The Witch of Cologne Read Online Free PDF

their archbishop on the twelfth day of the year: four hundred florins of gold and one hundred measures of oats, a sack of which sits before him. Heinrich, bending over, thrusts his hand into the sack and lets a handful of the soft grain run between his fingers. It is of poor quality, poorer than last year. An apt metaphor for the dwindling esteem in which the bürgers and the archbishop hold one another. In short, it is nothing less than an insult.
    Heinrich, an aristocrat, feels the merchants’ distrust keenly. Secretly ambitious to reinstate the old royal families of Cologne who were thrown out of power in 1396, he is at constant loggerheads with the Gaffeln’s artisan policies. It is a delicate balancing act he performs: appeasing them yet privately pursuing his own royalist strategies.
    The archbishop tries to comfort himself with the thought that he will be back in his residence in Bonn by the next night. Irritated with the world, and in particular with the divine will which has thrust him reluctantly into his current position, Heinrich looks over his court and finds a target for his ill humour.
    ‘Wilhelm! Will you stop being so obsequious!’
    The archbishop plucks a truffle from a small silver tray and throws it squarely at the man fawning before him. Deftly Wilhelm Egon von Fürstenberg, minister to the cathedral, catches the truffle, barks once in imitation of the small dachshund lolling at Heinrich’s feet, then grinning inanely pops the delicacy into his mouth.
    The small entourage of clerics draws a collective gasp and pauses, suspended. Each man stares intently at the archbishop,awaiting his cue. Heinrich frowns and the moment stretches out across the wintry beams of sunlight falling upon the grey hessian robes and naked pates of the shivering priests.
    ‘Touché.’ The archbishop, deciding to be amused, begins to laugh while simultaneously breaking wind.
    Relieved by his turn of humour, the entourage bursts into polite applause. Detlef, watching from the stone cloister which leads out into the grass-covered courtyard, smiles wryly then realises too late that Maximilian Heinrich’s beady eyes have fastened upon him.
    ‘Detlef is not amused—pay heed to his supercilious smile. He believes such antics are below the dignity of the church.’
    ‘Not at all. The clown also is one of God’s good creatures,’ Detlef replies smoothly.
    ‘As is the buffoon,’ the archbishop retorts, continuing the exchange with relish. As one the waiting clerics turn expectantly to von Fürstenberg, a man not renowned for enduring insult.
    ‘The buffoon implies stupidity whereas Herr von Fürstenberg is far more calculating.’ Detlef’s voice rings out and is joined by the cawing of a crow flying overhead.
    The minister’s face floods with uncharacteristic confusion, uncertain whether Detlef has insulted him or complimented him. This time Heinrich breaks into a full belly laugh, shaking so vigorously that he further inflames his gout.
    ‘Wilhelm, the lad has the edge on you. He will run rings around this idiot zealot. Why, I am tempted to go myself, just to be witness to the Spanish humiliation.’
    ‘Your honour, I am happy to bow to Canon von Tennen’s superior wit but I doubt his diplomacy.’ Von Fürstenberg, unamused, turns his flushed face towards the prelate.
    Wilhelm Egon von Fürstenberg’s ferocious ambition is legendary, intimidating even the archbishop. The minister has both close allies and enemies within the Gaffeln, but also secretlinks directly to the French king himself. A portly man in his mid-forties whose Achilles heel is sensuality, von Fürstenberg’s one true ally is his younger brother Franz Egon von Fürstenberg, an individual Heinrich trusts even less since he embroiled him in the siege of Münster four years earlier. Despite Heinrich’s initial reservations, Franz Egon von Fürstenberg convinced Cologne to send artillery and troops. It was an expensive exercise that is still dragging on,