Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church

by Indrek Hargla

  ‘And it is good learning a trade at Sire Tweffell’s side?’ the Apothecary asked.

  ‘Oh yes, he is very kind and has helped me greatly. Sire Tweffell helps me to select furs, and my father sends him paper and glass at a good price in return. I believe it is a high honour to study under the Great Guild Alderman. What is more, I am also allowed to sing at the Brotherhood of Blackheads and learn a profession.’

  Especially as Tweffell has no children of his own – and will not have any either. Kilian is indeed an handsome lad, though, Melchior thought. ‘Doubtlessly your father has already picked out a bride for you in Nuremburg?’

  ‘I wrote to him to say that he need not rush in that matter,’ Kilian replied somewhat hastily. Melchior did not enquire further and instead turned the conversation back to Clingenstain.

  ‘What happened was that Sire Mertin had the Knight informed of his coming ahead of time. He sent a letter but did not receive a reply. So he decided to call upon Clingenstain in person, and I was lucky enough to tag along,’ Kilian explained. ‘The Knight was already well soused – a feast was under way – and they said … that is, I did not hear it, but I knew what it was about. Sire Tweffell was demanding compensation for a shipment of goods that the Order had seized in Gotland last spring. I stood at a distance, close to the door, but I witnessed everything. Clingenstain was already so drunk that he probably couldn’t make out much of what was going on around him. He pushed a beer towards Sire Tweffell and evidently had no understanding of the matter in hand. They did not speak for long.’

  Kilian then managed to ask the Commander whether he could sing for the company, and Spanheim agreed readily. Kilian sang for about an hour, but when he came to request a letter of accreditation – of course, Clingenstain was already so befuddled that he would not have been capable of writing clearly – the Prior’s arrival was announced, and the journeyman was turned out.

  ‘So you left alone?’ Melchior asked.

  ‘Yes, but not straight away,’ the boy replied. ‘When I left the castle there were a few Order attendants standing near the gate who had also taken part in the feast. They paid me an artig to sing for them and treated me to beer. We passed through the Dome Gate to rest in the shade beneath the trees, and I played to them for some time.’

  ‘Was it there in the churchyard where the lindens grow?’ Melchior asked promptly. ‘Did you see anyone there from Lower Town?’

  ‘No one except Prior Eckell, who came out of the castle and entered the Dome Church. Ah … Brother Wunbaldus came over and rebuked us, saying that excessive drinking is a sin and then scolded me for singing songs that are too spirited. The Order attendants gave him a couple of pennies and a tankard of beer, and then he left. I saw no one else.’

  ‘And then you went back down to Lower Town?’

  ‘Well, the Order chaps went to the castle, and I continued to drink the beer, and when they came back I sang another song for them because they believed Brother Wunbaldus had gone by that time … I finished by singing that song about a maiden who at the beginning is still rather chaste and maiden-like but by the end is no longer either …

  Wunbaldus, of course, Melchior recalled. The Apothecary had almost forgotten about that hunchbacked Dominican lay brother. He, too, was wandering around Toompea yesterday, just as he often did while gathering alms. A monk, for sure, but he possessed a brute strength and also knew Toompea well.

  ‘You didn’t see anyone else from the town on Toompea? Master Casendorpe, perhaps?’ Melchior asked. ‘He visited Toompea yesterday. Sold Clingenstain a golden collar, which he was wearing at the table when you sang for them.’

  Kilian fell silent for a moment. A kind of elusive glint flashed in his eyes.

  ‘No, I did not see Master Casendorpe,’ Kilian said with a slight shiver. ‘But that collar was around Clingenstain’s neck later.’

  ‘The collar?’ Melchior asked, startled. ‘The gold collar? Wait – when did you see him?’

  Kilian seemed confused. He sipped the elixir and plucked uneasily at his lute. ‘I saw him just as I began to walk back to the town. Later, more towards eventide. When I passed the guardsmen. He came from the opposite direction.’

  ‘Which direction did he come from? From the castle or the Dome Church?’

  ‘Yes, he came, er, from the other direction … so, probably from the direction of the church, yes …’ The boy appeared somewhat uncertain of his words.

