He regretted the oversight. It would be unseemly for a member of the Lower City Council to be seen swooning at an execution. He tried to calm himself. Over the bulge of his belly, he studied a small blue flower near the toe of his boot, wondering how it had escaped trampling. He counted the petals. Five, and a bright yellow centre. The strangling was a mercy really. The witches would not have to endure the horrendous pain of the fires, and he would not have to endure their screaming. He hated it when witches retracted their confessions and had to be burned alive, with green wood to prolong the suffering. The shrieks were unbearable.
Lutz heard cheers, then smelled the smoke. His stomach roiled. His breakfast had worked its way up, lodging in his gullet. He could taste bitterness at the back of his throat. Maria had warned him not to eat.
Lutzâs ears rang in the silence. His back and legs ached. Heâd been standing for hours, but he knew Father Herzeim would not leave until the witches had been burned to ash, as prescribed by law. Even their bones were dangerous. The executioner would gather the ashes and throw them into the river to be carried far away from Würzburg.
Lutz could risk looking up now. The flames had burned down and nearly everyone had left. Only a few ragged beggars patrolled the grounds for scraps of food. With a long pole, the executioner stirred the ash. A glowing ember flickered, then died, releasing a final smoky breath.
Father Herzeim turned his face to the sky. Dark clouds had gathered overhead. âWhy must they bring the children?â he said.
âTo instruct them,â said Lutz. âTo show them the wages of sin.â
A small muscle at the corner of the priestâs mouth twitched. âThe wages of sin,â he said softly. He turned abruptly and strodetoward the city gate, his black cassock flapping around his ankles.
Lutz, his short legs pumping, hurried to keep pace. His closefitting doublet squeezed his chest and belly so tightly he could hardly draw breath. âFather,â he panted.
âI must speak to the Prince-Bishop. At once.â
âNot now, surely. Itâs nearly time for evening prayers.â
Father Herzeim slowed, waiting for Lutz to catch up. âThereâs been a new opinion from the theologians at the University of Ingolstadt,â said the priest. âYouâve read it?â
âIâm a contract lawyer, not a theologian,â Lutz huffed.
âItâs important, Lutz. They argue that people should not be arrested for witchcraft on the basis of accusations made by condemned witches. There must be other evidence. I must inform the Prince-Bishop.â
âIsnât tomorrow soon enough?â
Father Herzeim shook his head. âI must talk with His Grace before he sends out the bailiff to arrest the people whoâve been newly accused.â
âThe opinion directly concerns capital crimes, so the head of the
Malefizamt
will have read it. Herr Hampelmann will inform the Prince-Bishop.â
âOf that, I am not so sure.â Father Herzeim laid a hand on Lutzâs arm. â
Bitte
, will you come with me? The Prince-Bishop is weary of my complaints, but if you, a member of the city council, are with me, he will be more likely to grant me an audience.â
Lutz cleared his throat. âLower City Council, Father, only newly appointed.â
âNo matter. Youâre still a member.â
Lutz considered his friendâs earnest face. What the priest had told him did seem important: to arrest, or not to arrest, on the basis of witchesâ accusations when there was no other evidence. If Lutz were to go to the Prince-Bishop with new and valuable legal clarifications in a matter as pressing as witchcraft, it would be astroke in his favour. It could just win him an appointment to the Upper City Council. âAll right,â he said.
âBless you.â
Lutz shrugged his shoulders as if