Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church Read online

  Melchior was a fair-skinned man of shorter stature, was rather thin and had an angular build and a slight stagger to his step. His sparse, pale hair held close to his head, even when he grew his locks out below his ears. His grey eyes always had a twinkle and appeared full of mirth. Melchior loved to laugh loudly at others’ jokes, and his laugh was childlike and trusting. To many it seemed that he was always cheerful and in good spirits – an apothecary cannot be dour and off-hand – yet some had also caught those moments when it seemed that a grim shadow flashed across his shy face. Those were the moments when Melchior believed that no one was watching him, and a profound agony could then show in his eyes, an almost insane depth, a difficult and painful terror. Nevertheless, Melchior would then drive these feelings away and once again be the cheery Tallinn apothecary, a friend to all and a trustworthy aide.

  It was still early, and the town was just beginning to stir. Melchior sat down and reviewed the notes of those who were due to come for their medications that day. Here were his bottles and mortars, his mixtures and dried remedies; here was his world from which he could never escape – should he ever have wanted to. Melchior opened a small pouch of dried-garlic chips and took down a vessel of hard spirits from a shelf, setting both before him. Today this would become throat medicine for the baker’s wife, although he could make a much greater profit from other remedies, one example being charred wheat mixed with herbs and poured into a flagon to counter a stomach ache suffered by his good friend the Magistrate, Court Vogt Wentzel Dorn.

  Yet, just as Melchior sprinkled the garlic chips into the mortar, the sound of bright music reached his ears. He peered out from the open door on to the street and saw that Kilian Rechpergerin – a boarder at the house across the road owned by Mertin Tweffell – was outside, sitting on the edge of the well and playing his lute.

  The young man was barely seventeen, but Melchior understood that he had studied the choral arts in several foreign cities and arrived in Tallinn at the behest of his father, since the old merchant Tweffell happened to be a relative of the Nuremberg Rechpergerin family. Kilian had been boarding in the Great Guild Alderman’s house since the previous summer. He would sing at various festivities in the town and could often be seen near the Guild of the Brotherhood of Blackheads, where of late not a single meal went by without Kilian being present to sing his playful verses. He tended to introduce himself as a Schulfreund, as this was how journeyman musicians who roamed to far-off lands to study the art of music were titled at the Nuremburg Guild of Meistersingers. Melchior had to admit he did indeed enjoy Kilian’s music – it carried a sense of the spirit of warm southern lands, a melodic lilt and techniques unfamiliar to Tallinn musicians. The young man’s voice was clear and pure, warm and resounding. Which, of course, has not gone unnoticed by many a young Tallinn damsel, Melchior mused.

  While continuing to concoct the cough remedy Melchior saw the door of the house opposite open and Gerdrud, the young wife of the Master Merchant Tweffell, step out into the street. It appeared to the Apothecary that the young singer had been waiting for this very moment. Melchior grasped his mortar and positioned himself slightly closer to the open door. Curiosity is the vice of all apothecaries.

  The young Mistress Gerdrud – who may well have been only a year or two older than Kilian yet was younger than her husband by forty years or more – carried a basket under her arm and nodded pleasantly in greeting to the musician. The young man, in response, jumped from the rim of the well and bowed to her.

  ‘Good morning, Mistress Merchant,’ he exclaimed cheerfully. ‘A fine spring morning to you. Can you see what a beautiful, blessed day has been given to us? It would be nothing short of a sin if it were not greeted with a splendid melody.’

  Gerdrud stopped and replied brusquely, ‘Good morning, Kilian Rechpergerin. Alas, this day is beautiful only to those who are able to pass it by with song and music. It is exactly the same as all other days for honest townsfolk, full of work and many chores to do.’

  Kilian picked a swift, incredibly complex melody and called in reply, ‘Ah, Mistress Gerdrud, do you think then that the arts of song and of music are gifts of the Lord and that one does not have to work hard to do them well?’

  ‘All is born of the Lord’s grace,’ the young woman replied. ‘I can sing also, but no one will complete my work and my tasks. The day is given to some for playing tunes and to others it is for earning their daily bread.’

