The Dark Monk (9 page)

It made Simon furious to stand by helpless in the face of this epidemic. His father, on the other hand, seemed to have resigned himself to it. The relationship between them was tense, to put it mildly. As the town doctor of Schongau, Bonifaz Fronwieser hoped his son would someday follow in his footsteps. But Simon didn’t want anything to do with his father’s old-fashioned methods—enemas, bloodletting, sniffing old men’s urine. The young medicus preferred to occupy himself with the books that the Schongau hangman was always lending to him. He had long ago worked his way through the box of leather folios that Jakob Kuisl had given him as a present almost a year ago, and he longed for more. Even now, as he was occupied with treating the three patients, he couldn’t help but think again about the theories of controversial scientists. Currently, he was rereading the work of an Englishman named William Harvey, which dealt with the circulation of blood in the human body. Was it possible that blood consisted of tiny animalcules…?

“Why are you standing around daydreaming, you good-for-nothing!” his father snapped, interrupting his reveries. “Here, take some blood from Johannes Steringer! I’m going to the alderman now. Bleeding is something you can do by yourself!”

He handed Simon the sharp little stiletto they used for slitting a patient’s veins. Then, after briefly wishing them a good recovery, he set out on his way. “And don’t let them put you off with a few eggs and a loaf of bread,” he scolded Simon as he walked past him.

Simon looked down at Johannes Steringer, who was sitting on the bench in front of him, coughing and shaking and spitting up reddish-yellow phlegm into a ratty handkerchief. He knew the blacksmith’s journeyman from a few previous house calls, a strong, solid fellow who was slumped over now, hardly able to move, and staring blankly into space. The idea of letting blood from this sick, weakened body seemed outright foolish to Simon. He knew that bloodletting was a tried-and-tested remedy for almost any sickness; nevertheless, he put the stiletto aside.

“It’s all right, Steringer,” he said. “You can go home now. Have your wife make you some sage broth and lie down next to the stove until it gets better.”

“And the bloodletting?” the journeyman gasped.

“We’ll do that another time. For now, you need your blood. Go home.”

Steringer nodded and set out for home, as did the two farmers. Simon gave each of them a little jar of wild thyme. As payment, the young medicus pocketed a few old discolored coins and half a leg of smoked ham. He thanked them and closed the door behind them as they left.

Simon took a deep breath. Finally, he had time to devote to the little book the patrician had given him. He sat down excitedly on the bench next to the stove and leafed through the yellowing pages.

There was a lot to learn about the rise and fall of the Templars. He read that they had even lent money to the Pope and that they had been almost invincible in battle, a band with strange rites and customs whose members had sworn allegiance to one another, who had flung themselves headlong into battle for God, and who were even admired by their enemies for their bravery. He read about the great battles in the Holy Land, the destruction of Jerusalem, the flight of the Templars to Cyprus, and their continuing power in Europe. He was astonished to learn that, in the end, the knightly order owned more than ten thousand castles and estates, from England to Byzantium! Had there also been a branch here in Schongau? Which Templar’s bones had they found under the St. Lawrence Church? Had he left a message to posterity on the marble slab?

Two witnesses who prophesy…the beast that arises from the depths that fights, conquers, and kills them.

But even after studying the book a long time, Simon still couldn’t find the strange saying engraved on the marble slab in the coffin. The book also said nothing about the Templars’ legendary treasure. Was it possible it had never existed? Simon rubbed his tired eyes and went to bed. The wind continued whistling through the shutters, while in his room a thin layer of ice slowly formed over the bedposts.

3

M
AGDALENA KNOCKED AT
the door of the carpenter Balthasar Hemerle’s house and listened for the sound of steps inside. It was early in the morning, but she had already visited the masons and the stonecutter in Altenstadt the day before. The men all looked at her distrustfully at first—nobody was comfortable with the daughter of the hangman at their door. It was quite possible that her presence might make the cattle sick the next day. When she explained that she wanted to ask them about the dead priest in Altenstadt and the renovation work in the St. Lawrence Church, they let her in reluctantly, often under the suspicious eyes of their wives. Magdalena was not just the hangman’s daughter, but with her thick black hair, bushy eyebrows, and full lips, she was also an attractive woman who was quite capable of exciting passions. She knew very well that men stared at her behind her back. Still, none of the young fellows ever asked her for a dance. No one except Simon.

