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

by Ellin Carsta

  “But I’m here now and just want to be with my children,” Madlen added. She didn’t want to waste one more minute thinking about the embarrassing scene Peter had just made. She turned to her son. “What would you like to do this evening?”

  “We can’t go out,” Veit said glumly. “It’s going to be dark soon.”

  Madlen frowned.

  “Veit, that’s enough,” Agathe said, hoping to prevent a fight. She could imagine how Madlen must have felt, dealing with the trouble Peter had caused and guilt over being too late to do anything meaningful with her children before their bedtime.

  “But it’s true.”

  “You’re being unfair. Your mother had to take care of something very important. She was helping someone lead a better life. And Elsbeth and I took you all over town—we had so much fun today! It’s not right for you to act like this, and you know it. Other children your age have to slave away the whole day in a carpenter’s shop or in their parents’ tavern while you get to see beautiful things at the market. You even have a new wooden soldier. If that doesn’t make you happy, I won’t bother buying you toys in the future.”

  Usually Agathe was especially nice to Veit; to hear her speak like this was quite a shock.

  “Please forgive me, Mother. And you, too, Aunt Agathe. I just want to spend more time with my mother, like we did in Cologne. And I miss my father, too.” He was on the brink of tears. “When do we get to go home?”

  Madlen crouched in front of him and stroked his arm. “I know everything is different here, but it will only be a few more weeks until we’re back home in Cologne. And this is important to me. Can you understand that and be just a little bit happy about what I’ve done here?”

  “But you do lots of things at home, too,” Veit argued.

  “It won’t take much longer.”

  “You’ve said that several times already.”

  “Because it’s true,” Madlen said. She was starting to tire of her son’s selfish behavior, his always having to have his way no matter what. Madlen wondered whether it had been a good idea to work so hard to give him everything she’d missed during her own childhood.

  Veit didn’t say anything but made his displeasure known by making a long, sulky face.

  With that, Madlen had had enough. “Veit, Agathe is right. You’re not behaving yourself, and I expect that to change immediately. There are other people besides you in this world, and they are just as important as you are. I understand that you’d like to be in Cologne again. I miss your father, too, more than I can say. But I have obligations here that I must fulfill now. I am your mother, and I expect you to support me and respect my wishes.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Veit knew he’d gone too far.

  “Good. Now Agathe and I will go downstairs and get a bite to eat. Anyone who cares to join us may do so. But anyone who prefers to sulk can just stay right here.” She stood up from her squat.

  “I’m coming,” Cecilia exclaimed.

  “Me, too,” Veit said meekly. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  “It’s all right. Let’s forget about it now. But I do expect you to change your behavior.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “I need to wait here until Ursel returns. Who knows where she is and when she’ll be back?” Agathe said. She had her suspicions about where the housekeeper was. Several times, she’d noticed Ursel and Gerald leaving the inn one right after the other. They’d be gone for several hours, then return around the same time or in quick succession. Upon her return, Ursel always had a penitent look on her face. Though curious, Agathe didn’t ask her about it. She wondered whether she should tell Madlen, who was their employer after all, about what had been happening.

  When Madlen opened Agathe’s bedchamber door, she was surprised to find Ursel standing right behind it. They greeted each other briefly, then Agathe, Madlen, and the children went downstairs for their evening meal.

  Madlen wondered whether she should ask Elsbeth to accompany them. But she thought better of it. Of course Elsbeth wouldn’t want to join them downstairs for supper after what had happened. Madlen sighed. Although she had gotten through to Magdalena Grossherr, she continued to fret. Mostly because of the embarrassing incident with Peter, but also because she knew that Magdalena had a very tough road ahead of her. Madlen wouldn’t want to trade places with her. Though it had been right to convince her to file charges, Madlen also felt guilty for making it seem like the future would be so rosy. It wouldn’t be—of that Madlen was quite sure. But it was a matter of helping this frightened woman, who had been abused for so many years, to have the courage to stand up for her rights and put an end to her anguish. So, Madlen wasn’t totally relieved, not yet anyway. She hoped that she could find some peace of mind when she returned to Cologne and could get back into her old routine.

