Apothecary Melchior and the Ghost of Rataskaevu Street (32 page)

And then he stared at the chessboard in surprise. All the White bishops and pawns now suddenly seemed to make more sense. He set about attacking them one by one with the black king and they collapsed. The board was too empty.

Now he cleared all the white pieces off the board except the king
and put it opposite the white queen, the penitent, Master Goswin. Then he put the other black figures on to the board to threaten the white king. There was too much black on the board and too little white, and there still seemed to be no place for the Unterrainer house, as if he were solving some doctrinal issue invented by dogmatists which didn't actually exist at all in the Scriptures. Hinric had once told him there are scholars who see a need to interpret the Scriptures where there is nothing to interpret, and their invented problems exist only in their heads and nowhere else.

Were these murders only in his head, and was it just some tramp who was killed in front of the Unterrainer house? And were all these ghost stories also just in the head of a half-mad apothecary who, because of a scourge on his own family, saw an evil curse in everything?

Yet the figures seemed to have some invisible connection between them – too many links and, at the same time, too few. Too many had died. Some evil power seemed to be moving across the board against Melchior's will and clearing away the figures that he didn't want to see there.

Shadows, thought Melchior. The board is lacking in shadows and spirits. The things we don't see. Those we should be aware of.

Then he took up the white bishop thoughtfully, put it next to the white king and asked, ‘Who are you?'

I
T
WAS
W
EDNESDAY,
and Melchior had been invited, along with other respectable townsmen, to the Guildhall of the Great Guild where a reception was being held by the Bishop of Tallinn and at which Arend Goswin would announce his incorporation as one of the patrons of St Bridget's. The canons, the Toompea merchants, the Tallinn guilds and many more respected citizens would all be taking part. This would be a great occasion for the town, one which could reconcile the doubters to the idea of the convent; eventually this would have to happen, but it continued to face much opposition. Still it was a surprise to many that Master Goswin would that evening kiss the image of St Bridget, hand over a great part of his assets and take the place of Master Bruys.

That morning, however, Melchior found himself following the familiar road to the Dominican Monastery. He had to hope that Hinric had forgiven him for uncovering those old secrets – and giving rise to new riddles in the process. Hinric was a Dominican, body and soul, no matter how close a friend he was to Melchior – it was his Viru County blood, like Keterlyn's, full of strength and obstinacy. He arrived at the monastery after third prayers and mass, when the monks were setting about their daily tasks. Melchior tried to spot Brother Lodevic in the yard so that he could impart a few choice words about the incompatibility of the vow of abstinence with biscuit-gobbling, but he could not see the old man anywhere. Hinric, however, came rushing towards him
from the garden, his eyebrows furrowed and his face grey.

‘Melchior,' he said morosely, blinking rapidly. ‘God knows I've always been glad to see you here, but lately I've been thinking a lot about all those sermons as to how a man's trust can be wickedly exploited.'

‘My good friend,' Melchior said gently, ‘please don't hold it against me.'

‘My job is to show mercy and forgive. Sometimes, though, you make it very hard.' Hinric stopped and nodded towards the door that led to the southern ambulatory. ‘The brothers are at their work just now. No one will disturb us there. I don't want many of them to see you just now. You have greatly disturbed the peace of the community.'

It was cool, quiet and dim in the processional ambulatory. Hinric sat down on a big stone bench and Melchior beside him.

‘I don't have much time,' said the
cellarius.
‘Winter is coming, and I have to fetch firewood, I have to work out the cobblers' fees and write to a greedy man from the manor who has sent fewer eggs and less barley for our herrings than we agreed. What is this world coming to, when estate managers start cheating mendicant monks?'

‘I visited Pastor Witte's home,' said Melchior, ‘the Unterrainer house.'

‘The house where … where Adelbert's corpse remains?' asked Hinric. ‘Did you … find anything?'

‘Maybe yes, maybe no. Have you come across the respected Pastor's sister Margelin?'

