Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church (20 page)

‘If the esteemed Magistrate does not decline then we are offering a strong beer brewed behind the Lurenburg Tower,' the innkeeper called over, trying to win Dorn's favour. ‘And, naturally, we would not take any money from our esteemed Councilman …'

‘
Silence,
you gallows lout,' Dorn snarled. The Magistrate then considered for a moment and said, ‘Yes, bring your beer, although I cannot take it for free. According to my oath of office I am not allowed to take anything from those who will be summoned to a Council trial before long.'

The innkeeper did as he was told and, saying nothing, brought Dorn a tankard filled with strong mark beer then disappeared into the backroom. Götzer seemed to be somewhat confused by the Magistrate turning up, but Melchior assured him that both he and Dorn wanted to hear the Skipper's story right to the end.

‘I should tell the Magistrate that it is a
very
interesting tale,' Melchior added.

‘What's interesting is the news the Commander's squire just brought me,' Dorn replied, but he sipped his beer compliantly.

‘Did the Commander's squire bring word of a certain golden collar? Yes, I thought as much. However, Sire Götzer was halfway through telling me how the Victual Brothers' high-ranking men met their end. We had just got to the execution of Gödeke Michels. The Magistrate and I would very much like to hear about this.'

Götzer needed no further encouragement. ‘Gödeke, yes, he was captured later, you see, after a dreadful sea battle far off near Frisia, in which nearly a hundred men went to their watery graves. They also say that Magister Wigbold was captured at that time, and he and his men were tortured with pliers on Simon of Utrecht's ship in the hope that one of the rats might give away where their treasure and Störtebecker's might be hidden. Alas, not one said a word, only that everything was shared equally and they wouldn't give it back to pepper sacks such as them.'

‘But they were still beheaded?' Melchior asked.

‘So the Hamburg Council confirms and so it swears – although seamen tell all sorts of tales. Gödeke was said to have been seen years later somewhere near Bergen, and Magister Wigbold – the Master of Seven Arts, as he was called; he who was so clever that no one could trap him until that day – well, they say that his face was not known in Hamburg and that four men came forth on separate occasions to claim that they were the him and that all laughed manically when they were beheaded.'

‘Because it is said that God himself was so tired of their piracy.'

‘Satan more like …' the Skipper sputtered. ‘And, speaking of God, was it not that same man they called Magister Wigbold – because no one knows his true name – who once lived in a monastery? While there he studied various arts, which is why he was called the Master of Seven Arts. Well, he was expelled from the monastery for theft or some such sin, after which he studied at some town in England whose name I know not – it is because of this that he was also called “Magistrate”. They say he was the most clever and cunning of the Victual Brothers and that on many occasions he had to knock some sense into Gödeke and Störtebecker, which is why they left some seafarers alive. Yet it was Master Wigbold himself who devised their most effective raids. When they needed to parley, then it was done according to Wigbold's counsel. They say he was a clever merchant, too, and that because he had been a monk he would never allow Störtebecker or Gödeke to sack monasteries or kill monks. Not that Gödeke would always listen, of course. He was known to have tortured seafarers simply for pleasure and used their bodies for archery practice, ripped their tongues from their mouths and gouged out their eyes.'

‘Thank God those pirates are all dead,' grunted Dorn.

‘Well, Magistrate, that I could not say for certain unless I saw Gödeke's
head. And could I still gouge out his eyes after his death, then that I would do, may I be damned,' he raged, banging his empty tankard on the table. ‘But now a good day to you, gracious Sire Apothecary and Sire Magistrate. This cripple is away to meet some other cripples. May the Almighty grace you with good health.'

Götzer bowed awkwardly and stumbled out of the tavern. Dorn immediately leaned over the table towards Melchior and said, ‘In the name of St Victor, Melchior.'

Melchior chuckled, ‘May he be praised.'

‘In every sense and every weather, as our honourable Prior Eckell says. But, tell me now, why were you so keen to hear that rambling nonsense when I come bringing word that –'

‘That the golden collar that belonged to the honourable Knight of the Order Von Clingenstain has disappeared and that Toompea wants the town to find it.'

