Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church (37 page)

The Commander raised his hand, and Melchior fell silent. Spanheim looked around at the men gathered then stood up and spoke. ‘Yes, that is unquestionably all truth, and we don't doubt it, and we all know that Wunbaldus was the murderer. But why did Wunbaldus kill him then, eh?'

After waiting for the Commander to take his seat, Master Goldsmith Casendorpe spoke up. ‘And what happened to the gold collar I sold to Clingenstain? That is, aside from the fact that it now rests at the almshouse of the Church of the Holy Ghost.'

‘And which ended up there in a miraculous way after Wunbaldus's death,' remarked Sire Tweffell.

‘I've never seen a miracle with my own eyes,' the Commander huffed. ‘And that collar … to hell with that collar; I wouldn't ask for its return from the church in the Order's name. Yet how a
dead
thief carried the collar to the Church of the Holy Ghost, that certainly does interest me.'

‘In that case, the only solution – if we do not believe in miracles – is that someone stole the collar and donated it to the Church of the Holy Ghost and in the belief that this way he perhaps might not also be charged with theft at an ordeal,' Melchior replied.

‘You say that this
someone
was not Wunbaldus?' the Commander questioned.

‘Theft is a transgression. However, the thief has already repented his sin and taken the collar to the almshouse. Since this man could not have been Wunbaldus it must have been someone else.'

‘Enough of that collar,' Spanheim barked. ‘I want to know why, if it wasn't over the collar, Wunbaldus killed Clingenstain.'

‘Greed. It was greed, he said, that drove him to commit criminal acts,' Pastor Rode spoke heatedly.

‘Greed?' Melchior echoed thoughtfully. ‘How could it have been greed, when the murderer took with one hand and gave with the other? By this I mean stuffing the Gotland coin into Clingenstain's mouth. And, first and foremost, why did the murderer perform this ritual?
Id est
, why did he kill Clingenstain at all? We now reach the confession at the Church of the Holy Ghost. Sire Rode, you say that the Dominican Lay Brother Wunbaldus came to take confession from you. An unheard-of event – a Dominican taking confession at the church. If the man was in a state of mental distress, having just killed and wishing to take his own life, then perhaps he didn't have the courage to approach his own brothers, who would, no doubt, have begged him not to commit suicide.'

Pastor Rode stood up, his face red and his hands trembling lightly. ‘I say it was so, as the Lord's is my witness,' he insisted.

‘Sire Rode, you said that you recognized this man as the Lay Brother Wunbaldus?' Melchior enquired sharply.

‘It was Wunbaldus, yes. It was him.'

‘Did he tell you his name?'

Rode seemed unnerved. ‘No,' he muttered. ‘No, of course not, but I recognized him.'

‘So he did not state his name. Did you see his face, perhaps?'

‘No, he was wearing a hood. I did not see his face. However –'

‘So if you
had
been able to see his face, would you have recognized him then?' Melchior pressed on.

‘What are you asking?' Rode said in an agitated voice. ‘I don't understand. I tell you, Wunbaldus came to the Church of the Holy Ghost to take confession. I recognized him.'

Melchior was quiet for a moment as he waited for Rode to settle down. He then said, ‘Sire Rode, I was at the monastery when you appeared having heard the news that Wunbaldus was dead. You entered the chamber, saw Wunbaldus's body and then you asked, “Is this Wun- baldus? Is he dead?” The Magistrate and I replied that it was he and that he was indeed dead. And then you looked at his face and said, “
He
is Wunbaldus?” Sire Rode, you took a very close look at Wunbaldus's corpse, you saw his face, and you were still unsure whether or not it was him because you did not know him by sight.'

At first no one in the room with the exception of Magistrate Dorn seemed to grasp the significance of this assertion.

‘Yes, Sire Rode,' Dorn then said slowly as he recalled the moment in the monastery and nodded, ‘you didn't know Wunbaldus by sight, and that means you didn't know for sure whether it was he who came to confession.'

‘I knew him … that is, he collected alms and .…' Rode mumbled, taken aback.

‘But you didn't recognize his face,' Melchior asserted. ‘Even during the beer-tasting Wunbaldus remained in the shadows by the wall, and you sat with your back to him. I ask you, Sire Rode, upon what, in truth, do you base your claim to us that the Dominican Lay Brother Wunbaldus took confession at your church?'