  Downstairs, their hostess served up an ample meal, and everybody ate heartily, including Madlen. The warm spiced wine was making her sleepy. She spoke softly so that the other tavern guests wouldn’t hear them discussing what had happened at the nobleman’s house, choosing her words very carefully so as not to upset the children.

  “If she keeps her word, and I think she will, she’ll show up at the sheriff’s office tomorrow and file a formal complaint,” Madlen said. With that, she was disinclined to speak any more about it.

  “Mother?”

  “Yes, Veit.”

  “The man beat his wife, right?”

  “Yes, my son.”

  “Has Father ever hit you?”

  “Of course not.” Madlen stroked his head. “Your father would never do something like that.”

  “Good. I think that a big man, even bigger than Father, should go to that woman’s husband and beat him up exactly as he beat her. He should get back every punch just as hard as he gave it.”

  “Yes, I think so, too,” Cecilia agreed.

  “I think,” Madlen said, chuckling, “that if this man is foolish enough to challenge the sheriff, that’s exactly what will end up happening.”

  “And he would deserve nothing less.” Veit looked at his mother then Agathe with a seriousness that belied his youth. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a sheriff. And then I’ll beat up anybody who beats up women.”

  “A very good idea,” Agathe said. “You should eat something so that you will grow up to be big and strong.”

  Veit took up the challenge, sinking his teeth into a piece of ham. Madlen’s heart filled with pride at her son’s inherent sense of justice at such a young age. When everybody finished, Cecilia asked to go upstairs.

  “Yes. I’ll come with you,” Madlen said. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.” She stood up, and the children slid off their chairs.

  Veit grabbed another piece of ham. “I’ll eat this later tonight. And when I wake up in the morning, I’ll surely have grown a bit.”

  “Madlen,” Agathe said.

  “Yes?” She turned around to face her aunt.

  “You should be proud of yourself. You’re doing what so few have the courage to do.”

  “Thank you, Agathe.” As they went upstairs together to their respective rooms. Agathe’s words echoed in Madlen’s mind. She was starting to feel really good about herself.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “He’s burning up with fever,” the doctor said. “It’s a good thing you called me. One of you, get some cold water and some linen cloths.”

  “I’ll do it,” Wilhelm said and left the room.

  “He was dizzy and had difficulty standing,” Linhardt said to the doctor.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” the doctor said. “Perhaps he was hit on the head harder than we thought. The first thing to do now is lower his temperature. He’s a strong fellow. If he can get enough peace and quiet and some sleep, he’ll be back on his feet in no time. But just in case, I’ll fetch some herbs and cook up a nice medicinal brew.”

  “I already offered that to him, but he told me he doesn’t tolerate herbs very well,” Linhardt lied.
Unsettling recent events had made him too skittish to trust even the doctor or what he might give Johannes.

  “Then I’ll refrain from making him an herbal concoction,” the doctor said. “After all, we don’t want to make matters worse by poisoning him.” He’d meant it as a joke, but the five guards looked at him stone-faced.

  “That was an inappropriate remark, considering what happened to Vicar Bartholomäus,” the doctor admitted. He was relieved to see Wilhelm return with a bowl of cold water and linen cloths.

  “Very good. Put it there. I’ll show you how to make a cold compress. You’ll have to change it every hour.”

  “That’s not our job,” Wolfker said. “We’re guards, not nurses.”

  “Nurses or not, you’re here. And I don’t see anybody else around, and I can’t stay here myself. So, you’ll have to do exactly what I’m going to show you to do.”

  The doctor dunked a linen cloth in the water, wrung it out, and, after pushing the blanket aside, wrapped it around Johannes’s lower leg. Then he wrapped several dry cloths over it. He did the same thing on the other leg and then covered the injured man with the blanket. “So, you see, it’s very simple.”

