‘Well then, tell us about this miracle,’ Keterlyn interrupted the girl, growing impatient herself.
‘It’s that alms-box – you know, where people can donate a penny or whatever. Apparently yesterday evening the chest was completely empty, but this morning it contained the most amazing golden collar you can imagine – the sort that noblemen wear around their necks, beautiful and worth a great deal of money.’
Keterlyn did not fail to notice that Kilian started, supporting himself against the well wall and nearly dropping his lute in the process.
‘Collar? A golden collar,’ he stammered.
‘Exactly. One made of pure, shining gold. If it’s sold then the poor almsmen can buy lots food to eat and more clothing than they will ever need. They say it is a genuine miracle and that either the Holy Ghost or St Victor has allowed this to take place and that a mass of thanksgiving will be held in the Church of the Holy Ghost and that –’
No one seemed to notice Kilian’s astonishment.
Gerdrud merely shrugged and broke off the girl’s prattling. ‘I have never heard of miracles happening just like that. If it is a collar then someone has placed it there, and may the heavens impart heaps of thanks upon the person for having a heart that aches for the poor and the crippled. However, Kilian and I were just about to go to the market. Were we not, Kilian?’
Gerdrud’s final sentence was pronounced in a tone that hushed Birgitta. The young girl bowed to Gerdrud, albeit in a somewhat forced and ostentatious manner. Kilian nodded quickly, and the pair began heading slowly towards Pikk Street while Birgitta ran off. Ludke remained standing stiff and immobile in front of the pharmacy waiting for Melchior.
Keterlyn sat back down on the doorstep and chuckled. She believed in miracles, of course – or, rather, she wanted to believe in them – yet to her knowledge such things only happened far away and a long time ago. The idea that some saint had visited Tallinn and dropped off a goldencrusted collar for the almshouse … oh no, that she did not believe, especially given the fact that her husband had slipped away somewhere during the night believing that she had not heard him.
Nevertheless, a gold collar was certainly of more use to an almshouse than around the neck of some Grand Master of the Order, of this Keterlyn had no doubt.
26
THE DOMINICAN MONASTERY
19 MAY, MID-MORNING
THE BELL OF St Catherine’s Church was tolling in a cold and hollow tone in memory of the Prior when Melchior reached the monastery. Today was once again a day of mourning there, yet one more painful and sorrowful than the day before. The Prior’s death meant change and also meant that a detailed explanation of the event would have to be dispatched to the Master of the Dominican Order. Those brothers schooled in medicine had stood discussing the causes of poor Eckell’s death while his lifeless body was washed, stitched into a linen sack and taken to the chapel, where mass was to be held for the salvation of his soul. Hinricus told Melchior that the brothers had reached the conclusion that death descended upon the Prior either through spoiled food, old age or a poison that Eckell had inhaled or swallowed in a food or drink. Tallinn’s Dominicans would, however, continue to consider what to write to their chapter, Hinricus added. Melchior nodded and returned the Prior’s amulet to the brother.
‘So this contained poison?’ Hinricus asked, taking it into his hands with great caution.
‘Oh, there undoubtedly was poison inside,’ Melchior replied somewhat pointedly, although the young monk did not appear to pick up on his tone. ‘I wanted to ask how many of the brothers knew about it.’
‘None,’ Hinricus replied determinedly. ‘I spoke to the brothers this morning. No one had seen it. We are protected from the plague by the head of St Rochus – as Prior Eckell often reminded us – and by living pure and careful lives. I do not know if he had ever spoken to anyone else about it.’
‘The head of St Rochus …’ the Apothecary echoed. He recalled the shrivelled head in the reliquary that he had glimpsed for a fleeting moment. The power of the saints may well be mighty, but the Prior had also secretly put his trust in something else. Not that he could have been blamed for that, Melchior reasoned. ‘No doubt the relic is of help, no doubt at all,’ he continued. ‘I also understand why the Prior never mentioned his amulet, as he didn’t want to undermine the brothers’ belief in the relic’s miraculous powers. He had witnessed a great deal of plague during his lifetime, and he feared it. Maybe he was right about the arsenic; maybe it does indeed offer protection. Alas, it brought death to the Prior instead …’
Before the monk had a chance to say anything, Melchior asked whether any blood had been spotted around the monastery on the day of Wunbaldus’s death.
