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

by Ellin Carsta

  Johannes was about to reply, but they’d already reached St. Alban’s Church. While Johannes stood at the entrance, Wentzel went in, put the special candle in a candleholder to the right of another one, and lit them both. Then he came back out.

  “What now?” Johannes asked.

  “We can either wait here, or I can show you the house the archer disappeared into.”

  “The second option. Your boss would probably flee if he saw me here right out in the open.”

  They walked down the street to Johannes’s house.

  “I was hiding there,” Wentzel said, pointing to a gap between two houses across the street.

  “But I was over there.” Johannes gestured with his outstretched arm. “I would have at least been aware of you or seen you when I climbed up the stairs.”

  “Correct. But I was already there. As I said, it wasn’t especially difficult to follow you. After a day, I knew exactly which way you always go.”

  “I’m sorry that I wasn’t a bigger challenge for you,” Johannes said. Wentzel smiled.

  “When I saw that you were heading home, I’d take a shortcut through the palace courtyard’s narrow alleys then walk down some side streets to settle down here.”

  “Settle down?”

  “Sure. I’d stay in front of your house until I was sure that you’d gone to bed. Then I’d go back to my room to get a bit of sleep and then come back here first thing in the morning to wait for you to come out again.”

  “You’re not stupid, Wentzel. If I may give you some advice: Think about what you want to do with the rest of your life. Someone like you, who can think on his feet and quickly comprehend complicated situations, can undoubtedly take up a career that wouldn’t constantly put him in danger of winding up in jail.”

  “So you want to recruit me?”

  “I’m just trying to inform you,” Johannes responded good-naturedly. “Let’s continue. When did you see the shooter and where was he standing?”

  “Come on.” Wentzel walked over to stand in front of a nearby wall. “He stood right here. If you hadn’t had your attention focused on the woman, you would have been able to see him.”

  “Damn! If only I’d paid more attention! And did you recognize his face from here?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. The first time I saw his face was when he was standing in front of an inn, looking around in all directions to make sure nobody was following him.”

  “He didn’t see you?”

  Wentzel held out his arms. “Please, my lord. Of course not. He had no idea that I knew who he was.”

  Johannes felt almost proud of the boy. “Very well. Now show me where he lives. It will be my pleasure to put him behind bars where he belongs.”

  “Better him than me,” Wentzel said cheerfully. “We’ve got to go this way.” He stopped abruptly.

  “What is it?”

  Wentzel looked around. “Did you hear that?”

  “No. What do you mean?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Let’s go.” They reached the street corner. “I think it’s just around—” Wentzel flinched, but it was too late. Johannes was hit hard on the head. Before he went down, he saw a man in a monk’s robe hitting Wentzel with a heavy wooden cudgel. Then the attorney lost consciousness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Madlen didn’t know what to think and even less what to do. She felt weighed down by the responsibility that Hyronimus Auerbach had entrusted her with. Yes, she knew it was more than just a few men who abused their wives. And like any person who had a heart, she was haunted by the viciousness and cruelty of it all.

  Long ago, Johannes had told her a story about a time before he was the archbishop’s attorney. A man had asserted his legal rights after his wife was raped so viciously that afterward she was unable to bear children. The husband demanded to be awarded damages from the offender, a nobleman with deep pockets, who had committed the crime while drunk. To him, it wasn’t about the humiliation or pain that had been inflicted upon his wife. It was just about money. Johannes had forced the perpetrator to formally apologize to the woman and her husband before the high court, after which the rapist paid the agreed-upon fine and then disappeared.

  Now, Madlen’s stomach was rebelling. She had told neither Agatha nor Elsbeth nor Peter about her conversation with Hyronimus Auerbach. She was too confused at the moment to take them into her confidence. First, she had to clarify her own thoughts on the matter. She wasn’t quite ready to hear their opinions about the proposal, not until she was at peace with it herself. How she wished that Johannes were by her side. He would know exactly what to do. What would he think about it? Would he dissuade her from getting involved? Would he tell her it was none of her business? After all, she didn’t even know the woman’s name or her social standing. Who was her husband? A high-ranking official or a simple craftsman? Madlen suspected the former. She pictured in her mind Matthias Trauenstein, the man who had accused her of causing the death of his unborn child and, later on, his wife. He was an important man, a highly respected patrician. But in Madlen’s eyes, he was nothing but a cowardly swine who abused his authority just because he could. The thought of him made her shudder.

  She pulled the blanket over her daughter; the little girl had kicked it off in her sleep. Veit was sleeping on Madlen’s other side, cuddled close. She took great comfort in the sound of their light snoring.

  But soon her thoughts returned to Hyronimus Auerbach. What was this man thinking by asking her to do this? What had he said? He was in her debt because she’d fought Matthias Trauenstein, while he had obediently cared for the brute’s wife’s wounds after she’d been raped and beaten. Suddenly the children felt too close; she felt as though she were suffocating. She carefully wriggled out of bed and stood up. Her heart beat so violently that she became dizzy. She had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing.

