While Nick spoke to Winston, Verity took the opportunity to call her dad and fill him in on the strange situation they found themselves in.
‘Research my dear, that’s what it’s all about,’ were the strangely comforting words he gave her after she recounted the goings-on of the last twenty-four hours. He then got her to copy down an obscure paragraph he had read and translated in Itinerarum to show ‘Nicholas’.
‘Oh Nicholas,’ said Verity, mimicking her father and eliciting a smile from Nick, ‘Julius wants you to see this paragraph he found.’
Herewith is the path to the words of the Lord.
At a time when thy soul is prepared,
They can be revealed for all to behold.
He who was the keeper, no longer holds the key,
The map is the guide to the place across the sea.
In a land beyond the faith where no cross has shined,
The words are hidden in this Godforsaken land.
Where few trees can grow and no water runs,
God has cursed the animal with two heads to bound.
One who knows, he will never reveal,
His soul was damned for eternity.
Once Nick had read it, he said, ‘What do you think it means? Another lot of gibberish, or is there something in it?’
‘Well, the whole book is about the Holy Land and the countries the disciples that visited. It is filled with references to God and Jesus and finding the Lord. To me, it sounds like a parable for finding one’s way to God. It’s all there. Desert, lack of water and nourishment for the souls which are damned, but, if they look hard enough, by using the maps in the book and searching for the word, then they can find the light, or something like that.’
‘You’re probably right. Anyway, I’m exhausted. I have to sleep for a bit and think about it later.’
‘Well, before you drop off, tell me what Winston said?’ said Verity, impatiently.
‘He was a bit cagey,’ yawned Nick, ‘but I believe him when he said he got it as part of a job lot from a deceased estate and that it had been in the same family for over four hundred years. He unbound it himself along with the other maps and none of the other maps have an address of Antwerp or de Jode on them.’
Nick then adjusted his travel pillow, gave an apologetic smile to Verity, turned his head and was asleep in seconds.
For most of the eighty-minute journey from the airport to the Georg-August-Universität, Gottingen, Nick and Verity caught up on some sleep. Nick woke first and was immediately engaged in conversation with his enthusiastic Turkish taxi driver practising his English, not that he took in much about the castles and ruins they passed or the parlous state of the economy. It wasn’t until they were crossing over the Leine River and approaching the University that Verity also awoke and stared out the window. ‘I thought George-August was founded in the eighteenth century,’ she said surprised, noting the modern buildings. However, the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies did not disappoint with its grand statue of William IV, the benefactor of this neo-classical Great Hall, looking on with pride at his gift to the University, his right arm outstretched, in the same pose as the famous statue of Marcus Aurelius in Rome, bequeathing peace to the nation. As they got out of the taxi, Nick looked up to the top of the building and saw a sculptured relief adorning the gabled pediment.
‘The one in the centre with wings represents scholarship,’ said a voice from behind them. ‘The four other figures represent the faculties of the University when the Aula was built. On the far left, Medicine with the dish, snake and torch of life; alongside is Theology with the cross, chalice and ten commandments; to the far right is Philosophy with lyre in hand resting against a globe, and on her left is Jurisprudence with scales, the book of statutes and sword of judgement.’
‘Professor Schroeder, it is an honour to meet you again. How considerate of you to meet us outside your rooms,’ said Verity with a disarming smile to the tall, ruggedly handsome man in his mid-to late sixties. ‘Your paper to the congress on “The Economic Benefits of the Reformation on Germany and the Low Countries” was a revelation.’
‘Professor Merton! How charming of you to say that. My paper at the Zurich congress last year was well received, although Zuckerberg and Gardner have both praised my “revisionist” style, as they call it.’
Verity chortled, understanding that in the lofty world of academia, the exact way that praise was expressed said a lot more than the words themselves.
‘And,’ continued Schroeder, ‘your paper on “Christianity and Disease in The East Islanders” was fascinating.’
‘Yes, thank you, professor. However, I think my paper had a tenth of the audience.’
