Apothecary Melchior and the Ghost of Rataskaevu Street (25 page)

Just ahead of the bridge over the Härjapea river, where there was an image of the Mother of God and where many beggars usually gathered, another road led off towards the shale pits, and from there on the road was deeply rutted by wagons wheels. Shale from the cliffs was taken into town or to the lime kilns beyond, at Köismäe, and Melchior saw a couple of wagons approaching from
afar. He rode the mare over the bridge and followed the road as it went down along the littoral to the meadows by the seashore and the Swedish fishing villages.

The weather was windless and cloudy. Melchior breathed the fresh sea air deeply and settled comfortably in the saddle. He was no great rider, but the road wasn't long. And he needed to think. The morning at the monastery and the opening of the casket, Hinric's words at the graveside – ‘Adelbert is still there … in the Unterrainer house' – aroused a vague kind of terror in him. He could not shake the feeling off that he was circling around a riddle, the solution of which was simple and whose clues should already be present but also that he had got himself involved in something very dangerous. He was lost in a false labyrinth; he must escape from it; he ought to be afraid. He asked himself whether forces from beyond the grave could harm the living – his own experience told him that only the hatred of the living could cause suffering to others … and something of that nature had taken place in the Unterrainer house in times past. Or was it so long ago? Adelbert had died seventy years ago. And Cristian Unterrainer might still have been alive when Melchior was born. He was haunted by the thought that Unterrainer was said to have whipped his wife, and that corpse of the unknown tramp had wheals from a whip, and that Unterrainer had castrated Adelbert, as had also happened to that poor wretch who was killed in front of his house. And yet it was as if St Cosmas were whispering in his ear that he was following the wrong path.

His earthly path now, though, was the right one, and there was no fear of getting lost, as he knew this road well. He rode steadily along the shore until the road rose from the Härmapõld pasture lands up to a plateau. To the south-east he could make out the escarpment of the shale quarry; behind him were the beautiful towers of Tallinn. Gentle waves lapped against the shingly shore. Carts loaded with logs were travelling from the direction of Marienthal, and he let the horse go aside to the bank. Out at sea he could see Wulvesøø, the island where the Council had its timber
cut and its hay made; for centuries pirates had used the island as a hiding place. The shipping lane to the east went through the Strait of Wulvesøø to avoid the reefs around the island and the shallows of Nargensgrund where ships ran aground every year. Keeping to the correct shipping lane was so important that each spring the Council marked it with a couple of tuns floating in the water that were securely anchored to the sea bed. But the pirates also knew this passage well and were used to lurking around Wulvesøø. It was especially easy for them to try their luck with ships seeking shelter on the island during a storm – although no pirates had been spotted near Tallinn in recent years, as the Council had taken care to send its warships to Wulvesøø and see them off.

Now the road turned a little to the north, on to the Apenes Peninsula, and there, in the distance, was Martin's Brook. The old mare pricked up her ears and started to speed up. Melchior did not rein her in when she stepped off the road down towards the grassy path and the drinking-place. At the brook was one more road leading from the shale pits, and here the cartwheels had created deep ruts in the mud. Stones had been taken from around here to the new convent for over a year by this time and would surely be for years to come until the job was completed.

Ahead, though, lay a straight road along the high shoreline, and the dark line of the forest at beautiful Marienthal was already in view. The quarry lay ever further behind, and the weather grew warmer; the sun came out from behind the clouds, and a light gust of wind blew in from the sea. Melchior was now at the boundary of the town's lands and entering those of the Order. This was marked out with stones and at the road junctions. The last time Melchior had come so far had been the previous summer when he went riding the boundaries. None other than Wentzel Dorn had assigned him this task as an honoured citizen of the town, one who certainly must be one of its luminaries. The town's musicians had woken the townsfolk early in the morning with their bagpipes as they gathered in procession in the main square. Yes, there were aldermen, soldiers, tower-masters, guildsmen, Council officers and plenty of others. In
the morning they drank dry the vat of ale donated by the Dominicans, accompanied by singing, and then rode off to shouts of praise from the people towards the town's boundaries. Beggars and tramps came rushing after them; merchants and aldermen showered them with coins. As they passed the town's mansions they were offered ale and food, and the bagpipers kept on piping until some of them fell drunk in a ditch somewhere. Slowly, though, they made it to the boundary stones, and they were all welcomed with great shouts, flags were lowered in their honour and soldiers touched the stones with their swords, symbolically pledging that the town would defend its borders by force of arms. Melchior had been elevated there to the rank of Witness, made to sit on a boundary stone and given a few jocular blows with a stick – which was followed by a feast and more ale – so he would remember the town's limits well and rush to defend them if required. The Dominicans had even loaned the reliquary of the head of St Rochus upon which the townsmen swore that as long as they had strength in their bodies they would stand, with the saints' names on their lips, in defence of the town's borders against all enemies. It had been a merry day, but at the same time it had reminded everyone that they were breathing the free air of the town, and not a single freedom in this town comes of itself by the Lord's grace, and everything has its price. Melchior had then recalled the words of his neighbour Mertin Tweffell, ‘Tallinn is for no one to command and forbid. Tallinn is a town by its own grace and for itself.'

