. My newfound conscience was affecting my ability to perform my job, and though I was not adverse to having a code of morality I had to choose when was the right time to practice it. It was with such thoughts that I entered the witch house.
The witch house was made of wood and, similarly, to the first ever witch house I had visited in Pilsen, adorned in Bible verses nailed to the walls. I noticed that there were three guards on duty outside the building. There was a raven-haired girl inside and she was chained by the neck to the floor.
‘What is your name?’ I asked her. She was clearly scared and had probably been anxious about this confrontation for days or even weeks.
‘Angelika,’ she said. She had an odd look about her, not an alien or disturbing one but something different to the rest of the townsfolk. She was shorter and thinner than most Germans, though that could have been a result of captivity. Her blonde eyebrows reminded me of Fleur and I felt a pang of sadness at leaving her behind.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
‘Angelika,’ I repeated. ‘Are you a witch?’
She shook her head vociferously. ‘They blame me for their poor harvest.’ She had a strange accent, something Eastern, and I had to strain to understand her. ‘I worship God as you do.’
‘Your Church is not my Church,’ Godke said and I thought it was a strange thing to say but Angelika nodded. I suddenly realised that she was Russian and followed the Eastern Church, but I had never much cared for the differences between the Christian sects so I continued the interrogation as if the interruption had not occurred.
I was about to ask her why they blamed her, but I stopped myself as it was immediately obvious. As a Russian in a German town she was an easy scapegoat, an outsider with no roots in Dessau. That explained the three soldiers guarding the entrance to the witch house: they were there just as much for her protection as to prevent her from escaping.
‘Will you confess?’ I asked. I was suddenly saddened by what I was doing, but I knew that I had no choice. I had to go through the initial stages of the hunt to ensure that she was telling the truth. I was immediately inclined to agree with her, but I’d already let my morality disrupt the job once that day.
When she shook her head I drew a shaving razor. The sight of the round blade brought tears to Angelika’s eyes and I tried to ignore it as I told her to take off her clothes. She hesitated but obliged, which was good because I don’t think I’d have liked holding her down while Godke removed them.
Angelika’s naked form was pleasing, but I figured that I was just missing Fleur’s warmth so I put it to the back of my mind and began shaving her. I did not have Thies’ steady hand and I nicked her skin several times but she was unexpectedly brave and did not complain or even whimper.
I was about to shave the hair on her head when I realised that I was adverse to doing so. I didn’t want her to be ugly and bald like an old man. I looked at Godke and he nodded, urging me on, and I hesitated but complied. Angelika sobbed gently as I shaved her head.
Alas, she was not visibly marked. Godke and I both checked her for the Devil’s mark but her body was unblemished.
‘The rites,’ Godke said, handing me a set of rosary beads which I instantly recognised as Jacob’s. Clearly Godke had saved them before Jacob’s burial in Leer.
I put the rosary over Angelika’s neck and asked her to say the Lord’s prayer with me. Her recital was imperfect but I put that down to German being her second language and the stress of the situation. Despite the offering of prayer and the rosary of the saint no mark of Satan became readily apparent to us.
‘Will you confess?’ I asked her. I didn’t want to torture her and though it would have meant her execution a part of me hoped that she would.
‘No,’ Angelika replied and I told her that if she didn’t then I would have to extract a confession. She repeated herself anyway, ‘no.’
‘You have to extract the confession,’ Godke said.
I couldn’t torture the poor girl, I couldn’t make her confess through pain.
Make her confess through pain? I asked myself. When did I start thinking of it in such terms? The torture is to drive the Devil out through pain. But no matter how many times I repeated it my mind would not revert to the beliefs of childhood.
In the end, I sheltered behind fairness.
‘I’ve done all the work today, why don’t you extract the confession?’
Godke looked upon me with barely concealed disappointment. ‘Why don’t you use the screw at least?’
I realised that Godke was judging me and so I had little choice. I accepted when Godke handed me the miniature metal vice and asked Angelika to hold out her hand. She refused and Godke grabbed her wrist and held it still for me as she writhed.
‘Please try and hold still,’ I asked her.
‘How can you do this?!’ she shouted in disbelief. ‘I’m guilty of nothing!’
‘Not according to the Prince,’ Godke responded, but I was on Angelika’s side. Truth be told, Godke also thought that she was innocent but he knew that we had a duty to perform and he was trying to teach me a lesson. So much for our new status as equals.
Despite my doubts, I attached and turned the thumbscrews to the point of uncomfortable pressure. I did not inflict pain, but as I prepared to I turned to Godke.
‘Is this necessary?’
‘Do you want to eat? Do you want to feed Fleur?’ he asked me.
‘She’s innocent!’ I shouted.
