by Ellin Carsta
“The witness described you and then identified you unequivocally. What reason would he have to make this claim if it wasn’t the truth?”
“I don’t know, my lord.” The young man shook his head. “I’ve never done anything to anybody.”
The young man slumped in a heap on the floor. Over the course of his legal career, many people had lied to Johannes. By now, he could sense a falsehood, and more often than not his intuition would be proven right. He believed what Benedict told him now was the truth. Maybe the witness really had been wrong.
The cell door opened. “Can I speak with you, my lord?” Linhardt said.
“Of course.” Johannes stood up, went to the cell door, then turned around. “I’m coming right back.”
Benedict nodded weakly but didn’t say anything. The attorney left the cell then pulled the door shut behind him.
“I have something to report,” Linhardt declared. “It’s about the three men who were supposed to accompany the archbishop in place of the deceased.”
“Yes?”
“The vicar general isn’t traveling with him.”
“No?”
“No. He’s still in Cologne, my lord. His brother took his place.”
“His brother? Why?”
“I haven’t found that out yet, my lord. Should I make an appearance at the vicar general’s?”
Johannes contemplated his options. “No. I’ll do it myself.” He glanced at the door of the cell. “Linhardt, stay here with Benedict and protect him with your life.”
“Do you believe he’s in danger?”
Johannes scratched his chin. “We have yet to solve this recent round of murders. The woman impersonating the housemaid Duretta came to me to divulge the name of the person who had pressured her to lie. And for that reason, she was killed. Benedict swears he wasn’t with Christopeit or at the vicar’s house. But the witness described him and later identified him. Nothing is how it seems, and I still have no idea who is behind all this. As long as I don’t know what’s going on, I can’t trust anyone.” He looked at Linhardt. “But I do trust you. Therefore, I’m putting Benedict under your protection.”
“You can count on me, my lord.”
Johannes placed his hand on Linhardt’s shoulder. “I know. And now I’m going to see the vicar general.”
“Counselor! Please, come in.” The vicar general gestured to Johannes to take a seat on one of the two chairs placed at a small table near the crown glass window.
“God be with you, Monsignor. I hope my unannounced visit isn’t an inconvenience.”
“Not at all. On the contrary. We seldom have the opportunity to talk beyond legal concerns. I am pleased that we’re able to speak now that the archbishop is out of town.”
“That is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. From what I heard, you were planning to accompany Friedrich in the late Vicar Bartholomäus’s stead.”
“That’s true. But it wasn’t possible.”
“Why not?”
“You haven’t heard? People always say the palace walls have ears,” the clergyman joked. “I’m not feeling so well these days. It’s probably something I ate.”
“You haven’t been poisoned, too?” Johannes anxiously scrutinized the vicar.
The vicar general waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, just a little malaise, nothing more.”
“You should let a doctor examine you.”
“Definitely not. I’m fine. And even if I had been poisoned, I’m stronger than the others. In fact, I’ve almost completely recovered.”
“So, that was the reason you didn’t ride with the archbishop?”
“Yes, it is. My brother offered to ride in my place, and Friedrich agreed. Why do you ask?”
Johannes didn’t know how to express his fear that a traitor might be among those accompanying the archbishop, at least without making it sound like he was accusing the vicar general’s brother.
The clergyman furrowed his brow. “Feel free to speak from your heart, Counselor. You seem to be rather preoccupied.”
“That’s correct. I’d like to discuss some recent unfortunate events.” Johannes hesitated once again. “The murders, to be exact.”
“Horrible, truly horrible. I’ve been told the archbishop assigned you to investigate those heinous crimes. You can be certain of my full cooperation.”
“Thank you. Please, forgive me, but circumstances force me to be quite frank. I suspect that one of the three men accompanying the archbishop is behind the murders.”
