Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church (21 page)

‘Heavenly grace, I am in a rush – however, I could never turn down such an offer,' Freisinger said with a laugh, his dignified air restored.

‘Then it is settled,' said Melchior. ‘Let us make for the pharmacy', and in no time Melchior was already topping up a cup of his celebrated drink for Freisinger.

‘To the Sire Blackhead, in gratitude for yesterday's lavish feast – and for beer that was not the poorest.'

‘You should thank our Brother Wunbaldus for the beer. I visited the monastery this morning, and he already has a new brew fermenting. As for the feast, as long as the Blackheads' prosperity lasts so will they treat their honest friends, as is right and proper,' Freisinger vowed.

The two men drank, coughed and ate cakes to wash the elixir down.

Melchior spoke first. ‘This is an old recipe that was passed to me by my father. He came from Lübeck, but it was taught to him by the squire of some Franconian knight and was popular even in the royal courts.'

‘One may imagine.' Freisinger nodded then frowned. ‘Listen, Melchior, perhaps you would teach this recipe to the Blackheads as well?'

‘Aha,' Melchior exclaimed. ‘Alas, I cannot. A trade secret. The Blackheads should understand this well indeed, as they are also men with secrets.'

‘Ah, come now. We are simple and merry merchants.'

‘However, you are the type of simple and merry merchants that claim their guild has been in this town since its very foundation – although no one can recall any particular details. As you said yourself yesterday, “The Brotherhood of Blackheads was already in this town when one still had to fight the pagans for every square foot of land. They helped to dedicate this town's holy sanctuaries to the Lord Christ
.
”'

Freisinger took a sip of elixir and tried to deflect the comment. ‘Ah, well, we all tend to exaggerate somewhat when we have beer on our breaths. It is true, though, that the first in Tallinn to call himself a Blackhead was a Strasburg man who arrived during Danish rule – even so, the Blackheads have not gained as much respect here as the Canutes.'

‘Nevertheless, with your arrival, and especially after coaxing all of the unmarried sons of Great Guild merchants to join together … But I cannot remember now. Where did you come from?'

‘From Cologne, and our guild ordained me there as well. My father had been a member and his father before him. I tried my luck over the years trading goods in various places until I finally reached Tallinn by way of Rostock.'

Melchior had not known this before. The Apothecary knew a lot about many of the townsmen – where they were born and where they had been before – but it was increasingly hard to keep up, as the pace of new arrivals to the town accelerated. Clawes Freisinger may be the most fashionably dressed of Tallinn's merchants and wear the finest clothes, but Melchior had not known much about his origins until now.

‘You must descend from an old and dignified line of merchants then, Sire Freisinger,' said Melchior.

‘My great-grandfather was a master mason by trade. He built the cathedral in Cologne and was also likely a member of one of the first guilds in the town. Our guild is not titled the Brotherhood of Blackheads in every place, Melchior; it bears different names in different towns. His father had carried the cross fighting for Jerusalem in the Holy Land. I, on the other hand, have made my way here over time … This land pleases me.'

‘Then we have had similar fates,' Melchior mused. ‘I, too, am from a long line in which the eldest sons have always been apothecaries, and now I have reached this place, which I enjoy greatly. Shall I pour you another cup?'

‘Bring it forth. But Livonia … why do I like it here?' Freisinger was becoming more talkative. ‘It is a new land, a land just recently brought under the Holy Roman Empire. There may not be as much wealth here as in other places, yet there is a kind of freshness and vivacity. Things that already exist elsewhere are just being built and established here. We are at the edge of the Christian world, Melchior. After this it is just philistines and barbarians, and if the Lord blesses the weapons of the Order then we shall continue eastwards from here. That war has not yet been fought.'

‘If the Lord wills it … Although, He might first give the bishops and the Order a Christian mind for conciliation, as they fight amongst themselves more than with the Russians, or so it seems to me.'

‘Money, Melchior, it is always money that comes between wealthy men and stops them from behaving like true Christians. The Order wishes to become greater and richer, as do the bishops. In the end only the Russians will benefit as long so these wars between Christian peoples so exhaust us.'

‘You are absolutely right. The fact that we trade with them does not mean that they are proper Christians yet, and this we see each and every day.'

