Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church (15 page)

‘If I were
truly
an educated man then I would believe that if the Lord had unleashed upon the world a plague that lays waste to all people irrespectively – be they sinful miscreants or devout men of God – then this act would be no more sensible than poisoning the town well,' Melchior replied. ‘Plague is no different from the other sicknesses and sickness-causing poisons that surround us, and when a person's body becomes frailer – through ageing, for example – then it also falls ill more easily. I believe that the holy Father is correct. A person receives their
salvation from the Lord, but the causes of sickness must be sought elsewhere. Where illness is found so can be found its cure.'

The Prior coughed and nodded. ‘I have seen heartless miscreants and murderers untouched by the plague while the bodies of loving mothers and God-fearing holy men were carted one after another by death wagons unto the bonfires. It was at that very moment, as if through a vision, that I came to understand that as long as there is so much strife and poverty in this world, so long do we also have need for assuagement, faith and love to make a stand against such troubles. It was during those days of plague that I, as a young boy, joined our Dominican Order.'

‘Praise the Lord,' Wunbaldus declared loudly.

‘Oh yes, let us,' agreed the Prior. ‘And let us learn to perceive the world through His words, because they hold truth and recognition. May we see truth and justice, love and mercy in every place, and forgiveness, because it is not here, not in this world, that each one of us will face our last trial and judgement.'

Melchior was not exactly sure whether he correctly understood the Prior's point, but the word judgement reminded him of why they had come to the monastery in the first place. He said, ‘Nevertheless, the Lord has charged us with judgement here on this earth. In truth, it is for this very reason that the Magistrate and I came to enquire whether the honourable Prior might be able to help bring us closer to the truth.'

‘You do see that the holy Father is ill,' Wunbaldus spoke with warning in his voice.

Eckell shook his head. ‘No, I am better, already much better. I always feel more fit here when I am near St Rochus,' said the Prior, gesturing with his eyes towards the relics.

‘St Rochus? Ah, the holy Father means the relics,' Melchior remarked.

‘Yes, here they are. I requested that Wunbaldus clean our silver relics. He once practised as a goldsmith … amongst all his other trades.'

‘This, before the Lord allowed me to reach my epiphany to which I must dedicate my life without end or reservation,' Wunbaldus recited.

‘Did the Prior have these same relics in mind when he said earlier that the Lord also sent a medicine to ward against plague in the world?' Melchior asked.

Eckell looked him sharply in the eye and then said with a slight chuckle, ‘You are a very curious man, Melchior.'

‘I confess my vice. All apothecaries are this way. Our profession is to
find medicines that work to counter the sicknesses of man. Yet, if you will allow, I wish to ask once more, are they indeed those famed heads that help to cure diseases? I have heard people speak of the relics, but I do not believe I have seen them before with my own eyes.'

‘Very few have seen them, Melchior. We never expose the relics. Yet here they are: the head of St Rochus, who guards against plague and was sent to us by our brothers in Arles; the head of St Walburg, patron saint of those afflicted by dreadful coughing; the head of Erhardus of Regensburg, patron of those with poor eyes and of the blind; then we have the head of St Wolfgangus, who, when prayed to, helps those –'

‘Who suffer from stomach pains,' Melchior interrupted excitedly. ‘I know of one good, bitter remedy that is also called Erhard's Cure.'

‘You know the saints well,' the Prior commended.

‘All Wakenstedes study the lives of the saints diligently. My father insisted that I research everything I could about them and I have made every effort to follow his teachings,' Melchior replied modestly.

The relic that Wunbaldus was cleaning was presently uncovered. Melchior glimpsed a round head and blackened, wrinkled skin. So this would be the head of St Rochus, whose brain was removed and boiled, Melchior contemplated. He wanted to enquire about the object, but the chamber was suddenly flooded with the sound of beautiful, powerful, clear voices. It was the Dominican Brothers singing before evening mass, although the sound seemed almost to be coming from the room next door.

‘
Ecco virgo concipiet
,' Eckell pronounced. ‘Forgive us, Magistrate. Our brothers are already singing, and the evening service is near. We must leave. Wunbaldus, please assist me. We have many more duties before setting out for the Brotherhood of Blackheads.'

