Then he pushed Anna towards the door.
‘Open it, quick,’ he barked at her.
Anna opened it, and Gero gave her a rough kick causing her to stumble into the corridor that led to the hall.
‘Brother Marian, is that correct?’ the archbishop asked.
Anna stood opposite him in the reception hall. He looked down at her contemptuously as Anna kept her eyes on the ground in a display of humility. In the background Father Sixtus, the archbishop’s assistant, and Count Lothar von Hochstaden were sitting on chairs near the fire. Eyeing them discreetly, Anna thought they looked serious and statesmanlike as she tried to gauge what fate awaited her.
Gero von Hochstaden held her by the arm and said: ‘He wanted to run off with the prior’s horse.’
‘Did I ask you a question, Gero?’ said the archbishop sharply.
‘No, you did not, your grace,’ Gero answered meekly.
‘So let go of him. He can speak for himself. Well?’
At first Anna thought that she would not be able to utter a sound, but when finally, with difficulty, she began to talk it sounded as if her voice did not belong to her.
‘Yes, your grace. I am called Brother Marian.’
Anna stood there with drooping shoulders, not taking her eyes off the ground while the archbishop, continuing his interrogation, prowled around her.
‘What did you plan to do with the prior’s horse at this hour?’
‘Your grace, I am the famulus of the prior. He has allowed me a few days off to visit my parents and to do so has given me the loan of his horse.’
Anna could not think of a better excuse.
However the archbishop seemed to be interested in something else.
He asked: ‘Was Prior Urban ill lately?’
‘Father Urban? No, he was not. He complained about this and that minor ailment but attributed these to his advanced age.’
Now for the first time Anna had the courage to look at the archbishop. Why was he asking this question?
‘You have different-coloured eyes,’ the archbishop noted abruptly. Anna immediately looked down again at the floor, but it was too late. He took hold of her chin and forced her head up again.
‘Look at me when I speak to you!’ he said, and a strange vibration was audible in his voice as he fixed on Anna’s eyes. ‘Indeed. One green, one brown!’
Gero could not restrain himself any longer. ‘He has the evil eye, your grace!’
‘Speak when you’re spoken to!’ the archbishop hissed.
‘Apologies, your grace,’ Gero said meekly.
Meanwhile the other two gentlemen, full of curiosity, had approached to inspect Anna’s eyes. Anna no longer cast her eyes down humbly but stubbornly stared at them.
Why not let them see my eyes, she thought to herself. After all, it was God who made me the way I am!
One of the men took three steps backwards and made the sign of the cross. ‘Holy Mother of God, protect us!’ He stared at the archbishop. ‘Is something like that possible, Konrad?’
‘If you exclude the unthinkable, Lothar: yes, it is possible.’
As far as Anna was concerned, the two were talking in riddles. What do they want from me? Will they burn me at the stake because of my eyes?
They were capable of it – even in the monastery there were rumours about the cruelty of the archbishop when it came to heretics and witches. Anna broke into a cold sweat.
The archbishop came closer to her. ‘Who are you really, Brother Marian? What is your real name?’
‘And where do you come from?’ the other put in, grabbing her by the habit. The archbishop didn’t say a word and let him do as he pleased. ‘Well then, boy? Do not make a fool of me. You do know who I am, don’t you?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘So tell me.’
‘Count Lothar von Hochstaden.’
‘Right. I have introduced myself. Now it is your turn. Well then – who are you?’
‘I am Brother Marian, the famulus of Father Urban. My parents are simple folk, farmers. They live in Ahrweiler, a village that’s a good day’s ride from here.’
Lothar von Hochstaden let go of her. He looked at the archbishop. ‘Do you believe him?’
‘It’s irrelevant right now. There are more serious matters to deal with.’
Konrad von Hochstaden folded his arms and asked Anna another question.
‘When did you last see the prior?’
Anna swallowed, trying to gain time. Then she said: ‘Yesterday, at the Washing of the Feet.’
‘Well . . . then you should know that the prior has gone to heaven.’ Slyly he made the sign of the cross and so did the other gentlemen. Meanwhile Konrad von Hochstaden continued to stare at Anna.
