The Diary of Caspar Kruse III, Executioner: Goslar, September 15, 1633 – In the House at the Foot of the Rosenberg

  It is evening. My hands still tremble from what the day has brought me. Not blood, not steel, not death — but life. Our son is born. Anna has brought a strong boy into the world, red in color and with a voice like a storm bell. We have named him Wilhelm, after my grandfather on my mother’s side. The room smells of warm linen, of iron, and of something indefinable — the sweat and blood of birth, mingled with tears of joy and relief. I have wept. I, Caspar, executioner of four cities, wept like a child.

The pregnancy was long and hard. Anna had often been ill these past months. In the early mornings she bent over the basin, her face pale, her breath gasping. The smell of meat, of beer, even of my leather belt, made her retch. Her appetite came and went; most days she endured with nothing more than porridge and a boiled carrot. At times I feared for her life, and for the child’s, and every evening I laid my hand upon her belly, spoke a prayer, and whispered to the unborn life that I awaited its coming like spring after a bitter winter.

The midwife, Trina vom Stieg, was fetched last night when Anna was seized by pain. Trina stayed the whole night. She kindled the fire, warmed cloths, rubbed Anna’s back with herbal oil, and barked commands as though she had to drive the devil himself out of Anna’s womb. I stood powerless outside the chamber, the wall separating me from the secret of life, yet the cries cut through marrow and bone. Three hours before noon the child came into the world with a primal cry, his fists clenched, his back straight. He weighed more than my first two children, and his chest was broad like that of a young smith.

Anna held him in trembling arms, her hair dripping wet upon her brow. She smiled. A true smile, despite everything. “He has your eyes,” she said. But I saw her eyes: dull, weary, almost empty, and yet proud. She is so strong, my Anna. There is no woman in all Goslar I would choose above her, not even if I possessed the power of the emperor.

I sent Hans, my servant, to the Marktkirche with a message for Pastor Friedrich. Tomorrow we wish to have the little one baptized, before the autumn weather breaks and sickness begins to circle. Children die so easily — but not this one, not this one. Wilhelm is strong, his heart beats like the bell-ringer on a feast day.



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