  In the far corner, she noticed a tallow candle glowing weakly on a small table. Madlen went over and sat down. Did memories of the past cause her to pick up the candle and let it continue to burn? Long ago, she’d noticed the calming effects the light of a flickering candle had on the infirm, especially when she swayed the candle from side to side and in so doing caught their eye, focusing their attention. A warm feeling came over her. She held the candle in front of her and began slowly swaying it side to side. She inhaled and exhaled as her eyes followed the light. She closed her eyes and opened them again, still swaying the candle back and forth. Madlen started to feel calmer, her heartbeat slowing as her anxiety subsided. Then she put the candle on the table again, leaned back in the chair, and looked at the light, her breathing calm and even. She was relieved to notice her mood improving.

  Madlen closed her eyes again. She thought about Johannes, about Cologne, about her house where they lived together so happily. Was her husband doing well? Maybe he had already solved Bartholomäus’s murder and was on his way to Heidelberg. In a few days, he would undoubtedly be standing downstairs in the tavern asking for her. She saw herself standing at the banister. She would see him, hurry down the steps, and let herself fall into his arms. A soft sigh escaped from her lips. How lucky she was to have a husband like him! He was exceptionally kind and honest. Johannes treated the servants fairly and was respectful to even the most downtrodden. In contrast to other parents, he never acted like the children were stupid or didn’t know about life. Yes, she was fortunate to have him. And she knew that he needed her as much as she did him. He often said that he was well aware of the good his family did him. This was the most time they’d ever spent apart. And why? So Madlen could attend Franz von Beyenburg’s lectures. In Worms, Agathe had told her that listening to the doctor’s lectures would be a waste of time since she’d never become a doctor anyway. Was her aunt right? Had she done the right thing by coming here instead of returning to Cologne once her in-laws’ problems were resolved? Madlen’s uneasiness grew. Shouldn’t she be by her husband’s side, supporting his work,
especially now as he investigated the murder of an important man? Madlen rubbed her tired eyes. Did she really have the right to be here in Heidelberg just to chase a dream that could never truly be fulfilled? Why couldn’t she just be satisfied with what she already had? She looked over at her children soundly sleeping and then again to the flickering candlelight. Her thoughts whirled in her head.

  Why, she asked herself, did she want to practice the art of healing? To prove to everybody that a woman could be a doctor? To be showered with honors and accolades? The candlelight flickered as Madlen’s eyelids started to close again. Why did she want to heal? Though barely able to keep her eyes open, she asked herself the same question over and over again. Finally, she blew out the candle, dragged herself over to bed, and crawled under the blanket with the children.

  The question continued to echo in her mind as she fell asleep. Suddenly, the answer came to her in a moment of clarity as if a voice had whispered it softly in her ear. She wanted to help! She simply wanted to help. And she was determined to do so.

  “I would like to speak to all of you,” Madlen announced as Agathe, Elsbeth, Peter, and the children sat down for breakfast. Ansgar had eaten and was probably tending to the horses now. Ursel and Gerald had devoured their meal earlier, hurrying as if they had a whole mountain of work to do like they did at home in Cologne. Madlen didn’t know how those two passed the time, but she didn’t want to delve into it. There were more important things to deal with right now.

  “What is it?” Peter asked, shoveling a spoonful of porridge into his mouth.

  The children looked at Madlen with great interest. She regretted having to discuss important matters in their presence, but there was hardly a minute in the day—except for her time at the university—when they weren’t nearby. And it wasn’t possible to speak with her in-laws or Agathe there at the university.

  “Yesterday, I spoke with Hyronimus Auerbach. He’s a doctor here in Heidelberg.”

  “Hyronimus is a funny name,” Cecilia said.

  “Shouldn’t make any difference to you. It’s not your name, after all,” Veit argued.

  “Because I’m not a boy.”

  “Even if you were, you wouldn’t be called that because our parents wouldn’t have named you that.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “I do so. I’m a boy and my name isn’t Hyronimus.”

  “Yours isn’t and neither is mine.” Cecilia glared at her brother, who looked at her uncertainly, apparently unable to follow his sister’s illogical train of thought.

  “Anyway,” Madlen said, sparing Veit from having to respond to his sister, “this doctor with the funny name”—she nodded to Cecilia, who grinned from ear to ear—“spoke to me about a very serious matter.”

  “What kind?” Elsbeth asked.

  “Well . . .” Madlen tried to formulate her answer so that the children wouldn’t understand but the adults would know what she meant. “There are many women here in Heidelberg who call the doctor over and over again because they are suffering from misfortunes inflicted upon them by their husbands.” She let her words soak in as she looked each adult in the eyes. “Often, the violence inflicted upon these woman is so bad that they end up dying immediately or perishing later from internal injuries.”

  “Those bastards should be hung up by their family jewels!” Peter yelled, his mouth full.

  “Peter! The children!” Elsbeth scolded.

  “What kind of family jewels do these men have?” Cecilia asked with great curiosity.

  “Well, it depends,” Madlen said evasively. “Some have diamonds and some have rubies.”

  Cecilia nodded.

  The innkeeper’s daughter came to the table to ask whether anyone wanted anything else. The way Peter stared at the young woman didn’t escape Elsbeth’s notice. She spooned some porridge into her mouth, lowered her head, and did her best to suppress her tears.

