Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church (3 page)

‘I've seventeen brothers and seventeen vessels

I've seventeen harbours, all full of fine wenches

My brothers dread neither death nor Heaven …'

But Gerdrud promptly shrieked, and even Melchior winced with indignation. The young woman darted over to Kilian and covered his mouth with her petite hand.

‘Don't
ever
sing that song in Tallinn unless you want to be run out of town,' she cried, stunned. ‘Are you insane? The Victual Brothers have done us so much harm, those raiders and murderers from the sea … Whoever sings their songs in Tallinn must be mad.'

Kilian slowly removed Gerdrud's hand from his mouth and said, so softly that Melchior could barely hear, ‘Perhaps I am mad.'

‘Be what you may, but you must not sing such songs in Tallinn if you don't wish to be stoned to death,' the girl said resolutely.

‘Fair enough, but then tell me what sort of song you would like to hear on this morn?'

‘Not a single one. I must go. Not a single song of the Meistersingers, nor of the Minnesingers; not of spring or of the sea – none at all. I … I really must hurry. You, too, should go your own way now.'

Kilian smiled dejectedly. ‘Your life might become empty and sorrowful without song. Such a life has neither joy nor solace, only things to tend to and work to be done, worries and toil. Goodbye then, Mistress Gerdrud, until tonight. I also have matters to attend at the House of the Brotherhood of Blackheads. Where are you going? Maybe we are headed along the same path?'

‘Me? Only here to the pharmacy and then to the harbour and the market.'

‘To the pharmacy? Is Ludke unable to fetch salves and medicines for his master?'

‘Master Mertin sent Ludke away somewhere last evening, and I have not seen him today. Goodbye, Kilian. I am going now.' She turned away determinedly.

Kilian laughed, waved to her and began to stride along Rataskaevu
Street towards the Pikk Mäe Gate. Melchior followed the boy with his gaze and shook his head sadly. It isn't right. It isn't right that an old merchant takes such a young wife, and it isn't right that a young, handsome boarder lives under that same roof. Melchior quickly moved away from the window and settled behind the counter.

That day Mistress Gerdrud wanted a bone salve for her husband's aching joints. Melchior had readied the ointment according to the town doctor's recipe, even though he was quite certain that it would not make the old man's bones and joints a great deal less painful.

Gerdrud was still lightly flushed when she stepped into the pharmacy and greeted Melchior.

‘Mistress Gerdrud, our dear neighbour,' he exclaimed. ‘What a pleasure it is to see you in such a good mood on this lovely morning.'

‘You are always in such a good mood that I rue the fact I happen over here as rarely as I do,' said the young woman meekly.

‘Well then, come by more often. It does even a young healthy person no harm at all to down some rather spirited remedy,' Melchior advised. ‘Ah yes, your bone salve. Here it is, good and ready. As ever, it should be smeared over the aching bones while offering a prayer to the Virgin Mary – it will work best that way. Or at least it will ease the troubles of old age. I expected Ludke instead of you …'

‘Master Mertin sent him somewhere yesterday. I have not seen him since then,' Gerdrud replied.

‘And your husband?'

‘He rushed off to the harbour at dawn to trade. Thank you for the ointment.'

‘Rushed?' Melchior pronounced thoughtfully. ‘You know, I am not an actual physician, of course, but even I know a thing or two about illnesses, and rushing is no longer proper at Master Mertin's age. That I say for certain. A calm, quiet life, fatty foods, not fasting too zealously during Lent – yes? – proper bloodletting and, once in a while, applying ointment to aching areas and, last but not least, taking hot baths. There is no other treatment than that to recommend.'

The girl was not yet twenty years of age. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, and her young, innocent face could be seen beneath her headdress. Did her carefree expression hide those troubled feelings that a young girl must have when her husband is fifty years older than her and infirm?

‘He has prayers said for his well-being at St Nicholas's Church and pays for masses,' said the girl, sighing.

Not by any means generously, or so I've heard, Melchior mused silently, although he nodded enthusiastically.

The girl fell silent. Gerdrud observed Melchior with growing seriousness then asked abruptly, ‘But tell me, Sire Melchior, will all this be of no help to him? His aches and pains show no sign at all of going away.'

