The Bunting Quest

by Steven Marcuson

  ‘This Moor lad is a wonder. Not many of my crew can scale that height and remain there for hours on end. The mast is off centre and the amount of movement at the top is enough to turn the most experienced sailor’s stomach to mush.’

  Jakob had also surprised himself with the ease with which he had taken to balancing fifty feet above deck since his recovery from seasickness. He seemed to be able to sense a wind change and adapt his stance accordingly.

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t done this before?’ said Jan. ‘It comes too easily for you.’

  Other times, Jakob and Jan would hang, precariously attached by ropes, caulking the outside hull. With one holding the iron and the other the caulking mallet, they would ram a mixture of hemp and cotton soaked in pine tar between the planks. Jakob had never felt healthier and it seemed to him that the crew could not care less if you were a Christian, Moor or Jew. As long as you did not shirk your work, you were accepted.

  The long voyage had provided an opportunity for Captain Serrao to get to know his unusual guests. Normally starved of intellectual discourse for months on end, he enjoyed sparring with the young theologian.

  ‘Heinrich, you are a priest because you know nothing else. Your God is confined to the seminary, Church or parish. Where is your God when he is most needed?’

  ‘You are right. I have seen little of the world, but the little of the world I have seen confirms to me that God is in everything and everywhere. I cannot answer as to why man behaves the way he does, but without God, all would be chaos. The fury of the Spanish in Antwerp, the cruelty of princes to commoners, the poverty and hardship of so many, is but a blink in time to an eternal soul.’

  ‘No, their pain cannot be discounted so! A just and good God would not allow these things to happen.’

  ‘You misunderstand me. I agree their trials must not be ignored. God created us. He then banished us from Eden and gave us free thought and the ability to make our own decisions. It is us, humankind, who have created the iniquities, cruelty and unjustness, and it is up to us to repair our mistakes. My role as a priest, however small and insignificant, is to help with that process.’

  ‘You are very noble but naive. Fate and chance control this world, not an unseen, silent deity.’

  ‘It can be difficult to see and hear God, Antonio, however, even you will have felt his divine presence on experiencing the miracle of birth. What father does not thank God on the safe arrival of his child? And, when a man dies, you can see his soul depart the body as it prepares to return to its creator.’

  Bunting had asked Captain Serrao to keep the wooden box containing the Holy Words in safe keeping, in his quarters. He explained that although this was not money or jewels, it had a value far greater than both. He had shown Serrao the papal ring which piqued the captain’s curiosity more.

  ‘Why would a Lutheran priest be on some charge or errand for the Pope? You had better take great care, Heinrich. Where we are going, the Dominicans have created a small Rome, and they do not like complications. They prefer straight lines and constancy … and you show neither.’

  34

  Unfortunately the communists destroyed the Church of St Ulrich and Levin over fifty years ago,’ said Professor Schroeder.

  They parked the car just off Ulrichaplatz, in front of an impressive Stalinist-styled neoclassical building, walked past the fountain and wandered over the open space, where the ancient one-thousand-year-old Gothic church had once stood.

  ‘As far as I understand,’ he continued, ‘the church was badly damaged by the Allied bombing in 1945 and remained unused and derelict for eleven years, before being blown up and dismantled in 1956. The communist government of East Germany considered it an unnecessary reminder of church and God, so it had no place in their socialist utopia.’

  ‘It’s outrageous,’ said Verity. ‘Cultural and ideological barbarism! No different to the Taliban destroying the famous ancient Buddha statues in central Afghanistan.’

  ‘Well,’ said Nick, ‘they probably didn’t have enough money or the political will to pour millions of dollars into reconstructing an icon they didn’t believe in.’

  ‘And remember,’ added Professor Schroeder, ‘Magdeburg was considered the “Rome of Germany” prior to the war, with its twelve-hundred-year history. However, with eighty-five per cent of the city destroyed by the bombings, it is perhaps understandable that with a shortage of money in the East, some buildings were sacrificed.’