‘No, Melchior, I can say in absolute truth that no blood was found anywhere,’ the monk replied. ‘Not in the passageway, or in the church, or anywhere else at all. But come, see for yourself. No one has yet cleaned his chamber.’
Hinricus signalled for the Apothecary to follow him. The pair made their way once more towards Wunbaldus’s chamber, proceeding along the passageway and across the garden. Hinricus asked several brothers along the way whether they had noticed blood anywhere, but each shook his head and looked surprised at the question.
The building work had not halted despite the Prior’s death – men were still hauling shale and limestone towards the southern passageway and carpenters constructing scaffolding. Hinricus explained to Melchior that the monks were outgrowing the monastery and that the church was too small, so it was being enlarged as much as could be while staying within the bounds of the cloister. Alas, if anything in this world is declining in value, then it is human life.
‘Very true,’ Melchior sighed.
‘We cannot currently provide room for as many brothers in the monastery as we need to, so many of us are required to hold down several positions. I was the cellarius as well as the chamberlain – and sometimes even the sacristan, because Brother Humbertus, who should do that job, is too old and frail,’ explained Hinricus. The Dominican Brother’s tall and gangly figure seemed to have become even more stooped. The dark rings around his eyes betrayed the fact that he had not slept much the previous night.
‘So the monastery has been even more welcoming to those such as Wunbaldus to whom God has given the skills to excel in a number of different roles?’ the Apothecary asked.
‘We hoped to balance out the debts that we accumulated in constructing the new passageway through selling Wunbaldus’s beer. That is true. Alas, the world is temporal, and the monastery is set within that temporal world. We have to find ways to support ourselves no matter how much we would like simply to preach. I would be much happier passing my days in the scriptorium or giving sermons to the country folk outside the town walls, yet I am obliged to spend most of my time accounting and paying money to master masons.’
‘Of course. And, according to what my dear wife has told me, and as I glean from your accent, you are of Estonian descent?’
Hinricus nodded. He opened the door to Wunbaldus’s chamber, and the two men stepped into the room where the Lay Brother’s tools lay on the table just as they had before. Something here still felt wrong. Hinricus gestured to a chair then sat down himself. He swayed a little. He told Melchior that he was born in Harju, the fourth son of a vassal of Estonian blood. His heart drew him towards preaching and bringing the Word of God to the countryside, because that is what he had been taught to do.
‘Harju farmers may trade well with the Order and with Tallinn,’ he said, ‘but they understand nothing of the Word of the Lord, and the vassals give them far too many rights. I want to preach, but my duties keep me within the monastery walls. I digress, however. You did not come here to speak of this, Melchior.’
Melchior shook his head. He had not asked to be led to Wunbaldus’s chamber, but he understood that Hinricus brought him here as it was the only place in the monastery where they could talk in private.
‘I am interested in Wunbaldus,’ Mel
chior began. ‘I want to know why he killed Clingenstain, who he was, where he came from and when.’
‘Of course,’ Hinricus replied. ‘So I thought. Likely you will want to see our register. I will go to the scriptorium to fetch it.’
Left alone in Wunbaldus’s chamber, Melchior looked around the dim room and noticed small puddles of water caught in depressions in the stone floor. Wunbaldus had been washed in this room, but Melchior remembered clearly that only his tunic had been bloody. He spotted something white beneath the rough-hewn table, and when he leaned down for a closer look he discovered it was a box containing the chess pieces the Prior and Wunbaldus had played with. He thought for a moment and then opened the box, carefully selected some pieces and set them on the board in the same arrangement as he had back at the pharmacy when Freisinger had so generously shared his knowledge of the game. Melchior then sat waiting for Hinricus, who appeared after a short time, holding a record book bound in leather and sealed with iron rings under his arm.
