The Witch of Cologne

‘She has not been seen since her release, except at her father’s house.’ Von Fürstenberg offers the information cautiously.

‘To secure her we shall have to defame her liberator.’

‘That might be possible. The Countess von Marck is a close friend of Meisterin Birgit Ter Lahn von Lennep, a woman once much enamoured of our colleague von Tennen.’

‘And now?’

‘In his newly found zeal he is refusing to take her confession. Naturally I am happy to console her.’

‘In the meantime?’

‘In the meantime we wait and watch. The patient cat catches the mouse.’

‘Indeed,’ Carlos replies carefully, ‘but be warned, sire, my patience can wear thin.’

‘Do have the breast, it is the choicest part of the bird, Monsignor.’

Von Fürstenberg pulls at the huge glistening carcass with his fingers then thrusts the fatty piece of flesh towards the Spaniard. Carlos, in a heroic gesture of fraternity, takes it between his own fingers and nibbles at it delicately.

Elazar sits before the fire with his breeches rolled up to his knees. The nursemaid stands behind him, her hands covered in a pungent-smelling ointment of chicken fat, almond oil and crushed cloves, massaging the old man’s shoulders. Ruth is at the table, grinding a poultice with a pestle and mortar, smiling at her father’s groans.

‘Woman, I am not a piece of old leather.’

‘No, you are a gout-ridden piece of old leather with religious ambitions,’ Rosa retorts as her thick fingers manipulate the swollen tissue.

‘Abba, you must stop the rich food.’

‘It has nothing to do with food. Your grandfather had the gout as did his father. It is in the blood!’

‘But the poultice helps?’

‘It soothes. You make miracles, daughter, with your magic.’

They are interrupted by a pounding at the door. Fearing the worst, they stop still.

‘I will go,’ the old man announces as he struggles to stand.

‘No, you won’t.’

Ruth wipes her hands and walks to the door. Outside a small boy, his reddish prayer locks tumbling down past his ears, waits impatiently.

‘Please, Fräulein! My mother needs a midwife. Please, she is in trouble! Please come!’

‘No, Ruth.’ The rabbi, leaning heavily against the doorway, his brow stern, is the figure of immutable authority. ‘I forbid it.’

He turns to the child. ‘Tell your mother the midwife is not available.’

The child, intimidated by the rabbi, is near tears but still he will not budge. ‘But Rabbi, she will die! She is screaming already…’

Without answering Elazar begins to close the door.

Ruth pushes past. ‘Come’ she says to the child and grabbing his hand runs with him down the street.

Elazar, immobile with anger, dares not call out his daughter’s name.

My true heart, my beloved,

I sit by the stream that runs past my orchard. It is late, I know not how late. I have broken my father’s promise and attended a birthing this very day. The woman was narrow in the hips from rickets and would have died without my attention. The babe was a boy, second child to Herr and Frau Rechtschild. The father is a tailor for my people and I had to make him swear not to tell of my service nor to pay me for it. It is of necessity of the heart that I attend these women. Many have died before their time—my mother among them—through ignorance and unnecessary pain inflicted upon them by clumsy midwifery. And if I risk persecution, Detlef, then I risk it joyously.