‘My dear neighbour, just as time has been given to one, so it, too, must pass, but maybe it can be prolonged a little through a mixture of the right treatment, prayer and bloodletting. If blood is let properly and his aching bones and joints are rubbed with ointment then Master Mertin will certainly not be in the shadow of death just yet. I told him this myself. He might live for another ten years or more.'

‘Does your star chart say so?'

‘My star chart?' asked Melchior. He leaned down and removed a folded star chart from beneath the counter. The item was the work of masters in Bruges and had been handed down to him by his father. The method for reading a star chart was one secret known to apothecaries'
zünfte
.

‘No, not a star chart, rather my intuition and experience. Your husband's joints are ill and his bones ache, but his vitality is still strong. A star chart tells me when is the very best day to let blood, and, as I can see here, that would be …' His fingers glided quickly across the star chart's symbols and he murmured, ‘We must look for the position of Sagittarius to counter Master Tweffell's hip pain. His legs are here in Capricorn, and his ailing knees are in Aquarius … and, as we see now that the moon is in Capricorn the evening after tomorrow, then I would say it would benefit your husband to let blood at the barber's in the morning two days from now, and after that he should be treated with ointment at once, then his leg pain should certainly subside.'

‘I will pass word along to him. A thousand thanks to you, Apothecary Melchior, and farewell.' Gerdrud sighed once more and turned to leave.

Melchior nodded to her. ‘Yes, yes, it is an old science taught to us by Saliceto Wilhelmus and Cremona Gerardus and all of those other famed healers of times past. Surely advise your beloved husband to let blood appropriately, and you will definitely see, my dear neighbour, that he will remain in excellently good health.'

‘By the Lord's grace,' Gerdrud murmured and left. Melchior watched her as she departed and stood lost in thought.

‘Poor girl.' A woman's voice sounded from behind him. The Apothecary had not heard his precious wife Keterlyn enter the pharmacy.

T
HE
M
AGISTRATE OF
Tallinn Town Council, Wentzel Dorn, was standing before Councilman Bockhorst and an attendant of the Teutonic Order and in his mind was running through all the positions he would much rather hold than the cursed and detestable office of magistrate, or vogt. The first that came to mind was the honourable occupation of brewer, for two reasons: first, a brewer always has fresh beer close by; and, second, a brewer is never hounded out of bed early in the morning nor ordered to appear urgently at the Town Hall where awaiting him was – oh merciful Lord – the personal attendant to the Commander of the Teutonic Order in Tallinn bearing the sort of news that should cause one's hair to fall out.

Yet, here Dorn was, thoroughly lacking a good night's rest and with his stomach starting to rumble just as it always did when he heard bad news. Very bad news.

‘Today at midday,' the attendant stated, and the Councilman nodded.

‘What at midday?' asked Dorn.

The attendant glared at Dorn with unveiled animosity. ‘The esteemed Commander awaits your presence before him at midday,' he said.

‘Well, of course,' the Magistrate responded nervously. ‘And are the other councilmen expected as well or only the Magistrate?'

‘The councilmen have mass at the Church of the Holy Ghost at midday,' Councilman Bockhorst declared quickly. ‘However, the Magistrate will most certainly be at Toompea this midday. He is the most familiar with all legal provisions, and all in all …'

‘All in all and most certainly,' Dorn grumbled to himself. The Commander is searching for a murderer from the town, and the Magistrate is
the pre-eminent expert of local law. He looked out through an open window, and his gaze fell upon a beer-seller in the market with a large tankard of his wares. The Magistrate swallowed dryly. It wouldn't be a poor choice to call upon my friend Melchior prior to going to Toompea. Even more so if the Commander has very bad news. Unpleasant news should not be heard when sober.

This whole affair carried a hint of something from which the Magistrate tended to shy away. The high-ranking Knight that had been killed had come from Gotland, and Gotland was often in conflict with towns to which Tallinn needed to remain on good terms – or at least that was how the Magistrate understood the situation. The Council had been bickering with Novgorod and Vyborg and even Tartu in recent years. Until recently the Magistrate would have been required to throw all Russian merchants who arrived in Tallinn into the prison tower because Tartu demanded it – but what would then have become of Tallinn's merchants at the Hanseatic office in Novgorod? Dorn had no patience with affairs that might be connected to powerful overlords and foreign lands, and the killing of this Knight gave off a whiff of just that kind of matter. Dorn must maintain peace in Tallinn according to his oath of office, and the Council had enacted its own laws for that very purpose. These were simple and clear: traders on the market square who weighed goods improperly were to be shackled; journeyman tanners who fought with knives during designated night-time hours were to be fined. Dorn believed this was the most important work associated with the post of magistrate. He was capable of performing such tasks with absolute precision and according to his conscience because he knew the town would benefit from such acts. Tracking down the murderers of highranking Knights of the Order from distant lands, that he would gladly have left to someone else.