‘You really should have asked the Prior about Wunbaldus,’ he said after taking a seat. ‘Prior Eckell was the one who accepted him into the monastery and was his overseer in every matter.’ The monk’s gaze fell upon the chessboard, but he showed no surprise.
‘I just … out of interest …’ Melchior coughed in an off-hand manner. ‘I found these under the table. I imagine a lot of chess is played in the monastery.’
‘There certainly is,’ Hinricus nodded, ‘although I have heard that not all brothers in our Dominican Order approve of the game. Prior Eckell and Wunbaldus played often, though.’
‘And yourself?’
‘I don’t play. Wunbaldus always defeated the Prior. For as long as I can remember they had always played chess, and Wunbaldus always won. As far as I am aware the Prior was always white and could thus make the first move to give him a better chance, but he still lost. The Prior also played by himself sometimes, although he was probably not really playing but just moving the pieces around the board.’
Melchior did everything he could not to betray any reaction to this, tensing his hands into fists under the table while nodding casually.
‘As if they were meant to represent living people?’ he asked. ‘They say that the game of chess can be a reflection of life.’
‘Indeed they do. The Prior loved to meditate behind the chessboard when faced with a difficult situation. He would, of course, search for instruction from the Scriptures and holy books, but once in a while he would arrange pieces on the board as if looking for guidance on how to act. But the Prior and Wunbaldus … I think they had probably known one another somewhere before, although I don’t know where. I remember once overhearing a conversation they were having.’ Hinricus spoke in a tired voice. An incident had taken place in the garden. A tünder of salt had apparently tipped over from some height, and Wunbaldus managed to push the Prior out of the way before it landed on top of him. The Prior had thanked the Lay Brother and said he had once again saved the life of a Dominican, that it was the fourth occasion. The Prior mentioned some three brothers – three Dominican brothers – who would have been martyred were it not for Wunbaldus. However, the pair had then noticed the cellarius, and Hinricus never heard them speak of it again.
‘Indeed,’ Melchior mumbled. ‘The Prior said something to me about the lives of three holy men having been saved when we were here viewing Wunbaldus’s body. I did not understand exactly what he meant. Did Wunbaldus ever mention anything?’
Hinricus smiled slightly apologetically. ‘Melchior, we Dominicans have not come into the monastery to speak to one another about our lives nor to preach to one other. We have come to declare the Word of the Lord but not amongst ourselves. Our way of living is quiet. Concerning Wunbaldus, well, it is true that – and I know because I do our accounts – our income has risen since he came. Whether trading herring, selling beer or purchasing grain from the countryside, our monastery has never before had such a successful merchant as Brother Wunbaldus.’
Hinricus opened the large register and leafed through the pages.
‘Does that also hold records of where Wunbaldus came from?’
‘No … actually it doesn’t,’ Hinricus murmured, narrowing his eyes and looking more closely at the text. ‘It simply says “earlier amongst the brothers in Oxford, England”. I was just a novice when he arrived, but I do remember that Wunbaldus got along pretty well with Prior Eckell from the start. The Prior even recorded the reception of Wunbaldus as a lay brother here with his own hand and … something has been scratched out.’
Melchior likewise looked closer. He saw that two words before Wunbaldus’s name had been crossed out. ‘“Receive to our monastery without a trial period Brother —” Hm. Then there are two strike marks and only then comes his name. Did Prior Eckell make this entry?’
‘He and none other.’
‘Very interesting,’ Melchior spoke slowly. ‘As if he had not been sure of the brother’s name, yet they had met one another before?’
Hinricus shrugged.
‘And the Prior was Wunbaldus’s overseer?’ Melchior persisted.
‘Yes. I should probably mention also that no other brother or lay brother was ever so close to the Prior. He even gave Wunbaldus this separate room here where he could work and sleep without interruption. But, as I said, Brother Wunbaldus was of great benefit to our monastery.’