‘Exactly. We live at the edge of the world and so must defend our saints and the word of God that much more resiliently. The Blackheads and the Dominicans have been called here and tasked with bearing the Word of the Lord and holding high the flag of the Holy Cross.'

The pair spoke further of Order affairs and of politics involving lords
of high status and then raised another cup, after which Freisinger announced he should take his leave, as he had business to conduct at the weighing-house and would then head off to the guild's altar at the Dominican Monastery. He promised as he left that tomorrow's festivities would be no less handsome than that of the previous day, as the Blackheads had selected some formidable beers.

As he left Freisinger bumped into Sire Tweffell's servant Ludke, who had been lurking in front of the pharmacy door in his slightly asinine, boorish manner. Ludke stepped into the room guardedly after the Blackhead had gone.

‘And what bodily ailment is troubling you today, Ludke?' Melchior exclaimed jovially, welcoming him in. Ludke was not exactly a regular visitor; Tweffell did not allow him to spend time away from the house to drink beer. Ludke was probably not much of a drinker anyway – in fact, Melchior had never seen him intoxicated, which was something the Apothecary could not say for the majority of the town's lower classes. Ludke had the brute force of a bear, a hulking presence with fair hair and blue eyes. He was quiet and seemingly a touch simple yet was utterly devoted to the old merchant. No matter where Tweffell went he always took Ludke with him – it was rumoured that the boy even carried his master up the stairs at home. Ludke was a boy of very few words, but he
was
one of the townspeople who had visited Toompea the previous day – and had disappeared afterwards, Melchior now recalled.

‘Not one bodily ailment,' the boy replied. ‘Not a thing troubles me. Sire Tweffell sent me.'

‘Of course, how foolish of me,' Melchior boomed. ‘How could any bodily ailment ever trouble such a behemoth of a man? The Town Hall's tower will collapse before you start to suffer from aching bones. So, what can I do for our merchant?'

‘He requested you send the very same salve as yesterday – and then another bottle to counter fatigue.'

‘I think I know which bottle he has in mind,' Melchior laughed. ‘It is that one and only Melchior's famous elixir that has been especially pleasing to the entire town of Tallinn this very morning following yesterday's festivities at the Brotherhood of Blackheads.'

‘No doubt it is,' Ludke said flatly and fell silent, waiting. Melchior already had the ingredients prepared, but he did not rush. He slowly poured ground herbs from a small sack into his mortar, pounded them
together, added oil and spirits and then set to sorting out bottles. He needed to get the boy talking. Melchior enquired after Sire Tweffell's health and cheerfully gossiped about events in the town. Ludke stood quietly and waited, clutching a couple of pennies between his fingers.

‘Always the very same. Melchior's famous elixir. What else? I can sell it without the town doctor's prescription. Yet I tell you this, Ludke, our Sire Merchant must continue to let blood with care at the barber's; going without that won't do, not at all. It would be even better for him to place leeches on his skin occasionally – but where can you find good leeches these days, eh?'

He finally finished the drink and went to hand it across the counter to Ludke, who had not said a word the entire time.

Melchior took the coins from the servant's hand, stared at the boy for a few seconds and then asked, ‘So, tell me. How is Sire Tweffell's health,
really
? Has it perhaps suddenly become much worse? You are strangely silent about this.'

‘Bone aches and backaches and sharp pains in his side. Sire says he no longer has much time,' Ludke mumbled, as if grudgingly. He snatched the bottle and turned to leave.

‘Wait one moment, Ludke,' Melchior said. ‘Tell me, did not the trip to Toompea exhaust Sire Tweffell? I am now worried about him. You were there also, yes? Did, by chance, bad news tire the merchant out?'

‘I know nothing of these things,' the boy said bluntly.

Still you must know something, thought Melchior. He scooped up a handful of cakes from a basket on the table and held them out towards Ludke. ‘In case I forget, these are samples for Mistress Gerdrud. If they are to her liking then she can always acquire more from Melchior's pharmacy. And you may also try them, Ludke.'

‘My gratitude,' the boy mumbled, stuffing them into his pocket.

‘Hearing unpleasant news at an age such as his may indeed make a person hurt all over. I'm thinking of that story of a ship that the Knight Clingenstain was said to have seized for himself in Gotland,' Melchior pressed further.