Her conversations on the previous evening had not revealed anything new. All the workers agreed they had found the crypt, but only the priest had gone down into it. He looked pale when he came back, went to fetch some incense, and burned it there, and then immediately had the entrance sealed. They also mentioned the strange crosses on the walls in the balcony, but they all said they hadn’t told anyone else about it. The visit to the carpenter’s house was Magdalena’s last try. Balthasar Hemerle led her into the living room. He was a large, good-natured man with a full, shaggy beard, a twinkle in his eye, and a face distorted by pockmarks. Unlike many other men in town, he was never troubled by the fact that Magdalena was just a dishonorable hangman’s daughter. On the contrary, he had smiled at her at the last church fair and even tipped his large carpenter’s hat mischievously to her by way of greeting. But Magdalena knew that he made eyes at other girls, too, and his wife had scolded him once or twice about it. Fortunately, Katharina happened to be at the market in Schongau at the moment.

“Well, young lady, what do you need from me?” Hemerle grinned, pushing a mug of mulled wine across the table to her. “Does the city need a new gallows? The old one looks pretty rotted, don’t you think? I’ll bet that it will snap at the next hanging, and your father will look like a damn fool.”

Magdalena smiled and shook her head, sipping on the invigorating drink. She took another gulp and then finally got around to explaining why she was there. Balthasar Hemerle looked at her for a long time, thinking about it.

“The word going around is that the fat old Koppmeyer was poisoned. Does this have anything to do with that?”

Magdalena shrugged. “That’s just what we want to find out.”

Hemerle nodded. “I don’t know how you have gotten involved in this,” he began, “but it’s true that none of us went down into the crypt. And the workers painted over the crosses just as they were told.”

“Have you spoken with anyone about it?” Magdalena asked as she kept sipping on her mulled wine. She could feel its warming effects; she absolutely could not empty the whole mug, or she’d never make it home again.

“Who could we have talked to?” Hemerle said. “But wait…” He paused. “We were all talking about it last Sunday after church when our group was sitting at our regular table at Strasser’s Tavern in Altenstadt. The priest had seemed nervous delivering his homily, and we did notice a few strangers in the tavern.”

“Who were they?” Magdalena could feel her heart beginning to race, and not just from the strong wine.

“Strangers…I don’t know,” Hemerle grumbled. “Didn’t look at them that closely. They sat at the next table with black cowls, like monks, and didn’t even take off their hoods.”

“Did you notice anything else?”

The carpenter knitted his brow. Finally, he seemed to remember something.

“There was an odor in the air like an expensive perfume,” he said, “and three black horses standing just outside the door—not mares like your father’s, but big jet-black horses. Could put a real fright into you…” He shook his head and laughed.

“But come now…Let’s talk about something else,” he said, leering at her. “I just finished making myself a new bed out of spruce. It’s over there in the other room, and it’s nice and big and warm. Would you like to see it?”

Magdalena smiled. “So that your wife will wring my neck? No thanks.”

She emptied the mug in one long gulp and headed out the door. Swaying slightly, she stomped through the snow on her way back to Schongau.

Balthasar Hemerle waved to her as she left, but suddenly he looked serious again. He couldn’t help but think of the men with the black horses. For a brief moment, he thought he could smell a whiff of perfume in the cold winter air. But no doubt it was just the aroma of mulled wine.

Early the next morning, Simon headed out to Altenstadt again. Before dawn, he tiptoed past the room of his snoring father. Bonifaz Fronwieser didn’t get home until late last night, and Simon had to assume he had immediately exchanged the pay from his house call to Alderman Hardenberg for wine and brandy. The bartenders of the taverns behind the Ballenhaus permitted some guests to stay on after the eight o’clock curfew if they had enough change in their pockets. And the esteemed patrician Hardenberg certainly had paid more for his checkup than all the sick farmers put together that week. Enough, at least, for three glasses of the best burgundy.