The vicar general looked at him thoughtfully. Then his expression changed to downright incredulity. “Without implicating anyone else, it simply can’t be my brother. The only reason he’s riding in my place is because of my recent health concerns.” He paused, thinking. “And we can rule out the others, too. Lord Domkeppler Godart Keyserswerde has been in the service of the archbishop for so many years that he’s undoubtedly proven himself beyond reproach. As long as he’s out of town, I’m in charge of his jurisdiction. I assigned my brother to assist him during the journey so that he can better fulfill his duties. The third member of the group is Secretary Heinrich. Though he’s not been in the service of the archbishop for as long as the others, he’s a capable man who couldn’t be more reliable. The responsibilities Vicar Bartholomäus would have taken over for the archbishop now rest with him.” He looked at Johannes. “Are you sure it’s one of them?”
“I have no other explanation.” Johannes sighed. “The murders happened right before the archbishop’s journey.”
“That’s true.” The vicar general stood and positioned himself in front of the crown glass window, his back to Johannes. “You think it’s my brother?”
“I don’t know for sure. Please, forgive my candor.”
The vicar general shrugged. “You’re just doing your duty.”
“Then please allow me to ask: Whose idea was it for your brother to take your place after the murders? His or yours?”
The vicar general seemed to deliberate; he knit his eyebrows and clenched his jaw. These movements made his cheekbones seem more prominent, and he looked thinner and more gaunt than usual.
“It was my brother,” he decided. “But believe me, his loyalty to the archbishop is equal to mine.”
“In your opinion, what reason might your brother have to accompany the archbishop? How would he profit from this series of despicable events? Which tasks would he assume in the service of the archbishop?”
“Well, he would be active only in an advisory capacity. As you know, my brother is an attorney, like you. There are a number of fiefs that need to be distributed; that is one of the reasons the archbishop had an argument with Bernhard von Harvehorst. Vicar Bartholomäus also disagreed with him over this topic, now that I think about it.”
“But the quarrel was settled weeks ago,” Johannes said.
The vicar general turned around, seemingly surprised. “Are you sure of that?”
“Yes, the archbishop himself told me.”
The vicar general seemed pensive. “Well, then, so be it.”
“Is there anything else I should know?” Johannes became wary—could Friedrich have downplayed the matter after Bernhard von Harvehorst’s death?
“No,” the clergyman answered quickly—too quickly, in Johannes’s opinion.
“Well, then.” Johannes stood. “I will take my leave now. Please send me a message if something else occurs to you or you get wind of something. Anything can be an important clue.”
“Certainly, Counselor. May the hand of God protect you.”
“And may God be by your side always.” With that, Johannes left.
He went straight to the dungeon. Now he had more questions than ever, and he became even more anxious as he contemplated the spate of recent murders. Then there was the guard who, though he claimed innocence, had to be involved somehow. And there were the three honorable men accompanying the archbishop—honorable men who perhaps weren’t so honorable after all. Then
there was the archbishop, who’d stated that a quarrel had been settled—but maybe had not been.
Johannes didn’t know whom to trust. The murderer or murderers must be nigh. The impostor Duretta had been murdered after the archbishop and his entourage had begun their journey. And even if Benedict was responsible for murdering Christopeit, he couldn’t have killed the impostor because by then he’d already been arrested. The thoughts drumming against his temples gave Johannes a terrible headache. By the time he got to the dungeon, his skull felt as though it might explode. He entered the building and, squinting as the light grew dim, went down to the dark cell. He was relieved to see Linhardt standing at the door to Benedict’s cell.
“Did anything happen while I was gone?” Johannes asked without ado.
The guard shook his head. “All is well. I just looked in on him. I believe he’s fallen asleep.”
“Open it!” Johannes ordered. Linhardt unlocked the door and Johannes entered the cell. Panic seized him when he saw Benedict lying on his side, his back to the door. Was he sleeping or was he . . . Johannes hurried over and shook the prisoner’s shoulder.
Benedict awoke with a start. “Forgive me. I am just so exhausted.”
