Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church

by Indrek Hargla

  29

  THE TALLINN MAGISTRATE’S OFFICIAL CHAMBERS ALONGSIDE TOWN HALL SQUARE

  19 MAY, EVENING

  IT HAD NOT been difficult for Melchior to convince the Magistrate that things in the town had been carried out in this manner before and that Lübeck law also stipulated, for bigger cases, that counsel may be held with the town’s esteemed citizens before the councilmen convene to hold a trial and make their ruling. The Town Magistrate was, in fact, permitted to hold a trial wherever he chose, so long as he carried his livery collar and his sword, and the investigation had not yet reached a point at which someone could be charged with a crime or the councilmen were in a position to demand that the accused be put to the test by torture or ordeal.

  ‘Therefore,’ Melchior continued, addressing Dorn, ‘it would be beneficial if we call together – in the old Saxon tradition – all those who might know something about the case. It is a complicated matter and at the same time all very simple, and the advice of those wiser than I is needed here on how to act in the town’s best interests. The presence of one councilman and the Council Secretary is required because whatever is said with a councilman listening bears greater weight – and if a council- man and magistrate have both witnessed something then their combined word counts the most of all according to Lübeck law.’

  ‘And what should Councilman and Magistrate witness?’ Dorn enquired.

  ‘They should witness how the truth rises and falsehood dissipates. No one has actually lied at all in this case, if you look at things from a certain perspective – at least neither to the Magistrate nor to me – with the exception of one man, but we can count him out of this whole affair anyway.’

  Dorn stared, puzzled, at Melchior for quite some time, then finally said, ‘In the names of all the saints, you are hatching something clever here. I agree. There have been too many deaths, and there is no clear end in sight. Why did Wunbaldus need to dispatch that mason, and why did the Prior believe someone had poisoned him?’

  ‘I believe I know why,’ Melchior replied, ‘but my knowledge falls short on proof. If I go before a Council Court trial and bear witness with what I have now then I would be laughed out of the hall.’ He sunk into his thoughts for a moment, but then, as if an unexpected idea had just occurred to him, he added excitedly, ‘You know, it is as if we are part of a game of chess. The enemy believes he is carefully protected and that nothing can threaten him, but we must lure him into a trap using our cunning, even if we have to sacrifice a few pieces in doing so. Then we must make an unexpected attack so that his king will find itself in checkmate.’

  ‘I didn’t know you played chess,’ Dorn remarked with surprise.

  ‘I am learning now,’ Melchior replied cheerfully. ‘Chess provided me with the key to this case – or, rather, the way that Sire Freisinger explained the game to me did.’

  ‘I don’t really enjoy it,’ Dorn grumbled. ‘Give me a set of dice, and I will play, but chess, no. Every piece moves differently, and it’s just one big mess. But wait …’ He grabbed Melchior’s arm and eyed him seriously.

  ‘You said “enemy”. Do we still have an enemy?’

  ‘Yes, and a very dangerous one,’ Melchior affirmed. ‘He has played very cleverly, so cleverly that we have not even realized which opponent we are playing against. But if you can picture the right faces on the chess pieces then it will all become clear. By the way, did I mention that we need the Commander to attend?’

  ‘The Commander? So this will be some sort of joint consultation between the town and the Order?’

  ‘The Commander must be present, no question, as must Hinricus to represent the monks. Oh, and quite a number of other people who are not exactly town citizens but without whom we cannot make this work.’

  Melchior reeled off the names, and court servants hunted these individuals down during the course of the afternoon. So, as the soft May evening fell, a crowd gathered at the west end of Town Hall Square near the Magistrate’s official chambers, including every man who had witnessed the Prior’s death during the last Smeckeldach at the Brotherhood of Blackheads as well as Great Guild Alderman Mertin Tweffell’s servant Ludke, the almsman Rinus Götzer, two canons of Toompea, the Vicar of St Nicholas’s Church, a mason from St Olaf’s Guild, three court servants, the Council Secretary and, last but not least, Councilman Detleff Bockhorst.

