Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church

by Indrek Hargla

  ‘By the Lord’s grace,’ Freisinger murmured.

  ‘And we praise Him for this as well,’ Melchior concurred. ‘But how did the Prior die? Arsenic? Yes, certainly. But his food and drink were not poisoned, and if he had swallowed arsenic earlier – in the monastery, let us say – then he would have died sooner because arsenic works fast. I was troubled by this for a time and could not make up my mind whether or not the Prior had, in fact, been poisoned. But the answer is simple. I found it in Magister de Ardoyn’s book, and it explains everything. The murderer did poison the Prior while he was still at the monastery. Each separate strand of this case leads us back to the Dominicans.’

  ‘Melchior – sacred heavens and the Virgin Mary – what are you saying?’ Hinricus pleaded.

  ‘What am I saying? I am saying that the arsenic did not work as quickly as it should have because the Prior’s body had built up a resistance to the poison as he had already been exposed to it for a number of years. Our murderer knew how much a deadly dose should be and administered it, expecting the Prior to die much quicker. Eckell was old and sick, and his death would have been believed to have been through natural causes. The killer certainly did not want the Prior to die at the Brotherhood of Blackheads, where he himself was also present. But the Prior held out for longer than expected.’

  ‘And this man was someone from the monastery?’ the Councilman demanded.

  ‘I asked myself whether it could someone who had been present at all of these events, always in the background and hatching his dreadful plan. I want to ask whether it is possible that you, Hinricus, are this man. The man who accompanied the Prior to Toompea, one so unnoticed there that no one paid you any heed.’

  Everyone in the room jumped to his feet, but Melchior’s words had been so unexpected that no one was yet capable of saying anything. Hinricus stared back at Melchior, ashen-faced, and then collapsed to his knees.

  ‘Could it have been you who heard the conversation between the Prior and Wigbold sounding in the church when the latter admitted to killing Clingenstain?’ Melchior demanded, enraged. ‘Could it have been you who knew about Prior Eckell’s arsenic? Could it have been you who stole that arsenic and poisoned Wigbold? I want to ask whether it was you who was so enraged that the Prior had received that murdering pirate into the monastery – an insult to St Catherine – that you condemned them both to death for this? You were the last person at Eckell’s side during the final moments of his life. You supported him, and could it have been you who forced the final dose of deadly arsenic into his mouth when you saw that the amount given to him at the monastery had had no effect? Could it have been you who disguised yourself as Wunbaldus and then – since all at the monastery would have seen through your masquerade – took confession at the Church of the Holy Ghost in order to transfer the blame for Gallenreutter’s death on to another?’

  ‘Gallenreutter?’ Dorn exclaimed. ‘But why would this feckless monk want to kill him?’

  ‘The question lies rather in how he would have known to put a coin into the man’s mouth,’ Melchior replied.

  A terrified Hinricus kneeled on the cold floor, praying. Dorn was reaching for the handle of his sword in order to command the court servants to take the monk prisoner.

  ‘Sire Freisinger,’ Melchior spoke abruptly, and the Blackhead turned a surprised gaze towards him, ‘Sire Freisinger, you were the only person in the town besides the Magistrate and I who knew about the coin that had been forced into Clingenstain’s mouth. That Order attendant let this fact slip carelessly and against the Commander’s orders when speaking to the Magistrate, and he mentioned this at my pharmacy, which is where you heard it. You visit the monastery frequently. Tell us, is it possible that you spoke of this to Brother Hinricus?’

  ‘Heavenly grace, oh merciful Lord,’ Hinricus whimpered, his face shrouded beneath his cowl. He rocked back and forth on the floor in fevered prayer. The Magistrate approached him, his hand on his sword.

  ‘St Catherine,’ Freisinger stammered in alarm, ‘did I truly say that?’

  ‘That is what I am asking.’

  ‘I do remember now, that, yes, the Magistrate spoke of this, although it had slipped from my mind, but …’ Freisinger stood perplexed, racking his brains. A look of astonishment then flashed across his face. It seemed he now remembered something. ‘Of course,’ he cried out. ‘Yes, now I remember. Yes, I mentioned this to Hinricus in the monastery garden when we were counting the money. Yes, I acknowledge this, in the names of all the saints.’