‘Well, my dear, that’s true. It’s taken me over thirty-five years to get here. So give it time.’
Verity introduced Nick to the professor.
‘Am I wrong,’ said Nick, ‘that your English has a slight Irish-American accent, Professor?’
‘Well noticed. You have an ear for accents! Yes, I spent ten years teaching in the Theological Institute at Queens University of Belfast, followed by five years at The Divinity School, Harvard where I met my wife, an American. I am very fond of the States. They don’t mind criticism, not like we Europeans! Now, before you both get comfortable, I have decided to postpone the compulsory University tour and take you on a trip from Groningen to Magdeburg via Lemgo. It’s about a four-hour round trip, marvellous countryside and will give us plenty of time to discuss Heinrich Bunting and his place in German religious and social history. Julius filled me in with the situation you find yourselves in. Very strange, very strange indeed.’
Fifteen minutes later, Nick was comfortably seated on the leather upholstery of the Mercedes E300’s spacious back seat, powering along the Autobahn at 140 kilometres per hour, with Verity in the front passenger seat.
‘I thought it would be useful for you to get a feeling for the world that Heinrich Bunting inhabited in the mid-sixteenth century,’ said Schroeder. ‘Many of our modern autobahns still follow the roads the Romans built almost two thousand years ago. We Germans admire efficiency and prefer to take the straight route, different to our continental cousins, where scenic and romantic diversions are the norm.’
Nick laughed at Professor Schroeder’s self-deprecating analysis, warming to the erudite scholar.
‘Yes, you are right to laugh, Nick. We are a particular people, with little in common with our neighbours. We have more similarities to the Japanese in regard to social order, work ethic, law and order, and far less in common with our closest partner, the French, with whom we are joined forever at the hip, like a Siamese twin we don’t particularly like.’
‘Peace in Europe is guaranteed by your closeness.’
‘Is it? I doubt it. We have against all our instincts, joined our-selves perpetually to those we think are less than us, to protect us and them from ourselves. An incredible irony, don’t you think?’
Schroeder continued, not waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question. ‘Let me explain a few things. I have immersed myself for over forty years with the economic history of this once great country, and I say once great because we have lost our way once again by attaching ourselves to countries and peoples we have nothing in common with. This is obvious for anyone who cares to study history. What have we in common with Catholic France, Spain, Italy or Orthodox Greece? Absolutely nothing! Our greatness developed with the rise of Protestantism after Luther, in the early 1500s. Prior to that, we were held back by the regressive Roman Catholic Church, which did everything it could to prevent dissemination of knowledge and information. Every Pope treated Germany as a vassal state, simply to be used for raising money through prohibitive taxes, the sale of indulgences and using bribed princes to perpetuate their hold on power. Goethe himself said of the Roman Catholic Church: ‘a hotchpotch of fallacy and violence’. Once that yoke had been forcibly lifted, at an appalling price, Germany advanced more quickly than any other nation in histor
y.’
The sense of tension had risen dramatically in the car, mirroring the intensity of the professor’s speech.
‘The greatest philosophers, poets, musicians and industrialists rose from the ashes of Catholic Germany. The emancipation of the Jews was another progression for this country. Years of prejudice emanating from Rome held this unusual people back. However, slowly, after the advent of the Protestant revolution, they had the opportunity to advance previously denied to them, culminating in some of the greatest contributors to the nation such as Rothschild, Mendelssohn, Heine, Ehrlich and Einstein, to name a few.’
‘Sorry, Professor,’ interrupted Verity, ‘what about Hitler and the Nazis?’
‘Well, you may ask about the rise of Fascism in Germany in the twentieth century,’ responded Schroeder, clearly unperturbed by the question, ‘this was the undoubted reaction to the Versailles treaty after the First World War and the need for a strong leader. As I am sure you know, the Catholic Church, seeking an opportunity to regain influence in Germany, came to a concordat with the Nazis in 1933, who they thought opportunistically in their blind greed they could control.’
