Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church (33 page)

In the morning Melchior would have some matters to attend to at the Dominican Monastery.

K
ETERLYN WAS ALONE
in the pharmacy. Sunlight streamed in through the open door and a warm spring breeze caressed the stone walls and floor, driving out the dank and musty air that had been trapped there over the long winter. Keterlyn had just finished cleaning and now set sweets and cakes on the counter while tidying up the mess left after Melchior's late-night meditations. In the morning her husband had not told her what had unsettled him so or why an old wives' tale about St Olaf's Church had seemed so important to him. Melchior had sped out of the house, leaving Keterlyn to handle the pharmacy affairs once more. But Keterlyn could manage by herself – she had learned a small amount of pharmacy wisdom at Melchior's side and was even able to concoct some simpler medicines that did not require the permission of the town doctor – not to mention the fact that her Viru ancestors knew a great deal about medicinal plants, certainly no less than any monastery herbalist. None the less, Keterlyn also knew when to mind her tongue and not irritate her betters with shows of excessive wisdom or arrogance. She just quietly slipped in the odd recommendation now and again, and Melchior probably never even noticed how his wife carried on practising the ancient wisdom of the Viru shamans here in the town.

Keterlyn sat on the doorstep in the sunshine after getting the pharmacy ready for customers. Not many people were passing along Rataskaevu Street; only Kilian was there, sat hunched on the wall of the well just as he was every morning. This morning, however, his face seemed sad and miserable; he had even put his lute down and sat stiffly, as if he had just received terrible news. Maybe he is still depressed over the Prior's
dreadful death, thought Keterlyn, but maybe … She recalled what Melchior had said about Tweffell, about his wife and about Kilian and had to admit that, looking at things from a certain perspective, Melchior was probably right.

As Keterlyn mulled this over Mistress Gerdrud stepped out of the house with Ludke at her heels. The young woman waved to Keterlyn, and Keterlyn waved back. Gerdrud then shouted something to Kilian, but the boy took no notice.

Gerdrud shouted again. ‘Kilian, good morning. You seem out of sorts, as if the strings on your lute had snapped. Or has something happened to your voice?' The boy turned and bowed to her, but his movements were stiff and formal.

Ludke stepped towards Keterlyn and asked whether the pharmacy was open, as Sire Tweffell urgently needed a salve for his aches.

‘Melchior should be back soon,' Keterlyn spoke gaily. ‘I am unable to give you the salve right now.'

Ludke seemed worried. ‘Master is in great pain,' he mumbled.

‘You can stay and wait for Melchior,' Gerdrud said to him. ‘No doubt he has business to attend to elsewhere on occasion. I will head off to the market while you wait.'

Ludke seemed even more confused. He stared first at the pharmacy, then at Kilian and Gerdrud and wavered over what to do, looking uncomfortable. Then he grunted, ‘But the Master said you're not allowed to go into town alone, that as long as that murderer is on the rampage and that sack of flour who calls himself a magistrate is unable to apprehend him –'

Gerdrud interrupted shrilly, ‘Silence yourself, Ludke. Not everything that is said in the privacy of one's home is to be declared loudly in the street.'

‘But what am I to do then? The Master is in great pain and needs medicine as soon as possible, and the Mistress is not allowed to walk about town alone.'

‘It's not as if war has broken out,' Gerdrud retorted. ‘But you're right, medicine is needed soon. Kilian. Hey, Kilian, maybe you could come with me to the market?' she suggested hopefully.

A more vigorous spirit now seemed to enter the boy, as he slowly stood up.

‘Yes, I would gladly accompany you,' he returned.

At this Ludke appeared to descend into even greater uncertainty.

‘That minstrel?' he sputtered. ‘He'd be of no use if he had to protect you. Even a stray cat would get the better of him.'

‘Listen here, servant, I have studied swordsmanship in Italy,' Kilian growled, but Gerdrud just laughed radiantly. ‘Oh, Ludke, when will you learn that it is not polite to express all of your thoughts out loud,' she exclaimed.

Ludke muttered, no doubt to himself yet loud enough for Keterlyn to hear, ‘Mistress has certainly learned this skill very well.'