‘What a frightful tale,' sighed Councilman Bockhorst, shivering. ‘However, we are lucky to have such a fine magistrate in our town as Sire Wentzel Dorn, who will search both high and low to track this murderer down.'

Or else it will be his head that is next impaled on a hook, thought the Magistrate Wentzel Dorn.

‘Indeed, the Order hopes the murderer will be found quickly,' the courier remarked ominously. ‘However, the Commander will likely go into this in greater detail. This must not be spoken of in the town before
the Commander has stated his wishes. If rumours get out it won't help.'

Oh, come now, Dorn thought. A town with a market hardly needs a crier – people find things out anyway.

As he descended the steps of the Town Hall with the attendant, Dorn asked whether the Commander had spoken of a bounty.

‘The town must likely set one itself,' the attendant replied. ‘It's not as if we have the right to carry out any affairs on town lands.'

‘A terrible story, so it is,' sighed Dorn.

‘It is a terrible story, yes,' the attendant agreed and sighed himself. ‘There was chaos on Toompea the whole night. However, what is absolutely clear is that the Commander does not want to send a message to the Grand Master informing him that a high-ranking knight has had his head taken off, that a coin was stuffed into his mouth and that the murderer then escaped to the Lower Town and hasn't yet been found. No, certainly not …'

‘Coin? What coin?' Dorn asked in surprise.

‘I don't know what coin it was, but it rolled out of Clingenstain's mouth when his head was removed from the hook. The head was driven on to a
hook
, you know?'

‘Oh, that murderer truly did a thorough job,' Dorn growled.

The attendant stopped suddenly in front of the Town Hall door, turned towards Dorn hesitantly and said carefully, ‘Well, yes … Actually, the Commander did say not to mention the coin, so perhaps the Magistrate will fail to recall this until such time as the Commander himself speaks about everything himself in greater detail.'

‘Agreed,' Dorn grunted and bade the attendant farewell. He then, however, made his mind up to call upon Melchior, as he could certainly use a proper drop of strongly spiced spirits to soothe his stomach ache, and – as he was well aware – his friend the Apothecary had quite a nose for finding murderers. If Melchior had not worked out who had strangled that Flemish heretic to death the previous spring the killer would still be walking about Tallinn like a dignified and respectable townswoman. The Town Council would definitely agree to Dorn employing Melchior as his sub-magistrate.

G
OLDSMITH AND
A
LDERMAN
of St Canute's Guild Burckhart Casendorpe was not accustomed to hearing shocking news from his daughter's mouth. He was usually informed of such developments by journeymen at the smithy or other masters at the guildhall, and this only as often as shocking news passed through the town of Tallinn at all. Master Casendorpe could not be regarded as being curious by nature: the profession of goldsmith was too important and dignified for much time to be left to discuss town affairs or pass the time gossiping. As Alderman of St Canute's Guild Casendorpe already far too much to do – whether it be tending to the guild altars, convening meetings of the trade, collecting dues, speaking for the masters and numerous other matters. Throughout the forty years of his life – thirty of which he had spent in Tallinn – Master Casendorpe had, above all else, wanted to work with gold and silver. Gold will always persevere, and no war, famine nor plague could change that fact. Gold nourishes. Gold is the essence of wealth and power everywhere in the world. Rich men will always desire golden ornaments. If wealthy men do not have gold of which to boast and to hang around their necks then no one considers them rich or important. And for that reason alone a goldsmith was always an esteemed master. Thus, when Burckhart Casendorpe was chosen to be Alderman of St Canute's Guild, he was forced, to his dismay, to start handling matters that were not so close to his heart. Yet, on the other hand, it made him an important – a
very
important – townsperson, just as it made his only daughter Hedwig one of Tallinn's most sought-after maidens.