The Master of Medicine (The Secret Healer Series Book 2)

by Ellin Carsta

“It didn’t look good for me for a long time,” Madlen said. “I owe it all to the negotiation skills of my legal advocate at the time, Andreas von Balge. I’m a free woman today thanks to him.”

  “Yes, I remember him. He left a few years ago now. A man like that has undoubtedly found great success.”

  “He deserves nothing less. Unfortunately, I haven’t heard from him in a long time.”

  “To get back to the reason I wanted to talk to you . . .” Hyronimus Auerbach paused for a moment, then continued. “There are many women here in Heidelberg and elsewhere in this land who are suffering horrors similar to what Adelhaid Trauenstein faced in her day. It’s quite difficult for a man of the healing arts to endure—to see such suffering, to bind wounds, to search for words of comfort, only to be called again to tend to a patient a few days later.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I heard from the sheriff that you were in the city. We’ve often spoken about the suffering of these poor women. The sheriff intervenes as much as he is able. He has personally beaten some of those so-called honorable husbands black and blue.” A slight smile flitted across Hyronimus’s face. “I didn’t feel sorry for a single one of them.”

  “It’s forbidden to beat your wife without cause.”

  “As it is also forbidden to inflict bodily harm disproportionate to a wife’s real or imagined transgressions. But these men find a ‘reason,’ believe me. I’ve observed the recent increase of violence in the home. But inflicting bodily harm isn’t the only problem. These men treat their wives worse than cattle. And if they get really drunk . . .” The doctor stopped, swallowed. “There was a woman, a beautiful and charming maiden from a good family, with a good education and a big dowry. Her father agreed to give her in marriage to an esteemed patrician—a councilman.”

  “Are you talking about Adelhaid Trauenstein?”

  “No, though this story is very similar to hers. Well, this young woman wasn’t just beautiful on the outside. No, she had an inner glow, an angelic light. She lit up any room she entered.” His expression changed. He walked ahead. Madlen followed, guessing that he didn’t want her to see that his eyes were welling up with tears.

  “Not long after she married this repulsive villain, something happened.”

  “What?”

  “At first she simply seemed more serious. Her exuberance, her cheerfulness, vanished into thin air. She hardly spoke. Then she claimed to have tripped and fallen down the stairs, but I didn’t believe it for one second.”

  “Her husband beat her for no reason?”

  Hyronimus Auerbach nodded. “I could see it in her eyes. It was as if her light had been extinguished.”

  “What became of her?”

  “I would go to her residence, even though I hadn’t been called, but she was always indisposed, unable to receive guests. I was sick with worry, so I spoke to her father and told him frankly what I thought was going on.”

  “Did he help her? Usually relatives have a right to intervene if the woman has committed no transgressions worthy of a beating.”

  He shook his head. “We had a falling-out. He upbraided me, called me a fool for asserting such things about this handsome and rich patrician. And so I left it at that.”

  “Until you were called to her again?”

  “Exactly.” The doctor stopped, looking up as if trying to remember. “What I saw took my breath away. He’d raped her so brutally that her insides were lacerated and torn apart. Heaven only knows what he used to inflict this kind of injury.”

  Madlen’s stomach lurched; she covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Her entire upper torso was beaten black and blue. I still don’t know which of her injuries ultimately led to her death. But I couldn’t save her.”

  Madlen caught up to Hyronimus and laid a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  Tears again welled up in the physician’s eyes. “She was my niece, Madlen, my brother’s daughter. There wasn’t anything I could do to help her. And my brother couldn’t forgive himself for not listening to me.” He did his best to suppress a sob. “They found him two days later. My brother committed a mortal sin—he took a rope, went to the woods, and hanged himself.”

  Madlen was so shaken that she couldn’t speak.

  “Nobody should have to experience that kind of thing. But times are hard, and many local businesses are failing. To drown their sorrows, some merchants go to taverns and get drunk. When they get home, many of them hit their wives and take them by force.” He shook his head. “I can’t bear it any longer. I can’t bear to see one more broken woman.”

  Madlen was deeply touched. “Thank you for your trust, Doctor. I understand why you told me this. I must carefully consider whether I want to pursue this vocation, if I can endure seeing the pain and suffering that you’ve run up against.”

  “No.” He stopped abruptly. “On the contrary, I believe you are strong enough to handle it.”

  “So then why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I hope to get you on my side. On my side and the sheriff’s side. The sheriff has advised women to call out for help if they’re being beaten or raped so as to have enough proof to press charges against their husbands, but not one woman thus far has dared to do so.”

  “Out of fear,” Madlen said.

  “Yes, out of fear. But primarily because they don’t believe they have the right, although our Germanic law book, the Saxon Mirror, explicitly lists wife beating as a punishable offense. They think, ‘I am just a woman.’ But someone like you—a woman who goes her own way despite being subjected to false allegations and gross injustices—can change the way these women think. You, Madlen, have the gift to empower these women so they can resist.”

  “Well, oh, my . . . I can’t, I mean . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “You wouldn’t be doing it alone. I only ask that you come with me to visit one of these women. Nothing more. I fear for this woman’s life. The sheriff does, too, but he can’t do anything if she doesn’t report her repulsive husband.”

