Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church

by Indrek Hargla

  ‘A real manly conversation, Ludke,’ Melchior exclaimed following the boy’s oration. ‘I haven’t heard you utter such a long sentence for many years. Did you get the money?’

  ‘I always get the money.’

  ‘And never will that man fall into debt again,’ Melchior mused and peered closer at Ludke. The servant shrugged and made to leave once more.

  Melchior waited until he had reached the door and then called out, ‘Listen, hold on. I cannot recall at the moment … How many years have you been at Sire Tweffell’s?’

  ‘Four years,’ came the reply.

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Melchior nodded. ‘And before that you were – if my memory does not fail me, as you always tend to say, St Cosmas – a sailor?’

  The Apothecary did not expect the boy to reply, but he did. ‘Only on one voyage. The ship ran aground, and the people along the shores of Arensburg made off with all the cargo. I later ended up in Tallinn and was a soldier for the Council here.’

  Melchior now peered at the boy with genuine interest.

  ‘Well, Ludke, you should request an evening free from your service sometime and come tell these tales to the Apothecary. Townspeople make their way through here, and men do enjoy dashing tales of battle and the sea. Eh, what do you think, Ludke?’

  The servant shrugged. ‘I’m no storyteller. Not that there is anything to say in any case. We were sent to wage war against Novgorod, and so we went.’

  ‘And what happened there? You were handed swords and axes and …’

  ‘A halberd. I was given a halberd.’

  ‘Oh, how exciting. And what did you do with that?’

  ‘I chopped the Russians in half. But I really must leave now. Sire Tweffell has already been waiting too long, and I need to visit the horse trader beyond the city walls to buy a new horse –’

  ‘A horse? What happened to that sturdy draft horse that Tweffell purchased last spring?’ Melchior asked in surprise.

  ‘It died this morning. Yesterday it was still healthy and had no ailments at all, but today it convulsed and then died. Right there in the stables near Köismäe where we kept it.’

  ‘This is a strange matter,’ Melchior muttered.

  ‘Sire Tweffell was as raging mad as the devil himself. Promised to have anyone who had fed his horse any kind of shit hanged. But I myself gave the horse oats and water yesterday – and drank some myself, too. It’s as if someone had put the evil eye upon it during the night and cursed it. I’m going now.’

  Melchior closed the pharmacy earlier than usual. He sat and looked into the distance absentmindedly for a time but then decided to stir up his courage and see what the Master Goldsmith might make of an inquisitive apothecary in the evening.

  Melchior took along a small bottle of lavender oil, just in case.

  16

  KUNINGA STREET

  17 MAY, AFTER SUNSET

  BURCKHART CASENDORPE HAD already closed his workshop for the evening and left his seat at the window. He stalked the spacious room, growling at the journeymen because he had found a pinch of silver dust on the floor. Just as he had been assailed with harsh words for such a thing during his own years as a journeyman, in his turn he aimed such curses at his own subordinates. They were supposed to wear leather aprons and hold their legs spread wide when working, so that every minuscule scrap of metal would be caught by the apron if dropped. But if, however, anything was found on the floor it meant that the journeymen were lazy, negligent scoundrels and that, instead of becoming goldsmiths, they would end up as cobblers or something even worse. It was possible that the boys were tongue-lashed even more than usual that day, as it had not exactly been a good one for Casendorpe.

  Melchior’s face appeared at the window just as Casendorpe was concluding one such tirade. The Apothecary winked slyly and announced he had important news for the Goldsmith. Melchior was allowed in, and Casendorpe released the journeymen with a few final profanities. His intuition told him that the Apothecary’s messages would probably not be welcome news. Melchior nonchalantly inspected the Goldsmith’s shelf above the sales table, which was meant to catch the eye of every regular customer and inform him that this goldsmith was a master amongst masters and chosen to possess the secrets of faraway lands. The Apothecary grunted a few compliments about the exhibits, saying they were indeed extraordinary and that if he had something similar in place of his shrivelled-up stuffed crocodile, then no doubt business would be better. Both Apothecary and Goldsmith were required to demonstrate their exceptional status to the people of the town, and there was no better way to do so than to hang something exotic and mysterious from the ceiling.