“It’s all right, young man.” Johannes breathed a sigh of relief. He absolutely had to do something to calm his nerves.
Chapter Fifteen
“Somebody should slap that woman until she comes to her senses,” Peter grumbled.
When Madlen returned to the Golden Rooster after her visit with Irma, she’d put the children under Ursel’s care so that she could tell Agathe what had happened. Then they went to Peter and Elsbeth’s quarters.
“Did you tell her about how medical knowledge benefited me?” Peter said, getting worked up.
“No, I didn’t have the chance to get to that point.” Madlen bowed her head. “I don’t think it’s about her doubting the efficacy of medicine. It has more to do with her inability to accept the fact that women can acquire this kind of knowledge just like men can.”
“But she’s a woman herself,” Agathe protested. “Yes, I know. I, too, had my reservations. But for a completely different reason—I was concerned about you.” She looked at Madlen’s in-laws. “I was afraid that Madlen would endanger herself, that some backwoods doctor—and by that I don’t mean Franz von Beyenburg—would be suspicious of her desire to heal the sick. I was worried that one of Franz’s students or a Heidelberg doctor would make wild assertions about our Madlen out of envy, malice, or stupidity.” She sat down next to Madlen and lightly stroked her back. “Unfortunately, most men take no pleasure in seeing women in occupations traditionally held by males. But the idea that a woman would carry on that way”—she shook her head—“is beyond me.”
“Irma believes God will punish me,” Madlen said, “because she thinks I take the blessings He’s bestowed on me, meaning Veit and Cecilia, for granted.”
“Such nonsense!” Elsbeth said. She was about to say something else, but Peter cut her short.
“Do you know who God really punishes? God punishes those who destroy, for no good reason, what they have been blessed with. He sends them terrible coughs or disfiguring blemishes or blindness. Oh, yes, I thought a lot about my transgressions and the wrath of God when I was lying there in darkness without any hope of improvement. Now I understand God’s lesson, possibly more than any of you here in this room.” He pounded his fist on the table. “Years ago, I was too stupid to recognize how dreadfully you’d been mistreated, Madlen. I didn’t support you when some fiend accused you of murder and then brought you to trial. But here I am today, by your side. And I will not allow anybody, regardless of who they are, to talk you out of what the Almighty has in store for you.”
“What are you talking about?” Elsbeth interjected. “Madlen’s never said that she wanted to study medicine. She’s just going to listen to a handful of lectures, that’s all. And then we’ll ride back to Worms.”
“And soon thereafter, we’ll ride on to Cologne,” Madlen added, as if to reassure everyone that she hadn’t forgotten about her husband.
“Yes, that’s true,” Agathe said. “But as long as we’re with you, we’ll make sure that nobody insults you or does you harm. Begrudging you a few hours at the university is a grave injustice.” She pulled her niece into her arms. “Don’t listen to anybody who says what you are doing is wrong. Listen to us. We believe in you. Other people speak only out of envy.”
Someone knocked on the door. Madlen went to answer it, but Agathe held her back, then walked over to the door herself and cracked it open. When she recognized the face, she immediately opened the door wide.
“Kilian!” Madlen shouted, jumping up. She ran to her brother and fell into his arms. He held her close, then picked her up and whirled her around in a circle.
“I almost can’t believe it. Is it really you?” He embraced her again. Finally, he released her and greeted his aunt and Madlen’s in-laws.
Madlen was reluctant to include her brother in the discussion his sudden appearance had interrupted. However, Agathe was less reserved. She immediately informed Kilian about Madlen’s invitation to be a guest at the university, and how his wife had reacted to it. Agathe made her annoyance and her indignation about Irma’s statements quite clear. Kilian listened attentively. “And because of that ridiculous conversation, Madlen actually doubted whether she should go to those lectures, because she was worried that God would be angry with her and would make her children suffer,” Agathe said in conclusion. Kilian looked at his sister, who returned his glance uneasily. Then he shook his head, smiled, chuckled, and broke into gales of laughter. “You’re not really going to listen to the foolish rantings and ravings of a madwoman, are you?” To Madlen, her brother’s laugh seemed a bit forced, exaggerated, almost sinister. She didn’t say anything but waited patiently until he’d calmed himself. Had he lost his mind?