She turned deathly pale as she became aware of the full meaning of his words.
‘Father Urban . . . dead? But . . . what happened?’
The archbishop answered indifferently as if talking about the weather:
‘He was found dead in front of the fire. Apparently a heart attack carried him off. Father Sixtus . . .’ he pointed to his assistant who had moved towards the fire, ‘. . . has taken Father Urban’s body to his cell.’
Anna covered her face with her hands. She could no longer hold back her tears. A sob wracked her body and she sank to her knees full of grief.
Chapter IV
Father Urban was lying on the straw mattress in his cell. He was dressed in his habit, and somebody had placed his hands across his stomach so that they lay crossed in his lap. A cloth was wound around his head to prevent his chin falling down before rigor mortis set in. It made him somehow look like a patient with a toothache who was asleep. Anna knelt beside him and made the sign of the cross on his forehead. Then she got up and turned towards the archbishop and Father Sixtus who were standing at the door watching her.
‘I beg you, Your Grace, for the sake of God’s mercy – please grant me a moment alone with Father Urban! I would like to say a last prayer with him. He was always like a father to me. I owe him that much.’
‘This you shall be granted,’ the archbishop replied. ‘But afterwards you must return to your cell and there await our decision as to what will happen to you next. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, certainly, your grace . . .’
Anna waited until the door was closed and she was alone with the corpse. Then she leaned over Father Urban and whispered while tears welled up again in her eyes: ‘What oh what did they do to you, Father Urban?’
Then she turned away abruptly, dried her tears with the sleeve of her habit and tried to compose herself as best she could. She turned back to the corpse. A profound sadness had replaced the initial horror that had shaken her. Father Urban had always been so good to her.
Gently she stroked his head, looking at him thoughtfully. Then she noticed that his hands were clenched into fists. She wanted to arrange them as if he was praying, so she tried to open Father Urban’s cramped fingers. It was difficult, but possible, as rigor mortis was setting in only slowly. When she had managed to open his right hand, the tip of a quill pen appeared. The black ink had dried in the meantime and spread all over the palm. Anna looked at it more closely. A little drop of blood seemed to be mixed with the ink. What had Father Urban intended to do with that pointy quill, why did he grip it so hard that it pierced his hand as he died? Did he want to write something as the attack seized him? Anna found the answer to the riddle in his left hand. She had to use all her strength to bend his fingers open. Into the palm of the hand six signs had been scratched with the quill, but the blood that oozed out had mixed with the ink, and she could not decipher them. The prior’s washbasin was still filled with water and Anna, dipping a cloth into it, cleaned the hand of ink and blood. She could now read six letters: P, O, I, S, O and N. Poison. The message was clear and unmistakable.
Hastily she hid the quill in a crack in the floor, knelt down and replaced the hands of the corpse one on top of the othe
r so that the scars could not be seen. Then she hesitated, deliberating. Should she tell the archbishop of her discovery? No, certainly not. After all, it was very likely that he was somehow involved in the prior’s poisoning or maybe even ordered it. But why? What had Father Urban done – or had he known something? Regardless, the archbishop and his henchmen would get rid of her immediately as an unwanted witness. She realised that having made this discovery, she was in great danger. Speed was vital: she had to vanish from Heisterbach. As she got up, she heard a voice behind her.
‘What are you doing?’ Father Sixtus asked sharply as he stood in the half-open door. Anna just stood there, frozen. The sudden arrival of the archbishop’s assistant had frightened her terribly. As she straightened her habit she replied as innocently as possible: ‘I was only joining his hands before rigor mortis set in, your reverence.’ Father Sixtus seized her by the sleeve and pulled her out of the cell.
‘That’s enough, now be off with you!’ he said gruffly.
In the corridor outside Father Urban’s cell, Gero von Hochstaden was waiting for Anna, his sword drawn. Pushing his captive before him they soon reached her cell.
‘Quick, get yourself inside and wait here until we come to collect you!’ Gero ordered.