  ‘That is a lie,’ Hinricus shouted in distress. ‘That man is swearing to a lie. He never said anything of the sort to me.’

  Melchior now spoke rapidly. ‘At the time Dorn spoke of the coin in the pharmacy he did not yet know that it had been an old Gotland ørtug, so Freisinger could not have known that either. The murderer therefore placed any old coin into Gallenreutter’s mouth, unaware that it should carry a special significance. And this is what gave him away. This is what confirmed to me that Gallenreutter’s killer was another man.’

  ‘It was not me,’ Hinricus cried. ‘I am innocent. I’ve never killed anyone. It was someone else.’

  ‘It was the man Prior Eckell accused in his final minute. While he was no longer able to speak, he pointed this man out to us. When he felt the sudden onset of pain, then he understood; he understood everything that had taken place, and he knew the identity of his killer. Sires, the Prior himself pointed this man out to us.’

  ‘Who did he point to?’ Dorn bellowed. He gestured towards Hinricus. ‘Was it this man here?’

  ‘Melchior, do not put the Council’s patience to the test,’ Bockhorst said sternly. ‘Do you or do you not accuse the Dominican cellarius Hinricus of these dreadful acts?’

  ‘The esteemed Prior died right in front of us, and if he had pointed to someone then we would have seen it,’ Rode spoke.

  Melchior waved his hand and raised his voice, ‘I still pose the question. Who needed Master Gallenreutter dead? Who wanted to kill the man building a chapel alongside St Olaf’s Church? We should all know this because there is only one person it can be. Each and every act in connection with these murders has taken place right in front of us. I ask you now to name the master who built St Olaf’s Church two hundred years ago. What was the name of the man who raised a steeple so high that it could be seen many miles out to sea? What was this man’s name?’

  A sudden silence filled the room. The men looked at one another in surprise, and Tweffell tapped a finger on his chest.

  ‘Why don’t you ask the Council Secretary to look this up in the ledger or ask the Pastor of St Olaf’s or something? Of what relevance is this now, Melchior?’ Bockhorst asked.

  ‘I would like everyone to recall the first evening of the beer-tasting festival at the Brotherhood of Blackheads. It is possible that not everyone was listening, but Master Gallenreutter recited a song that, as Kilian aptly remarked, was more of a riddle. It was a strange song, and no one knew it – not even Kilian, who knows hundreds of songs. Gallenreutter spoke to us about church construction and how one must dig up the site of the old place of worship before the building can start. And then the Master Mason came to his song. I was already certain at the time that it was not mere chance, that it was not simply to warm his tongue during the course of conversation, but rather that Gallenreutter skilfully worked his speech so he could present his song.’

  Melchior took a sheet of paper from his pocket and spread it out on the podium. He read aloud:

  ‘Come, for daybreak is nigh and light gleams from the east

  oh, my friend, our seven brothers await thee at the crossroads

  nonpareil the Lord’s temple, to which they’ll show ye the way

  radial compass and trowels, they hold

  aid them to drink the light that glimmers at the grave

  their oaths as ancient as Solomon’s wisdom

  unto the seven masters, their shields extended solemn Death drapes in his cloak he who is a
fore all

  Favete linguis et memento mori

  relic calls afar for its blood

  elegiac yesterday is closer to Christ’s blood which floweth down the walls.

  ‘And now,’ he continued, ‘here are four more lines that I found in Gallenreutter’s pocket after he was murdered. He inscribed these on paper. The first letters had been obscured by blood, but it isn’t difficult to work out what they should be. So this song – and it is one and the same – continues as follows:

  ‘illumined angels will bring our town a protector, higher than us all

  sadistic death will dance a jig around their names

  in eternal secrecy be affirmed the first’s oath of flesh

  numen lumen, of the holy flesh, seven will have part.’

  The Apothecary was met with blank stares, and even Hinricus had risen to his feet.

  ‘I recall the song,’ said Casendorpe. ‘Probably everyone does – Gallenreutter even said that it probably originated in Tallinn and was composed by the first guild ever to be founded here.’

  ‘And which guild was that?’ Melchior asked. ‘Sire Freisinger will assert that it was the Blackheads – although nobody really took any notice of them until Sire Freisinger arrived a few years back, so if the Blackheads were indeed here in the early days of the town then it was probably just a group of old fogeys whom no one remembers. Freisinger was not familiar with the song either.’

