Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church (39 page)

‘That is mad talk, Melchior,' the Magistrate remarked.

Oh no, not in the least,' Freisinger exclaimed excitedly. ‘Yes, now I
understand. Of course, that was precisely it. Yet that would mean Prior Eckell knew …'

‘
Of course
he knew,' Melchior said gravely. ‘He was conveying an allegory to Wunbaldus using the chess pieces when we entered the room. Apparently, he had difficulty voicing his thoughts aloud and conversed with Wigbold through his sixth art.'

‘Sixth? But what was his seventh?' Dorn asked.

‘His seventh? But surely we know this last one best of all?' Melchior said. ‘Is it not the very reason that we are gathered here now? Which art must the Magister have possessed most excellently if not the
art of killing
? This might have been a joke for the Victual Brothers, yet it was the sad fate for hundreds of unfortunate souls along the shores of the Baltic Sea. Yes, Wunbaldus was without question the man who killed Clingenstain – he and none other. He had indeed come to Tallinn to escape and to repent his sins, to thank God for his incredible escape, but, alas, once a killer always a killer … Clingenstain had killed dozens of Wigbold's friends and brothers, had skinned and burned them alive, had chopped off their heads and driven them on to stakes on town walls. He did this when the Order's forces conquered Gotland and drove the Victual Brothers from its shores. And now, suddenly, nearly ten years later, Wigbold had the chance to get his revenge. The Butcher of Gotland was right before his eyes and completely drunk. And the last straw for Wigbold? The Gotland coin Clingenstain gave him. So, he stuffed it back into the mouth of his mortal enemy. Wigbold knew Toompea intimately. He held back for several days, waiting for the right moment, and this occurred when Jochen, Clingenstain's servant, was away and the man himself was too drunk to stand and incapable of fighting back.

The Councilman nodded, finally, as if he now saw the light. This certainly meant nothing good for the town, but the monastery was none the less a sanctuary, and, what's more, that dreadful man was now dead.

Spanheim also appeared to be content with this. He sat nodding at length then proclaimed, ‘In that case, if it is also the ruling of the Council Court, then I demand that the corpse of that Wigbold be handed over to the Order. Yes, just so. And may the Council Court itself reach a verdict on the details of why that Wigbold, or Wunbaldus, killed Gallenreutter …'

‘Oh, but he didn't,' Melchior said quietly. ‘No,
that
wasn't Wunbaldus.'

The room exploded, and Melchior had to wait for the noise to die down a little before speaking again.

‘So now you all know who killed Commander Henning von Clingenstain and why. That story is over. Now, however, I must tell a completely different tale. I began to think that perhaps Wunbaldus was Clingenstain's murderer after learning that it was the Knight himself who had donated the ørtug to the monk. Later, after Gallenreutter's body was found, I just couldn't understand why a Tallinn artig had been crammed into
his
mouth. If it was Wunbaldus, then why? There was no rational explanation. Wunbaldus – Wigbold – had no reason to exact revenge on Gallenreutter. And the there was the fact that the Master Mason had been stabbed to death with a dagger and only
then
beheaded. Once I was convinced that Wunbaldus was actually Wigbold – and the brand was final confirmation of this – then the situation became even more confusing. Wigbold killed to revenge his brothers and the loss of Gotland. Did Gallenreutter know something and threaten to unmask him, as Sire Dorn reckoned? After all, what Gallenreutter said at the Brotherhood of Blackheads could only have been a challenge to the murderer. Yet why should the man then confess and drink poison? I want to remind you of Sire Rode's words when Prior Eckell freed him from his duty to maintain the secrecy of the confessional. Sire Rode, would you be so kind as to list again the sins that the man confessed?'

‘He said that greed drove him to commit criminal acts and that he had killed two people. He said he had chopped off their heads. He said that one had been a Knight of the Teutonic Order and the other a master mason …'

‘Two people,' Melchior exclaimed. ‘
Two
people. Only two. Once I knew for sure that Wunbaldus was Wigbold I knew that the confessor could have been Wigbold, because that man has killed not two but twenty or maybe two hundred …'

‘But who … who was he then?' Rode asked very softly.

‘Who? The man who killed Master Mason Gallenreutter; the man who killed the monk he believed to be Wunbaldus; the man who killed Prior Eckell. Four murders have been committed over these last few days, and only one of them was carried out by Wunbaldus. The man who killed the other three sits here amongst us.'