‘
Precisely so
, although I cannot see how you already know this. The Commander sent word that the collar was nowhere to be found. He had Clingenstain's servant – that Jochen – shackled and tweaked with red-hot pliers, yet Jochen swears to the Lord most high that he knows nothing of the collar, that Clingenstain did not ask him to take it to the ship and that he has never even set eyes upon it.'

‘And the Commander believes the man who cut Clingenstain down a notch also took the collar,' Melchior mumbled.

‘That is precisely what he believes.'

Melchior thought for a moment and then spoke. ‘Well, this is an odd thief then indeed – a man who takes with one hand and gives with the other. The world has never before seen the like.'

‘What the bloody hell are you saying now?' Dorn demanded.

‘Simply that strange affairs are wound around this collar. Clingenstain buys the collar to give as a gift to the Grand Master of the Order and wears it around his neck to show it off for half a day. Before he goes to confession Clingenstain says he is taking it home so that Jochen can put it under lock and key on the ship. Now I hear he did no such thing.'

‘And what is so strange about all that? The murderer chopped off his head and stuffed the collar into his own pocket.'

‘Only that he stuffed a coin into Clingenstain's mouth. You see, Magistrate, the man who dispatched Clingenstain must have hated him deeply, and it would therefore be very strange if the murderer chopped
off the Knight's head, forced a coin into his mouth and then stole his collar.'

‘Why? That was quite a good trade-off, was it not?'

‘Yes, it would have been, but you don't make deals with a man you abhor. Nothing about that golden collar seemed to fit even before, and I believed from the off that the Order Knights would not find it.'

Dorn sipped his beer and said, ‘Listen, Melchior, if you know anything about this collar now then say at once because Spanheim is full of holy rage. I have to tell the councilmen
something
about this collar.'

‘Tell them that you will, of course, apprehend the murderer and that the Order will get the collar back if it is in his possession,' Melchior replied.

Dorn glared at the Apothecary for a moment and then shrugged. Melchior always had odd thoughts and spoke in a puzzling way. Nevertheless, the Magistrate was reassured by the fact that the Apothecary did not seem concerned about the golden collar.

‘A strange matter it is, but I suppose that's just what I'll say,' the Magistrate sighed in the end. ‘And what happens now?'

‘Now? Now I should very much like to talk to Master Casendorpe, and there is no better way for me to do that than to visit his workshop on Kuninga Street, which is what I intend to do. For our magistrate, however, I cannot recommend a better course of action than for him to keep his eyes and ears open and to ask around as to whether anyone has seen any old Visby coins recently. I receive money from townspeople every day, but I certainly do not recall anyone having paid with that old Gotland coin.'

Melchior winked slyly. The Magistrate sighed again and left – but before doing so barked at the ‘swindling' innkeeper that he should start counting up his veerings for payment of a fine.

M
ELCHIOR STOPPED BY
the pharmacy to find out from Keterlyn how many ailing townspeople had been in and how business had been going. She was not permitted to sell prescribed medicines herself nor was she allowed to make up any of Melchior's recipes, but she had picked up a great deal of pharmacy wisdom while working at her husband's side, so if the person in need was a good friend who would not tell the Council or the town doctor she would be prepared to sell some simpler medicines. She was allowed to sell elixir – which was what the majority customers actually came to sample – aniseed sweets or spiced cakes; the Council had no say in such transactions.

Melchior should, by that time, have already taken on an apprentice or even a journey man, a boy to whom he could pass on his wisdom, but he had not. Melchior's father had not taken one either, he had instructed his own son, just as Melchior's grandfather had taken
his
firstborn son as an apprentice – all of whom, as tradition demanded in the Wakenstede clan, were given the name Melchior. As with all artisans, an apothecary could not call himself such until he had completed his years as apprentice and journeyman and before he had proved his competency by demonstrating his skills in front of the town doctor and a senior apothecary.