Apart from a couple of solitary peasants and farmhands the road was now empty. Melchior was just thinking that he could cautiously hasten the mare's step when a band of riders hove into view up ahead. Even from afar Melchior could make out that they were gentlemen of high degree; there might have been a dozen of them, and he soon directed the horse to the bankside. As the riders approached Melchior recognized some of them. There were a couple of vassals of the Order, among them the Knight Kordt von Greyssenhagen, Hinrich Huxer, the merchant from Toompea, and Gulde, Captain of the Guard of the Bishop of Tallinn, accompanied by a number of their men.

They trotted on, not paying attention to Melchior, who nevertheless bowed from the saddle to the noble masters on seeing them. Only when the horsemen, raising the dust from the road, had passed did their leader suddenly stop his horse and turn around. The man motioned to the others to go on without him and rode back to Melchior. From his peculiar red cap one could recognize this man; he was the Knight Kordt von Greyssenhagen, Lord of Jackewolde, one of the patrons of the new convent and, according to evil tongues, one of those whose manned boats had been guarding the port of Wulvesøø. The Knight was coming over to him, although his horse would have liked to have carried on with the others, and it whinnied and stamped when Greyssenhagen pulled on the bridle and stopped before Melchior's mare.

‘Ha!' cried the Knight. ‘Apothecary Melchior from Rataskaevu Street.'

Melchior bowed. ‘The very same, my esteemed lord.'

Greyssenhagen's horse would not stand still, but the man studied Melchior, pulling on the bridle.

‘They say you're hunting a ghost,' the Knight said unexpectedly. ‘The one they say is haunting my neighbour's house.'

‘You have very good sources, my lord,' replied Melchior. Actually there was nothing puzzling about this. Everything that Dorn knew was known to the whole Council, and if the Council knew then all the lesser people in the town knew as well.

‘You must come and tell me about it some day,' said the Knight. ‘I like ghost stories.'

‘With the greatest pleasure. But which ghost do you want to know about? The monk's or that sinful woman's?'

Greyssenhagen had not expected this question. ‘Monk? I don't know about any monk. I've only heard about the woman and her child.'

A lump seemed to rise in Melchior's throat. ‘Did that woman have a child?' he asked cautiously. ‘You think, sir, that Unterrainer's wife had a
child?'

Greyssenhagen restrained his recalcitrant horse and cried,
‘Damn it, how would I know that? They just say that Unterrainer buried his wife alive with the child that was in her belly. Or else he cut the child out before he beat the woman to death, and now their souls cry out there. That's what I'm asking you.'

‘At the moment I can't answer that,' replied Melchior.

‘Then I'll expect you on Wednesday when I'm in town,' shouted the Knight, ‘at the Guildhall of the Great Guild. Consider yourself invited.' And he dug his spurs into the stallion's flanks and hurried off after the others.

Melchior had no idea what would be happening at the Great Guild the following Wednesday, but he decided that he was invited and that he should notify an alderman of that. As for Ermegunde being tortured to death in pregnancy, that made him shiver all over. So he bade his mare to redouble her steps and thought about Greyssenhagen and the convent at Marienthal. His thoughts then turned to St Bridget, who must have died about five years before Melchior was born.