  ‘Melchior, you have completely lost me now,’ Freisinger said. ‘The Blackheads are not mentioned at all in that muddled verse. What are you on about?’

  ‘It is true, they aren’t,’ Melchior replied. ‘But what is it about then? I’ll tell you. It is not a song but, rather, an oath and a riddle. Let us solve it. It mentions seven brothers who show the way to the Lord’s temple, that is, a church. It is clear that it also speaks of master builders, apparently church builders, who are not ordinary masons. Further on, one can deduce that the master builders have secret oaths that date from the time of Solomon’s – and they say Solomon’s temple was the progenitor of all modern churches. I believe these lines also mean that church builders have been organized into a single guild that has guarded their secrets since the time of Solomon. Solemn Death drapes in his cloak he who is afore all. Who is before all? Who does Death drape in his cloak? We should understand from this that he who is afore all is dead. Favete linguis et memento mori? Favete linguis means to hold one’s tongue and memento mori to remember your mortality. Thus we are instructed to keep quiet about he who is dead but also to remember him. The next line – relic calls afar for its blood – we know that Gallenreutter found a box containing bones while digging beneath the old church, so might this be that very same relic? And its own blood that calls afar … if a person’s remains call for his own blood then could this verse be talking about lineage? A descendant perhaps? Elegiac yesterday is closer to Christ’s blood, which floweth down the walls. I believe this means that because Christ lived a long time ago the ancient secrets of the masons originated much nearer to Our Lord’s time than ours.’

  ‘Hold on now, Melchior,’ Bockhorst said. ‘I don’t understand why this old riddle is of any relevance to us here.’

  ‘I promise that all will become clear post haste. Let us recall those final four lines that I found in Gallenreutter’s pocket:

  ‘illumined angels will bring our town a protector, higher than us all

  sadistic death will dance a jig around their names

  in eternal secrecy be affirmed the first’s oath of flesh

  numen lumen, of the holy flesh, seven will have part.

  ‘What is the protector of our town, higher than us all? What shows our position from far out at sea and guides ships into our harbour, keeps the merchants in business and from the pinnacle of which our enemies’ forces are also visible from a long way off?’

  ‘Holy Christ,’ Dorn murmured, ‘you are speaking of St Olaf’s Church.’

  ‘Gallenreutter knew that the excavated coffin held the remains of a man, and he must have found this riddle within the box as well. And he understood; he understood everything. Sadistic death will dance a jig around their names. This sounds like a threat or a warning. Death will dance around the names of those who built St Olaf’s. The last lines leave no doubt. Who was the first? Why the first? What does this mean? Remember, solemn Death drapes in his cloak he who is afore all. Who is before all? And who built St Olaf’s Church?’

  ‘Isn’t there some old legend that goes something like that?’ Tweffell asked. ‘I remember something of the sort. My aged head certainly fails to keep hold of most things, but I do recall that people would speak of a master who died during the building of the church.’

  ‘Every legend holds a kernel of truth,’ Melchior affirmed. ‘An old folk tale tells of a foreigner who arrived promising to build a church, but no one was allowed to know his name. He supposedly also said that if his name were to be found out then Tallinn will never become a large, famed and wealthy town as the townspeople wished but instead a time of unrest, fires, plagues and misfortunes would follow and strife and misfortune would befall the town and the church that he built would not stand for long.’

  ‘I have also heard something similar, although surely it’s just some old legend,’ Freisinger said. ‘Just that and nothing more.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure of that, Sire Blackhead?’ Melchior asked. ‘And do you know how the story continues? They say the townspeople did find out the name of the church builder – Olaf – and when this name was shouted by a crowd of townsmen then Satan himself was said to have pulled Olaf down by his legs from the top of the steeple, and the man fell to his death. The master’s journeymen were then said to have buried his remains in a place that no one saw and subsequently disappeared.’