  ‘Old Uncle Mertin is wealthy enough by now that his young bride should not have to busy herself every day in the manner of a washerwoman. You have Ludke and the old maid in your household …’ Kilian said pointedly, but Gerdrud cut him off in a somewhat irritated manner.

  ‘Stop your prattling, Kilian Rechpergerin. It is not for you to say how the master should arrange his household affairs. You are merely our boarder.’

  ‘A boarder has eyes as well. I certainly see how things are in Tallinn compared with how they are in Nuremberg; how my great-uncle’s nephew burdens his fine young bride and demands of her work and chores for which three servant girls would be necessary and for the employment of which the old churl should have sufficient funds indeed.’

  What an insolent boy, thought Melchior, eavesdropping on the exchange below the window. Insolent, but he does dare to speak the truth. No one would have accused Great Guild Alderman Tweffell of excessive spending or revelry. His young wife – in addition to the fact that she was a joy to the old man’s eye in his twilight years – unquestionably did more housekeeping work than the mistress of any other wealthy merchant in this town. The servant Ludke and the old maid were the only servants employed in his household.

  Gerdrud exclaimed, now even more heatedly, ‘Silence yourself, Kilian. Cease your mindless nonsense at once. If Ludke could hear you he would tell Sire Mertin straight away.’

  Kilian stepped closer towards the young woman, cocked his head and asked slyly, ‘But you will not say anything, Mistress Gerdrud?’

  Gerdrud faltered. ‘I … I must go. I am in a hurry,’ she said.

  Kilian paid this no heed. ‘But maybe you will listen to just one tune?’ he asked. ‘Or, even better, if, as you just told me, you are able to sing as well … Surely a spring morning like this brings a melody to your tongue? So, I will play the lute, and you will sing.’

  The girl shook her head. ‘As if I would sing right here in the middle of town. That isn’t going to happen. I really must go.’

  Kilian insisted. ‘Just one song. Allow me to sing to you.’

  ‘No, Kilian. No. Not one song.’

  ‘Do you really not want to hear one of the Nuremberg Meistersingers’ best melodies? I know several of them. Just now I remembered one about an old tanner who wed a woman fifty years younger than he and became the laughing stock of the entire town, and then …’

  Gerdrud emitted a muffled cry and said quickly, ‘Silence, Kilian, and please do not shame me in public. I am leaving this minute.’

  ‘But wait. Maybe some other song? How about an old song of the Minnesingers? All of our Meistersingers study old Minnesingers’ songs. Should I sing to you of how Tannhäuser or Konrad von Würzburg yearned for their darling lovers? Do you wish me to?’

  ‘No, Kilian. No. Goodbye. I have things to do in the town, and I do not wish to stand and talk to you any longer.’ Gerdrud determinately wedged the basket under her arm and made to leave.

  But Kilian would not give up. He flicked his fingers across the strings of his lute and said in a low voice, ‘Or maybe some song of Tallinn instead, Mistress Gerdrud? Yet these are so doleful that they do not suit a fine spring morning. Oh, but I can still recall one happier song. Maybe you would like this ditty about jolly sailors?’ And without waiting for a reply, Kilian began to sing:

  ‘I’ve seventeen brothers and seventeen vessels

  I’ve seventeen harbours, all full of fine wenches

  My brothers dread neither death nor Heaven …’

  But Gerdrud promptly shrieked, and eve
n Melchior winced with indignation. The young woman darted over to Kilian and covered his mouth with her petite hand.

  ‘Don’t ever sing that song in Tallinn unless you want to be run out of town,’ she cried, stunned. ‘Are you insane? The Victual Brothers have done us so much harm, those raiders and murderers from the sea … Whoever sings their songs in Tallinn must be mad.’

  Kilian slowly removed Gerdrud’s hand from his mouth and said, so softly that Melchior could barely hear, ‘Perhaps I am mad.’

  ‘Be what you may, but you must not sing such songs in Tallinn if you don’t wish to be stoned to death,’ the girl said resolutely.

  ‘Fair enough, but then tell me what sort of song you would like to hear on this morn?’

  ‘Not a single one. I must go. Not a single song of the Meistersingers, nor of the Minnesingers; not of spring or of the sea – none at all. I … I really must hurry. You, too, should go your own way now.’