‘The town hate her, even if we let her live she wouldn’t last a week!’ Godke responded. ‘And Prince Casimir is rich, while we are destitute!’
‘That is not Angelika’s fault!’ I replied.
‘That does not change the fact that we will not receive a reward unless she confesses and is executed,’ Godke said.
‘You would kill an innocent Christian in exchange for coin?’ I asked him. It was rather hypocritical considering that I’d travelled with him for eight years and was complicit in many such executions, but I was having a moral crisis and it apparently would not wait.
‘What would you have me do?’
‘I would have some hunts end with mercy,’ I said at length. ‘Some must be guilty, but where is the process for those for whom innocence is appropriate?’
Godke seemed to consider what I said, but as I look back now I realise that I was sowing the seeds of doubt regarding my trustworthiness in his mind. He probably thought that I, like Fleur, had suffered mentally following the events at Cologne. He was probably right, and in the end it was the mental anguish that pushing my last remaining ally away would have caused me that led me to tighten Angelika’s thumbscrew to the point of physical anguish.
Angelika screamed and I asked if she would confess.
‘No!’ she shouted.
I tightened the thumbscrew further and repeated my request.
‘I am no witch!’ she screamed.
I tightened the thumbscrew a third time but this time Godke put a hand on my shoulder.
‘You have nothing to prove to me,’ he said, though his eyes told a different story. ‘This woman is innocent. We shall earn our money elsewhere.’
‘We could extract a tax,’ I suggested, but Godke shook his head.
‘We have performed no service, so we shall expect no compensation.’
I nodded and shot Godke a look that I hoped showed gratitude. I loosened and removed the thumbscrew from Angelika and she cradled the wounded digit as a mother cradles a newborn.
I knew I was lucky that my conscience had not been created when the warband was whole. I doubted if Thies or Gunnar would have agreed that Angelika’s innocence was worth more than our reward.
‘What should we do?’ I asked Godke.
‘We should tell Heine that we extracted no confession due to her innocence,’ Godke said. ‘But the woman would likely die anyway.’
‘Then what will we do?’
Godke smiled at that. ‘We’ll free her and leave this town.’
‘How will we break her chains?’
‘We’ll need to get the key that opens her collar,’ Godke said.
He led me to the place where we we had met Prince Casimir and Councillor Heine and sent a guard to fetch the latter. The ageing Jew appeared annoyed by our disturbance even before he knew the nature of it.
‘The witch is reluctant to confess,’ Godke said. ‘We need to expel the Devil through pain, but your chains are an encumbrance. We need the key that unlocks her collar.’
Heine obliged us. He seemed suspicious but I don’t think he mistrusted us, despite the way I had acted during our previous meeting. The Councillor reached into his cloak and from somewhere therein withdrew a rounded metal key.
‘Thank you,’ Godke said, taking it from Heine’s grasp before he could change his mind. We left immediately as we would have if we had been telling the truth.
Angelika looked frightened upon our reappearance but I calmed her.
‘You are free,’ I told her.
Godke unlocked and removed her restraints. She appeared to breathe anew and I offered her a hand to lift her to her feet. She accepted my offer and I reclothed her, for she was still naked. However, I could do nothing to cure the baldness that I had inflicted upon her.
Instead I reached into my purse and gave her a coin. ‘Buy yourself a wig and some food,’ I told her.
‘I have nowhere to go,’ Angelika said sadly.
I was about to offer her to come with us when Godke intervened. ‘Get out of Dessau. Where you go is not our business.’
I turned to him. ‘Are you sure that she can’t join us? We are only two.’
‘Every extra person requires food and shelter, and she has no skills that we can use,’ Godke said.
I turned to Angelika to see if she would refute his statement but she did not. Besides, aside from one or two hiccups on my part, Godke and I had handled this first witch hunt sufficiently well on our own.
Aside from the fact that we were letting the witch go of course.
To this day I don’t know why Godke did it. Clearly I was struggling with the dischord between morality and Christianity, wherein morality entailed the honourable treatment of all other people and Christianity required the execution of those who confessed under torture to having committed often imagined wrongs. Perhaps Godke thought it was a passing phase brought on by recent events and that by showing me leniency and support I’d go back to my old ways, but it was too late for that.
Ironically, it had been Godke who had shown me that being a witch was less important than being useful or popular. The witch near Cologne had lived because she had served a purpose, but Angelika was intended to die as a scapegoat for Dessau’s poor harvest because she was an outsider. Maybe Godke was in denial about my allegiances and the inevitable end to our friendship that every day grew nearer as the beckoning of my oath grewer louder and more insistent. Nonetheless, Angelika was freed and for once I was not haunted by the memories of screams and bone pops and death.