The Apothecary's Secret

by Johanna Geiges

  ‘Once. But that was a long time ago. Now he has different tasks for me and says I have to concern myself with the affairs of the realm.’

  Suddenly it appeared to Anna as if the weight of the whole world was resting on the narrow shoulders of this poor youngster. She nodded to him encouragingly.

  ‘I shall pray for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He bowed to her and Anna felt his sincerity. She swallowed hard. A king of the Holy Roman Empire had bowed before a simple peasant girl. She would never forget this moment. But before he could notice how moved she was, she turned, and with her satchel on her back hurried up the stairs to the countess’ rooms.

  Chapter XV

  That evening, when Anna and the medicus had retired to the laboratory and were busy preparing medicines and herbal mixtures, Anna reported on her visit with the countess in detail and especially what she had learned and seen in the castle. She did not omit mentioning her encounter with the young king and his warning about the chaplain and his remarks. Aaron listened to her attentively and was delighted to know that mother and child were doing well, and wanted to hear every detail of their condition. What worried him greatly, however, was the warning of the king.

  ‘If only Conrad were a little older,’ he sighed.

  ‘He made a very sensible and wise impression on me,’ Anna said. ‘And he is on our side. Otherwise he would hardly have warned me of the castle chaplain.’

  ‘But he is still a child! His authority is based only on his family and his kingdom, and that, too, has been given to him by his father. I cannot see any future for him unless he manages to win enough influential and powerful princes to his side. Or much of a future for ourselves,’ Aaron added.

  ‘Who do you mean by “ourselves”?’

  ‘Us Jews. For the Staufers it is an advantage if things stay quiet in the realm. Frederick II is busy enough with affairs in Italy. The opposition, that is, the Guelphs and above all Archbishop Konrad von Hochstaden, are only interested in causing as much unrest as possible. If you ask me, they are planning a revolt sooner or later. They are only waiting for a favourable opportunity. And it will come as soon as the archbishop and his supporters manage to install on the throne of St Peter a pope of their own choosing. All they need is sufficient money to buy the necessary votes at the next conclave.’

  ‘I always thought that every cardinal elector was bound by his conscience only.’

  ‘And also to him who offers most. I have spoken recently to many wealthy men of my faith, Anna. They make a living lending money. Normally this is a good business, but lately they are all worried about the amounts that some nobles, our archbishop among them, owe them. So much is involved that most would certainly prefer not to have to repay their debts. I ask you: to have all your debts cleared at a single stroke – how could you best accomplish that?’

  ‘By using force.’

  ‘Almost correct. But only almost. If you do not want to dirty your own hands you get others to dirty theirs on your behalf, while you take care to wash your own in innocence.’

  ‘Like Pontius Pilate.’

  ‘Like Pontius Pilate. Remarks like those of the castle chaplain are the early signs. By spreading made-up stories, the crueller the better, one stirs up the common people against the money-lenders. Usually it starts with somebody claiming that Jews sacrifice Christian children in their rituals, or that they poison fountains, or desecrate the sacred Host – or simply, as you reported, start a rumour that a Jewish medicus like myself is practising witchcraft, as the castle chaplain claims. The result will be that, if we are lucky, we Jews will be driven out of the country, only allowed to take with us the clothes we wear. I do not need to spell out for you what the worst case is . . .’

  The bitter tone of his voice was not lost on Anna.

  ‘Have you ever experienced anything like this?’ she asked sympathetically.

  ‘Yes, as a small boy, and I can tell you that I do not want to experience it again. I do not want to see another synagogue or worse, people, burn. Never again.’

  ‘But you are under the protection of the count and therefore under the protection of the emperor!’

  ‘What good will that be when a fanatical mob, incited to murder, is roaming around plundering and pillaging? The emperor is in Sicily or Lombardy or Apulia. Far away in any case, and once widespread public anger is incited even the count and his army will not be able to do much. You yourself have experienced what can happen when a crowd of people gets out of control; you saw it when we arrived here in Oppenheim.’