  ‘My father’, Melchior began, ‘taught me people believed these teeth here are supposed to tell you when the body has been poisoned. Did you know that, Master Goldsmith? They are called “serpent’s tongue”, you see, and they change colour when placed upon poisoned skin. And if you drink an elixir made from coconut shell then it should remove poison. Do you know what else my father taught me? That one should not always believe such things. He told me never to sell a medicine that people tell you about but which has never been tried out. Take bezoar or witch’s root, for example. There are all sorts of fairy-tales that speak of these, but we know for a fact that they help the afflicted because they have been tried on innumerable occasions.’

  ‘No doubt it is so,’ Casendorpe barked impatiently. ‘But I understood that you had something important to tell me.’

  ‘Yes, indeed so,’ Melchior answered. ‘I didn’t come just to chat, of course …’ He abruptly fell silent, squinted and went down on one knee. ‘Ah, look here. It appears as if there is some gold dust or something of that sort between the flagstones …’

  ‘Halfwits,’ Casendorpe seethed. The Goldsmith set his spectacles firmly on his nose and leaned over to peer at the floor. ‘There is. Damnation. The plague take those lazy dogs.’

  Casendorpe searched for a brush and a tiny pan and set to gathering up the dust while Melchior looked inquisitively around the Master’s workshop, as it was not somewhere he visited very often. There was a large workbench that ran from the window into the room, positioned so that the light would shine directly on to it. Only daylight is suitable for a goldsmith’s work, so in order to catch the light when the sun begins to go down Casendorpe’s workshop, like that of all goldsmiths, had a rounded mirror – sometimes called a witch’s mirror, the type used by Flemish masters – resting on a table in the back of the room that was used to reflect light back into the room and on to the bench. Melchior had no idea if it helped all that much. A large forge with a hearth, in which that day’s fire had already begun to die down, was built into the western wall of the room. The walls were covered with shelves and pegs that supported an large number of goldsmith’s tools of every size and shape: tongs, hammers, chisels, files, saws, knives, pokers, tweezers, burins, drills as well as rabbit paws of various sizes used for sweeping up gold dust. In the east corner of the room was a small altar dedicated to St Eligius, above which was another shelf holding three absolutely identical metal jugs – in order to attest to his mastery a goldsmith must show that he is capable of faultlessly crafting items identical to one another.

  Casendorpe finished sweeping up the gold. Melchior had been talking about the incredible medicinal properties of rubies and sapphires but then said, ‘And seeing as our conversation has turned towards precious items, well, what I came to tell you, Master Goldsmith, was that, you see, that very same collar you sold to the Knight on Toompea two days ago has vanished. The Order sent word of this to the Town Council today, and since I am now at the Council’s services, or something of the sort, that is what I came to say. The Commander’s order was to apprehend the murderer and the collar along with him because they believe that the murderer took the collar.’

  Casendorpe removed his glasses, scratched his cheek and then positioned them back on his nose.

  ‘So his head was cut off for that collar?’ he asked numbly. ‘For my colla
r?’

  ‘No head – and no collar to be found,’ said Melchior regretfully and shrugged. ‘So how did the transaction go on Toompea?’

  Casendorpe snorted and shook his head. ‘Just as they often do with the Order.’ Casendorpe told Melchior how he had received the order from Gotland a couple months back. Apparently the local goldsmiths produced shoddy work, and Clingenstain wanted to take a piece by a Tallinn master along as a present for the Grand Master. Casendorpe wrote back, and they came to an agreement upon a price of sixty Riga marks. He should, of course, have demanded that a notary or the town scribe draw up the contract and given it a wax seal and an avowal because – as it turned out – the Commander of the Order on Gotland later paid no heed to the negotiated amount.

  ‘You mean Tallinn’s notary?’ Melchior clarified.

  ‘The very same,’ Casendorpe rumbled and made a face. ‘Oh, dung and the devil, I should have called upon him today. I wish to annul my will. That blasted Freisinger …’

  ‘Has something happened?’ Melchior asked quickly. ‘And all are talking about the great betrothal feast? Ah, and how did it slip my mind? I brought along a gift for Maiden Hedwig.’ The Apothecary set the small bottle of lavender oil on the table.

