The Apothecary's Secret

by Johanna Geiges

  Chapter VI

  After a tiring three-day ride, Gero and Lutz arrived at Hochstaden Castle exhausted and hungry. Gero’s mother was waiting and embraced him silently. Then she led him into the room where Lothar von Hochstaden lay unmoving on his bed.

  ‘His speech is now unintelligible,’ his mother warned him, ‘and I do not know whether he will recognise you.’

  Gero stood next to the bed and looked at his father. Lothar von Hochstaden was breathing with difficulty and gasping as he murmured unintelligible things. Gero was ashamed of the inexplicable fear that now gripped him.

  ‘What does the army doctor say?’ he asked his mother.

  ‘He says it is a stroke. He has bled him several times, but there has been no improvement,’ she replied.

  Gero leaned over his father, trying to understand what he was murmuring.

  ‘He is asking for something,’ he said.

  Suddenly and unexpectedly, his father’s hand grabbed him by the arm. Given the weakness of the dying man his grip was astonishingly strong and gave Gero an awful fright. He tried to free himself from his father’s hold but it wasn’t possible without using force. His father’s breathing became more desperate as he redoubled his efforts to communicate. His face was drawn, his hair dishevelled and damp with sweat and his eyes flitted restlessly around the room.

  ‘Gero,’ the father managed to gasp. ‘Gero . . .’

  As Gero bent down close to hear him better, he could feel his father’s dying breath on his ear.

  ‘Gero, there is something terrible that you must know. I feel the guilt of a terrible wrong. Your uncle . . . talk to your uncle. He knows about it.’ Lothar von Hochstaden tried to breathe with the greatest effort. The rest of what he tried to say was unintelligible. Gero’s father seemed to have used up all his strength in a last super-human effort.

  But then he was heard to croak: ‘Hell . . . don’t want to go to Hell . . . want to confess go get . . . priest . . .’

  Suddenly he fell silent, his grip loosened and his eyes stared up, lifeless.

  Gero stood up.

  ‘He is dead,’ he said without feeling, and closed his father’s eyes. He turned around to his mother who stood rooted to the spot as she looked at her dead husband.

  ‘Has the priest been with him?’ Gero asked.

  She did not answer.

  He seized her, looked into her eyes and shook her. ‘Mother, has the priest been with my father? Was he able to confess?’

  She relaxed from her stupor. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘For God’s sake, why did you not call for a priest? Why was he not able to confess?’ Gero shouted.

  ‘What are you so excited about?’ she said trying to calm him. ‘Your father did not want a priest.’

  ‘Of course he wanted a priest! Without confession his soul will go to Hell! I do not want my father’s soul to go to Hell! Do you understand? Where is the damned priest? Get me the priest!’ he shouted jerking open the door. ‘Get me the priest!’ he roared into the corridor so loudly that it could be heard throughout the castle.

  Gero was not afraid of anything or anybody except death and what came after. He had the childlike notion that he could commit any amount of sin as long as he repented on his deathbed and was given absolution. He did want to repent, but only once, at the end when his time had come. He did not want to be tortured forever by demons and devils in hell as he was in his nightmares and as was depicted in that terrifying altarpiece. When he was a child his mother had conjured for him the horrors of the fires of Hell, and these images had burnt themselves into his brain for ever.

  Gero knew that his father had committed many sins and at the very moment when he did need a priest he had been ignored.

  He leaned against the door post, almost unable to breathe, and it was only when his mother came behind him and held him that he calmed down and began to cry. But he was not crying for his father.

  He was crying for himself.

  In the refectory of Heisterbach Monastery the monks were gathered for lunch. They sat side by side at the wide oak table and spooned their soup in silence. Only the occasional clatter of dishes punctuated the monotonous voice of the young monk who was standing at a lectern reading from the Book of Job: ‘ “. . . and behold, a great wind came across the wilderness, and struck the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young people, and they are dead; and I alone have escaped to tell you.” Then Job arose, and rent his robe, and shaved his head, and fell upon the ground, and worshipped. And he said, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”’

  At the head table Konrad von Hochstaden sat listening to the words of the reader, his soup untouched in front of him. As the dishes were removed by two lay brothers, the archbishop pushed away his plate. Nobody said a word.