  Anna was filled with fear and dread: ‘Do you fear it might happen again soon? What do you want to do?’

  ‘I do not know,’ the medicus said sadly, not afraid to show Anna his profound resignation. But then he thought for a while and said: ‘This conversation must stay between us, Anna. Please do not mention a word to either Esther or Rebecca. They would only get upset and become alarmed and it would do no good.’

  Anna comfortingly reached for Aaron’s hand. ‘But who would ever bother you? You have only done good for people, they will not forget that!’

  Aaron sighed and patted Anna’s hand gratefully. ‘Believe me, none of that counts once the storm breaks.’

  ‘I will go with you wherever you go.’

  Again the medicus cautioned with his finger raised. ‘You will not do that. You belong here; you have a task to perform here. And if I should not be able to continue my work, you will have to do it in my place. That is your destiny!’

  His words weighed heavily. Inside Anna began to feel uneasy.

  ‘But, master – there is so much I still have to learn. I am still far from ready. Without you . . .’

  ‘If one is as good at something as you are,’ he interrupted her, ‘one has a certain responsibility, and the responsibility is to use it and thus to do good. Promise me that you will continue. Swear it to me by all that is high and holy!’

  Anna had never yet seen her master being so serious. With tears in her eyes, she stammered: ‘I . . . will try.’

  ‘You are strong, you will manage,’ he said and stood up. ‘But perhaps it won’t come to this. Let us hope so. Good night and sleep well, Anna.’

  He slunk out of the laboratory, his back bent.

  For the first time the medicus seemed to Anna like an old man.

  Chapter XVI

  The first few days after the birth of his son, little Frederick, appeared to pass quietly. Count Georg did not hide his joy at the happy birth. He visited his wife and the baby to reassure himself of their progress as often as his affairs of state and responsibilities as a host would allow. After three days countess Ottgild did suffer a fever attack which, thank God, eased again the following day thanks to a strong herbal mixture and compresses prescribed by the medica. From this point onwards the recovery of the countess progressed without incident, and after ten days she was able to get up and for the first time leave the bed chamber under the medica’s supervision.

  The count happened to come upon her as she emerged and was so overjoyed and relieved that he broke into tears.

  ‘Please do not strain yourself, dearest,’ he said to his wife as he folded her in his arms.

  ‘But I do want to get back to normal,’ Ottgild replied. ‘I must regain my strength, if only for the sake of our son.’

  But despite all the joy there was a shadow lying over the count’s happiness.

  The castle chaplain had insisted by virtue of his clerical authority that little Frederick be baptised. The count had delayed the ceremony until now, arguing that he wanted his wife to be present and that Ottgild needed more time to recover sufficiently to get through a Mass followed by a baptism. The chaplain had wanted to perform an emergency baptism of the newborn immediately after the birth, as the lives of both mother and child had been highly endangered, but the count wouldn’t permit it because for him the medical procedures had priority. In his opinion a castle chaplain had no place in such a complicat
ed operation.

  The count knew that this was an affront. The chaplain had swallowed it at first, but felt his official dignity had been so offended that from then on he did his utmost to spread damaging rumours about the circumstances of the birth.

  The small wiry chaplain with his neatly trimmed goatee beard was not stupid, and he knew that he enjoyed the protection of his highest lord and master. He continued to say Mass daily, and as usual it was well attended; he also preached and heard confessions. But he knew how to weave into his sermons the notion that all men, whether noble or common, were subject to the laws of God and the Church and that nobody could break them without committing sin. Everyone knew what he was alluding to when it got about that the count’s newborn son, though healthy, had not yet been baptised.

  So, during Mass, surreptitious glances were being cast at the count’s balcony, which had been built as a small gallery at the back of the large castle chapel to allow the count’s family private access. Those glances did not escape the count, who usually attended Mass with the king ever since his wife’s safe delivery. He had to take a decision.