  ‘Oh really, they didn’t mind pouring millions of dollars into performance-enhancing drugs for their athletes,’ responded Verity.

  ‘Well,’ said Professor Schroeder, skilfully changing the subject and pointing around them, ‘this was the church that Heinrich Bunting was sent to after Lemgo, and where he returned to after his travels.’

  ‘And if your theory is correct,’ said Nick, ‘then this very place, where we are standing now, is where Pope Gregory came secretly in the late summer of 1576 and handed over to Bunting the most important piece of Christendom that has ever existed, and from where he left with Jakob de Jode on his pilgrimage.’

  Everyone looked around the space differently after these words had been spoken.

  ‘Now, what is that church over there?’ asked Nick, pointing towards uneven spires in the distance.

  ‘That is Magdeburg Cathedral, the oldest Gothic church in Germany, and the centre of the Protestant movement during the Reformation. We should have a look at it. It is only a ten-minute walk and I am sure that Heinrich Bunting would have walked there many times.’

  ‘If you ever give up your day job, you should become a tour guide,’ said Verity with a smile.

  ‘I couldn’t think of anything better. It fascinates me the way that towns and cities have evolved. However, the historians often ignore their city’s roots, picking and choosing the bits that they like, and reinventing the past. It’s as if they think if you don’t talk about it, it didn’t happen.’ He paused for a few seconds. ‘Actually, I’m probably too hard-hitting for a city council to hire me. It has to be warts and all.’

  They quickly walked along Krugerbrucke, doglegged through Himmelreichstrasse onto the main street of Breiter Weg, before turning left towards the river Elbe and the cathedral.

  ‘Now this is where it gets interesting,’ he continued. ‘In 1495, Luther at the age of twelve arrived in Magdeburg and came under the influence of the Brethren of the Common Life. This was a group who denounced the clergy as decadent and evil and living lax lives. The Brethren were dedicated to purifying the Catholic faith by example and gave up their possessions to live, work and pray together.’

  ‘I can see where Luther drew his inspiration from,’ said Verity.

  ‘Luther then went on to study at university in Erfurt and did not return to Magdeburg until 1524, to preach where he knew he would find many adherents. By then the city was ripe for change, as it had always fought against the Church hierarchy meddling in its affairs. It quickly defected over to the Protestant movement and within a very few years Magdeburg had become an important centre of the Reformation, publishing the works not only of Luther, but many other anti-Catholic writers.’

  ‘So would I be right,’ queried Nick, ‘that by Bunting’s time – about fifty years later – the Roman Catholic Church must have had very little influence in this part of Germany?’

  ‘Yes and no. The Peace of Augsburg in 1555 had brought some semblance of harmony between Catholics and Lutherans in Germany. It allowed the expression of Lutheranism, as long as it was confined to what was stated in the Augsburg Confession. It also permitted the various provinces in Germany to be either Catholic or Lutheran, depending upon the particular persuasion of its ruling prince. So, if there was a change in prince, then it could lead to a new outbreak of religious violence.’

  The conversation stopped as they walked up Am Dom Street and took in the magnificence of the cathedral with its two 300-foot towers. Rather than entering immediately, Schroeder suggested a walk around the perimeter
to view the structure from the back. Nick and Verity were both surprised at the proximity of the river to the cathedral.

  ‘As you can imagine,’ explained Schroeder, ‘being so close to the Elbe and the ground being soft, there were many difficulties in construction. So the builders used a huge rock that is mostly submerged below the river and extends under the land for the foundation. It’s called Domfelsen, meaning Cathedral Rock. In the distant past, when the rock became visible once every few years due to low water, it was considered a bad omen and the population could expect a small harvest, hence its other title Hungerfelsen, meaning Starvation Rock. However, I digress – the outcome is that only the north tower is on solid ground, as Domfelsen was not large enough for the complete construction, resulting in the south tower being built without any interior stairs or bells, to keep its weight to a minimum.’