‘Melchior, are you going to accuse someone?' demanded the bewildered Magistrate.

‘Yes,' Melchior replied, ‘but not yet. First, I will remind you of how Prior Eckell freed Pastor Rode from keeping the secrecy of the confessional. Eckell felt very ill, and he knew that he was not long for this world. During the last few moments of his life he freed Pastor Rode from his obligation of secrecy, something that requires the approval of clergymen of high authority and is extremely rare. Nevertheless, he did so.'

‘Yes, he did so, and he did so because a man who takes his own life also loses his rights to the holy sacraments,' said Rode.

Melchior shook his head. ‘Oh no, that wasn't the reason. He did it because he knew that the man who took confession could not have been Wunbaldus. He did so because he knew that it was a false confession. Someone pretended to be Wunbaldus, so it wasn't a true confession but rather a step in the murderer's cunning plan. This was very astute of the Prior, because the murderer made the mistake of only admitting to only two murders.
He did not know Wunbaldus's true identity
. Prior Eckell, on the other hand, knew exactly who Wunbaldus really was, but he also knew that Wunbaldus would never have confessed to killing Clingenstain, much less at the Church of the Holy Ghost. Also he would never believe that Wunbaldus would take his own life. Yes, Prior Eckell had worked it all out and as he took his final breath he saw … Well, I will address this shortly, but now I want to turn to why someone should have impersonated Wunbaldus, and there can only be one answer. So that Wunbaldus would then be blamed for the murder of Master Mason Gallenreutter. Someone wanted him out of the way, and chance or fate had given him the opportunity to shift the blame on to Wunbaldus. He would dispatch Gallenreutter in the same manner as the Toompea Murderer had killed Clingenstain, and when Clingenstain's killer was apprehended then all would believe he had two men's lives on his soul. Wunbaldus himself was the only obstacle, as he would very likely have worked out who was responsible for the second murder, so he also had to go. Even if the monk lacked any firm evidence, the murderer could not allow any suspicion to fall on him. Sooner or later someone would have worked it out. And so, who killed Gallenreutter, the man building a chapel for St Olaf's Church? Why did he have to die? Was it some mortal enemy, someone he'd argued with, someone of whom he was jealous? All these are possible, but whoever it was must have known that Wunbaldus was Clingenstain's killer – and not only that but
how
the
Knight was killed. My suspicions fell on one individual, although I couldn't work out a motive.'

‘Who? Who do you accuse?' Freisinger pressed.

‘Yes, tell us, Melchior. Who?' croaked Casendorpe.

‘Please, I ask for quiet,' said Bockhorst. ‘In the name of the Council, Melchior, do tell us who this man is.'

‘Someone who knew how Clingenstain died … but how could he have known that Wunbaldus was the murderer? The solution is very simple. The Dominicans' church is currently being reconstructed, and every sound from the northern nave can be heard clearly in the dormitory and in Wunbaldus's chamber. Is that not correct, Brother Hinricus?' So pointed was Melchior's tone that everyone turned to stare at Hinricus, who had been sitting quietly. The young monk was taken aback. He raised his head, his hands pressed together in his lap in prayer and shock in his eyes.

‘What? Yes, I do believe it is. Yes, it certainly is. The north side of the old church has been knocked down, and only the eastern wall of the new passageway has been built thus far, so everything from the northern nave of the church sounds clearly into the lay brothers' dormitory. There aren't any walls separating the two. But I don't understand. How is this significant?'

‘Because if everything from the church's northern nave and the Blackheads' side altar is clearly audible in the dormitory then sounds can pass just as easily in the opposite direction. In other words, there is one place in the church where everything that goes on in the lay brothers' dormitory can be heard.'

‘That seems right,' Hinricus said, his voice wavering. ‘Yet I still fail to understand, in what way –'

‘Nor did I at first,' Melchior spoke sharply, eying Hinricus intently. ‘But Gallenreutter's murderer had to find out about Wunbaldus
somehow
, and he could have overheard Eckell and Wunbaldus, perhaps as they played chess. This explains some of Eckell's statements and his behaviour – it also explains why he was killed.'

Hinricus wiped the sweat from his forehead and said, ‘Now that you mention it, then yes … I must agree … Prior Eckell was rather odd and melancholy during those final days … as if he suspected someone and … But still, Melchior, how? Gallenreutter … no, I don't understand.'

