Dancing in the Palm of His Hand by Annamarie Beckel Page B

and Lindner. The chancellor gave Hampelmann a tight smile. “
Ja
,” he said.
    Looking as if he might faint, Lutz gripped the table.
    Judge Steinbach picked up the gavel and tapped it once. “It is done then.”

13
20 April 1626
    Standing outside the Prisoners’ Tower, Lutz looked up at the narrow windows. He would have to talk directly to witches now and visit them in their cells. Alone. His stomach clenched like a fist, his throat burned.
    He turned away from the tower, toward the warmth and light of the sun. It hung low in the sky above Marienberg, giving the Prince-Bishop’s castle a rosy celestial glow. From his castle on the mountain, the Prince-Bishop watched over Würzburg the way God on high watched over Würzburg. God would protect Lutz because he was doing God’s work. Hampelmann had assured him of that. Those encouraging words had done little to hearten him, though. Did he lack faith as well as courage?
    Lutz pulled his handkerchief from under his cuff and dabbed his forehead, then tucked it away and set out for the university, only a few minutes’ walk from the tower. His long shadow trailed him, just off to the right. He wished that he really were that tall. Instead, he felt small, a timid mouse wanting nothing more than to hide in some protected crevice.
    He entered the inner court of the university and proceeded to Father Herzeim’s office. Lutz knocked, then waited for the soft
ja
before opening the door. He blinked at the evening light pouring in through the window. It fell like a golden mantle across the narrow desk where Father Herzeim sat. The priest looked up from the books and ledgers that lay scattered before him. “It’s good –”
    â€œThe Commission of Inquisition has appointed me to defend the accused witches.”
    â€œ
Nein
,” the priest breathed.
    â€œIt was Chancellor Brandt’s doing.” Lutz shook his head, disgusted with himself. “I was stupid, a
dummkopf
. Asked too many questions and did not see how annoyed they were getting until it was too late.”
    Father Herzeim’s hand closed over his cedar cross. “I never should have encouraged you to ask those questions.”
    â€œThat hardly matters now. It’s done, and I need your help. I’m a practical man, Father, not a mystic. I need something more than just prayer and faith and a bit of wax to protect me.” Lutz touched the ball of wax Maria had tied around his neck that morning. It seemed small and inconsequential, hardly the shield he needed.
    â€œThere is nothing greater than prayer and faith,” the priest said quietly.
    â€œThat may well be, but I need something more.” Hands clasped behind his back, Lutz started to pace. “I want you to come with me when I go into their cells. With you there, they’ll be reluctant to speak falsely to me, and I’ll know whether they’re guilty or not.”
    Lutz stopped in front of the desk. “I am not a brave man, Father. I’ll admit that I’m scared to death of meeting witches face to face.” He looked down at the floor, at the pattern of scuff marks on the dark wood, ashamed that he’d had to make such a cowardly admission to his friend. “With a Jesuit there, I would be less afraid. Of them and the Devil. Please, will you come with me?”
    Father Herzeim’s mouth twisted oddly, almost a smile, but not. “I’ve visited the accused,” he said. “I am convinced that most of them are innocent. But if my presence brings comfort and courage, I will go with you.”
    â€œ
Danke
.” Lutz picked up a poker and stabbed at the small fire in the hearth. “I also need your help in preparing their defence.”
    â€œThat I will not do.”
    Lutz whirled to face the priest. “What! It’s your damned questions that got me into this mess.” He saw the priest flinch and immediately regretted the accusation. He set