  ‘You are a fountain of knowledge, Professor,’ said Nick.

  ‘Well, as I said before, you mustn’t gloss over the facts.’

  They went back around, taking in the magnificence of the Romanesque architecture, before entering the church from the south entrance and, like most visitors, they stood in silent awe for a few seconds beside the ancient baptismal font.

  Then, reverently, they walked slowly between the aisles and along the nave, before stopping at a decorative stone wall with two arched entrances, leading to a raised apse. Rays of afternoon light beamed through the high clerestory windows, reflecting off the curved ceiling, giving an ethereal glow to the intricately sculpted columns and surrounding statues. One transept crossed over both the aisles and the nave, creating a crucifix effect, as was common in many Gothic churches of the period.

  A small crowd had gathered around a tour guide and the three took the opportunity to quietly join the audience. Although the guide spoke in German, Verity and Nick picked up the gist of it, helped by a whispering Schroeder.

  A short while later, the talk finished and the crowd dispersed. The three were left by themselves, marvelling at the famous statues of ‘the foolish and wise virgins’. ‘Yes, they are quite a sight, aren’t they?’ said the tour guide. ‘We are very proud of our cathedral.’

  ‘Very impressive,’ said Schroeder. ‘My friends are from England and have never been here before.’

  ‘Ah, I will try out my English then,’ said the tour guide. ‘My name is Carl Brockhauss and I am hired to give free tours of the churches and places of interest in Magdeburg. This church is certainly our most spectacular, with its decorative architecture and long history.’

  ‘Oh, in that case,’ said Nick, ‘do you know much about the destroyed Church of St Ulrich and Levin? We have a special interest in it and just came from the site where it used to stand.’

  The tour guide gave out the biggest smile. ‘Wunderbar! I happen to be on the committee of the Kuratorium Ulrichskirche or, how do you say, the committee for the reconstruction of this church. We think it a disaster that many of the ancient churches were either destroyed by the communists, or left in ruin for years, before being knocked over. It is our goal to reconstruct the old city skyline that has been thinned out over the last fifty years, and it is our wish to restore the silhouette between St Johannis Church and this cathedral by rebuilding St Ulrich. What is your interest in this church, if you don’t mind me asking, especially as you are not from Magdeburg, or even Germany?’

  ‘Well, we have a special interest in a little-known pastor who served in that particular church in about 1575. His name was Heinrich Bunting,’ said Nick.

  ‘Ha ha,’ said Carl. ‘Heinrich is famous around these parts, let me tell you.’

  Nick, Verity and Schroeder gave each other amazed glances.

  ‘Yes, yes, Heinrich has an important place in Magdeburg, amongst our people. He left St Ulrich with the blessing of the Archbishop and went on pilgrimage to Jerusalem. He did not return until almost three years later. He is a hero for us.’

  It was Professor Schroeder who reacted first. ‘He is a hero, because he went on a pilgrimage?’

  ‘Yes, because nobody from these parts had done such a thing and he wrote about it in his book … a local hero, if you like. Also, he brought back some holy sand from his travels – would you like to see it?’

  ‘We most certainly would, Carl, thank you,’ said Verity. ‘Did you know about this, Professor?’

  Schroeder shook his head, as Carl led them back through one of the arched entrances and along the north ambulatory, to a small shadowed doorway of no particular significance. ‘This is the older part of the church,’ said Carl. ‘There have been many additions and renovations over the long history of the building.’

  It was obvious that this part of the cathedral was different from the main body, as the walls were darker and less decorated. They stepped through the doorway into a small room, with a simple altar and a statue of Mary holding baby Jesus.

  ‘There,’ said Carl, proudly pointing to the statue, ‘is the holy sand, brought back from the pilgrimage of Heinrich Bunting.’

  At first, because of the gloom, it was hard to see anything, but as their eyes became accustomed to the light, a small sand-filled glass phial held within a plain wooden frame to the right of the statue became apparent. It was easy to miss from the doorway, due to the large head of the baby Jesus, obstructing the view.