“I’m relieved that you see it that way as well,” Agathe said.
Kilian gradually quieted. “Dear sister, when have we ever given credence to such nonsense?”
“She’s your wife. What has happened to her?”
“You know about Juliana’s death?”
“You named her after your mother,” Agathe noted sadly.
“Yes, she had our mother’s name,” Kilian said. “And she was a wonderful girl, so full of life, so innocent.”
“Irma told me what happened last winter.”
“Yes. Many people died here in Heidelberg. Sometimes I ask myself if you could have helped had you been here.”
Madlen wasn’t sure whether her brother’s words were meant as an admonishment. He seemed to have noticed her confusion because he quickly added, “Your life is in Cologne and you couldn’t have prevented the epidemic anyway. Our despair was almost too much to bear.”
“Do you know what kind of disease it was?”
Kilian shook his head. “Nobody knows, not even the doctor or the oh-so-acclaimed medical students. They were struck down just like the whores, farmers, and everybody else.”
Elsbeth winced at his coarse language.
“And one day, when the danger was almost over and fewer people were dying, Juliana fell ill. Each day, life slowly faded from her body. It broke our hearts.”
“I’m so sorry,” Madlen whispered.
Kilian wiped away a tear. “After that, everything changed. My wife decided I was to blame for our daughter’s death. Me!”
“She blamed you? Why?”
“A few days before Juliana became ill, Irma and I sat down together to talk. We’d just put wood on the fire because the nights were turning cold. I don’t think we’ve ever had such a cold winter. That day, old Jaspar had paid his carpentry bill. God only knows where he got the money. Most likely he borrowed it to replace his tavern’s tables and benches, which had been torn to pieces in a recent brawl. Anyhow, Irma and I were relieved because now we’d have enough money to put food on the table for several weeks. We were having a nice conversati
on when I said to Irma that I never would have thought I could be happy being a family man and a husband. Now I realize it was a mistake to admit that to her.” He sighed.
“Why? Weren’t you just telling her how happy you were at that moment?”
“Indeed. But then she asked me what I would have done with my life if I hadn’t married her.”
Knowing her brother, Madlen anticipated Kilian’s answer. He would have tried to be honest with his wife. As a young boy, all he wanted was to board one of the big trading vessels and set off for distant lands. And he’d always loved to draw. But neither of these things would have been conducive to building a normal life. During Madlen’s trial, Kilian and Irma had become close, but she’d been more interested in him than he was in her.
“I told her that when I was younger I wanted to go to sea and sail, far, far away, to the Orient.”
“And she didn’t like that,” Peter guessed.
“No, she didn’t. Not at all. She scolded me for being ungrateful and taking for granted what I had with her and Juliana. But that wasn’t true.”
“And a few days later, when Juliana became ill, your wife blamed you,” Agathe concluded.
“Exactly. Since then, nothing’s been the same.”
Madlen put her hand on her brother’s. “When I spoke to her, she said that you were the one who had changed. She insists that you hardly come home anymore, that you spend most of your free time at the pub.”
“That’s true,” he admitted. “But only because she assails me with accusations as soon as I walk in the door. She even told me that she wouldn’t sleep with me unless I swore to ban every thought about what I wanted to do before we married from my head. She was convinced she would become pregnant and, because of my bad thoughts, the child would be taken away from us again. I had to swear to it on her life.” He laughed without mirth.
Agathe shook her head. “I’m afraid she is close to losing her mind.”
“Or maybe she already has,” Peter said.
“What can I do? That’s how it is now. And I have given up all hope that it will ever change.”