He locked the door carefully and disappeared.
When Gero reappeared in the great reception hall, his father, the archbishop and Father Sixtus, who were sitting by the fire, stopped their conversation immediately. Gero closed the door and joined them, having first helped himself to a large hunk of bread and cheese from the platter which the lay brothers had brought and left on the writing desk. Gero was ravenous and tucked in heartily. The bells of the abbey church nearby boomed loudly.
‘It is time for Sext,’ Father Sixtus said to the archbishop. ‘Your grace should go to the church. All the monks know you are here and there would be talk if you didn’t attend Mass.’
‘Father Urban will not attend Mass either,’ the archbishop remarked smugly. ‘And we will also have to explain this.’
He was silent for a while. Then he said: ‘We will announce that he suffered an attack and that will be one thing out of the way. As for Brother Marian . . .’
Lothar von Hochstaden was shaking his head, perplexed. ‘I still can’t believe it. Different-coloured eyes. That simply cannot be an accident!’
‘Accident or not, we must in this case not make any mistakes. It is in our own interest. If we do not take measures now, we might have to pay dearly later.’
Father Sixtus pulled from the fire the glowing iron poker with which he had been poking the embers and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘So does that mean that I have your permission, your grace?’
The archbishop lifted his hand. ‘Wait, this needs careful consideration. Under no circumstances must there be another body. Not after both the abbot and the prior have died one after the other. As it is, people will talk more than is helpful to our cause.’
Lothar von Hochstaden made a disdainful gesture. ‘People will always talk, so let them talk. In a few weeks’ time it will all be forgotten and nobody will care anymore.’
The archbishop shook his head impatiently. ‘It is not advisable to draw the attention of certain people. Not now that we are gradually achieving our aim of bringing the Staufers to their knees. Not the slightest shadow of suspicion must fall on us or the monastery. I may just be able to explain adequately the death of the abbot and the prior. But Brother Marian. . . . No, we must find another solution for him.’
Pointedly he shot a glance at his brother Lothar who, eventually, nodded agreement. Then they both turned to Father Sixtus who was standing by the fireplace warming his back.
‘The deceased infirmarius surely has a well-equipped pharmacy in the infirmary . . .’ Konrad von Hochstaden said. ‘Gero, you are to bring Brother Marian into the church. He is to attend Sext at your side. Make sure he does not do anything foolish. We will all attend Sext, and I will personally lead the prayer and talk about the abbot and Father Urban, thereby forestalling any unnecessary rumours and speculations. While we are in church, you, Father Sixtus, have a free hand . . .’
Father Sixtus gave a short nod.
The abbey church bells were silent again when Father Sixtus, an experienced infirmarius in his own right, searched that Holy of Holies, the inner sanctum of the late Father Urban, the monastery pharmacy. However, what he found in the tall room full of shelves and tables was overwhelming, even for him. For centuries now it had been common for every monastery to have a medicinal garden planted with the same sixteen plants identified by their Latin names as prescribed by Charlemagne in his Capitulare de Villis. Father Urban obviously did not stop at what the emperor had thought sufficient.
Father Sixtus had never seen such a selection of herbs, dried medicinal plants, medical instruments, books and dozens of containers labelled with Latin names. An entire shelf was filled with bottle-sized jars containing essences, oils and ointments. Some were scented like the finest lemon or rose water; some were nauseating enough to make one flinch as soon as the lid was lifted; some were sharp enough to bring on tears even if touched only with the tip of the tongue.
Eventually Father Sixtus found what he was looking for.
The chanting of the monks echoed from the monastery church as Father Sixtus rushed through the corridors. He was in a hurry and had to carry out his scheme before Sext ended. The archbishop relied on him completely when it came to such difficult missions. He had never yet disappointed his master. And he knew what had happened to those who had.