  ‘So the story probably goes,’ Freisinger replied, shrugging. ‘Still, I do not see any –’

  Melchior interrupted him, speaking with a passion, ‘This may be a legend, and many elements of it will have certainly been imagined, but when we put it side by side with Gallenreutter’s riddle and the lines of verse found in his pocket, then … then they add up to a whole in some places. No one really knows who built St Olaf’s because the master’s name was to remain a secret for all eternity. The man’s name definitely could not have been Olaf, because Olaf was king of the Norwegians and the saint after whom the church was named, as a great number of Norwegian and Danish traders passed through this town at that time. Yet the church builder met his death, and no one knows where his remains were buried. Legend brings us a tiny grain of truth, and that truth has to remain a secret. But what do the last lines of the verse tell us? Do they not tell us that this builder had to die in order that the church remain standing and that the masters each received a part of his body, as in holy communion, and that they confirmed this with ritual so that his name would remain an eternal secret?’

  ‘You mean that the master was eaten?’ Casendorpe cried.

  ‘I mean that Master Mason Caspar Gallenreutter from the town of Warendorf in Westphalia became aware of the name, and so he had to die. Gallenreutter had a vague idea who he was looking for once he found the name out, someone in Tallinn who guards the old secrets of the town. He made some careful enquiries because it looks like he had decided that he wanted payment in exchange for keeping quiet about this secret. And the transaction was made right before our very eyes. Remember, at the beer-tasting festival?’

  ‘I remember,’ Kilian exclaimed suddenly. ‘I remember the conversation, Sire Melchior. Could you show me the riddle on those pieces of paper? It’s as if something tickled my ear … I am not entirely certain, though.’

  ‘But, Melchior, Hinricus was silent the entire time at the Blackheads.’ Dorn spoke gruffly.

  ‘The man Prior Eckell pointed out to us was not Hinricus,’ Melchior declared. ‘It was not Hinricus who made a trade with Gallenreutter. Think, who was it was that seized upon the verse when Gallenreutter recited it? Who bartered with him r
ight there in the Blackheads’ guildhall? Magistrate Dorn, I am now ready to make my accusation. Sires, find favour with the Lord. I stand here according to the provisions of Lübeck law, and I ask that the Magistrate’s sword be unsheathed for the first time.’

  These were words of Lübeck law, words spoken in the presence of a councilman and the Magistrate, which signified that someone demanded justice and was to accuse another. Dorn unsheathed his sword, the court servants stepped behind him and he sheathed it again. A deadly silence filled the room.

  ‘Sires,’ Melchior repeated, ‘find favour with the Lord. I request that the Magistrate’s sword be unsheathed a second time.’

  Dorn raised his sword. ‘Here will I hold trial in the name of the Grand Master of the Order, the Town Council, justice and the accuser,’ he proclaimed. ‘I forbid the violation of order a first and second time. I demand that no one leave this place and that the accuser’s speech not be interrupted.’ He slid his sword back into its sheath.

  ‘Sires,’ Melchior said once again, ‘I request under Lübeck law that the Magistrate’s sword be unsheathed a third time.’

  Dorn raised his gleaming sword for a third time. ‘Town citizen Melchior Wakenstede has demanded that the Magistrate’s sword be unsheathed on the basis of Lübeck law. Allow him to speak, and may no one interrupt him under threat of a fine.’

  ‘I remind you of Sire Freisinger’s words during a conversation at the Brotherhood of Blackheads. “Tallinn is a prosperous town, and a peril such as a shortage of coins has never nipped at the Brotherhood of Blackheads’ heels. We Blackheads have always had quite sufficient funds for maintaining our dignity and significance, as ours is the oldest guild in Tallinn.” He then went on to say that the Blackheads helped dedicate this town’s holy sanctuaries to the Lord Christ and that “when death dances around the town it is the Blackheads who are the first to reach for their arms”. Those were his exact words, “when death dances around the town”. This was a signal to Gallenreutter, who now knew he had found a buyer. He asked whether the Blackheads are then so warlike that they reach for their arms immediately. Freisinger responded that more is accomplished with good counsel and a barrel of silver Riga marks than with a halberd. Yes, this was a trade that took place right before our very eyes. Gallenreutter got a response to his question because someone acknowledged that he knew the ancient secret of St Olaf’s Church. Someone recognized the words of the old verse. In the name of Lübeck law, it was you, Sire Blackhead, Clawes Freisinger, who killed the former Victual Brother Wunbaldus, Master Mason Caspar Gallenreutter of Westphalia and the Dominican Prior Balthazar Eckell. And under Lübeck law you must now be held accountable for your acts before the Town Council.’