The Witch of Cologne

‘On a happier note, the next bottle represents Christ’s miracles. After much thought, the wonder I decided upon was the wedding feast in Cana when our Lord turned the water into wine. A difficult decision, but I imagine the wine to have been of a light festive nature, symbolising the rejoicing by his flock at the recognition of our Saviour as the Messiah. So I have chosen a Mosel-Ruwer wine, a Maximin Grünhäuser—this grape would be from the Abtsberg at the centre of the slope. A delicate drop, unbelievably fine yet with an aroma and flavour of an intensity I believe would be impossible from such stony ground without God’s intervention, and a little help from our Benedictine brothers.’ As he speaks he pours the light red fluid into the handmade glass goblets, then moves on to the next bottle.

‘After that we have the Last Supper. Imagine the atmosphere, a poignant mixture of quiet joy and sadness: joy at what Christ and his disciples had achieved so far and sadness caused by his announcement that one of them is to betray him. For this I chose a sober wine with a poetic background: a red from St Emilion. The town is a medieval labryinth, itself a matrix of spiritual complexity. The wine has a limpidity, almost a grief, that undercuts its darkness. You can imagine Christ holding up a glass and speaking those immortal words: This is my blood.’

He lifts the glass; a ray of sunlight streaming through the dark liquid casts an ominous burgundy shadow across his eyes. For a moment Carlos has the uncomfortable sensation that he himself might have been Judas at that immortal table. The spell is broken by a shepherd’s horn sounding out in the valley below. Heinrich replaces the glass on the cold marble.

‘Next we move on to the most pivotal event in the history of Christianity: the crucifixion. Our most Holy Father’s sacrifice of his son, martyred for his love of mankind. When I imagine the crucifixion I always think of the elation of spiritual enlightenment through intense physical suffering and pain. That moment of utter exhilaration Jesus must have felt when he surrendered both his spirit and his life. In honour of this I have chosen the wine of Madeu near Perpignan in Roussillon. The grapes are so rich and the wine so opulent that I like to think there is some divinity in its sweetness.’

He pours two glasses of the rich red. The fragrance drifts over and Carlos finds himself salivating. Heinrich smiles at him as if guessing his thoughts.

‘Patience, brother, we have two events to go.’

‘The resurrection and the ascension,’ Carlos murmurs, now swept up in the corpulent German’s narrative.

‘Exactly. For the resurrection, what would you have chosen?’

Carlos pauses, imagining Christ’s wrapped corpse lying peacefully in the cave covered from head to toe with its shroud, then the slow, magical rippling movement of life as warm blood begins to pump through the stilled heart.

‘A white perhaps?’

‘My thoughts exactly. The Spirit would be fresh and pure, an embodiment that floats above the ground. For this I chose a silky white from the Liebfrauenstift, in commemoration of the joy of Our Lady upon meeting her resurrected son. The vineyard surrounds the Church of Our Lady in Worms and the wine is both gentle and lively. And lastly, for the glory of the ascension?’

‘Red?’

‘Red, full-bodied and extraordinary. A bold declaration that rings out over cities, bells tolling, angel horns blowing, yet illustrating the simplicity of

Jesus’ ascension into the arms of his Father. The 1540 Würzburger Stein from Würzburg on the Main—the history of the vintage itself is miraculous. That year the Rhine dried up and wine was cheaper than water; consequently they stored the vintage for over a hundred years in casks in the cellars of the Archbishop of Main, who himself sent me this as a gift.’

‘I am doubly honoured.’

‘Indeed you are, but not as much as you might like to think—I have several more bottles in storage.’

With a smile he pours out the last two glasses of wine in front of the Dominican. Now the sun has risen, a blood-red orb that has turned the clouds above a glorious amaranthine. Carlos, turning back to the table, counts seven glasses of wine poured out for him to taste. The desire to shout out, to laugh, to celebrate the glory of the unknown the new day brings, sweeps through him.

‘What next?’ he asks, his breath a faint mist in the chill morning air.

‘Next we drink,’ the archbishop replies, grinning hugely.

Carlos leans against the huge wine press, the rich scent of hundreds of vintages ingrained into the oak pores of the ancient machine seeping out into the damp afternoon air.

‘She was a creature not of the flesh but of something far more refined, undefinable. Her beauty, in every aspect: musically, the grace of her gestures, the soaring heights of her wit; all of this was not of this world but one far more devious…’

He pauses, wondering why it suddenly feels as if the wine press has begun to tilt to one side. Heinrich, noticing the Dominican’s hesitation, immediately fills his wine glass again. It is late in the day and the two have been drinking solidly since the dawn toasting. However, Heinrich, blessed with a liver steeled by decades of drinking, is far less intoxicated than the frugal Spaniard—a situation the archbishop foresaw and has every intention of exploiting.

‘You really believed she was of the Devil?’ He leans forward to steady the swaying Dominican with one strong arm.

‘Oh, absolutely. Once during a musical recital I swear I saw her feet hovering at least half an inch from the ground. Not to mention the way she bewitched me with her breasts, her perfume, the fluttering movements of those long pale fingers—all sorcery.’ Carlos demonstrates, swaying his own hips in imitation.

Just another idiot who thought with his cock, Heinrich muses privately, but adopts an air of genuine sympathy.

‘It must have been terrible for you, barely a novice, to have to wrestle with such demonic forces. But Monsignor, I think you won then, for you have managed to cleanse this world of her evil family. Surely it would be Christian of you to forgive the daughter and let her disappear back into the Jewish swamp of Deutz. After all, would the emperor really notice since we have burnt the other two accused?’

‘I cannot let her go free,’ Carlos announces loudly from where he has climbed on top of the wooden press.

‘Cannot…or will not?’ the archbishop insists, sensing an opportunity.

The Dominican, the world a giddy collage of spinning parts, peers down. The archbishop appears as a tiny figure at the end of one of those new-fangled inventions by the Italian heretic, Galileo: the telescopio.

‘I will not! I have my duty to God and country!’ he cries out then topples off the press in a drunken faint.