  Kilian smiled dejectedly. ‘Your life might become empty and sorrowful without song. Such a life has neither joy nor solace, only things to tend to and work to be done, worries and toil. Goodbye then, Mistress Gerdrud, until tonight. I also have matters to attend at the House of the Brotherhood of Blackheads. Where are you going? Maybe we are headed along the same path?’

  ‘Me? Only here to the pharmacy and then to the harbour and the market.’

  ‘To the pharmacy? Is Ludke unable to fetch salves and medicines for his master?’

  ‘Master Mertin sent Ludke away somewhere last evening, and I have not seen him today. Goodbye, Kilian. I am going now.’ She turned away determinedly.

  Kilian laughed, waved to her and began to stride along Rataskaevu Street towards the Pikk Mäe Gate. Melchior followed the boy with his gaze and shook his head sadly. It isn’t right. It isn’t right that an old merchant takes such a young wife, and it isn’t right that a young, handsome boarder lives under that same roof. Melchior quickly moved away from the window and settled behind the counter.

  That day Mistress Gerdrud wanted a bone salve for her husband’s aching joints. Melchior had readied the ointment according to the town doctor’s recipe, even though he was quite certain that it would not make the old man’s bones and joints a great deal less painful.

  Gerdrud was still lightly flushed when she stepped into the pharmacy and greeted Melchior.

  ‘Mistress Gerdrud, our dear neighbour,’ he exclaimed. ‘What a pleasure it is to see you in such a good mood on this lovely morning.’

  ‘You are always in such a good mood that I rue the fact I happen over here as rarely as I do,’ said the young woman meekly.

  ‘Well then, come by more often. It does even a young healthy person no harm at all to down some rather spirited remedy,’ Melchior advised. ‘Ah yes, your bone salve. Here it is, good and ready. As ever, it should be smeared over the aching bones while offering a prayer to the Virgin Mary – it will work best that way. Or at least it will ease the troubles of old age. I expected Ludke instead of you …’

  ‘Master Mertin sent him somewhere yesterday. I have not seen him since then,’ Gerdrud replied.

  ‘And your husband?’

  ‘He rushed off to the harbour at dawn to trade. Thank you for the ointment.’

  ‘Rushed?’ Melchior pronounced thoughtfully. ‘You know, I am not an actual physician, of course, but even I know a thing or two about illnesses, and rushing is no longer proper at Master Mertin’s age. That I say for certain. A calm, quiet life, fatty foods, not fasting too zealously during Lent – yes? – proper bloodletting and, once in a while, applying ointment to aching areas and, last but not least, taking hot baths. There is no other treatment than that to recommend.’

  The girl was not yet twenty years of age. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, and her young, innocent face could be seen beneath her headdress. Did her carefree expression hide those troubled feelings that a young girl must have when her husband is fifty years older than her and infirm?

  ‘He has prayers said for his well-being at St Nicholas’s Church and pays for masses,’ said the girl, sighing.

  Not by any means generously, or so I’ve heard, Melchior mused silently, although he nodded enthusiastically.

  The girl fell silent. Gerdrud observed Melchior with growing seriousness then asked abruptly, ‘But tell me, Sire Melchior, will all this be of no help to him? His aches and pains show no sign at all of going away.’

  ‘My dear neighbour, just as time has been given to one, so it, too, must pass, but maybe it can be prolonged a little through a mixture of the right treatment, prayer and bloodletting. If blood is let properly and his aching bones and joints are rubbed with ointment then Master Mertin will certainly not be in the shadow of death just yet. I told him this myself. He might live for another ten years or more.’

  ‘Does your star chart say so?’

  ‘My star chart?’ asked Melchior. He leaned down and removed a folded star chart from beneath the counter. The item was the work of masters in Bruges and had been handed down to him by his father. The method for reading a star chart was one secret known to apothecaries’ zünfte.