  Dorn’s chambers were located in a spacious rear room on the ground floor of a two-storey house. Long benches ringed the walls of the room, and a speakers’ podium painted with the town’s crest was set in the middle of the room. Seats for the guests of honour – on this evening the Councilman and the Commander – were placed either side of the Magistrate. Magistrate Dorn usually conducted trials here when the crimes were of lesser importance and it was unnecessary to convene the Council.

  Several of the men whispered amongst themselves, asking what sort of odd consultation was to be held when there was no one to try because the murderer was already dead and no one else had been accused of his poisoning. The assembled men cast furtive glances towards both the Magistrate and the Councilman – while Dorn did his best to give the impression that he knew precisely what was going on.

  After words of greeting had been offered to the Commander on behalf of the town and Councilman Bockhorst had declared loudly that the deliberations might begin Dorn stood up and declared, albeit ramblingly, ‘Yes, so it is, exactly, that if we wish to reach any conclusions in this case at Council Court trial, in truth and spirit and according to Lübeck law – and may God help us in this quest – then the Town Council found that I, as Magistrate, will, here today, discuss, in the company of esteemed sires and the honourable Commander – as these deaths concern the town, the Dominicans and the Order – so that in truth and spirit we might indeed discover just who we will take before any such court and so harm may not befall the merchants, or the Blackheads, or the Dominicans by way of those matters of which none of them are guilty …’

  The Magistrate ran out of steam and began to leaf through a fat book of town laws in order to conceal that fact. Melchior looked around the room at those assembled. About twenty men were in the room together with the Council Secretary, the court servants and two Toompea sires. Each displayed an expression of moderate deference and seemed anxious and ready to assist – as was indeed proper under the circumstances – and the man whom Melchior believed to be the killer was no exception. That man’s countenance was pure and clear, somewhat humble and untroubled. He believed he had nothing to fear.

  When Dorn had finished the Commander spoke, announcing that the Order expected the town to hand over the murderer. ‘And if he is deceased, just as we all know that he is, then you may as well hand over his corpse.’

  ‘Undoubtedly, undoubtedly,’ the Magistrate affirmed. ‘He who is guilty is the man whose corpse we will pass over to the Order. The esteemed Commander is correct, and this is the perfect point at which to begin our council. So, what shall we do with Lay Brother Wunbaldus’s body, and should the Council Court recognize him as the murderer?’

  ‘Naturally the court should do this, because we all are aware that he killed Clingenstain and that master mason and … himself, to top it all off,’ the Commander bellowed, and the Toompea canons nodded self- importantly.

  ‘Let it now be said’, Dorn continued, ‘that Tallinn Apothecary Melchior Wakenstede, who for the past few days has temporarily served as sub- magistrate by approval of the honourable councilmen, wishes, in the name of truth and justice, to say a few words about matters that have become apparent to him. He will do this now.’

  Melchior rose and slowly walked towards the podium. He felt curious eyes upon him and prayed to himself that St Nicholas give him courage, vigour and luck. A muttering swept through the gathered men, and Sire Tweffell sputtered somewhat crossly.

  Melchior cleared his throat and spoke. ‘Esteemed Commander, canons of Toompea, honourable Magistrate, good citizens. We believe that the Dominican Lay Brother Wunbaldus kille
d Clingenstain, a Knight of the Teutonic Order, and Master Mason Gallenreutter. However, do we know why he did so? Do we wish for the high lords of the Order to know the full truth, or is the town satisfied with allowing the Order simply to hang Wunbaldus’s body and the facts concerning why and how to remain unknown?’

  The Commander waved his hand dismissively and bellowed, ‘In the name of the Almighty, Melchior, if you know something then tell us.’

  Councilman Bockhorst added, ‘In the name of the Council Court and by authority of the Council, if our town apothecary Melchior Wakenstede – whom you all know – wishes to swear to the court in the names of all the saints that he knows the answers to these questions then we request that he speak.’

  ‘I will speak,’ Melchior replied. ‘But first I will ask how many murders have occurred, how many suicides and how many accidents. Do we have two murders, one suicide and one unfortunate death or … or do we have four murders?’

  The sounds of surprise filled the room, and Pastor Rode jumped to his feet, waving his hands and exclaiming, ‘Melchior, heavenly grace. That scoundrel, that lay brother admitted to everything.’