  ‘What does it say on the inscription?’ said Nick, noticing the tarnished brass plaque attached to the base of the frame.

  Carl and Professor Schroeder stared carefully at the writing. Schroeder spoke first. ‘Praise the Lord, for he has returned me safely from my pilgrimage. This sand has been gathered from the resting place of our saviour’s truth and is a testament to the great journey I have experienced. It is my honour to present this for the discovery of future generations who seek the truth. Heinrich Bunting, in the year of our Lord 1579.’

  Schroeder stared at the plaque for a long time, then copied the inscription into a notebook. ‘Amazing,’ he said to the others, disturbing the intensity. ‘I had no idea this existed.’

  He then pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and gave a sigh. ‘Now, will you all excuse me for a minute. I can see I have to make an urgent call back to the university,’ He then turned and walked briskly out of the sombre room, into the light, phone in hand.

  ‘Well, well, who would believe it? said Verity, turning to Nick after Schroeder had exited. ‘Holy Land sand from his pilgrimage … and Schroeder knew nothing about it. Incredible!’

  Nick took a photo of the plaque with his phone, then he and Verity started to move out of the darkened room.

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Carl in a strange tone, but this is an area I have studied for many years and the language of the times was early New-High German. I can see that Bunting’s use of language is interesting, as it can be understood slightly differently.’

  ‘What do you mean, Carl?’ said Nick, turning back around, surprised.

  ‘Well, most people would read it as your friend did, in the form of the common vernacular, however, it can be understood in another way as well … if you wanted to understand it that way.’

  Carl then slowly began to re-translate the inscription. ‘Praise the Lord, for he has returned me safely from my pilgrimage … No, not pilgrimage, but voyage. Yes, voyage seems more appropriate to me. This sand has been gathered … Better to say collected than gathered I think … from the resting place … hidden place is a better translation … of our saviour’s truth … no, truth isn’t quite right, more like true expression.’

  Nick and Verity stared in amazement at Carl as he concentrated on the inscription, before Verity suddenly pulled out a pen, realising she should make a note of the translation. The tour guide continued: ‘… and is a testament to the great journey. I don’t think journey … quest is much more accurate … And is a testament to the great quest I have experienced. It is my honour … Hmmm, honour maybe, but far closer to duty. To present this – for the benefit rather than discovery – of future generations who seek true
expression. Heinrich Bunting, in the year of our Lord 1579.’

  ‘This is what we have,’ said Verity, who had been writing down Carl’s musings. ‘Praise the Lord, for he has returned me safely from my voyage. This sand has been collected from the hidden place of our saviour’s true expression and is a testament to the great quest I have experienced. It is my duty to present this for the benefit of future generations, who seek true expression. Heinrich Bunting, in the year of our Lord 1579.’

  The three of them stood in silence, connected by a strange heightened sense that they were in the presence of Heinrich Bunting. They stared at the phial.

  ‘My God, this puts a completely different slant on everything,’ said Nick in astonishment, as they left the room searching for Professor Schroeder.

  35

  ‘Heinrich, the north-east monsoon brought us east across the Indian Ocean and I cannot miss the south-west monsoon to return to Europe. I will be back in Lifau by August at the latest. This will give you four months to do your secret business. If you are not here, we cannot wait. We will sail. Providence willing, the San Cristova will be back in Timor next year.’

  The captain and crew had used the month to accrue sandalwood on the island and were now departing, fully replenished and recuperated, for the Moluccas and Banda Islands, to acquire nutmeg and mace.

  ‘Ask your God to look after me, Heinrich. We will be venturing into Sultan Baabullah territory. Our welcome depends on whether it is the Dutch, Portuguese or Spanish who have bribed the Sultan the most. That is, if the Sultan’s anti-Christian, anti-European, Moslem native population don’t get us first.’

  ‘Of course I will pray for you and your crew, Antonio. It is also in my interest that you return here when you say you will,’ said the priest, smiling.