  ‘My great thanks to you for the present, Sire Apothecary. However, the betrothal festivities will be cancelled,’ the Goldsmith said unsteadily – and at the same moment a sob sounded from the doorway and Hedwig stepped out into the room. Melchior figured she must have been listening in on the conversation. Hedwig was a very pretty girl, even when she was miserable and her eyes red from crying. Melchior bowed to her in greeting, and she nodded and emitted another sob.

  ‘My dear maiden, please forgive me, but earlier I did see what appeared to be an argument between you and Sire Freisinger,’ Melchior said. ‘But that the betrothal festivities –’

  ‘Cancelled,’ Casendorpe interrupted him firmly.

  ‘Oh, Father, but he promised,’ Hedwig blubbered.

  ‘Promised, promised,’ imitated the Goldsmith crossly. ‘A merchant’s promise is worth about as much as a thief’s. But, damn it, did I not scour the entire town for a decent and wealthy suitor for my daughter? I do care enough about my child not just to give her away to some old cripple. And did that Blackhead himself not come courting the girl like some fox after a hen, always pushing her –’

  ‘Father,’ shouted Hedwig.

  ‘Not to worry, the whole town will know soon enough, and I will not allow myself to be made to look an idiot.’

  ‘Alas, nothing in a small town remains a secret for long,’ Melchior remarked. ‘You are quite right about that. Not that I can understand why any man wouldn’t wish to say his vows before the altar to such a fine and chaste maiden and one with such a dowry.’

  ‘But he did wish it,’ Hedwig said, choking through her tears. ‘He said, too, that he was the happiest man in all Livonia, and he spoke such fine words, and Father had already arranged the dowry, and then today that Freisinger said he wants to wait a little longer before marriage and that … and that I had not quite understood –’

  ‘Silence, girl,’ the Goldsmith commanded. ‘We will not discuss our affairs in front of others.’

  ‘Everyone already knows that I have been spurned anyway.’

  ‘Well, I would never have believed that someone could ever spurn such a fine maiden,’ Melchior spoke soothingly. ‘No doubt it is simply that – and just as I felt before going before the altar – that “farewell to thee, ye cheerful bachelor’s life and joys of youth”. Perhaps Sire Freisinger just needs to think about it for a while and hold some rousing feasts at the Brotherhood of Blackheads.’

  The maiden looked up at him, smiled in a crestfallen way and wiped her eyes. ‘There is no need for such kind words. You do not know everything that he vowed to me, the oaths he swore and the verses he read. But I have enough pride in the fact that I am the daughter of the Alderman of the Goldsmiths’ Guild and daughter of the Alderman of the St Canute’s Guild, and I will not allow myself to be treated in this way. It was an honest dowry that my father prepared, and with it we will find a suitor from the town of Lübeck for me – and then Freisinger will bitterly regret his behaviour.’

  ‘Enough of such talk,’ Casendorpe snapped, then thought for a moment before adding, ‘However, the girl is quite right, in the name of St Victor. I will write to Lübeck, and so many suitors will arrive that their ships will not fit into Tallinn’s docks, and then Freisinger may salt himself in a herring barrel. Oh, I’m sure I know what happened. He used his honey-sweet words to try to coax the girl into his sinful bed, but when –’

  ‘Father,’ Hedwig squealed, horrified. ‘Father, before a townsman?’

  ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of. May all know henceforth that some foreign Blackhead will not coax Burckhart Casendorpe’s only daughter into his bed, and if he thinks to make a joke of courtship then he may do it with the horse trader’s daughters.’

  ‘And I,’ said Hedwig, ‘I will not even look in his direction. I would now rather become the wife of some foreign journeyman minstrel than of Freisinger.’

  ‘Enough now, girl. And no minstrels either … Fine, then, enough. Melchior, you asked something about that collar? And what are you doing lingering here, daughter? Go and cry your eyes out with your mother.’

  Hedwig turned to leave, paused for a moment, turned back, came and took the small bottle of lavender oil from the table and then exited. Casendorpe continued to rant about merchants with sweet tongues and false promises, saying that none in the goldsmith’s profession could ever be accused of behaving in such a manner, at which Melchior simply nodded.