‘Ask that of Sire Tweffell. Why do you ask me?' the boy retorted gruffly.

‘Of course, of course … Perhaps I shall. Although, I would still ask you whether you happened to notice anyone strange lurking on Toompea the day before yesterday? You do know that I have promised to help the Magistrate find and seize the murderer?'

‘I saw no one there.'

‘So when you've been down to the harbour and chatted with the other attendants and servants … you haven't heard any such talk?'

‘No. I do not speak to strangers, nor do I gossip. I wasn't even in the town yesterday,' said Ludke, his eyes boring a hole into the table.

‘Oh, come now, you are a serious man who says little. Oh yes, that's right. You weren't in town and Mistress Gerdrud had to come for the medicine herself. Of course.'

‘Yes. I wasn't in the town at all yesterday,' the boy affirmed in a monotone.

‘Right, yes. You were sent somewhere to handle affairs …'

‘I went to a village outside the town to call in a debt,' the boy burst out suddenly, ‘and … and to bring back leeches as well. Just as Master ordered. I brought leeches for Sire Tweffell, and Mistress Gerdrud will place them on his back today when he bathes.'

‘A real manly conversation, Ludke,' Melchior exclaimed following the boy's oration. ‘I haven't heard you utter such a long sentence for many years. Did you get the money?'

‘I always get the money.'

‘And never will that man fall into debt again,' Melchior mused and peered closer at Ludke. The servant shrugged and made to leave once more.

Melchior waited until he had reached the door and then called out, ‘Listen, hold on. I cannot recall at the moment … How many years have you been at Sire Tweffell's?'

‘Four years,' came the reply.

‘Ah, yes.' Melchior nodded. ‘And before that you were – if my memory does not fail me, as you always tend to say, St Cosmas – a sailor?'

The Apothecary did not expect the boy to reply, but he did. ‘Only on one voyage. The ship ran aground, and the people along the shores of Arensburg made off with all the cargo. I later ended up in Tallinn and was a soldier for the Council here.'

Melchior now peered at the boy with genuine interest.

‘Well, Ludke, you should request an evening free from your service sometime and come tell these tales to the Apothecary. Townspeople make their way through here, and men do enjoy dashing tales of battle and the sea. Eh, what do you think, Ludke?'

The servant shrugged. ‘I'm no storyteller. Not that there is anything to
say in any case. We were sent to wage war against Novgorod, and so we went.'

‘And what happened there? You were handed swords and axes and …'

‘A halberd. I was given a halberd.'

‘Oh, how exciting. And what did you do with that?'

‘I chopped the Russians in half. But I really must leave now. Sire Tweffell has already been waiting too long, and I need to visit the horse trader beyond the city walls to buy a new horse –'

‘A horse? What happened to that sturdy draft horse that Tweffell purchased last spring?' Melchior asked in surprise.

‘It died this morning. Yesterday it was still healthy and had no ailments at all, but today it convulsed and then died. Right there in the stables near Köismäe where we kept it.'

‘This is a strange matter,' Melchior muttered.

‘Sire Tweffell was as raging mad as the devil himself. Promised to have anyone who had fed his horse any kind of shit hanged. But I myself gave the horse oats and water yesterday – and drank some myself, too. It's as if someone had put the evil eye upon it during the night and cursed it. I'm going now.'

Melchior closed the pharmacy earlier than usual. He sat and looked into the distance absentmindedly for a time but then decided to stir up his courage and see what the Master Goldsmith might make of an inquisitive apothecary in the evening.

Melchior took along a small bottle of lavender oil, just in case.

B
URCKHART
C
ASENDORPE HAD
already closed his workshop for the evening and left his seat at the window. He stalked the spacious room, growling at the journeymen because he had found a pinch of silver dust on the floor. Just as he had been assailed with harsh words for such a thing during his own years as a journeyman, in his turn he aimed such curses at his own subordinates. They were supposed to wear leather aprons and hold their legs spread wide when working, so that every minuscule scrap of metal would be caught by the apron if dropped. But if, however, anything was found on the floor it meant that the journeymen were lazy, negligent scoundrels and that, instead of becoming goldsmiths, they would end up as cobblers or something even worse. It was possible that the boys were tongue-lashed even more than usual that day, as it had not exactly been a good one for Casendorpe.