As his father's apprentice Melchior the Younger had not had it any easier than would an apprentice from outside the family. His father demanded discipline and that he study hard. He had been strict, and if Melchior had did something poorly he was sent to the attic to kneel on dried peas and recite the apprentice's virtues. Melchior's father had been a harsh yet just man, and he had never raised his voice against his son without reason, and never in his life had the boy felt a rod on his back … never.

Melchior's mother Rosamunde had died when Melchior was just four, and he barely remembered her. His father never remarried – a Wakenstede must always take the
right
wife – and Melchior the Elder never found another like Rosamunde, although not through want of trying.

Melchior had received his early schooling at Lübeck's monastery school and later as his father's apprentice in Tallinn. In Tallinn he also made his way up Long Hill to the Dome Church School for one winter, but the boy was beaten so harshly while there that his father went along make a few things clear to the Dome School teacher – although no good had come of it, of course. At twelve Melchior ceremoniously gave his father his journeyman's vows, promising always to mix medicines exactly and quickly according to the recipes, never to deceive anyone in any way concerning these remedies, to place all money in the pharmacy coffer and not to sell poisonous medicines to anyone without the correct doctor's order. He vowed to help anyone requiring something from the pharmacy no what time of day or night and to administer his skills faithfully and diligently with the grace of God. He vowed this in the manner of a true Christian and in the name of the saints. Melchior served for two years as his father's journeyman until the time came for him to travel to learn his trade from others, taking with him an attestation issued by a master. Melchior's father sent him to study with an acquaintance, a pharmacist in Riga, whom he trusted and who was aware of the Wakenstedes' curse – Melchior the Elder did not dare send him further abroad to board with strangers. It was in Riga where, in a cold and unheated chamber, Melchior was first struck by his line's eternal scourge. His father had warned him, and he was prepared. He had expected it. He believed he could learn to live with it.

Melchior walked up to the Short Hill gatepost and turned on to Niguliste Street at the corner of the sacristy, passed by the churchyard, the well and the town mint and then reached the corner of Seppade and Kuninga Streets. Master Casendorpe's building could be seen from there, a two-storey limestone construction with the goldsmiths' insignia – a small, gold-encrusted hammer – hanging above the doorway. Not all that many people were on the streets at this time, as the craft guilds were still working, the market had finished for the day and the evening church services had not yet begun. Because it was so quiet he noticed a young couple turning from Seppade Street on to Kuninga Street, recognizing
them as Sire Freisinger and the Maiden Hedwig Casendorpe. Melchior quickened his pace to greet them. They stopped in front of the Casendorpe house. The Blackhead had escorted his future bride home, no doubt after the pair had been out for a leisurely stroll … However, as Melchior drew nearer, he realized that they weren't discussing details of a wedding feast – no, they were arguing. Hedwig seemed to be pleading for something and was not satisfied with Freisinger's explanations. The young woman then shouted shrilly and abruptly, shoving the Blackhead away from her.

‘You and your promises. The devil take them,' the Maiden Hedwig shouted, bursting into tears. Freisinger tried to catch her hand and comfort the girl, but she pulled away too fast and dashed through the open doorway. Freisinger stood helplessly in front of the entrance until he noticed Melchior and nodded to him.

Melchior bowed lightly in return. Perhaps this might not be the best time to visit Master Casendorpe after all. There he would find a sobbing girl and her bewildered parents, who would probably not be in a position to discuss matters with a curious apothecary.

‘Sire Blackhead,' Melchior greeted the merchant. ‘What a beautiful evening – although it sounded as if someone shouted of the devil, at least from what I heard.'

The Blackhead appeared out of sorts. ‘Oh no. That was merely the Maiden Hedwig.'

‘Ah, your future bride?'

Freisinger shrugged and mumbled in a cracked voice, ‘As for that, well, as they say, as the Lord giveth …'

‘You know what,' Melchior said decisively, ‘perhaps the Sire Blackhead has enough time to make a short visit to the pharmacy so that he may take a strong, potent drop of elixir in return for the mighty generosity showed towards our town's esteemed men yesterday; one that will clear the senses and raise his spirits?'