  ‘Oh yes, that confession at the Church of the Holy Ghost. I will get to that very soon,’ Melchior replied and waited for the Councilman to quieten the men. ‘Yet if we are to begin from the very beginning, just as St Augustine recommends, let us start by discussing the events step by step. Four days ago someone killed the Commander of the Teutonic Order of Gotland on Toompea. He was travelling to Marienburg and spent some time as a guest in the Tallinn Commander’s castle. It is safe to assume that this murderer must have been a strong and vigorous man, a daring man, a warrior, and who had a rage and a hatred for Clingenstain simmering inside and who had undoubtedly encountered the Knight before. This man must have known Toompea well, and his appearance there did not arouse suspicion. He must have had time to find out where Clingenstain was lodging and the route the Knight took there from the castle. He must have had time to steal a sword from the castle smithy. We also know, through the esteemed Commander’s statements, that this man could not have been anyone from Toompea. Therefore, this man stalked Clingenstain near his lodgings then boldly entered the house and chopped off his head.’

  Melchior fell silent for a moment and almost enjoyed the rapt attention of his audience. Then he continued, ‘Just as I have, you will all have heard any number of rumours about the murder. Some said that he was chopped into pieces, that his arms and legs were ripped from their sockets and what have you. Although the Commander forbade anyone from gossiping about how the murderer had desecrated Clingenstain’s corpse, one or two facts nevertheless emerged. No doubt someone let something slip, a servant passed word on to an attendant, the attendant to a baker’s journeyman and so forth. But not one of the early rumours said that the Knight’s head had been driven on to a hook. The honourable Commander himself only mentioned this at the Blackheads’ beer-tasting, and it spread throughout the entire town afterwards, and with extraordinary speed, given that the Commander referenced it not to the entire company but during the course of a conversation and then only in passing.’

  ‘Curses, did I really do that?’ the Commander asked, looking a little sheepish.

  ‘I believe that quite a few men overheard it,’ Melchior replied. ‘However, there is one fact that not one rumour mentioned – and about which the Commander ordered everyone privy to hold their tongues, but which, despite this, an Order attendant gossiped to the Magistrate – and this was the fact that the killer had stuffed a coin into Clingenstain’s mouth …’

  Someone shouted unintelligibly, and then a deathly quiet gripped the room.

  ‘I see from your faces that this comes as a surprise and only a few people were aware of it. This coin was an old Gotland ørtug, one that rarely circulates in Tallinn today, and this is a very important detail –’

  ‘Hold on now, Melchior,’ the Commander cut in. ‘It is not impossible that I might have said something about his head being driven on to a stake when beer clouded my brain, but what are you suggesting when you say that word of this spread with extraordinary speed?’

  ‘That someone spread it on purpose,’ Melchior replied, ‘although I will some to that later. Let us now return to Clingenstain’s murder. We know that the killer escaped and managed to slip through the gate between Toompea and the town at just the right moment before the town watchmen came to lock it for the night. The killer threw aside the sword that he had stolen from Toompea after he passed through the gate. Why did he do that? Why did he carry the sword with him at all? I believe because if he had been discovered then he would have defended himself with the weapon, which means that he was prepared to fight to his very last breath, that he was a warrior. And why did he throw the sword aside? Evidently because he no longer needed it. So if he had planned to go on to kill Master Mason Gallenreutter of Westphalia then he could have used the sword to do away with him as well, but he didn’t.’

  The Commander raised his hand, and Melchior fell silent. Spanheim looked around at the men gathered then stood up and spoke. ‘Yes, that is unquestionably all truth, and we don’t doubt it, and we all know that Wunbaldus was the murderer. But why did Wunbaldus kill him then, eh?’

  After waiting for the Commander to take his seat, Master Goldsmith Casendorpe spoke up. ‘And what happened to the gold collar I sold to Clingenstain? That is, aside from the fact that it now rests at the almshouse of the Church of the Holy Ghost.’

  ‘And which ended up there in a miraculous way after Wunbaldus’s death,’ remarked Sire Tweffell.