‘I don't know her. Pastor Witte hasn't lived here all that long, and we haven't had much contact apart from the couple of times when he has complained to the Council that we preach too much and that we're stealing his congregation.'

‘That woman seems to be a bit mad in the head,' opined Melchior.

Hinric shrugged. ‘That's surely not why you came here.'

‘Yes and no. I got the impression that Witte knows something
about the house that he wants to conceal, and he's afraid that his sister will talk. She told me that Witte has certainly heard a ghost, although he himself denied it.'

‘If the woman is insane she might think every squeak of the door is a ghost, but Witte is an educated man and a servant of God, so, of course, he will deny it.'

‘I suppose so,' muttered Melchior. ‘But tell me, friend, do you know anything about the Holy Virgin having once written a letter that the angels brought to the City of Rome?'

Hinric was taken aback and stared in surprise at the Apothecary. ‘That is a very odd question,' he said.

‘And what is meant by thirty-three and a half days of suffering after which the whole world will be saved?'

‘This is heretical talk, Melchior,' said Hinric, shocked. ‘The Pope himself has denounced this as evil and ordered flagellants to be punished. Even the Bishop of Tallinn has that letter.'

‘Flagellants are the ones who scourge themselves with whips?'

‘Flagellants are heretics because, even though our order regards whipping as a proper punishment for some wrongdoers, we have to condemn most severely those who overdo it. It's an old madness that breaks out now and again among Christians – I think there a case a few years ago in Erfurt where a fanatic was put on trial for it. I'm sorry to say that there were even some Dominicans among those who went mad over the whip and the false gospel.'

‘But they haven't been seen around these parts?'

‘Luckily, no. You might think that this heresy had been rooted out, but time and again messages reach us that somewhere some Master has appeared and invited people to join the Brotherhood of the Cross. Then they walk through towns and along highways, whipping themselves and singing hymns. These poor wretches believe that the Holy Virgin really did write to Rome ordering people to flagellate themselves for thirty-three and a half days and repent of their sins, then Christ's blood would be joined with their own and the world would be saved. This is a tragic heresy, and the masters of some flagellants have gone even further. They have
declared that consecrated priests are unnecessary, that there is no need for the sacrament. They demand that the churches cease their pastoral care and all sinners join their brotherhood … Melchior, why are you asking about this?'

Melchior considered and then said very slowly, ‘I wouldn't want to cast aspersions on an honourable servant of God because of a madwoman, but I suppose I already have.'

Hinric took a long look at him and then said thoughtfully, ‘If a person punishes himself with a whip but doesn't run naked through the streets screaming that only the Master's whip can redeem sins rather than indulgence and confession, then I see no harm in it.'

‘And the flagellants said that the Master's whip redeems sins?'

‘Yes, there were leaders who referred to themselves as Master, and some of them claimed they could work miracles. They beat their followers, and they beat them until some of them died. They said that a master could forgive sins and there was no need for a church. They insisted that their pilgrimages with flagellation had to last thirty-three and a half days. The Church cannot allow such heresy.'

‘And who were these masters?'

‘Self-appointed usurpers, heretics,' cried Hinric loudly, and his words echoed off the walls of the passageway. ‘Everyone who entered their Brotherhood of the Cross had to swear loyalty to the Masters. The Masters drove their disciples out into the town squares and holy houses, ordered them to go bare-chested and confess their sins, and then the Master would whip them, and after that they would all take whips and give each other a thrashing. Anyone who's witnessed these things has burst out crying from sheer terror and disgust and run to their father confessor or to their council offices to complain, but there were even councillors among these flagellants. Flagellating madness spread like wildfire across the empire, breaking out now in the north, now in the south, and, although divine vigilance has put the fires out, the poison is already out of the bottle. You often hear of some man greedy for power and pain who gets pleasure from scourging bare flesh and concocts
heresies to satisfy his own filthy passions, jabbering about angels and the Holy Virgin. And always, Melchior, they always have followers. In Danzig they say there was a tanner who suddenly called himself a Master, started whipping people, and the very next day he had a hundred people around him who congregated in front of a church and forgave each other's sins by whipping. That is a blasphemy against the one and only holy faith.'