Nick noticed the speedometer had risen sharply to 180 kilometres per hour. The professor seemed oblivious to this as he continued.
‘Let me make it clear – without their support, the Nazi Party would have lost power. There would have been no war and no Holocaust. Through their meddling, Germany lost everything.’
Nick, taken aback by Schroeder’s diatribe, was completely at a loss for words.
‘What are those forests over there?’ said Verity, deliberately changing the subject and pointing to the dark mass of trees in the distance.
‘Ah, that is the Teutoburg, the ancient forests of North Rhine-Westphalia and Lower Saxony,’ said Schroeder, his tone and voice returning to its previous manner and good humour. ‘Even today, there are some who believe that witches and sorcerers inhabit them, practising the ancient religions. They have not changed since the time of Bunting – perhaps one or two scenic drives, but for the most part impenetrable.’
Nick and Verity exchanged glances as the speedometer reading returned to 140 kilometres per hour and Schroeder, now calmer, continued speaking.
I’m not sure how much you know about the life and times of Heinrich Bunting, so please stop me if I am saying something you already know. He studied at Kloster Riddaghausen, an exclusive seminary for young men who had shown academic talent. After completing six years he would have spoken Latin, Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic – the language of Jesus – and studied not only the Lutheran form of Christianity but also the classics and other religions. And remember, this was before industrialisation; a time when most people worked on the land and when schooling was basic, to say the least. It was a time of great social upheaval. The religious wars had decimated the economy with hundreds of thousands of people dying in the conflagration. The masses struggled to eke out a living but for young, preferred and educated men like Heinrich, life was different. They were an elite group and part of an uneasy alliance between the church and the aristocracy: one with their historical and military power, the other with their spiritual and emotional hold over the people. The new religion had remarkable success, and by the 1560s its churches pervaded the religious landscape.’
‘My father said that most of the information he has about Bunting came from you. There doesn’t seem to be much in the reference books about him,’ said Verity.
‘Well, I stumbled on Heinrich Bunting about twenty years ago through reading Itinerarium and, as you say, there was so little other information about the life of this man in the standard reference books that I decided to do some of my own research. This was not as difficult as you might imagine. Our infamous reputation for record keeping was already well established by the sixteenth century, so it wasn’t difficult to search parish records for the period. I quickly found an account of his six years at Kloster Riddagshausen, which not only told me that he graduated top of his year group, but also gave details of his first temporary placement at St Margaret’s Church in Hanover.’ Schroeder paused for a few seconds while he drank from a bottle of spring water.
‘However, after that the trail went cold, as Americans would say. The records at St Margaret’s had been destroyed by Allied bombing in the Second World War, so I was at a loss. It was perhaps a few months later, when I was researching the economic outcomes relating to the Reformation, that it became apparent that in the mid-sixteenth century most people never travelled more than a few hours journey from their home during their lives. So using this assumption, I applied it to Bunting. I narrowed my research to about ten towns of medium size and minor importance in Lower Saxony that would, in my opinion, fit a novice pastor. Lo and behold, I found him at my sixth record check at St Nicolai Church in Lemgo. However, it seems I had misjudged Lemgo. Further research showed me that at this period the town was a centre of Lutheran orthodoxy, with a number of learning centres and great libraries. In fact, once a year, all the great minds of Protestantism would meet in Lemgo to discuss matters of Church.’
Verity turned her head and gave Nick a is-this-a-jackpot-or-what? look.
‘Now, this is where it gets interesting,’ continued Schroeder. ‘He was appointed in 1571, resigned in 1574 and took up a lesser position in the Church of St Ulrich and Levin in Magdeburg.’
‘Mmm, that’s odd,’ said Nick. ‘Why on earth would a young priest resign from a plum position in the centre of things and take up a lesser position?’
‘Well,’ ventured Verity, ‘there had to be some form of indiscretion perhaps, or maybe he simply wasn’t up to the demands of the job.’