  Melchior thought for a moment. ‘Listen, Kilian, don’t tell me that you didn’t have the courage to go up and ask him for that attestation?’

  ‘In truth, I merely bowed to him and wished him a fine evening – not that he really took any notice of me. No, I did not work up the courage to ask him for an attestation again. Had I known he would be dispatched that very same evening no doubt I would have.’

  ‘You could not have known that.’

  ‘Indeed. I simply bowed to him.’

  ‘That was probably about the time that he returned from taking confession at the Dome Church. And that gold collar was still around his neck then?’

  ‘Clingenstain was wearing the collar when I saw him, absolutely,’ the boy said looking straight into Melchior’s eyes. The Apothecary wanted to ask more about the collar, but at that moment the back door opened and Keterlyn stepped into the pharmacy.

  ‘I heard voices from upstairs and thought someone had come to buy medicines,’ Keterlyn said. ‘Oh, hello, Kilian,’ she remarked when she

  noticed the journeyman.

  Melchior started when his wife entered. He turned around so suddenly and awkwardly that he knocked over a mortar, a couple of tankards and some silver spoons in the process. He swore softly and hastened to greet his wife.

  ‘You see? Every time I am in your company my hands start to shake like jellied meat, and I cannot hold a single thing in my grasp,’ he exclaimed, clasping Keterlyn in an embrace and kissing her cheek. She feigned resistance. Out of the corner of his eye Melchior saw that Kilian had kneeled down to pick up the items he had knocked down.

  ‘Melchior, you act as if you have not seen me for several weeks. If seeing womenfolk has such an effect on you then maybe you should choose some other profession?’ Keterlyn protested, wriggling playfully in her husband’s embrace.

  ‘With the aid of St Nicholas and by disciplining myself into an evermore pious state I have driven away any last thoughts of monastic life,’ Melchior said. ‘But thank you, Kilian, thank you. It is plain that I am a clumsy oaf.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ the boy murmured, placing the mortar, tankards and spoons back on the table. Kilian then bowed to Keterlyn politely.

  ‘Did you know, wife,’ Melchior spoke with a chuckle, ‘that our good neighbour Kilian has come up with a new song, and he wanted to perform it for me? I told him that you must hear it as well. Thus, if the song is fine and pleases the Mistress Apothecary then we will not take a fee from him for our pharmacy’s medicine. So, Kilian, let’s hear it.’

  ‘For medicine? Is Kilian ill? He was warbling like a lark this morning,’ Keterlyn spoke with amazement.

  ‘His body and bones are certainly healthy, but he seems to be afflicted occasionally by a dreadful case of mournfulness. And one – or better two – cups of ginger elixir always help to counter such an ailment.’

  ‘A case of mournfulness?’ Keterlyn asked in wonder. ‘Is that truly possible? I would never have believed it.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Kilian rushed to affirm, ‘I came up with a song just the same, and …’

  ‘Kilian is saddened by how all of Tallinn’s young damsels run away from him and how no one wants to hear his singing,’ said Melchior, laughing.

  ‘Now, that certainly cannot be true,’ Keterlyn replied. ‘Go and stand on the square and sing for a spell, then you will see how the town’s prettiest girls flock together right away, as if someone had lured them there with an orange boiled in sugar.’

  ‘You jest, Mistress Keterlyn,’ Kilian stammered.

 
; ‘Not at all, not at all,’ the woman exclaimed. ‘I should certainly know, Kilian. If you look carefully then you will see I am not yet so old that I should have no young girls in the town to call friends, and no doubt I am already aware of whom and what they speak when there are not too many ears around to hear.’