‘What are you going on about now?' Gerdrud put her hands on her hips and spoke in a tone reminding all in range just who the Mistress of Sire Tweffell's household was. ‘Sire Mertin also knows very well that a merchant's wife is not to be argued with out in the street in broad daylight – not by the Toompea Murderer or anyone else. So, what will happen is this. You will remain here waiting for Melchior, and Kilian will escort me … if he has no other urgent matters at hand.'

Ludke did not like this, Keterlyn noted, but neither did he dare argue further.

Just as Gerdrud was about to head off towards the market square with the journeyman singer at her side, someone shouted, ‘Kilian! Meistersinger! Have you heard the news? A miracle. A miracle has occurred …'

Keterlyn turned her head and saw Birgitta – one of the girls with whom Kilian often passed around the town – hurtling towards them from the direction of Long Hill Gate. She dashed towards them giddily, having nearly run into a couple of master armourers striding towards the stables. Birgitta noticed Gerdrud as she came closer and appeared to falter lightly, although she collected herself again quickly.

‘Mistress Gerdrud, good morning to you. I saw, that is I … I saw Kilian in the distance and wished to tell him the news. They say that a genuine miracle has occurred near the Church of the Holy Ghost almshouse. A genuine miracle.'

Keterlyn rose and stepped closer in order to hear better. After all, it was not often that miracles took place in Tallinn.

Birgitta explained breathlessly and gestured wildly. ‘It's such a miracle that when I heard the news and then saw Kilian, I thought, well, it's
just
the sort of thing that he might be able to compose a song about in an instant, just as he always does –'

‘Well then, tell us about this miracle,' Keterlyn interrupted the girl, growing impatient herself.

‘It's that alms-box – you know, where people can donate a penny or whatever. Apparently yesterday evening the chest was completely empty, but this morning it contained the most amazing golden collar you can imagine – the sort that noblemen wear around their necks, beautiful and worth a great deal of money.'

Keterlyn did not fail to notice that Kilian started, supporting himself against the well wall and nearly dropping his lute in the process.

‘Collar? A golden collar,' he stammered.

‘Exactly. One made of pure, shining gold. If it's sold then the poor almsmen can buy lots food to eat and more clothing than they will ever need. They say it is a genuine miracle and that either the Holy Ghost or St Victor has allowed this to take place and that a mass of thanksgiving will be held in the Church of the Holy Ghost and that –'

No one seemed to notice Kilian's astonishment.

Gerdrud merely shrugged and broke off the girl's prattling. ‘
I
have never heard of miracles happening just like that. If it is a collar then someone has placed it there, and may the heavens impart heaps of thanks upon the person for having a heart that aches for the poor and the crippled. However, Kilian and I were just about to go to the market. Were we not, Kilian?'

Gerdrud's final sentence was pronounced in a tone that hushed Birgitta. The young girl bowed to Gerdrud, albeit in a somewhat forced and ostentatious manner. Kilian nodded quickly, and the pair began heading slowly towards Pikk Street while Birgitta ran off. Ludke remained standing stiff and immobile in front of the pharmacy waiting for Melchior.

Keterlyn sat back down on the doorstep and chuckled. She believed in miracles, of course – or, rather, she wanted to believe in them – yet to her knowledge such things only happened far away and a long time ago. The idea that some saint had visited Tallinn and dropped off a goldencrusted collar for the almshouse … oh no, that she did not believe, especially given the fact that her husband had slipped away somewhere during the night believing that she had not heard him.

Nevertheless, a gold collar was certainly of more use to an almshouse than around the neck of some Grand Master of the Order, of this Keterlyn had no doubt.