‘I also considered indiscretion a possibility,’ agreed Professor Schroeder, ‘but I could not accept that he was not well suited to the rigours of the position, due to his high intelligence and the fact that he was writing and being published.’
‘What was he publishing?’ asked Nick.
‘Well, I found only a few short essays, all on matters of society and religion, but each referred to other works he had published, which gave me the impression that for a young man he was profligate. One of the essays surprised me by its questioning of Lutheran traditions and the role played by priests in the community.’
‘And that was … unusual?’ queried Nick.
‘Well, at this period there was a form of inquisition within the Lutheran Church weeding out wayward or heretical writings, and here was this young priest publishing controversial works. So I took the logical step and checked the register for the Committee for Orthodox Instruction of 1574, and one of the thirteen who appeared before the committee to explain their deviation from Lutheran orthodoxy was Heinrich Bunting. The Chairman of the Committee was no other than Bunting’s superior in Lemgo, Archbishop Wilhelm.’
‘I get it,’ said Verity. ‘The young Heinrich may have offended his superiors with his writings and was forced to resign from Lemgo and take up a minor post in Magdeburg.’
‘Well, it’s a logical explanation,’ said Schroeder. ‘His next posting at Magdeburg is well recorded. He commenced in 1574 and resigned his post in 1576. Three years later his name reappears on the same Magdeburg Church register. I could not find any publications or reference to publications over that three-year period. In fact, the next publication was Itinerarium in 1581.’
‘I suppose,’ added Nick, ‘if I had been reprimanded by my superiors and demoted, I’m sure I would feel chastened. It makes complete sense he would not publish, although it is strange that he disappeared for three years.’
‘And that’s what I’m getting at,’ said Schroeder.’ I checked the records of the Archbishop of the district of Magdeburg for 1576, and in September of that year he records that Heinrich Bunting, a priest of the Parish, left on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land accompanied by the parish bookkeeper, Jakob de Jode.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Nick, ‘de Jode!’
‘My God!’ cried out Verity, shaking her head in disbelief, ‘it can�
��t just be a coincidence?’
The two of them started talking excitedly at the same time and at great speed.
‘Hold on, hold on,’ laughed Professor Schroeder, ‘You have to slow down; even with my ease in English I cannot follow what you are saying.’
‘Sorry,’ said Verity, ‘but you mentioned Bunting had left on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land with a bookkeeper called DE JODE.’
‘Yes, but why is that so exciting?’ asked the professor.
‘Well,’ said Nick tentatively, ‘it seems that there was a separate publishing of Bunting’s World Map by the de Jode publishing house in Antwerp.’
‘It seems?’ said Professor Schroeder sharply. ‘Sorry, I am a man who has spent his whole life dealing in facts. Are you saying that De Jode of Antwerp also published Bunting?’
Nick and Verity stared at each other for a split second, while a myriad of thoughts passed between them.
‘Sorry for sounding evasive,’ said Nick apologetically. ‘You shocked me when you said the name De Jode. Yes, we have found a connection between the de Jode Publishing House in Antwerp and Heinrich Bunting, and surely it can’t be mere coincidence that Bunting travelled with a man called de Jode in 1576.’
Verity could see that Nick was uncomfortable as he explained to Schroeder the discovery of the Bunting map with the C. de Jode imprint and Inspector Jaeger’s and Monsignor Montano’s interest in it. Clearly, she assumed, the professor’s sharp tone had offended him.
29
Aknock on the trap door startled the group out of their oxygen-depleted slumber. A full day and night had passed, although to discern night from day in the pitch black cellar was impossible. ‘Master Gerard, Master Gerard, it is me, Hans.’
A few minutes later they emerged from their narrow refuge and, although stiff and squinting from the brightness of the early morning sunlight, they were no worse for their confinement. The first impression was of complete chaos. However, as Gerard inspected his surroundings, he soon realised that the damage was more superficial than ruinous to his business.
The Bunting Quest Page 15