  “I don’t know.” The thought of this terrible violence made Madlen’s skin crawl.

  “I’ll understand if you refuse. But please, think about it.”

  “I will.”

  “Is it all right if I visit you again tomorrow for your answer?”

  “Yes, do that,” she agreed.

  He bowed, expressing his deference to this woman he so admired. “You have my highest respect, Madlen. May God protect you.”

  “Thank you for your confidence. May God be with you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Johannes didn’t know what to believe anymore. He was so annoyed about that rogue Wentzel’s assertions. The archbishop! What utter nonsense! So that’s who’d sent the bastard to tail him? Friedrich wasn’t even in Cologne.

  “You can forget about any kind of compensation for such absurd lies.”

  “You may not like what I’m saying, but that doesn’t make it any less true,” Wentzel stated boldly. “And I demand that you keep your part of the agreement.”

  “You know what the punishment is for slandering the archbishop?”

  “You wanted to hear what I know. And I told you.”

  “Tell me exactly what it is you did.”

  “I followed your every move so I could report where you’d been.”

  “Who hired you to do this?”

  “I don’t know his name or his face. When I have something to report to him, I go to St. Alban’s Church and light a candle there.”

  “How does he know it’s you?”

  “The candle is a different color than the others.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “I check the church every hour. When the candle disappears, I know he is waiting for me in the vestry. Then I go in and tell him what I’ve witnessed.”

  “You’ve seen his face?”

  “No, my lord. He wears a monk’s habit and covers his face and head with a hood.�
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  “How tall is he?”

  “Shorter than you.”

  “Have you noticed anything special about him?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “What does his voice sound like?”

  “It isn’t especially distinctive.”

  “Would you be able to recognize it if you heard it again?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good. So how did you come to the conclusion that this man is in the service of Friedrich?”

  “Because he told me.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “There doesn’t seem to be any reason not to.”

  Johannes relaxed a little. It was not at all certain that this man had been hired by Friedrich. But whoever he was, he was bold enough to claim just that.

  “What are you thinking?” Wentzel asked.

  “If what you say is true, then we can arrest this man right away. I’ll come with you. Two guards will accompany us, in case you try to escape.”

  “And what kind of message should I bring him?”

  “Just make something up, it doesn’t matter. The second you meet up with him, we’ll barge in and arrest him.”

  “And what will happen to me?”

  “As we discussed, you’ll give your sworn statement to a scribe and two witnesses. Then you’ll receive money and a horse so you can leave Cologne.”

  Wentzel nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Then let’s pray to God that this wasn’t some idiot prankster playing you for a fool.” Johannes paused. “What have they paid you thus far?”

  “Ten groschen, my lord. And three more if I report something of importance.”

  “And what was important to this man?”

  “Well, I got more money when I reported that woman’s visit to your house. And also when you went to the harbor.”

  “You need to know this: That woman is dead. Murdered. Or did you murder her yourself?”

  Wentzel held up his hands defensively. “I didn’t murder anybody, not now, not ever. But I did see who it was,” he said, smirking.

  “You saw who killed her? And you’re just telling me this now?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  Johannes scrutinized him. “If you really saw that, then tell me how the woman was murdered.”

  “With an arrow from a crossbow.” He turned around and pointed at his back, at exactly the same spot where the woman had been pierced. “Right about there.”

  “That’s right. All right now, out with it: Who killed this woman? Do you know him?”

  “I got a good look at him and know where to find him.”

  “Then tell me right now!”

  Wentzel cocked his head, grinning from ear to ear. “And for that information, I would need another fifty groschen. Agreed?”

  “You’re a real creep, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, that’s probably true. But I’ll soon be a rich creep.”

  “Fine. A hundred groschen and a horse. But I want to know who it is immediately.”

  “Then let’s go see him.”

  “Describe him to me now. You’ll stay here.”

  “Here? With Friedrich’s guards? If you leave me here, they’ll probably stab me with a dull knife as soon as you’re gone.” He shook his head. “No, Counselor. If you want my help, then you shouldn’t leave my side, and vice versa.”

  Johannes thought it over. “Fine. Then come with me. First we’re going to go light a candle.”

  “I’ll have to get one from my bedchamber.”

  “Where is that?”

  “In one of the rooms near the harbor.”

  Johannes nodded then signaled Wentzel with a movement of his head to follow him outside. When Linhardt saw them leave the cell, he hurried over. “You stay where you are,” he growled at Wentzel.

  Wentzel raised his eyebrows and looked at Johannes. “Tell him.”

  “We need him as a witness,” Johannes said. “He’s going with me. Keep an eye on Benedict.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to take a few guards with you?” Linhardt said, giving the young man a swift appraisal. “He’s not strong, but I bet he’s light on his feet.”

  “He knows very well that it’s to his advantage to stay by my side.” Johannes didn’t want to broadcast the fact that he’d promised to give Wentzel money in exchange for his testimony.