T
HE BELL OF
St Catherine's Church was tolling in a cold and hollow tone in memory of the Prior when Melchior reached the monastery. Today was once again a day of mourning there, yet one more painful and sorrowful than the day before. The Prior's death meant change and also meant that a detailed explanation of the event would have to be dispatched to the Master of the Dominican Order. Those brothers schooled in medicine had stood discussing the causes of poor Eckell's death while his lifeless body was washed, stitched into a linen sack and taken to the chapel, where mass was to be held for the salvation of his soul. Hinricus told Melchior that the brothers had reached the conclusion that death descended upon the Prior either through spoiled food, old age or a poison that Eckell had inhaled or swallowed in a food or drink. Tallinn's Dominicans would, however, continue to consider what to write to their chapter, Hinricus added. Melchior nodded and returned the Prior's amulet to the brother.

‘So this contained poison?' Hinricus asked, taking it into his hands with great caution.

‘Oh, there undoubtedly
was
poison inside,' Melchior replied somewhat pointedly, although the young monk did not appear to pick up on his tone. ‘I wanted to ask how many of the brothers knew about it.'

‘None,' Hinricus replied determinedly. ‘I spoke to the brothers this morning. No one had seen it. We are protected from the plague by the head of St Rochus – as Prior Eckell often reminded us – and by living pure and careful lives. I do not know if he had ever spoken to anyone else about it.'

‘The head of St Rochus …' the Apothecary echoed. He recalled the
shrivelled head in the reliquary that he had glimpsed for a fleeting moment. The power of the saints may well be mighty, but the Prior had also secretly put his trust in something else. Not that he could have been blamed for that, Melchior reasoned. ‘No doubt the relic is of help, no doubt at all,' he continued. ‘I also understand why the Prior never mentioned his amulet, as he didn't want to undermine the brothers' belief in the relic's miraculous powers. He had witnessed a great deal of plague during his lifetime, and he feared it. Maybe he was right about the arsenic; maybe it does indeed offer protection. Alas, it brought death to the Prior instead …'

Before the monk had a chance to say anything, Melchior asked whether any blood had been spotted around the monastery on the day of Wunbaldus's death.

‘No, Melchior, I can say in absolute truth that no blood was found anywhere,' the monk replied. ‘Not in the passageway, or in the church, or anywhere else at all. But come, see for yourself. No one has yet cleaned his chamber.'

Hinricus signalled for the Apothecary to follow him. The pair made their way once more towards Wunbaldus's chamber, proceeding along the passageway and across the garden. Hinricus asked several brothers along the way whether they had noticed blood anywhere, but each shook his head and looked surprised at the question.

The building work had not halted despite the Prior's death – men were still hauling shale and limestone towards the southern passageway and carpenters constructing scaffolding. Hinricus explained to Melchior that the monks were outgrowing the monastery and that the church was too small, so it was being enlarged as much as could be while staying within the bounds of the cloister. Alas, if anything in this world is declining in value, then it is human life.

‘Very true,' Melchior sighed.

‘We cannot currently provide room for as many brothers in the monastery as we need to, so many of us are required to hold down several positions. I was the
cellarius
as well as the chamberlain – and sometimes even the sacristan, because Brother Humbertus, who should do that job, is too old and frail,' explained Hinricus. The Dominican Brother's tall and gangly figure seemed to have become even more stooped. The dark rings around his eyes betrayed the fact that he had not slept much the previous night.

‘So the monastery has been even more welcoming to those such as Wunbaldus to whom God has given the skills to excel in a number of different roles?' the Apothecary asked.

‘We hoped to balance out the debts that we accumulated in constructing the new passageway through selling Wunbaldus's beer. That is true. Alas, the world is temporal, and the monastery is set within that temporal world. We have to find ways to support ourselves no matter how much we would like simply to preach. I would be much happier passing my days in the scriptorium or giving sermons to the country folk outside the town walls, yet I am obliged to spend most of my time accounting and paying money to master masons.'

‘Of course. And, according to what my dear wife has told me, and as I glean from your accent, you are of Estonian descent?'

Hinricus nodded. He opened the door to Wunbaldus's chamber, and the two men stepped into the room where the Lay Brother's tools lay on the table just as they had before. Something here still felt wrong. Hinricus gestured to a chair then sat down himself. He swayed a little. He told Melchior that he was born in Harju, the fourth son of a vassal of Estonian blood. His heart drew him towards preaching and bringing the Word of God to the countryside, because that is what he had been taught to do.