‘You see, all of the murders were tied to the monastery. The murderer
had to have been connected to the monastery; he had to know that Eckell carried arsenic around his neck; he had to have heard Wunbaldus speak to Eckell about his own act of murder; he had to steal the Lay Brother's white tunic. He had to have been in Wunbaldus's chamber that evening and drunk a tankard of beer with him, a tankard into which he slipped the fatal arsenic.'

‘You mean that all this took place in front of us and that we didn't notice a thing?' Hinricus questioned with fear in his voice.

‘Someone must have had the opportunity of stealing the arsenic from Prior Eckell's amulet and replacing it with flour,' Melchior continued, his gaze still locked on Hinricus. ‘Magistrate Dorn already knows that on the evening Prior Eckell died his amulet contained flour and not arsenic. The murderer swapped the arsenic for flour so the Prior didn't become suspicious. And, by the way, you might recall that Master Tweffell's horse died that same day.'

‘What? Ah, my horse, yes. Dropped dead as if hexed. A strapping, strong animal it was, too. How is that relevant?' Tweffell asked.

‘Because your horse was probably the murderer's first victim. All the symptoms of its death point to arsenic poisoning. The murderer knew where the Prior put the amulet when he removed it to say mass. He needed to be sure that it really was arsenic and to check that its poisonous effect hadn't had worn off with time, so tried it out on Tweffell's horse because, they say, a compacted ball of arsenic the size of a pea will kill a horse or a man. Isn't that so, Kilian?'

‘Yes, at least that's what they say in Italy. Arsenic has been known there since Roman times,' Kilian replied cautiously.

‘Who is the man?' Tweffell thundered. ‘Give him up, and Ludke will make mincemeat of him. But before that, he will pay me compensation for that dray.'

‘So we know that the man took Eckell's arsenic, administered it to Wunbaldus in a tankard of beer, stole the Lay Brother's habit and took confession at the Church of the Holy Ghost
before
killing Gallenreutter, so that he would not get covered in blood, and later poisoned the Prior. But before revealing his identity I want to explain the puzzle of the poisonings and the secrets of arsenic. It is very important that we understand this correctly – and I have to believe that when an evil and malicious man came amongst us then St Cosmas hovered above the town and also sent an apothecary with a great knowledge of poisons.'

Magistrate Dorn remarked upon this that the Council Court would certainly appreciate it if St Cosmas's envoy were to explain the mystery of poisonous flour.

‘Prior Eckell wore arsenic around his neck for many years and gradually inhaled its vapours,' Melchior continued. ‘This in itself is not immediately deadly, but signs of arsenic poisoning do develop over a long period of time – the victim's hair begins to fall out, white lines appear on his fingernails, his thoughts become somewhat addled and his joints ache constantly. We all witnessed Prior Eckell experiencing these symptoms. Now, while inhaling these vapours may ultimately result in arsenic poisoning and kill the victim, the death would be long and tortuous. But the Prior died suddenly, and he himself was convinced that he had been poisoned. A light scent of garlic wafted from his mouth, which is also a sign of arsenic poisoning … not long-term poisoning, however, but rather the ingestion of a single fatal dose. The rapid onset of pain that causes a man's organs to convulse with uncontrollable vomiting, this is all indicative of arsenic but, once again, not of long-term poisoning. So, what should an apothecary then conclude? The Prior had inhaled arsenic for several years,
and
he had consumed arsenic through food or drink. Yet, as we already know, this did not happen that evening at the Brotherhood of Blackheads because arsenic was not present in our food or drink and neither was it in Prior Eckell's, because Sire Freisinger ate and drank from the Prior's dishes and – as we can see – he is alive to this very day.'

‘By the Lord's grace,' Freisinger murmured.

‘And we praise Him for this as well,' Melchior concurred. ‘But how did the Prior die? Arsenic? Yes, certainly. But his food and drink were not poisoned, and if he had swallowed arsenic earlier – in the monastery, let us say – then he would have died sooner because arsenic works fast. I was troubled by this for a time and could not make up my mind whether or not the Prior had, in fact, been poisoned. But the answer is simple. I found it in Magister de Ardoyn's book, and it explains everything. The murderer did poison the Prior while he was still at the monastery. Each separate strand of this case leads us back to the Dominicans.'