He shuddered at the thought and quickly made the sign of the cross before slipping into Brother Marian’s cell and closing the door behind him. He took a little bottle from under his cape into which pockets had been sown, folded back the blanket that lay on the straw mattress, held a cloth against his mouth and nose and removed the cork from the bottle. Carefully so as not to create a dust cloud, he poured the powder from the bottle onto the blanket and the sheet which covered the mattress. With his face still covered with the cloth, he turned the cover back and got up. The last powder motes were still dancing in the sun-rays which filtered through the small window as he looked at his work. And he saw that it was evil.
He left the cell quickly.
Chapter V
When Anna woke early in the morning it was still dark. She was not feeling well and knew that something was wrong. No, something was seriously amiss. She hardly managed to open her sticky eyes as she blinked. Did she manage to sleep the whole night through even though she only intended to lie down for a little rest after caring for the sick the previous night? And what was that? She was blinded by the light of a candle directly in front of her eyes. Moreover, she seemed to be running a temperature and was feeling wretched, very wretched. She felt pain in all her joints and a terrible itching all over her body and a strong urge to vomit.
The man with the candle was studying her face closely. He moved nearer and she could smell his bad breath. Disgusted, she wanted to turn away, but he grasped her chin and nodded.
‘It is with great regret that I have to inform you that the diagnosis is unequivocal, your grace.’
The man straightened up, moving the candle away from Anna’s face. No longer blinded, she saw that apparently half the monastery had assembled in her cell.
Several monks with candles in their hands crowded around her bed, some curious, more looking concerned. It seemed to Anna as if they were keeping a death watch over her.
In front stood the archbishop, Father Sixtus, Count Lothar von Hochstaden and his son Gero.
Had somebody administered a brew of deadly nightshade to her? The infirmarius had occasionally used it, heavily diluted, against a cough. An incorrect dosage, however, made the sick person see shapes and demons like creatures from hell. No, she was awake and of sound mind. This nightmare was reality.
At Father Sixtus’ words, the monks who had crowded into the cell instinctively moved two steps back. Father Antoniu
s, a chubby, fearful man, immediately held up the crucifix which he wore on a chain round his neck. During the day, Father Antonius copied old manuscripts in the scriptorium, and with the death of Father Urban, he now was the oldest monk in the monastery. He wore a goat-hair girdle under his habit to remind him of his sinfulness. The pain of this penitential girdle contorted his face and made him walk with a slight stoop. He was the first to voice the general suspicion, theatrically covering his mouth with his hand and looking aghast at his fellow monks. ‘Brother Marian has leprosy!’
Anna thought she hadn’t heard correctly, but the penetrating voice of Father Sixtus confirmed the diagnosis of Father Antonius. ‘Yes, it is leprosy! Everybody out. Immediately, or you will be infected!’
All of a sudden there was a rush to get out of the cell. The monks crushed around the door like a herd of sheep panicked by a wolf, ruthlessly pushing and shoving each other. Only the archbishop, Count Lothar, Father Sixtus and Gero remained behind.
Anna looked at her arms and her legs. An ugly, brownish rash seemed to cover her entire body and forced her to scratch almost continually. Wherever she did so, her skin started to bleed immediately. Now she began to feel afraid. She felt her face and there, too, she could feel the terrible rash. She felt a black despair cover her, like heavy chain mail. There was no medicine against leprosy. She was condemned to a slow and painful death.
‘But . . . this is simply not possible. I was in the full of my health when I went to bed!’ she said. Her voice was shrill.
Father Sixtus shook his head sadly. ‘Believe me, Brother Marian, I am an experienced infirmarius, just like your mentor Father Urban was, God rest his soul. I have seen several cases of leprosy. These days, unfortunately, it is not a rare disease.’
Anna began to suspect what lay in store for her. Once she had witnessed the barbaric ceremony. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘You cannot do that! I beseech you!’
The archbishop’s face was an official mask brooking no opposition. ‘There must be no exceptions, Brother Marian, which you, as the famulus of an infirmarius, know very well. The healthy must be protected from infection. That is as Christian law commands. Follow me, Brother Marian. And you, Father Sixtus, start preparing the necessities. We have no time to lose. The illness must not spread. And when we are done with Brother Marian, the cells of all the lay brothers must be thoroughly fumigated.’
The Apothecary's Secret Page 4