‘The holy Father is not really considering …' Melchior began with hesitation, but Eckell chuckled.

‘Of course he is. I may be old and frail, yet now that the casks have already been taken to the Blackheads' guildhall the Dominican Prior really cannot be absent from the event. Do not believe that word of the fine taste of the beer made by Tallinn's Dominicans will only be heard within Tallinn and Livonia. News of our beer's victory is awaited by all of the monasteries, even as far away as Augsburg. By the way, I sent two casks of beer brewed at Wunbaldus's hands to our brothers in Magdeburg, and now they are demanding our Lay Brother for themselves.'

‘However, I have given my vow never to leave the town of Tallinn, again,' said Wunbaldus with assurance.

‘Thus the Magdeburg brothers must make do with their own. I could indeed free Wunbaldus from his oath, but I will never do so, absolutely not. I can say to you that we had never had beer with so fine a flavour brewed here as we have since the day that Wunbaldus arrived at our monastery five years ago.'

Wunbaldus placed his arm beneath the Prior's and helped him to stand. Mass for the Blackheads and then the evening service awaited the pious brothers. A black head in a reliquary and the Blackheads. The thought dawned upon Melchior in a flash. It was odd that he had never before made this connection. Now that he had thought of it the Apothecary realized he did not know how the Blackheads had come to be given their name. However, Melchior now believed he saw an obvious connection – the Dominicans' black head and the Blackheads' association with the Dominicans. This was all very well and interesting, but it could not help solve Clingenstain's murder.

Melchior addressed Wunbaldus, ‘So, Wunbaldus, you should stop by the pharmacy on more often. Perhaps we have things to teach one another. You can train me in the secrets of your brewing, and I will demonstrate how to make a few stronger-tasting elixirs, perhaps the kind that will help the holy Prior Eckell with his ailments.'

‘Absolutely,' the Lay Brother agreed. ‘However, I have many tasks to fulfil here at the monastery and gather alms three days each week. Nevertheless, I will certainly stop by.'

‘And the Magistrate and I will no doubt be busying ourselves with catching a murderer,' Melchior mused.

‘It is unfortunate that I cannot help you with your pursuits in any way other than giving a blessing,' said the Prior. ‘I have already told you everything I know. Hinricus and I reached Toompea when Clingenstain had drunk himself to the point of senselessness, and it was difficult to make out a word he said. He wished to confess, more down to the emotions that surfaced because of his drunken state than in the manner of a holy, God-fearing man. I went to the Dome Church, and he followed a short time later. Wunbaldus and I returned to the town after his confession.'

‘If I may ask, Father, was Clingenstain wearing his new gold collar when he came to confession?'

‘You mean the one that he purchased from the Goldsmith? Yes, I saw it around his neck at the feast table in the Great Hall of the castle – I was told that Clingenstain had purchased it that very morning – but he was no longer wearing it when he came to confession. At least he had enough sense to appear before the Lord unadorned with jewellery.'

The singing from the church was coming to an end, and it was time for Melchior and Dorn to depart – but Melchior had one more question for Wunbaldus. The Apothecary recalled that Wunbaldus had scolded Kilian in the churchyard. Yes, said the Lay Brother, yes, of course, he had also been on Toompea yesterday.

‘It is my duty to gather alms for the brothers on Toompea. The knights and vassals are usually quite generous, especially so when any merrymaking is under way. But that young minstrel was singing some extraordinarily improper verses, which, while it did please the guards immensely, I deemed it improper and impious – especially so given that our holy Prior was on Toompea at the time.'

‘
Good
Wunbaldus,' the Prior said sharply. ‘I can tell you that even when I was a young lad wandering minstrels sang all sorts of vulgar songs to gladden commoners. So it has been, and so it shall remain. A Christian land is made no weaker by this.'

‘None the less, it is still painful for my ears to hear the Holy Mother of God maltreated in such a manner,' said Wunbaldus assertively.