  The main course was then brought, consisting of cooked beans and fish, served with bread and wine. The archbishop ate very little. He was deep in thought. When a lay brother approached and whispered something in his ear, he looked up and saw his nephew Gero waiting by the door. The archbishop wiped his lips with a cloth and stood up. With a wave of his hand he indicated that the monks should remain and finish the meal. Then he walked towards Gero who respectfully genuflected to kiss his ring, and the two men left the refectory.

  Konrad von Hochstaden made the sign of the cross and whispered: ‘May the Lord have mercy on your poor soul, brother Lothar.’

  He was standing in the shadow of the cloister looking into the bright courtyard. The carefully pruned hedges were bathed in warm sunlight as water tinkled peacefully in the fountain. A few sparrows were fighting for the bread crumbs the archbishop threw on the raked pebbled path which led across the courtyard.

  His nephew had told him about the death of his brother and of his own unnerving encounter in the corridor of the Count of Landskron. Now Gero stood in the background waiting patiently for his uncle’s reaction, and further instructions.

  The archbishop wiped his hands and turned to his nephew. ‘I personally will say the Requiem Mass and accompany my brother on his last journey. Please inform your mother of this.’

  Gero bowed.

  The archbishop then lowered his voice. ‘And as far as this witch is concerned . . . are you quite sure that you are not mistaken?’

  ‘No, your grace. It has to be this Brother Marian, I made sure of it myself. His, or rather, her face was perhaps one cubit away from mine.’ Gero indicated the distance with his hand. ‘I looked directly into her eyes, definitely brown and green. Something like that does not happen a second time.’

  The archbishop nodded, deep in thought. ‘There has to be an explanation for this. After all, you yourself saw Brother Marian drown.’

  ‘I did, your grace, as sure as I’m standing in front of you.’

  ‘Well then she is a witch, and we must put a stop to her game. We will go about it with all due caution. In this affair we must not make any mistakes. After your father’s burial, you will return to Landskron Castle pretending that nothing has changed. Nobody must suspect what we know about Brother Marian and this medica. Control your impatience, Gero, the day will come when you will be able to settle your account with the witch. I will accept the count’s invitation to the tournament as a demonstration of friendly intent. You will continue to present yourself under your false name. Should we meet, we won’t know each other, and you make sure not to be recognised by the witch.’

  ‘But . . . she knows you!’

  ‘She won’t be silly enough to talk about this in front of everybody. She would give herself away. Should she recognise you, you can threaten to make her true story known; that should bring her to heel.’

  ‘Whatever you say, your grace. Would you allow me one favour?’

  The archbishop nodded. ‘Yes, what is it?’

  ‘I would like to take part in the tournament as Meinhard von Gelde
rn.’

  ‘I see no reason why not.’

  ‘Thank you, your grace.’ Gero bowed to his uncle and kissed his ring, then hesitated briefly. Something seemed to bother him.

  ‘What else have you got on your mind?’ the archbishop asked.

  ‘Your grace . . . your brother . . . my father died without having confessed.’

  The archbishop’s face darkened. ‘How was this?’ he asked.

  ‘Before he died he could not make himself understood anymore.’

  ‘This is very serious,’ the archbishop replied pensively. ‘You will have to do penance on his behalf; otherwise we would have to fear for his soul.’

  ‘What should I do?’ Gero asked eagerly.

  ‘Come with me,’ the archbishop replied and led his nephew through the cloister to the abbot’s rooms.

  The archbishop closed the door of the abbot’s reception hall. In the centre of the room was a huge table with something on it covered with a black cloth which the archbishop stroked with his ringed hand almost tenderly.