  “We’ll take care of it,” Linhardt assured him.

  “And if something changes, come fetch me. Even if it’s in the middle of the night.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ve been here quite a bit lately, not just for this patient but also to examine the dead. I hope the palace can pay me one of these days.”

  “Before you go, there’s something else that occurs to me,” Linhardt said. “Tell me, have you taken a look at the man the attorney supposedly murdered?”

  “As a matter of fact, the sheriff asked me to examine the body. Why do you ask?”

  “How was the man killed?”

  “Somebody cut his throat from ear to ear.”

  “Was there a bump on his head? Like the one the attorney has?”

  “Now that you mention it, I really don’t know. I didn’t check his head. It was plain to see that his neck had been slit.”

  “Could you examine him one more time before he’s buried?”

  “I believe that would be possible. But why? Even if he did have a bump on his head, it wouldn’t have been bad enough to eclipse the mortal wound on his neck.”

  “It’s not about that. Please, Doctor, please look at him and let us know.”

  “Who is ‘us’?” the doctor asked. “Who will pay for this?”

  “The attorney will pay. I can assure you of that.”

  “Well, then, you’ve all heard it. Not that you have the authority to use his name.”

  “You’ll get your money, maybe even more than you require.”

  “Then I’ll go to the sheriff first thing in the morning.”

  “And could you do something else?”

  “Of course.”

  “If the corpse has a bump on its head, please call the sheriff and show it to him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s important that he sees it with his own eyes.”

  “Well, all right, if it’s so important.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “I wish all of you well,” the doctor said in parting. The guards returned his farewell as he left.

  “What’s all this talk of a bump?” Wilhelm asked.

  “The attorney claims the last thing he remembers was a man in a monk’s robe hitting the young scoundrel Wentzel on the back of the head,” Linhardt explained. “After that, he himself got hit on the head then collapsed. That’s his account. But a so-called witness claims to have seen the attorney kill Wentzel by stabbing him twice in the belly and then cutting his throat from ear to ear. The attorney and I reconstructed the scene earlier, and it couldn’t have happened like that.” Linhardt asked Wilhelm to take the role of Wentzel then demonstrated what Johannes had shown him. The other guards immediately understood what he meant.

  “It couldn’t have been the way the witness described,” Anderlin confirmed.

  “Correct. And one more thing: even if what the witness claimed was partially true, the deceased wouldn’t have an injury on the back of his skull, because allegedly only the lawyer got hit on the head.”

  “Very well thought out,” Georg said. “But what can we do to prove the attorney is innocent?”

  “He told me it’s more important to solve the other murders. He got too close to the real perpetrator, who now wants to get him out of the way by putting the blame for Wentzel’s murder on him. Now that we know what we’re up against, we have to stop it.”

  “So how do we proceed?”

  “Two of us must speak to the witness who identified Benedict, Lord Tillich, and ask him to repeat his statement, just to be sure we have the facts straight. Next, we’ll go to the jail to see Benedict and find out what he said to the attorney. We just might be able to come up with something. Too bad we can’t get anything out of Wentzel anymore. If only the lawyer could remember where he and Wentzel were going. Then we could really make some headway.”

  “Wilhelm and I will go talk to Dietrich Tillich,” Anderlin volunteered.

  “Niclaus, Wolfker, will you interrogate Benedict again?”

  “Sure, Linhardt,” Niclaus said. Wolfker agreed with a nod.

  “Georg and I will stay here and stand watch over the attorney,” Linhardt declared. “As soon as he wakes up, we’ll ask him what this Wentzel said to him. As soon as you all are done, meet back here.”

  Niclaus and Wolfker’s interrogation of Benedict didn’t take as long as expected, and they didn’t find out anything new. Benedict didn’t tell them anything he hadn’t already told the lawyer.