‘It couldn't have been anyone else.'

‘How did you recognize him?'

‘Lord have mercy,' Rode exclaimed, ‘how many hunchbacked lay brothers do the Dominicans have?'

‘Precisely,' Melchior cried triumphantly. ‘You recognized a hump; you
recognized the white habit of a Dominican lay brother and possibly his height. Nevertheless, you did not see his
face
. Did you
know
what his voice was like?'

Rode looked around the room, confused and appealing for support. The men, however, stared back at him, and there seemed to be no help coming to him from any direction.

‘No, no, I did not know his voice,' Rode said in defeat. ‘I have not heard him speak, or if I have … The man at confession spoke in a very deep voice and rasping tone, as if he had a sore throat …'

‘Aha,' Melchior shouted. ‘He spoke in a rasping tone, perhaps as if he were disguising his voice. But why would he have needed to do that if you were not familiar with his voice? And when I spoke to Wunbaldus the previous day there had been nothing wrong with his voice. Prior Eckell was with him the very same day and saw that he was healthy, something Sire Freisinger mentioned, too. So why disguise his voice? The only answer can be that you
would
have been able to recognize the voice because it was someone you
do
know.'

Councilman Bockhorst raised his hand for quiet. ‘This is an unexpected development for the Council. What are you suggesting?'

‘I simply want to point out that we have no clear evidence that that man was, in fact, the Lay Brother Wunbaldus,' Melchior replied. ‘Anyone can pretend to have a hump on his back and steal a lay brother's white tunic and scapular. A tunic has disappeared from the monastery, which Brother Hinricus can confirm.'

‘In that case,' Dorn spoke up, ‘we do not then know who killed Clingenstain. Is that what you are saying?'

A mischievous grin flashed across Melchior's face. ‘I didn't say that. I know who killed Clingenstain. There's only one person it could have been.'

‘You believe that it was the man who pretended to be Wunbaldus?' Casendorpe called out.

‘No, I didn't say that either,' Melchior replied confidently.

The Councilman looked bemused as he listened to the circling conversation.

Melchior continued, ‘Sires, I ask, how could it be that Wunbaldus, whose white habit was bloodied, did not leave a single drop of blood on the confession bench? Sire Rode, will you confirm that fact?'

Rode, who looked dizzy, now nodded keenly. ‘That is true. The man's
white habit did not look bloody, and although the light was dim, still … And there was no blood on the confession bench. There were no bloodstains there.'

‘I can corroborate this. I visited the confessional the next morning to investigate, and there was no blood. How is it possible that a man who claimed to have just killed and beheaded a master mason does not leave behind a single drop of blood when his tunic is absolutely soaked in it later?'

Silence governed the room for a few moments before Kilian spoke cautiously, ‘It is possible only in the event that the man did not kill that master mason after all. That he had lied.'

‘True, that is possible,' Melchior agreed. ‘However, he was truly dead, was he not? Consequently, it is also possible that the confessor either witnessed the murder and lied or that he killed Gallenreutter later,
after
he had taken confession.'

Shouts of astonishment filled the room once more, but the Com- mander's infuriated voice could be heard above the rest. ‘Your story makes no sense at all. Why should someone confess to an act that he did not commit? And, everything else aside, I want to know who killed Clingenstain. That builder's murder has nothing to do with the matter in hand. Was it Wunbaldus, or was it not?'

Melchior bowed to the Commander. ‘Once again, what apt words from the mouth of the esteemed Commander. And so, who killed Commander of the Teutonic Order of Gotland Henning von Clingenstain? Who was it that chopped off his head and stuffed a coin in his mouth – a worn Gotland ørtug? I couldn't get that old coin out of my mind. Why did the murderer feel he had to do this? Desecration of the body, abasement … Revenge possibly? This type of cruel execution does suggest it was a revenge attack. Yet, again, why the coin? The ørtug is rare in Tallinn; it is not often that merchants come upon it. But I will remind you that on that very day Clingenstain had purchased a gold collar from the workshop of Master Goldsmith Casendorpe.'

‘Melchior, I fail to understand. What was it about that coin that you couldn't get out of your mind?' snapped the Commander. ‘No doubt it was Clingenstain's own. He
had
recently arrived from Gotland after all …' But after saying this the Commander bit his lip and fell silent.