  Ever since Gero had been hired at Landskron Castle as the archery instructor, he had been busy with so many duties that he had very little time to discover anything about the plans of the king and his nobles. He had never been near the king or the count except when he caught the odd glimpse of them at Mass. Gero was hugely annoyed, but what could he do? The day after his arrival, the castle captain had commanded the archers to move out to the broad meadow below the castle to train, exercise, practice combat formations and receive theoretical instruction.

  On his first and so far only night at Landskron Castle, Gero had looked around a little on the pretext that as a newcomer he wished to get an impression of the place. He had talked with soldiers from different sections of the garrison, and had asked as many questions as was possible without drawing attention to himself. He was surprised to learn that the military discipline in the castle was very different from what he knew from home. There were no drinking bouts, and everybody was busy and kept their arms and equipment in good condition. A groom told him that if one was looking for entertainment, the city was the place to go. But that was not easily done, as permission could only be obtained from the castle captain, and he was slow to grant leave. Also, for as long as the king was a guest at Landskron Castle, an even more restrictive curfew had been imposed on all the armed men.

  In the communal tents and around the camp fires, of course, the men played dice or cards for low stakes, but these games usually took place quietly and were interrupted the instant that an outsider like Gero approached. So he could not learn much that was useful, no matter how hard he tried.

  In addition, there had been a certain tension in the air for days now as all in the castle awaited the countess’s recovery from her difficult delivery and the promised celebration on the arrival of a son and heir. Gero noticed that the count and his wife were extraordinarily well liked, and how everybody wished them the best, but trivial news of this sort was not what the archbishop needed to further his plans. Once when he had met his companions Lutz and Oswald after Mass on Sunday, Gero had ordered them to listen around in town and see whether they could discover anything of interest. But the only news doing the rounds in Oppenheim was the rumour that children had disappeared in certain cities. Christian fanatics blamed the Jews and demanded that the ghettos in these cities be forcibly searched for the children. But so far there was nothing definite, and the rumours weren’t causing an undue stir among the people.

  In the meantime Gero had no choice but to train his archers in the use of the longbows he had ordered and keep his eyes and ears open.

  Some time later however, he decided to take the initiative and requested an appointment with the castle chaplain for confession. This he reckoned would go down well given his position as military instructor. Moreover, Gero wanted to find out whether the chaplain was indeed on the side of the Guelphs, as his father Lothar von Hochstaden suspected, and consequently might be inclined to provide Gero with information about Count Georg of Landskron.

  Gero was kneeling in the confessional and waiting with growing impatience when, in a waft of incense, the chaplain took his seat in the confessor’s compartment.

  ‘Well, my son, what is on your mind?’ the castle chaplain began.

  ‘I have sinned, Father,’ came the ritual response.

  The castle chaplain replied: ‘The Lord be in your heart and on your lips so that you may know yourself in His light.’

  Gero made the sign of the cross and murmured: ‘In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.’

  ‘Amen. What do you have to confess?’ the chaplain asked.

  Gero had thought carefully about his words well in advance. ‘I have a terrible dream which haunts and tortures me, Father. It wakes me and prevents me from going back to sleep.’

  ‘What kind of a dream is it, my son? Tell me,’ the chaplain prompted in a rather bored tone. ‘Is it a dream in which you commit a sin?’

  ‘No, your reverence, the dream is always the same. A devil with different-coloured eyes is torturing me.’

  ‘How do you know it is a devil?’

  ‘He has different faces and changes them. Only a devil can do something like that. One time it looks like the emperor, another time like a monk, another time again like a girl. But the eyes are always the same, one brown and the other green.’

  ‘What does the devil do to you?’

  ‘He sits on my chest and I am paralysed. He is as heavy as a boulder and looks at me with his eyes in which I can see the fires of hell burning, and tells me that he is now keeping me to himself. Then he presses his mouth against mine and sucks the soul out of my body. Afterwards I wake up drenched in sweat as if I had already been in the fires of hell.’