  ‘Your grace, do you think that my father’s soul is already suffering the tortures of Hell?’ Gero asked.

  ‘That’s right, Nephew. That’s how it is. How on earth could your mother not allow a priest to hear your father’s last confession?’

  ‘He could no longer speak but only utter unintelligible sounds. She must have assumed that he was no longer in his right senses.’

  ‘An inexcusable mistake all the same.’

  ‘Yes indeed, your grace. When I finally arrived, he tried to communicate something to me.’

  ‘Did he still recognise you on his deathbed?’

  ‘Without a doubt, as he called me by my name. His face betrayed great inner anguish.’

  ‘Did you understand what he wanted to say?’

  ‘Not entirely. It was as if knowing death was near he made a final effort. And then he asked for a priest. I did call for one, but it was too late.’

  ‘Tell me what your father told you.’

  ‘He said that he was burdened with great guilt. And that you knew what it was about.’

  ‘Yes, I do know,’ the archbishop said sombrely and covered his face with his hands. ‘I do know and the knowledge weighs on me heavily. But the seal of confession binds me to remain silent.’

  ‘He did want to tell me. But as his strength failed he said that you would tell me.’

  The archbishop remained silent for a long time until at last he forced himself to reply, ‘This I cannot do. At least not yet,’ he sighed. ‘But when the time is right, I will explain all to you. But not now.’ And with that the issue was settled as far as he was concerned.

  Gero nodded and asked: ‘Will his soul be purified by the fires of Hell?’

  ‘Yes, it will. But in the case of great culpability, the purgatorial fire may last for ever.’

  ‘Is there no possibility whatever of granting him absolution retrospectively? Even if he didn’t have the chance any more to repent wholeheartedly and say so to a priest?’

  ‘Yes, this possibility does exist,’ the archbishop said slowly. ‘Certainly there are ways in which the tortures of your deceased father’s soul can be shortened, even significantly shortened.’

  ‘Then tell me, Uncle, please tell me what I can do,’ Gero implored him. ‘Should I offer candles, have masses said or perhaps have a chapel built for him? Just tell me and I will do it!’

  In a rush of emotion the archbishop embraced his nephew in a fatherly manner.

  He brought him closer to the table and in a dramatic gesture pulled the black cloth off the covered construction revealing the model of a cathedral, slender and delicate as filigree, and at the same time so enormous that it left his nephew standing there stunned.

  Konrad von Hochstaden, on the other hand, went into raptures every time he looked at the model. He enjoyed the effect for a while and then began to speak: ‘Look here. This is to be a cathedral the like of which humanity has not yet seen: the new Cologne Cathedral. The final and fitting home for the shrine with the relics of the Three Wise Men! A cathedral in the shape of a cross with a nave and four aisles, approximately 490 feet long and 290 feet wide, with an inner choir and ambulatory, radiating chapels, transept, nave and two towers in the west. Master Gerhard has promised me that the vault will reach a height of roughly 145 feet, higher than any vault anywhere in the world. And the towers . . . the towers will reach a height of 532 feet! Imagine that, 532 feet!’

  The archbishop’s eyes glowed with pride. He spread his arms and looked up and with his mind’s eye he already beheld his cathedral in all its magnificent proportions soaring into the sky.

  Finally he took his nephew by the shoulders and whispered: ‘Help me build my house of God. A truly substantial donation from you, and the sins of your father will be forgiven!’

  When Gero left his uncle in the abbot’s living quarters he was surprised beyond all measure. He had never before seen the archbishop like this. It was as if his uncle who was always so guarded had allowed his nephew a glimpse of his innermost self. But to what purpose, what did he hope to achieve? His uncle was always scheming, Gero was sure of that. Did the archbishop hope to fire him with enthusiasm for his massive project? Or was it to show that he had now been accepted into the exclusive circle of those whom the archbishop trusted? This thought made Gero proud because now, for the first time, he felt he was being taken seriously by this powerful man, even though he was aware that he was being used as a means to an end and that his uncle was prepared to sacrifice everything, absolutely everything, to achieve this higher end. This made him shudder, while at the same time, he now realised what real power was like and what it was capable of. For the archbishop there existed no limits on earth. And he, Gero, was his instrument.