‘I see that you now also remember,' Melchior said, and nodded. ‘Precisely. The fact is that Clingenstain had given all his money to
Casendorpe. If anyone in Tallinn had any ørtugs in his possession that evening it was Master Casendorpe. You will confirm this, Master Gold- smith, will you not?'

The Goldsmith had leaped to his feet, his face ashen, and searched for words to express his rage.

‘Listen, you … you dastardly apothecary and mixer of poisons,' Casendorpe finally roared. ‘Do you wish to claim that I, that
I
, the Goldsmith of the town of Tallinn and Alderman of St Canute's Guild, that
I
killed that knight over some measly thirty marks? You despicable liar and –'

Dorn was forced to interfere once again and shout that Melchior certainly had not accused the Goldsmith. He appealed to Casendorpe in the name of the Council Court to behave in a dignified manner.

‘I only requested your confirmation of the fact,' Melchior replied, but a dark shadow flitted across his face as he eyed Casendorpe. ‘You told me that you and Clingenstain had agreed a fee of sixty marks for the collar, but the Knight haggled down the price. He emptied his chest right down to the very last coin, and it had held those ørtugs worth ten Riga marks apiece. Is that correct?'

‘Reply, Sire Casendorpe,' the Councilman said threateningly. ‘No one has accused you of anything.'

Casendorpe inhaled deeply, shot an angry glance towards Melchior and then nodded. ‘Yes,' he said, ‘so it was. He had not a single penny left and sent his servant to the ship, and he brought back those old ørtugs mixed in with the other coins. When I weighed them I had close on thirty marks' worth, which was a ridiculously low price for that collar.'

‘So, Clingenstain had the ørtugs with him on Toompea,' continued Melchior. ‘He also emptied his coffers entirely to pay Master Casendorpe. When I heard this the identity of Clingenstain's murderer only became clearer in my mind.'

‘Tell us, Melchior,' Spanheim demanded. ‘What was wrong with those coins then?'

‘Naturally, I considered who had visited Toompea that day and who might have had a reason to hate the Knight. And, naturally, I also considered that it might have been the Master Goldsmith, from whom the Order had extorted that collar at half its price that very same day. And, naturally, I also considered Master Merchant Tweffell, who has for some time held a grudge against Clingenstain regarding a ship –'

‘Melchior, the whole town knows that Clingenstain of Gotland robbed me,' Mertin Tweffell remarked.

‘Master Merchant, that was not exactly what happened,' Spanheim said.

‘Robbed, I say.' Tweffell sharpened his tone. ‘That was
exactly
what happened, and everyone in Tallinn knows that Clingenstain stole my ship and its cargo for himself to cover some personal debts. And I have also made it known in every corner of this town that I did not wish for the Knight's death, as the Grand Master of the Order would not then be able to demand that Clingenstain issue me any goods in recompense. Nevertheless, he truly deserved such a death. I have nothing to fear – I am an old man, and every townsman knows perfectly well that I am unable to hold a sword in my grasp and that I am too feeble to get the better of a man in his prime, even if he were as full of drink as Clingen- stain was that night.'

‘Oh no, I would never have believed that you yourself could have got the better of Clingenstain,' Melchior replied. ‘However, Master Tweffell, you
do
have a loyal and devoted attendant who is unequalled in strength. You have Ludke, who disappeared from town shortly after your visit to Toompea and who was not seen any more that day. Ludke claims he went to fetch leeches, which may well be true. Just as true as the fact that Ludke served in the Council's armed forces and is highly skilled in weaponry. I do not know a more loyal servant in Tallinn, one who under- takes all of his master's commands, either verbal or those that his master has not actually spoken out loud. Ludke is a seasoned warrior – and he had no reason to love Clingenstain.'

Tweffell stared at Melchior for a moment, frozen, then scoffed at him. ‘Pah! I fail to understand what you are getting at here, Melchior. I did send Ludke to bring back leeches and to call in a debt. You may go to the village yourself if you want confirmation of this – if there is still anyone there in good enough health to speak to you, heh-heh-heh. Ludke is a strong-armed boy, and when he realizes that someone doesn't want to repay a debt to his master, then …' Tweffell fell silent, as if appalled by his own words.