The Witch of Cologne

‘Indeed,’ Groot replies, sliding his hands around the younger man’s shoulders. ‘They say she has a muscle that can milk a bull dry,’ he whispers hoarsely into his ear. The secretary practically salivates as he turns back to watch the woman weave her way through the revellers. Already he sees himself being ridden by white thighs, already he can feel her full breasts pressed against his face, taste her salt on his skin. ‘She could be under you in less than two wags of a dog’s tail…for just a little information. Your good master, Monsignor Carlos Vicente Solitario…?’

Juan takes his cue. ‘He is lower than the bastard son of a pox-ridden whore. A puritan bag of hypocrisy. Anything you want to know, it is yours,’ he replies with a certain relish.

Detlef, privately appalled at the ease with which the secretary betrays his employer, fills the Spaniard’s jug again.

‘The four arrests—three I understand, but the fourth…’

‘The Jewess?’ Juan bellows, now visibly drunk.

Detlef nods then leans forward. ‘Young master, it would be wise to keep your voice down. This establishment is patronised by the best and the worst of our esteemed citizens.’

‘Of course, of course. The first three, as you understand, are politic. The good Inquisitor Solitario dances to only two tunes: that of Pascual de Aragon the Inquisitor-General and of Emperor Leopold. But you must realise that the Inquisition is nervous, it knows it is an ageing lion with broken teeth. It shares Leopold’s dread that more of the Wittelsbach princes could defect to the Protestants, further reducing the territory of the Holy Roman Empire. This is why they have sanctioned Monsignor Solitario’s activities, although he has dismayed even them with his cruelty. The old Catholic guard fears that the dream of a secular Republic could be infectious: the disease is spreading everywhere, even in France.’

‘But the midwife?’

‘A personal vendetta. Her mother was Sara Navarro and the Navarro family were my master’s Achilles heel…But maybe I divulge too much.’

He falls momentarily into a solemn reverie and with a wry smile Detlef realises that his drunkenness is part artifice. The canon gestures to the tall brunette; within seconds she is at their table.

‘The gentleman is a visitor and would like to sample some of our famous Rhineland hospitality.’

He addresses the girl using the polite form and the quaint formality coupled with his unnerving beauty actually makes the prostitute blush. With a hesitant smile she sits down beside the grinning cleric and starts unbuttoning Juan’s breeches as she prepares to slip under the table.

‘But only after the gentleman has shared some invaluable information about his glorious nation,’ Detlef says, staying her hand. The girl immediately sits back, taunting the plainly tumescent secretary with her high breasts.

‘The Navarros were once the wealthiest Marrano family in Aragon,’ the Spaniard continues, now stammering with excitement, ‘forced into conversion forty years ago. Solitario was the young friar who pursued them with a vengeance after he had been in their employment as a music tutor. My master’s gift for music is surpassed only by his gift for sadism.’

He leans forward; the scent of cheap musk mixed with the smell of wine wafts over Detlef, sickening him. ‘There were rumours of an attempted rape and of a great love scorned. Whatever his motives, our good friar was determined to denounce the Narravos, which he did, and for his troubles was rewarded with the enviable position of inquisitor. The family were charged with being secret Jews, devil worshippers and sorcerers. The father, an eminent diamond merchant, perished denouncing himself on the rack, the mother was burnt, the son—a youth of fifteen—died by his own hand before they had a chance to arrest him. Only the daughter, Sara, escaped, but not before Solitario had interrogated her and left his mark upon her body. And what a body. They used to say that the diamond that shone brightest in Señor Navarro’s coffers was his daughter. She was as beautiful as the moon and as mysterious as the sea.’

‘Sir, your sonnet-making is as wondrous as a bucket of night soil,’ Groot interjects impatiently. ‘How did the daughter escape?’

‘They say she bribed the prison guards with a huge diamond of her father’s. Smuggled in her undergarments.’ To emphasise the point he thrusts his hand under the skirt of the girl beside him, who squeals musically but does nothing to resist.

‘Where did the good woman flee to?’ Detlef asks.

‘To Holland where she converted back to Judaism, much to Solitario’s chagrin. Fuck him, he’s a miserly bastard with about as much love of humanity as a goat turd.’

‘Now that simile shows true poetic talent.’

The two clerics break into full belly laughs of mutual admiration, splattering wine at each other in their drunken mirth. Juan suddenly lurches forward and grabs the collar of Detlef’s smock.

‘My master struck a deal with the emperor himself. He went to Vienna with the permission of the Grand Inquisitional Council to forge new relations between Austria and Spain. He knew Heinrich was a thorn in Leopold’s side so he offered to kill four birds with a single arrow: the French spies, the secret Republican and the witch.’

‘So our misanthropic friend plans to avenge himself on the daughter because he failed to destroy the mother?’ Detlef muses.

‘Mark my words, the old bastard will torture her to the brink of her life then torture her some more. And whatever she confesses, I swear on my own mother’s life: the Jewess will burn.’

‘But she remains under the jurisdiction of Cologne?’ the canon ventures.

‘That won’t save her. Besides the witchcraft they say she is an associate of the heretic Benedict Spinoza and the Dutch anti-royalist Franciscus van den Enden. By burning her Monsignor Solitario scores two points with one sorceress. Anyway, what do you care? She is just a Jewish peasant. Let the old bastard have his fun, maybe it’ll get him off our backs. And now I believe I am more than ready to sample some Rhenish delight.’ He pushes back his chair and struggles to his feet.

Detlef tosses several Reichstaler towards the whore who, sensing his authority, scoops them up with a reverent air. Ste

adying the Spaniard with one arm she guides him to the back stairs which lead to the tiny bedchambers above. Just before they disappear she turns and gives Detlef a cheeky wink.

The canon reaches for the Rheinwein and pours himself a large glass. He drinks it down in one long gulp. Tonight he wants to get drunk, to lose himself. Groot watches, curious; he has never seen his master like this. Excited at the possibility of a new vulnerability to be exploited he immediately fills Detlef’s glass again.

‘Sire, should I make enquiries about whether the good Merchant Ter Lahn von Lennep is at sea? It could be that his fine lady is in need of spiritual reassurance…’