  Chapter VII

  In the beginning, Brother Thomas was unusually silent. He got up at cockcrow, was most particular about cleanliness and shaved twice a day because his beard grew so strongly. He asked Berbelin, with whom he got on well, to cut off his fringe entirely, which she carefully did. Initially Berbelin was shy and a little fearful in his presence, which may have been due to his sheer size and strength. Brother Thomas was a bear of a man, not only in terms of his frame but also in temperament. He could be very irascible and rough to outsiders and to the more disagreeable characters, especially to anybody who behaved or spoke improperly to Anna. But he always knew how to deal with the patients. He was strict when they were dense or proud, sensitive with those he knew to be genuinely sick or in pain, and loving when treating children. Brother Thomas had a natural aptitude for dealing with little ones. If Anna had a painful procedure to perform, he would distract them with a life-like little animal or toy that he had carved. Anna was not a little surprised on one occasion when she had to remove an ulcer from a young boy and Brother Thomas suddenly produced a little wooden deer with which he calmed the crying patient.

  In the first few days he presented himself as a famulus, waiting for Anna’s instructions and generally keeping his mouth shut. He dutifully carried the satchel when they went on house visits, handed her whatever asked-for medicine or instrument, and if her work entailed blood – or worse – he didn’t bat an eyelid and provided every assistance. Brother Thomas often marvelled at her unconventional methods, but only queried her once they were alone.

  In the evenings they debated passionately in the kitchen. For hours on end they discussed the teachings of the Church, blood-letting, the effects of the bodily humours, the four temperaments or the influence of the planetary constellations on physical well-being. In almost all respects Brother Thomas’s opinion differed from Anna’s, but thanks to her logical presentations and method of argument, she succeeded in backing him into a corner in their debates time and again with what she had learned from Aaron. This of course annoyed him, but he was in fact annoyed with himself, because every time Anna trumped him it was because of the efficacy of her methods. And this was something that could not be ignored.
r />   ‘Arrogance is the greatest enemy of improvement and progress,’ he admitted, referring to the inflexible defenders of Church teaching, of whom he himself was one after all.

  In one respect, however, Brother Thomas was a worthy successor to Esther, and that was in pricing and collecting adequate recompense for Anna’s services. Anna was not much good in this respect and often accepted deferred payment. Brother Thomas, on the other hand, could always gauge correctly. He had a kind of inner scale of measurement for all treatments and medicines and he was not afraid to make a loud scene with any dawdling debtor who he knew was not a pauper and very soon there was nobody left who owed them anything. Brother Thomas even tackled the patients who still owed debts to Aaron, and he was not slow to keep up threats both earthly and heavenly until they paid up to get rid of him.

  Anna was aware that with her growing success and prestige, especially among the poor, she was becoming a thorn in the side of those with power and influence. Added to this was the persistent rumour that she was able to work miracles. Ever since the incident at the well when she had apparently brought the little girl back to life by the laying of hands, people regarded her with a mixture of fear and reverence. There was nothing Anna could do to counter this perception no matter how she tried to explain her methods to people. They did not want to know. There seemed to be no cure for faith in miracles. She also knew only too well that her growing reputation might prove dangerous for Brother Thomas and Berbelin.

  Every Sunday Anna, Brother Thomas and Berbelin attended Mass at St Sebastian’s church in Oppenheim. Almost deferentially people made room for them as they entered the nave and modestly stood to pray. People felt a bit uneasy about this trinity of medica, monk and dumb maid, and Anna could sense their stolen glances and how her every move was being noted with suspicion. Whenever she turned around, though, people quickly looked away.