Since Melchior and his father had settled in Tallinn, that is, since he was a child, he had heard the local Swedes talking about St Bridget. There were many people of Swedish origin around Tallinn, and the Bishop had invited increasing numbers of them in. Sometimes there were conflicts with the Estonians of the coastal villages, in which cudgels and forks were used as weapons. Most often these conflicts took place on the Apenes Peninsula, where there were regular squabbles over land between the Swedes, liegemen of the Order, the Council, the Bishop of Tallinn and Estonian villagers, who, according to Keterlyn, had had the use of wasteland there for centuries.

The Swedes were numerous in these parts, and stories had been circulating among them for some time about a certain Swedish noblewoman to whom the Holy Virgin and Christ the Lord had manifested themselves. Bridget had died in Rome, where she had performed miracles of her own and cured poor people; she had called upon the Pope to return to Rome. She had also travelled to the Holy Land. In accordance with a vision of Brigit's, a new convent
had been founded at Vadstena in Sweden, an establishment supported evermore enthusiastically by Livonian Swedes. And it was Grand Master Konrad von Jungingen of the Order himself who, a little before his own martyrdom, brought before Tallinn Council a request that a new religious community be built at the boundary of the town's and the Order's lands in the beautiful valley of Marienthal. Disputes over the new convent had been going on for over a decade now – the Order's own permit, received from Rome, coupled with a desire to influence matters with the Kingdom of Sweden on the one hand, and the rights and freedoms of the town of Tallinn on the other. The Council and the Dominicans were opposed to yet another community being built near Tallinn, as it would start to minister to the care of souls and collect donations. Tallinn had managed very well with the two existing establishments. This was actually part of an ongoing power struggle between the town and Toompea. The Order would be very happy to have a large, strong and wealthy convent on its land on the edge of town, which would at first draw pilgrims and country folk to it and might perhaps become a centre that would diminish the importance of the religious communities, churches and clergy in the town. Marienthal had a good place for a harbour. There were forests, villages and fields; there was an estuary. And wouldn't a new town also grow up around it? All the better if this new convent were to be as big as intended, the greatest in all Livonia, with such a church as can be seen from far out at sea and visible in neighbouring regions.

Melchior remembered heated arguments at the Council and in the guilds; he remembered battered faces and angry words. It was an attack on the town's freedom … The Order wanted to oppress Tallinn and create a new town … It was a conspiracy by Swedish robbers against Tallinn … The convent would attract artisans, merchants and taverns around it, and thus Tallinn would die … The Dominicans were afraid that their prestige and significance would dissipate, but they didn't dare articulate this to the Order. The Council feared that the Order would start trading overseas through a new harbour at Marienthal, and the merchants of
Tallinn would be forced to become cowherds. There were many alarmists – but there were also citizens of the town who dared to proclaim that with the new convent Tallinn would only benefit and become even more important, and it was now a rich enough town to
need
three monasteries. Building such a large establishment meant that unlettered stonemasons, bricklayers, carpenters and master builders would get work, and until the huge convent was built these dealings would all go through Tallinn. If the town wanted to reject such an opportunity it deserved to die.

According to the Rule of St Bridget three men had to request the convent's establishment, and they were the Toompea merchants Henric Schwalberg, Gerlach Kruse and Hinrich Huxer. To these were added nine citizens, merchants and vassals, one of the most vocal being Laurentz Bruys. They were supposed to donate most of their assets to establish the convent, and that is what they did. Some of these men went to Rome and to the Council of Constance to plead their case. Since a bitter dispute and correspondence arose between Rome, the Order and the Council, the erection of the first buildings had been held up for ten years. But then the first master builder arrived from Sweden, as well as the Abbess of the new convent, who set about explaining the Rules of the Bridgettine Order to the townsfolk. It had been two years since the Master of the Order had found it necessary to lay the law down so that, in the end, the Council allowed stone to be sourced from the town's shale quarry – a concession that pleased the burgomasters. But the naysayers and deniers had not gone away, and the arguments would continue until the work was all finished and the town got used to the convent. So far, though, several Tallinn master builders had been working at Marienthal, and the Bridgettine Chapel had been built along with the first wooden church, residences for the Abbess and the builders, auxiliary buildings and shelters for the pilgrims. Yes, pilgrims had started coming after the Abbess arrived bringing relics with her. Praying to St Bridget helped epileptics, the deaf and the dumb.