  ‘Precisely,’ he said, ending Casendorpe’s tirade. ‘However, that same golden collar that you sold to Clingenstain – for the price of a man’s soul, as the Commander said – what I wished to ask was, how did that exchange then take place?’

  ‘Price of a man’s soul. Ha!’ Casendorpe huffed angrily. ‘He was supposed to pay such a price. I tell you, he acquired that collar for next to nothing, and if it hadn’t been meant as a gift for the Grand Master in Marienburg, well, then the proper price would have been twice as much again. I only received a lousy thirty Riga marks in silver. Even the Bishop of Tallinn would have paid the right price, at close to sixty.’

  ‘And did you ask such a price at the very beginning?’

  ‘Well, of course we began by discussing a price of sixty marks, as had been agreed, but he wanted to cast me out when we spoke of this two days ago and said he would purchase a collar from Riga instead. My sense of honour could tolerate no such a thing – Tallinn masterpieces are famed across the sea, and we do work that is fair, proper and certainly worth the price.’

  ‘And at what was the price finally left?’

  ‘Thirty measly marks,’ Casendorpe bellowed. ‘So it remained, and I only agreed to it to maintain the good name of Tallinn’s masters within the Order. Curses, he didn’t even have the full amount on his person, so he had to send his squire to the ship’s coffers.’

  ‘But in the end you received your thirty marks?’

  ‘Nearly. As I weighed the coins up Clingenstain moaned that I was like some usurer Jew. First the Knight emptied his money sacks, which held probably around ten marks in Gotland ørtugs, and then his squire brought more from the ship. After weighing it all it came to about thirty Riga marks – well, actually, more like twenty-nine marks altogether.’

  ‘And all of that money was in old ørtugs?’

  ‘There was all manner of coins. I surveyed the lot and stacked them all separately for weighing according to the amount of silver they held – because I know the tricks those Order Knights pull. I am a master goldsmith, you see, and a goldsmith is not some ropemaker or stonecutter that the Order can order about as it pleases. I perform my art in the way it is done in the town of Lübeck and just as it once was by the famed goldsmiths along the Meuse. I will not be pushed around by the Order – nor by any infernal Blackheads,’ Casen
dorpe declared.

  After they had wished one another good health the Goldsmith thought for a moment then said that he would agree to purchase the collar back for thirty marks were Melchior to find it – although the Commander need not know that.

  17

  RATASKAEVU STREET

  17 MAY, LATE EVENING

  IT WAS ALREADY DUSK by the time Melchior reached home. The church bells had struck nine times, and few people still wandered the streets – the only townsperson who passed him was a court crier at the corner of Mäealuse Street, still shouting out the same, ‘Citizens allegiant to the town of Tallinn who have become aware of the location in which this very murderer doth conceal himself …’ The millstones of Town Council judgement grind on regardless, Melchior thought as he approached the steps to his door. The sound of a lute and the joyful giggles of young girls brushed his ear. He strained his eyes in the fading light and could make out three figures drawing closer from Lai Street, one of whom he recognized as Kilian. Melchior swiftly opened his door, stepped into the house and cracked open the window to listen in on the trio. Before he could do so, however, he briefly glimpsed the face of Mistress Gerdrud lit by candlelight in the window of her house. The candle was snuffed out as the sound of music grew nearer, but the window was left slightly ajar.

  ‘You know, singing journeyman, you would be one of the richest men in the town of Tallinn if honours were bestowed for singing sad songs.’ Melchior paired the cheerful voice with that of Katrine, the daughter of a town merchant and one of the girls from the churchyard the previous day.

  ‘Oh yes, Kilian, have you ever thought of becoming a monk? You know, they are similarly quiet and mournful fellows, and I sometimes wonder whether they still have their vitals at all …’ The second voice apparently belonged to Birgitta, a councilman’s daughter and the other girl from the day before. The girls were seriously laying into Kilian and pestering him spiritedly. The trio came to a halt next to the well. Kilian sat on its edge looking forlorn and jiggling the loose stone in the well wall with his toe.