  ‘I’ve never seen a miracle with my own eyes,’ the Commander huffed. ‘And that collar … to hell with that collar; I wouldn’t ask for its return from the church in the Order’s name. Yet how a dead thief carried the collar to the Church of the Holy Ghost, that certainly does interest me.’

  ‘In that case, the only solution – if we do not believe in miracles – is that someone stole the collar and donated it to the Church of the Holy Ghost and in the belief that this way he perhaps might not also be charged with theft at an ordeal,’ Melchior replied.

  ‘You say that this someone was not Wunbaldus?’ the Commander questioned.

  ‘Theft is a transgression. However, the thief has already repented his sin and taken the collar to the almshouse. Since this man could not have been Wunbaldus it must have been someone else.’

  ‘Enough of that collar,’ Spanheim barked. ‘I want to know why, if it wasn’t over the collar, Wunbaldus killed Clingenstain.’

  ‘Greed. It was greed, he said, that drove him to commit criminal acts,’ Pastor Rode spoke heatedly.

  ‘Greed?’ Melchior echoed thoughtfully. ‘How could it have been greed, when the murderer took with one hand and gave with the other? By this I mean stuffing the Gotland coin into Clingenstain’s mouth. And, first and foremost, why did the murderer perform this ritual? Id est, why did he kill Clingenstain at all? We now reach the confession at the Church of the Holy Ghost. Sire Rode, you say that the Dominican Lay Brother Wunbaldus came to take confession from you. An unheard-of event – a Dominican taking confession at the church. If the man was in a state of mental distress, having just killed and wishing to take his own life, then perhaps he didn’t have the courage to approach his own brothers, who would, no doubt, have begged him not to commit suicide.’

  Pastor Rode stood up, his face red and his hands trembling lightly. ‘I say it was so, as the Lord’s is my witness,’ he insisted.

  ‘Sire Rode, you said that you recognized this man as the Lay Brother Wunbaldus?’ Melchior enquired sharply.

  ‘It was Wunbaldus, yes. It was him.’

  ‘Did he tell you his name?’

  Rode seemed unnerved. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘No, of course not, but I recognized him.’

  ‘So he did not state his name. Did you see his face, perhaps?’

  ‘No, he was wearing a hood. I did not see his face. However –’

  ‘So if you had been able
to see his face, would you have recognized him then?’ Melchior pressed on.

  ‘What are you asking?’ Rode said in an agitated voice. ‘I don’t understand. I tell you, Wunbaldus came to the Church of the Holy Ghost to take confession. I recognized him.’

  Melchior was quiet for a moment as he waited for Rode to settle down. He then said, ‘Sire Rode, I was at the monastery when you appeared having heard the news that Wunbaldus was dead. You entered the chamber, saw Wunbaldus’s body and then you asked, “Is this Wun- baldus? Is he dead?” The Magistrate and I replied that it was he and that he was indeed dead. And then you looked at his face and said, “He is Wunbaldus?” Sire Rode, you took a very close look at Wunbaldus’s corpse, you saw his face, and you were still unsure whether or not it was him because you did not know him by sight.’

  At first no one in the room with the exception of Magistrate Dorn seemed to grasp the significance of this assertion.

  ‘Yes, Sire Rode,’ Dorn then said slowly as he recalled the moment in the monastery and nodded, ‘you didn’t know Wunbaldus by sight, and that means you didn’t know for sure whether it was he who came to confession.’

  ‘I knew him … that is, he collected alms and .…’ Rode mumbled, taken aback.

  ‘But you didn’t recognize his face,’ Melchior asserted. ‘Even during the beer-tasting Wunbaldus remained in the shadows by the wall, and you sat with your back to him. I ask you, Sire Rode, upon what, in truth, do you base your claim to us that the Dominican Lay Brother Wunbaldus took confession at your church?’

  ‘It couldn’t have been anyone else.’

  ‘How did you recognize him?’

  ‘Lord have mercy,’ Rode exclaimed, ‘how many hunchbacked lay brothers do the Dominicans have?’

  ‘Precisely,’ Melchior cried triumphantly. ‘You recognized a hump; you recognized the white habit of a Dominican lay brother and possibly his height. Nevertheless, you did not see his face. Did you know what his voice was like?’