  ‘So it is, exactly. And now let your song come forth, and we will listen,’ Melchior commanded, and Kilian began to sing. His song was, however, truly melancholy:

  There is not a single living soul in this world

  Who might grasp my pain and understand me

  My torture, so harsh, which flays my soul

  I know not how I can stand it

  No joy nor consolation nor hope have I

  The lone knight is defeated, ground into dust …

  11

  MUNGA STREET

  16 MAY, AFTER VESPERS

  THAT AFTERNOON MELCHIOR walked along Pikk Street, where work on the main building of the Great Guild was under way. He strolled past the rear of the Church of the Holy Ghost and then down Munga Street, which led to the Dominican Monastery and their new church dedicated to St Catherine. The Dominicans were to be found in a quieter part of the town, edged up against the wall and at a slight remove from the daily bustle and clamour of the busier streets, yet still close enough so that they could easily make their way out to preach amongst the townsfolk.

  Tallinn will no longer be recognizable in a few years, Melchior mused. Sire Dorn was right. There was construction work everywhere: here, members of the Great Guild were building themselves a structure nearly as grand as the Town Hall; there, St Olaf’s Church was being raised to evermore lofty heights; along the wall St Catherine’s Church had been completed just a few years ago, but the Dominicans were already putting up new buildings within the monastery walls. Work was in full swing everywhere, and the Magistrate should actually be pleased by that fact. A town that does not continue to build is marked by death, and Tallinn’s endless expansion meant that it was attracting greater wealth. New faces arrived from Germany every summer, not to mention those from even more distant parts of the Holy Roman Empire. A merchant from Burgundy had even purchased a residence behind the weighing-house, and the number of people from Bruges and elsewhere was growing as well.

  Today, however, the mood in the town was agitated, as court servants walking through the streets proclaimed in their clear, shrill and commanding voices that the Town Council was pursuing a murderer. One crier walked past Melchior at the corner of Munga Street, proclaiming, ‘And, therefore, all citizens allegiant to the town of Tallinn who have become aware of the location in which this very murderer doth conceal himself, or of his name, must appear at once before the Tallinn Council and declare these facts and confirm this statement with a vow that they have not lied. Hear ye, hear ye, citizens of Tallinn and all others …’

  Yes, this was how things ran under Dorn’s authority. All tower guards, town watchmen and boatmen had been warned to keep an eye on any and all suspicious persons, and Council servants declared the news about the town. However, if the murderer was cunning and no one had witnessed his act then the effort might be for naught. The criers had made similar rounds last spring following the fatal stabbing of a Stralsund skipper in a tavern beyond the town walls – although the killer was not found on that occasion. Even Sire Rinus Götzer was unable to give Melchior a lead … It actually wouldn’t be a bad idea to look for old Götzer now, he thought. The former skipper and almsman possessed more knowledge of matters in the town and harbour than all the councilmen put together.

  Vespers had just finished at the Dominican Monastery, and a current of townspeople exited the gates. Several guilds finished their daily work just as the church bells began sounding the call to evening prayers, and the Dominicans – who were quite talented in their preaching – attracted a greater congregation to their sermons than the town’s pastors. Melchior had heard that complaints had even made their way to the Council that the Dominicans preached too much – and too well, Melchior thought – and were taking followers away from the Church of the Holy Ghost and St Nicholas’s. Yet, the fact was that the Dominicans, as an itinerant order who moved from one monastery to the next in any number of faraway lands, were well versed in exciting tales and received extensive instruction in both the Scriptures and worldly life – hence they knew how to talk to ordinary people about matters that brought both care to their souls and stimulated their minds. And, of course, keeping in with the Dominicans was definitely beneficial to the townsfolk at times. The monastery of nearly fifty brothers functioned as one big craftsmen’s guild, producing goods for sale and also purchasing items, both for their own use and in order to resell, making a profit in the process. The Dominicans’ beer was famed throughout Harju and Viru and had been spoken of even much further abroad since the Lay Brother Wunbaldus had become involved in the brewing. Oh, the Dominicans have certainly brought much honour and renown to Tallinn, Melchior thought, and all by the Lord’s blessing. Even the Blackheads, who were now so very active in Tallinn under the direction of Sire Freisinger, had their own altar consecrated right within the Dominican Monastery, and –

  Melchior’s train of thought was cut off by the appearance of Magistrate Dorn. The man elbowed his way through the crowd of churchgoers, protesting that even the church bells couldn’t be heard through the masons’ pounding – although by Melchior’s calculations the evening service had already ended.