‘It certainly is,' affirmed Melchior. ‘I wouldn't even know what to think of a town where the people ran into the square and started flogging themselves for thirty-three and a half days in a row.'

‘In a town like that an apothecary might have a lot of work to do,' noted Hinric venomously, ‘if he wasn't one of the floggers.'

‘Apothecaries have been given much wit and understanding by St Cosmas and St Nicholas. Apothecaries aren't going to go mad in that way.'

‘I'd rather you told me they'd been given cunning.'

‘Well, it amounts to the same. You said something about those masters who get pleasure from beating naked flesh?'

‘And I already regret saying that,' said Hinric sadly. ‘I should have known that such matters are of interest to apothecaries.'

‘So you have heard of such masters?'

‘Yes, I've heard of them, and Prior Moninger even spoke of them in a sermon a year ago or so. There were sects of flagellants who demanded that men kept strictly away from women, putting their own flesh to death, but there were also those who took women into their sect and then beat and whipped them naked – but, Melchior, I'm not going to start telling you about the indecencies that arose from that.'

‘I suppose I can imagine them,' sighed Melchior.

‘And if you do that too eagerly you'll have to go to your own father confessor.'

‘Certainly,' said Melchior quietly. He raised his eyes, let his gaze rove across the vault of the ambulatory and added, ‘I'm confessing to you now, friend. I think that Cristian Unterrainer became one of the masters. Now, decades later, Gottschalk Witte and his sister
Margelin are living in his house. They were once part of Unterrainer's brotherhood. Miss Margelin flogs the Pastor, and they get pleasure from this depravity. If this is sinful knowledge then pardon it and keep the secret of the confessional.'

Hinric whispered a quiet prayer. Then he made the sign of the cross over Melchior, and the Apothecary kissed his hand.

G
OLDSMITH
B
URCKHARDT
C
ASENDORPE
had previously been the Chief Officer of the Kanuti Guild but had given up that post five years ago and now dedicated himself solely to his work. He was one of the most sought-after goldsmiths working in Tallinn, whose handiwork was owned by a number of bailiffs and vassals across Livonia and even further afield. He had a prickly relationship with Melchior. He respected the Apothecary greatly, but in ten years he had been unable to extract from him the secret of how a gold collar he had made, and which he had sold to the Commander of the Teutonic Order on Gotland, had found its way to the almshouse of the Church of the Holy Ghost. Melchior knew how it had happened – he must have – Casendorpe was sure of it, but Melchior was evasive. Maybe Casendorpe held him in even higher esteem because a man who can keep a secret is worth his weight in gold.

And no one knew the value of gold better than Casendorpe.

He was not surprised when Melchior looked in at the window of his premises on Kuninga Street and told him he didn't want to buy gold today, but, if the good smith would allow it, he'd like to have a couple of words with his apprentice Simon.

Casendorpe adjusted his spectacles and opined that he would allow that but not for very long because Simon was just now learning to engrave the words
me facit,
and so far it had come out wrong and he had to practise diligently. Soon the boy would be going to Münster for his journeyman years, and Casendorpe could
not let his house suffer the shame of Simon engraving
me facit
badly.

‘And may St Eligius spare me from making that mistake,' cried Melchior. ‘I'll only be a moment. I just need to ask him something.'

Casendorpe commanded the boy to go out into the backyard and asked the Apothecary to join him there away from prying eyes.

‘I don't suppose the boy has stolen anything?' he asked in a hushed voice. ‘Or something worse?'

‘Not at all. You don't have to worry about him, Goldsmith,' replied Melchior nonchalantly, hurrying through the gate to the yard.