‘As I heard, a tankard of beer and a couple of pennies cooled your justified ill-temper,' Melchior remarked.

‘The beer was of no great consequence, but those pennies go towards the good of the monastery and our brothers. What can you do? It is not difficult for me to be led into temptation, but at least I succeeded in putting an end to that profanity.'

‘Be not distressed, Wunbaldus,' said Melchior. ‘Our Kilian actually has a lovely voice and does not sing badly at all. He has committed himself to becoming a member of some Meistersingers' guild, which means that he must travel the land and lighten people's hearts with his art – even those of guards of the Teutonic Order. Not all are able to appreciate the kind of singing that I hear from your brothers now.'

Dorn, who had been unable to get a word in for quite some time, now said, ‘Yes, just as your brothers might sing right here within the monastery walls – although your church is right across the courtyard, is it not?'

‘Doubtless it is so clear because the new passageway is just being built,' Melchior suggested.

‘Precisely,' said the Prior. ‘The north end of the church had to be demolished for its construction – from where the Blackheads' side altar is up to the garden. Since the eastern wall of the passageway was the first section to be built, every sound coming from the north nave can be heard in the lay brothers' dormitory.'

‘And when the pious Brother Wunbaldus came down from Toompea, he saw no one?' Dorn asked.

The Lay Brother shook his head slowly. ‘Nothing unusual. I arrived back amongst our holy brothers prior to the evening service when the bells tolled seven times.'

‘So it was indeed, just as our rules stipulate,' the Prior confirmed. ‘Time can be kept accurately according to Wunbaldus's comings and goings.'

‘If you will allow, and just so that matters might be crystal clear to the Magistrate,' Melchior interposed quickly, ‘then, as I understand it, the esteemed Prior arrived back from Toompea at … ?'

‘About six o'clock,' Eckell answered.

‘And Wunbaldus came back at seven?'

‘Slightly earlier. The Blackheads' mass had just ended. Prior Eckell was serving the Blackheads at their altar while I came here to my chambers to count the day's alms. The esteemed Prior then stopped by my room, and afterwards I took the alms to our
cellarius
and reached the church in time for the start of the evening service.'

‘Yes,' Eckell verified. ‘I remained before the Blackheads' altar for a moment to speak to Freisinger then bade him farewell and came to Wunbaldus's chamber to assist him in counting the alms. Go now in the peace of God, and may our great saviour be with you.'

Melchior and Dorn kneeled before the Prior.

Brother Hinricus led the pair back through St Catherine's Church where the Dominicans were gathering for their evening service. They crossed themselves before the main altar and also glimpsed the Brotherhood of Blackhead's side altar, which was consecrated to St Mary, along with its new retable.

Afternoon had slipped into evening, and the hour had now come when Melchior and Dorn had to set off for the Blackheads' guildhall.

T
HE CUSTOM OF
holding a
Smeckeldach
competition was said to have been around as long as Tallinn's guilds themselves, and each guild regarded it an honour to offer the very best brew that had been chosen at their own drinking festivities. Melchior could not remember whether it had been the Great Guild, St Olaf's or St Canute's that had been the first to hold such beer-tastings, but a number of such events had now become established throughout the year. The most important, however, was held under the roof of the Brotherhood of Blackheads. The men attending these events were chosen with care – only those whose judgement was deemed the very best were selected, and it was nothing to do with an invitee's profession. When, a few years back, the Commander of the Order had heard that such a competition was being held in Lower Town he had the guild informed that their members had forgotten to invite their local lord. Spanheim, whose origins were less lofty than some previous commanders, would happily sit at the same table as the townsfolk – particularly when the Blackheads arranged such a hearty feast to go with it. Master Freisinger believed the Blackheads' feast table to be crucial to the success of the event, and no expense was spared to make sure that everything was of the highest quality. It was highly unlikely that anyone besides himself and the other hosts would be able to count the number of boars, lambs, ducks or swans that had been heaped upon the table. The Town Council's cook had been working at the guild for several days to assemble such an opulent feast, and, as Melchior was aware, Freisinger had personally visited each and every butcher in town and picked out only the finest cuts of meat.