  The Apothecary agreed with Dorn’s grumblings when the latter came closer. The pair reckoned they should wait until the crowd had dispersed then send word of their arrival to the Prior. People were presently making their way out through the wall gate where Brother Hinricus stood holding his donation basket amongst all the cripples and tramps who were begging there as usual.

  ‘Forgive me, esteemed Magistrate – you are indeed the Magistrate, are you not?’ A voice bearing a hint of a foreign accent sounded from behind the Apothecary. Melchior turned to see its source. A cloaked man who looked like a mason had stepped up to them, and Melchior thought he vaguely recognized the figure.

  ‘I and none other,’ Dorn grumbled and eyed the man up. ‘And you are … ?’

  ‘Caspar Gallenreutter, from Westphalia,’ said the man. ‘Your humble servant, a master mason by trade.’

  ‘Right, right. You’re the one building that chapel there next to St Olaf’s. We have certainly met before, but my ageing head no longer desires to hold its memories so well,’ Dorn said.

  Gallenreutter laughed, albeit in a somewhat forced manner. ‘It was at the Brotherhood of Blackheads that we met, at the penny-beer drinking to which I was invited last month. However, it was a very merry time, and it is no wonder that you do not remember me.’ He turned towards Melchior. ‘And you are our town apothecary, are you not?’

  Melchior bowed slightly. ‘By the grace of St Nicholas, I am. Whether you be afflicted by stomach flu or some other health ailment begs to be healed, you are most welcome to stop by, and we will certainly find a cure.’

  It turned out, however, that the Master Mason Gallenreutter did not want to talk to the men about his health. He began to speak then broke off, appeared to search for the right words and then asked, ‘The thing is, my good sirs, I wished to ask whether it is true – what they said in church – that Commander of the Order Henning von Clingenstain met his end in a dreadful manner yesterday on Toompea.’

  ‘Unfortunately it is true,’ Dorn said gloomily. ‘His head was chopped off in a single blow and –’

  Melchior jabbed Dorn with his finger. The Magistrate was inclined to ramble on instead of listening.

  ‘It is indeed so, Master Mason,’ Melchior continued in Dorn’s stead. ‘His head was chopped off.’

  ‘How could such a thing have happened? Did the knights go on a rampage amongst themselves, or … ?’ Gallenreutter asked, prying.

  ‘No one can say for certain yet,’ Melchior replied. ‘But the murderer will certainly be captured.’

  ‘
And at roughly what time did this happen?’

  ‘If you will allow me to enquire, why should this be of such interest a foreign master mason?’ Melchior questioned.

  ‘Why should it be of interest?’ Gallenreutter peered about nervously. ‘When I heard about that dreadful bloodshed then I started to fear that maybe I was on Toompea at that very hour and that maybe –’

  ‘You visited Toompea yesterday?’ Melchior interrupted. He now observed the Master Mason more closely. Gallenreutter looked to be around forty years of age and was a strong man with soft facial features and saffron-coloured hair; his shoulders were broad and his face tempered by the wind. He had clever eyes, but his awkwardness and agitation did not seem to be affected. Yes, Melchior now reckoned that he had seen Gallenreutter at the Brotherhood of Blackheads, although they had not been drawn into conversation.

  ‘Yes, I was on Toompea yesterday,’ Gallenreutter confirmed. ‘About what time did that killing take place?’

  ‘It happened shortly before the Long Hill gates were shut, at around half-past eight in the evening,’ Melchior replied slowly, studying the man closely.

  ‘And what business did you have on Toompea?’ Dorn prodded, perhaps in a harsher tone than was necessary, as the Master Mason drew into himself even further.

  ‘I wanted to call upon Clingenstain, but I was not admitted into the castle. And just now, when I heard that he had been killed yesterday, then I thought suddenly that I … that maybe I was on Toompea at the same time. Oh, what a horrible, horrible tale … Although if it was at half-past eight then it certainly could not have occurred when I was there.’

  ‘Tell us, Master Gallenreutter, at what time were you there? This is the first time I’ve heard that you also went to call upon Clingenstain,’ Dorn asked.