  The castle chaplain seemed to become more interested. ‘How long have you been having this terrible dream, my son?’ he asked.

  ‘Ever since I met this monk. He was a young monk when I was at Heisterbach monastery with the archbishop . . .’

  ‘With the archbishop?’ the chaplain interrupted. ‘At Heisterbach monastery?’

  Now Gero had the chaplain’s full attention.

  ‘Yes, Father,’ he said. ‘I am not really at liberty to talk about it, but I trust that the seal of confession will be respected by you and that all I say stays between us.’

  ‘Do you mean to insult me, my son? Breaking the confessional seal is a mortal sin. Of course everything you say will remain between us. The sacrament of confession is sacred. The Lord God alone and I as his humble servant here on earth will hear your words and give you absolution.’

  ‘Please forgive my mistrust, your reverence, but I am here at Landskron Castle on a secret mission for the archbishop. Perhaps you might be able to help me accomplish it.’

  The castle chaplain quickly made the sign of the cross but remained cautious. ‘Well, nobody who leads a godly life with faith in the right cause could approve of how things here have been changing. I have prayed every day that something might happen to stop a few very unhappy developments.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Father?’

  The castle chaplain cleared his throat. ‘Now you will have to forgive me, but how can I know that I can trust you? How can I know that you are not leading me astray to talk about things that could be deemed high treason in some circles?’

  ‘Will that suffice?’ Gero asked, taking from his pocket the signet ring which he had received from his uncle as a badge of identification and holding it up to the latticed window. The ring showed the coat of arms of the von Hochstaden, a silver imperial eagle on a red ground.

  Gero played his trump card. ‘The archbishop is my uncle.’

  He didn’t hear anything at first but then the castle chaplain exhaled audibly. He was obviously impressed.

  ‘What is your name, my son?’ the castle chaplain asked with greater respect.

  ‘I am not known here un
der my real name, Father. I have had myself hired as an instructor of the archers and I call myself Meinhard von Geldern. My real name is Gero von Hochstaden, and I can assure you that I will put in a good word for you with my uncle if you assist me in my mission.’

  ‘Forgive me my mistrust,’ the castle chaplain replied. ‘But in these times it is advisable to establish what side the people one is dealing with are on.’

  ‘I share your opinion entirely, Father. Rest assured: only the archbishop will learn of what we are discussing here. Well then – tell me about those regrettable developments.’

  ‘Not here in the confessional. Follow me to the sacristy, but wait for a few moments as it is better that we not be seen together. But perhaps you should finish your confession first, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Yes, you are right of course. What worries me is that this devil with the different-coloured eyes is this monk who will follow me to the end of my days.’

  ‘The monk you met when you were at Heisterbach monastery in the company of the archbishop?’

  ‘Yes, his name was Brother Marian.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He is dead.’

  ‘By your hand?’

  ‘No. He had been infected with leprosy and was expelled from the monastery. And then, before my eyes, he found death by his own hand. He jumped into a river and drowned.’

  ‘Do you feel responsible for his death?’

  ‘No. Not in the least.’

  ‘Why then should he pursue you – even if only in your dreams?’

  ‘I do not know. Perhaps because I would have preferred to have dispatched him from life to death with my own hand.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  ‘Because he had insulted me in such an outrageous and infamous manner that the disgrace could only have been erased by death.’

  ‘But do you not have your satisfaction as is? He is no longer alive.’

  ‘True, but it is not because of my doing.’

  ‘There is nothing you can do about it now. In choosing to die by his own hand he has committed a mortal sin. By this decision he has chosen the devil. His soul will not find any peace. Perhaps this is the reason why he pursues you in your dreams. I will pray for you that God may have compassion and banish him from your thoughts forever. And you yourself must try to forget him. It is not worth thinking about him any longer. You now have more important things to attend to.’