  “To make a long story short: the doctor asked me to speak with a woman who is in that situation, in an effort to bolster her courage,” Madlen continued after the innkeeper’s daughter had left. “There may be other women who need my help, too.”

  “Why?” Agathe asked suspiciously.

  “The sheriff needs her to file a formal complaint in order to press charges.”

  “Have you lost your mind? That has nothing to do with you; you don’t have the right to interfere.”

  “I agree with Agathe,” Peter said after swallowing another mouthful of porridge. “This is a matter between a husband and his wife.”

  “Aren’t you oversimplifying this a little?” Madlen asked. “What would you have women like this one do? Their marriages were arranged by their fathers, and they are totally dependent on their husbands.”

  “And you think things will be better for them if they report their husbands?” Elsbeth said. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe it. It will be quite the opposite—being exposed like that will only serve to further provoke their husbands’ rage.”

  “So it’s just to let these men have their way?”

  “Mother?” Veit said. “I’m finished. Can I go up to our bedchamber now?”

  “Of course. I’ll take you up.”

  “Then I’m coming, too,” Cecilia said.

  Madlen stood, excused herself, and accompanied the children up to their bedchamber. Veit and Cecilia jumped onto the bed and began to play. Madlen went back downstairs and sat down.

  “We’ve talked it over while you were gone,” Agathe declared. “The only thing you will achieve by doing this is that the women will be punished all the more severely by their husbands, and you will become the object of the men’s scorn.” She looked at Madlen gravely. “Do you want them to do the same thing to you as they’ve done to their wives?”

  Goose bumps broke out on Madlen’s skin. She hadn’t really thought about that. What would happen if their anger were diverted from their wives onto her? She dropped her head. “No, I don’t want that.”

  “Good,” Agathe pronounced. “I’m glad that’s cleared up.”

  Madlen nodded, but in a flash her resignation turned to rage as she remembered the suffering she knew befell these women. “But who will help those who cannot help themselves?”

  “Hopefully not you,” Elsbeth said sternly. “It’s not your job.”

  “Hyronimus Auerbach told me a story. One that unfortunately is all too true.” Madlen told the others what he had confided to her about his niece. Just recounting the story choked her up, and she had to work to suppress the nausea rising up inside her.

  There was an embarrassed silence. Madlen looked at the others and waited for them to speak, but nobody said a word.

  “Let’s say the same thing happened to me,” Madlen persisted. “Would you still say that it was my fault, that I let my husband do that to me?”

  Peter was the first to rouse himself from the group’s silence. “Your powers of persuasion are quite impressive.”

  “This isn’t about me. It’s just that I find suffering and injustice simply intolerable.”

  “It’s intolerable to us, too,” Elsbeth agreed.

  Agathe laid her hands on Madlen’s. “You’ve become a very strong woman.”

  “I’m incredibly grateful for my happy marriage, and healing and helping people drives me. If we saw a sick or injured person lying in the mud in the middle of the street, there would be no question that we would help him as much as we could. But what happens to the women who aren’t lying in the street but who are subject to violence and degradation each and every day? Do we have the right to simply pass them by on the grounds that it’s none of our business?”

  Peter smiled.

  “Have I amused you in some way?” Madlen said irritably.

  “Not at all. I was just thinking what a good match you and my son are. You speak in the same way, and you are both driven to defend the rights of all individuals.”

  “Are you teasing?” Agathe asked.

  Peter shook his h
ead. “I only wonder why we thought we could dissuade such a strong-willed woman from doing what she knows is right.” He glanced at Madlen. “But there it is. You’ve already made your decision, haven’t you? I can see it in your eyes. It’s the same look my son has when he’s made up his mind. It’s almost as if it’s ordained by God.”

  “I’m surely no attorney like Johannes,” Madlen argued.

  Peter cocked his head. “Well, I don’t see much difference. You witness suffering or injustice and you feel called to do everything in your power to alleviate or eliminate it.” He looked at Elsbeth and Agathe. “We have to accept the fact that it’s not in our power to dissuade her from her mission.”

  “But—” Agathe started but fell silent when Peter shook his head. “Are you truly satisfied that you’re making the right decision?” she asked.

  Madlen tried to smile. “I’m afraid Peter’s right. Even if it wasn’t totally clear to me until this very moment.”

  “We should never have come here,” Elsbeth moaned. “And we even encouraged you to make this trip! Johannes will never forgive us for this.”

  “If Johannes were here, he would have taken charge of this issue himself,” Madlen shot back.

  “Because, as the archbishop’s legal counsel, he would have been appointed to it. But you’re just a woman, a wife like all the others,” Agathe said, trying one last time to persuade her niece.

  “What if this is why I went through so much suffering and injustice myself—so that I would be better able to help others?”

  Agathe looked helplessly at Elsbeth and Peter. “You are the most obstinate person I’ve ever met, Madlen Goldmann.”

  “I’m sorry to be a disappointment to you.”

  “And the bravest,” Agathe added.

  “So you’re not angry with me?”

  “How could I be? You put us all to shame. We who sit here and nag and hesitate to do the right thing out of fear.”