  ‘No, not a star chart, rather my intuition and experience. Your husband’s joints are ill and his bones ache, but his vitality is still strong. A star chart tells me when is the very best day to let blood, and, as I can see here, that would be …’ His fingers glided quickly across the star chart’s symbols and he murmured, ‘We must look for the position of Sagittarius to counter Master Tweffell’s hip pain. His legs are here in Capricorn, and his ailing knees are in Aquarius … and, as we see now that the moon is in Capricorn the evening after tomorrow, then I would say it would benefit your husband to let blood at the barber’s in the morning two days from now, and after that he should be treated with ointment at once, then his leg pain should certainly subside.’

  ‘I will pass word along to him. A thousand thanks to you, Apothecary Melchior, and farewell.’ Gerdrud sighed once more and turned to leave.

  Melchior nodded to her. ‘Yes, yes, it is an old science taught to us by Saliceto Wilhelmus and Cremona Gerardus and all of those other famed healers of times past. Surely advise your beloved husband to let blood appropriately, and you will definitely see, my dear neighbour, that he will remain in excellently good health.’

  ‘By the Lord’s grace,’ Gerdrud murmured and left. Melchior watched her as she departed and stood lost in thought.

  ‘Poor girl.’ A woman’s voice sounded from behind him. The Apothecary had not heard his precious wife Keterlyn enter the pharmacy.

  3

  TALLINN TOWN HALL

  16 MAY, MORNING

  THE MAGISTRATE OF Tallinn Town Council, Wentzel Dorn, was standing before Councilman Bockhorst and an attendant of the Teutonic Order and in his mind was running through all the positions he would much rather hold than the cursed and detestable office of magistrate, or vogt. The first that came to mind was the honourable occupation of brewer, for two reasons: first, a brewer always has fresh beer close by; and, second, a brewer is never hounded out of bed early in the morning nor ordered to appear urgently at the Town Hall where awaiting him was – oh merciful Lord – the personal attendant to the Commander of the Teutonic Order in Tallinn bearing the sort of news that should cause one’s hair to fall out.

  Yet, here Dorn was, thoroughly lacking a good night’s rest and with his stomach starting to rumble just as it always did when he heard bad news. Very bad news.

  ‘Today at midday,’ the attendant stated, and the Councilman nodded.

  ‘What at midday?’ asked Dorn.

  The attendant glared at Dorn with unveiled animosity. ‘The esteemed Commander awaits your presence before him at midday,’ he said.

  ‘Well, of course,’ the Magistrate responded nervously. ‘And are the other councilmen expected as well or only the Magistrate?’

  ‘The councilmen have mass at the Church of the Holy Ghost at midday,’ Councilman Bockhorst declared quickly. ‘However, the Magistrate will most
certainly be at Toompea this midday. He is the most familiar with all legal provisions, and all in all …’

  ‘All in all and most certainly,’ Dorn grumbled to himself. The Commander is searching for a murderer from the town, and the Magistrate is the pre-eminent expert of local law. He looked out through an open window, and his gaze fell upon a beer-seller in the market with a large tankard of his wares. The Magistrate swallowed dryly. It wouldn’t be a poor choice to call upon my friend Melchior prior to going to Toompea. Even more so if the Commander has very bad news. Unpleasant news should not be heard when sober.

  This whole affair carried a hint of something from which the Magistrate tended to shy away. The high-ranking Knight that had been killed had come from Gotland, and Gotland was often in conflict with towns to which Tallinn needed to remain on good terms – or at least that was how the Magistrate understood the situation. The Council had been bickering with Novgorod and Vyborg and even Tartu in recent years. Until recently the Magistrate would have been required to throw all Russian merchants who arrived in Tallinn into the prison tower because Tartu demanded it – but what would then have become of Tallinn’s merchants at the Hanseatic office in Novgorod? Dorn had no patience with affairs that might be connected to powerful overlords and foreign lands, and the killing of this Knight gave off a whiff of just that kind of matter. Dorn must maintain peace in Tallinn according to his oath of office, and the Council had enacted its own laws for that very purpose. These were simple and clear: traders on the market square who weighed goods improperly were to be shackled; journeyman tanners who fought with knives during designated night-time hours were to be fined. Dorn believed this was the most important work associated with the post of magistrate. He was capable of performing such tasks with absolute precision and according to his conscience because he knew the town would benefit from such acts. Tracking down the murderers of highranking Knights of the Order from distant lands, that he would gladly have left to someone else.