‘There is no mention here of how many monasteries he had lived in before.’
‘On rare occasions he did allude to monastery life elsewhere, although not in any detail. The other monks and I were under the impression that he had served elsewhere as a lay brother with the Dominicans before coming here. As I now read in this book, that time was in England. However, Prior Eckell alone might have been the only man who knew where he was born and in which other monasteries he had lived. Brother Wunbaldus knew the Scriptures and canon law better than any of our other lay brothers, and perhaps even better than our sacristan.’
‘And – or so I understand – he was familiar with medicinal practices, too?’
‘He knew them better than our infirmarer, yes indeed.’
They both fell silent, as if the conversation had reached a point where neither wished to put their thoughts into words, and they would have been happier if the topic could just be passed over.
Melchior broke the silence. ‘Yet, in spite of all this, the man steps out one day, chops the heads off two people, goes to confess at the Church of the Holy Ghost and then drinks down a cup of poison.’
‘Stranger things have happened below the heavens,’ Hinricus whispered and closed his eyes for a fleeting moment.
‘Has a Dominican brother ever taken confession at the Church of the Holy Ghost before?’
‘If any has then we would not know because of the secrecy of the confessional. Although, yes, it is an odd thing to have done.’
‘I only knew Wunbaldus in passing, but you lived with him,’ Melchior spoke carefully.
‘He was a man who wore a lay brother’s habit. Not all of us are capable of leaving the secular world once within the monastery walls. However, it always seemed to me that, while some of our brothers have simply ended up amongst the Dominicans, Wunbaldus was here because he had to be. He probably felt God’s calling more strongly than many. And as regards the killings – if he actually did perform those acts – then once again it would have been because he believed he had to do so.’
‘Isn’t that what all murderers believe?’ Melchior asked sombrely.
‘I cannot say for certain; I do not know how the murderer’s mind works. However, Wunbaldus was a man with a strong will. He always finished something that he believed was just and necessary. As I said, not all of us are capable of leaving the secular world behind. No matter how strenuously we might strive to do so we may still be accompanied by hatred, jealousy, greed and hubris. Some sin or anger from our old life may remain within each of us, something that a person does not quite wish to alleviate through the Word
of the Lord. Dominicans are not required to lock themselves away behind monastery walls. The mundane world should recede, but we still engage with it daily.’
Hinricus’s voice had grown louder as he spoke, and he now leaned forward with a flash of passion in his tired eyes. Melchior could not tell at first whether this was meant to be a speech in defence of Wunbaldus or whether he was expressing his own thoughts, his own doubts. Hinricus suddenly fell silent and sat staring directly at Melchior, surprised, as if he could hardly believe he had said so much in one go.
Melchior had grasped some kind of subtext in the monk’s discourse that he had perhaps not dared to say more plainly.
‘Are you saying that Wunbaldus might have experienced something here in Tallinn, something that drove him to kill? That it might not necessarily be anything to do with his past?’
‘Perhaps that is what I indeed thought,’ Hinricus replied. ‘We Dominicans do not shut ourselves in behind the monastery walls. We go out amongst the people. We preach. We see people’s toils and their pain … and cruelty and injustice.’
‘Some kind of horrible injustice that had to be put to right … You mean something of that nature could have led Wunbaldus into temptation despite having been such a resolved and determined man?’
‘Yet we do not know that,’ Hinricus exclaimed. ‘He found it hard to lose his temper, and if you are wondering whether a woman could have led him into temptation, then no, I would doubt that. Wunbaldus was in the monastery because he wanted to be here. He was convinced that this place was the right one for him. Not all brothers – and I speak not only of lay brothers – are as unwavering as he was.’
‘But you all spend a great deal of time outside the monastery – and people also change over time, Brother Hinricus.’
‘No, not him, not Wunbaldus,’ Hinricus remained firm. ‘He may have transformed several times over the course of his life, but his final change was the decision to enter the monastery.’
Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church Page 26