Simon carefully closed the door and hurried toward the Hof Gate at the end of the street. Leaning against the ruined walls of the ducal castle, the city watchman Josef had already opened the gate reinforced with iron and was staring wearily at the approaching figure.

“Up so early, Simon?” he grumbled. They knew each other well, the young medicus having recently cured Josef’s son of scabies—at no charge, of course. It was always good to befriend one of the city watchmen. That way you could slip into the city through the emergency gate from time to time, even after sunset.

“I’ve got to go to Altenstadt again,” Simon said. “Another patient needs my help there.”

“Is it the same coughing and sweating?” Josef asked, knowing that, in the little town of Altendorf, many people had fallen ill with the strange fever, too. Simon nodded slowly and hurried through the gate. Nobody had to know what he was really doing in Altenstadt. As the watchman watched Simon leave, he drew a Druid’s cross in the snow.

“God forbid the plague should come back to Schongau,” he called to the medicus. “God forbid!” He thanked the Virgin Mary for sparing him the sickness until then.

The road wound up the mountain, and soon Simon felt comfortably warm despite the dry cold. As he walked along, he wondered why he had set out at the crack of dawn to investigate the death of someone who was almost a total stranger to him. He could have stayed in bed, gotten up for a cup of coffee when the church bells rang nine o’clock; he could have sat by the fire roaring on the hearth and watched snowflakes twirling down outside. But, as so often was the case, he was overcome with curiosity, an innate urge to get to the bottom of things. And then, of course, there was Benedikta Koppmeyer. Ever since he had first seen her the day before, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Was he perhaps doing her a little favor by going on this mission?

Simon was headed for the basilica of St. Michael in Altenstadt. It towered above the little houses, a reminder of a time when this small village had been an important commercial center on the Via Claudia August, the old Roman military road. Built of heavy stone blocks, surrounded by a high wall, and flanked by two sky-high towers, the basilica looked more like a castle than a church.

Simon climbed the broad flight of steps to the main portal. Directly above the double doors, a magnificent relief depicted a knight, armed with a shield, helmet, and sword, fighting a dragon. In the mouth of the dragon was the body of a second man. Simon shook his head. Unlike many of his fellow countrymen, he had never felt comfortable with the bloody, monstrous figures and scenes depicted in churches. Such images were no doubt intended to remind people of the horrors of hell, but to Simon they felt more like messengers from a very distant past.

His anxiety subsided only when he stepped inside the church and turned his eyes upward. In the apse over the altar was the most beautiful and largest crucifix in their part of the country. The “Great God of Altenstadt” was known far beyond the borders of this little town in the Priests’ Corner, and even the otherwise rather sober-minded medicus could not deny its appeal. The figure, carved of larch wood, was huge, surely three yards long and just as wide. On either side stood life-size figures of Mary and John. But most striking was the face of the Savior. It looked down on the faithful, not distorted with pain or crying out condemnation, but gently, almost a bit sadly.

When Simon looked down again, he spotted a figure in one of the front pews that he had not noticed before. Perhaps because the person was kneeling, head bowed in prayer. A scarf fell over the figure’s shoulders, and before Simon could say anything, the person stood up, made the sign of the cross, and turned around toward him. Simon was stunned. It was Benedikta Koppmeyer! Her face was even paler now than the day before, and it seemed she had not slept very much. Nevertheless, she exuded an aura of strength unlike anything Simon had ever seen before in a woman. Once the merchant’s widow recognized Simon, she smiled at him wanly.

“I…I didn’t expect to find you here in the church,” the medicus stammered as she walked toward him. In the milky light of dawn, she almost seemed to be floating in space. “I thought you had a room in Schongau at the Stern.”

“I do,” she said softly, holding out her ringed hand for him to kiss. “But I couldn’t sleep, so I came here to pray. This church…is something very special, don’t you think?”

Simon nodded. Apparently, Benedikta could not resist the magical appeal of the basilica, either. Then it occurred to him that she must have made the trip from Schongau even before daybreak.