  “We will see what Wilhelm and Anderlin learned from the witness, this Lord Dietrich Tillich who identified Benedict. Either he is wrong, and Benedict is the victim of mistaken identity, or one of them is lying,” Niclaus said. “In my opinion, only one of them has a reason to do that.”

  “How’s he doing?” Wolfker cocked his head toward Johannes’s bed. “Did he wake up at all?”

  Linhardt shook his head. “Not even when we changed his compresses. But I do believe he’s not as hot as he was before.”

  “We have to find out what Wentzel told him,” Georg said anxiously. “What if he doesn’t wake up? That would mean that Wentzel took what he knew to the grave. And it must have been something important, otherwise the attorney wouldn’t have taken him out of jail.”

  “It would help if we at least knew where they’d intended to go.” Linhardt rubbed his chin. He paused when he noticed Johannes stirring. A wave of relief flowed through his body when the attorney opened his eyes. Linhardt hurried over to the bedside. “Counselor, thank God! How do you feel?”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  Linhardt picked up the water jug and filled a mug. “Here. Wait a second, I’ll help you.” He handed Johannes the mug. The man took it in trembling hands, and Linhardt helped him sit up.

  “My thanks, Linhardt.” Johannes gulped down the water, though his throat was so dry that at first he had difficulty swallowing. Soon he felt the soothing effects of the water, and after a moment he was finally able to quench his thirst. “What happened to me?”

  “You had a very high fever, my lord. The doctor came here again. Evidently, the blow to your head was more serious than we initially thought. You now have cold compresses on your legs, so don’t be surprised if you can’t move very well.” Linhardt hesitated. “The doctor wanted to prepare an herbal brew for your fever, but I claimed that you can’t tolerate certain herbs.”

  “You don’t trust anyone anymore, do you?” Johannes tried to smile. “I don’t, either.”

  Georg cleared his throat. “Without pushing you too hard, my lord, we must find out what this Wentzel told you. Please, forgive us, but when you didn’t wake up, we thought that . . .”

  “That I might never wake up at all? I understand. And I thank you for your help in solving the murders.”

 
Georg acknowledged Johannes’s praise with a nod.

  Johannes took another gulp and handed the mug back to Linhardt, who put the vessel on the small bedside table. The lawyer made an effort to sit all the way up.

  “Wait.” Linhardt walked over to a chest and took out two pillows, which he stuffed behind Johannes so that he could lean back but stay upright.

  “Thank you, Linhardt.”

  The guard nodded. Then he placed four chairs around the attorney’s sick bed.

  “Well, this young fellow Wentzel was sent to follow me by someone whose face he’d never seen,” Johannes began. He told them the whole story: the secret meeting in St. Alban’s Church, their walk to his house, the place where Wentzel had hidden himself day after day and from where he’d observed the impostor Duretta’s murder. He finally described how they both had been attacked and beaten to the ground.

  “I know that Wentzel flinched a moment before I was hit. He must have seen something or, rather, someone. Then I felt a powerful blow on the back of my head. Before I lost consciousness, I saw a man in a monk’s habit behind Wentzel. That man struck him down, too. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up here.”

  “A man in a monk’s robe,” repeated Georg thoughtfully. “Exactly like the man Wentzel told you he met at St. Alban’s, correct?”

  “Right.”

  “And Wentzel never told you who’d hired him?” Niclaus asked.

  “Indeed,” Johannes said. “He said that the monk told him he’d been hired to keep an eye on me by the order of the archbishop.”

  Georg hissed through his teeth. “A rather bold claim for this monk to make.”

  Someone knocked lightly on the door, and Georg asked who it was.

  “Wilhelm and Anderlin.”

  Georg stood up and went over to the door, took the chair away, and let them in. Then he shoved the back of the chair under the doorknob again.

  “Well?” Linhardt asked.

  “I believe Benedict might be telling the truth,” Wilhelm answered.

  “Why do you say that? What did the witness say?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Wilhelm and Anderlin moved two more chairs and sat next to the others near Johannes’s bedside. “It’s nice to see you awake, my lord.”