  “Well, then, as you wish, my lord.” Linhardt went back to his place outside Benedict’s cell and plopped down on his chair again. Johannes and Wentzel climbed the stairs. For a moment, Johannes wondered whether he was doing the right thing. Everything Wentzel told him could have been a lie to get the young man out of his cell so he could make his escape. But his intuition told him that Wentzel was sincere. His description of the man in a monk’s robe seemed too outlandish to be a lie. And Wentzel had been able to describe exactly how and where the false Duretta had been hit by the arrow. No, this brash young man had seen it—Johannes was completely sure about that. And soon he would find the murderer, who might very well be responsible for the other deaths, too. He could hardly wait.

  But first it was a matter of finding out who was so keen on knowing his day-to-day whereabouts. The thrill of the hunt seized Johannes. He was finally making some headway in solving this puzzle.

  The guards at the jail’s entrance seemed perplexed as Johannes and Wentzel walked out of the building. They asked the attorney if they could do anything for him. He assured them that everything was fine.

  The two walked side by side to the harbor, as though they were the best of friends. What Wentzel referred to as his room was in truth nothing but a run-down old shack, the wind blowing into it through every nook and cranny.

  “Why haven’t you looked for some sort of gainful employment?” Johannes asked.

  “And what is your idea of gainful employment?”

  The attorney shrugged. “Carpentry, barrel making, butchering, or brush making.”

  Wentzel shook his head. “The same old thing day in and day out just isn’t for me. Most of the time, I don’t stay very long in one place. Today I’m in Cologne, maybe tomorrow I’ll be in Dortmund or Koblenz. Whichever way the wind blows.” Together they went inside. The room was sparsely furnished with a simple cot. No chairs, no tables, just a cot.

  “How did you meet the man who hired you to keep an eye on me?”

  Wentzel turned to Johannes. “I was in a tavern, and a couple of men started a fight. I didn’t have anything to do with it, but I got hit. And then more men joined in and finally everybody was hitting everybody else.”

  “And then?”

  “The innkeeper sent for the police and insisted that we all had to pay for the broken benches. Suddenly this fellow put his hand on my shoulder and said he could get me out of it. He said he had a deal for me, but I had to decide quickly. Truthfully, I was too drunk to really understand his offer. I just wanted to get away so I wouldn’t be thrown in jail. I’ve been in jail once—not here, but in Trier. I thought the rats would eat me alive. Jail is not for me. I didn’t know what jail would be like here in Cologne, so I figured I could sleep it off, earn some money, and be free.”

  “The man in the tavern, is that the one you met with in the church?”

  “No, my lord. The fellow at the tavern is somewhat taller.”

  “And he succeeded in getting you out of there in time?”

  “Yes, my lord. We escaped down some alleys, until he stopped to explain to me what I had to do.”

  Wentzel walked to a corner of the room and picked up a candle from the floor. He signaled to Johannes that they could go.

  “What exactly did he want you to do?” Johannes continued once they were outside.

  “He took me to your house and said that I should follow every move the occupant made. Then he described what you looked like.” Wentzel pointed to Johannes’s light-blond hair. “It was easy to recognize you.”

  “Didn’t you think about running away as soon as he left you alone?”

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nbsp; “Briefly. But he warned me before he left.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Something like ‘Everyone who watches someone else is also being watched,’ and that even thinking about not fulfilling my contract would mean my certain death. Then he explained to me about the candle and St. Alban’s Church and all that, and he left. I staggered back to my room and thought about what to do. The prospect of being paid a few groschen to follow you was quite attractive.”

  “So the next day you began to follow me?”

  “Correct.”

  “When was that?”

  Wentzel thought it over. “A few days ago. The first day you went to the bishop’s palace and from there to Bernhard von Harvehorst’s house. Yes, that was the first time I followed you.” He seemed almost proud to have remembered it so clearly and to have fulfilled his contract.

  “So that was the same day I’d gone to the archbishop’s and found out about Bartholomäus’s and von Harvehorst’s deaths?”

  Wentzel shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t really say.”

  “Yes, it must have been.” Johannes paused. “Why do you believe that the archbishop was the one who authorized your contract, when he could hardly have been the man at the tavern?”

  “Because he told me.”

  “Who? The man in the tavern?”

  “No. The man at the church. He said that he relied on my silence, and that I would be in the service of the archbishop of Cologne.”

  “A rather bold assertion,” Johannes grumbled. “What about when the woman was shot with the arrow?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, didn’t it occur to you that perhaps it wasn’t proper to keep your mouth shut about that? It is your duty to report a murder.”

  “First of all, I have to tell you, someone like me would not voluntarily go to the sheriff’s office, file a report, and then, ultimately, get blamed for the crime. Secondly, they would no doubt have asked me what I was doing to have witnessed the crime so accurately.”

  “I understand. Do you know where we can find this man?”

  “When I saw what he’d done, I disregarded our contract so that I could follow him and not you. I knew it wouldn’t be difficult to find you again. After all, you usually only go from your house to the palace and back again. I was curious. And from what I saw of you, nothing seemed amiss.” He rubbed his pointer and middle finger against his thumb as if there was coin between them. “You’ll need to pay me good money for pointing him out to you.”