The Master of Medicine (The Secret Healer Series Book 2) Page 18

  He picked up the parchment and placed it on the table. He reached for the beer-filled mug and sat heavily upon a chair. He was so drained he could barely keep his eyes open. When he emptied the mug, he stood, refilled it, picked up the parchment, and dragged himself upstairs to his bedchamber. He kept drinking as he climbed the stairs, beer trickling from the corners of his mouth and down his neck. He pushed open the door to his bedchamber with such force that it slammed against the wall. Johannes waited to see whether Hans would call up to check that everything was all right. But he didn’t hear a peep. He’d seen Hans for a moment earlier, but the servant had discovered a hole in the roof and was busy patching it.

  Johannes removed his shoes and with the parchment and beer mug in hand walked over to the bed. He sat down on the edge, finished off the beer, and reread the letter. The beer had its expected effect, gradually numbing his senses. But the anxiety that his wife’s letter had triggered remained. Finally, he let the parchment slip from his hand and glide to the floor. He slumped down onto the bed and fell fast asleep but awoke in the middle of the night, cold enveloping his stiffened limbs, to crawl under the blankets, where he fell back to sleep.

  The next morning he couldn’t remember exactly what he’d dreamed. As he woke, the image of Madlen contentedly cuddling a good-looking doctor emerged in his mind’s eye.

  Johannes got up, went to the washbowl, and dipped his hands in the cool water. He splashed some of it onto his face over and over again. He felt miserable. He’d made absolutely no headway in the murder investigation, and imagining his wife’s activities was driving him to the edge of madness. What was it she’d written? Had Elsbeth and Peter really offered to accompany her to Heidelberg? Johannes didn’t think of himself as completely old-fashioned, but wasn’t Madlen attending lectures at the university without even discussing it with him first going just a bit too far? What had gotten into her?

  He got dressed and went downstairs. “Hans? Hans?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Hans had evidently just come over from the servants’ quarters.

  “Prepare breakfast. I don’t have a lot of time. And then find me a reliable messenger to take a letter to Heidelberg today.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Hans disappeared as quickly as he’d come.

  Johannes walked over to his study and sat down behind the desk. He took out a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write.

  My dearest Madlen,

  There is so much I would like to write in response to your letter, but I have little time these days. There have been other murders, which I’m obliged to solve. I’m overjoyed to learn that my father has been cured. Now with Leopold’s help, it will be possible to steer the business back to prosperity. My mother is a strong woman and will undoubtedly stand by him.

  I was surprised to read about your intentions with regards to the university. Even more astonishing is the news that my parents encouraged you and thereby neglected to do the right thing. Your place, my Madlen, is here. Here by my side.

  Now, because the difficult situation that initially brought us to Worms is being settled, I ask you, no, I demand that you and the children immediately return to Cologne. I’ll send you money via a messenger so that you can hire two guards to accompany you, the children, and the servants.

  Please get underway forthwith as we have no time to lose.

  Your loving husband,

  Johannes

  When he read the letter through, Johannes wasn’t comfortable with the demanding tone he’d used. He’d ordered her to come home right away. He’d never addressed Madlen in this way, never mind having written her such a letter. Had he gone too far? She was a young, passionate woman. Was it right to order her around like that? On the other hand, she was first and foremost his wife, and he was responsible for her. Even if it was true that women were able to study in Salerno, his opinion on the matter was clear. It didn’t matter to him if other women studied there, but his own wife taking part in this absurdity was another matter. He and the children needed her. Yes, he was right. Women must capitulate to their husbands. However, as he studied what he’d written, his firm conviction began to melt away. He simply couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making a mistake as he slid the scroll into its cylindrical leather case and sealed it shut.

  After breakfast, Johannes went to the dungeon to speak to Benedict again. Wilhelm had taken over the watch and stood in front of the prisoner’s cell. The attorney had given strict instructions that only Anderlin, Georg, Linhardt, Niclaus, Wolfker, and Wilhelm were to be entrusted with guarding Benedict. He couldn’t afford to trust anyone else right now. And even though he wasn’t completely sure about these six men, he would at least know who was responsible if the prisoner escaped or was injured.

  Johannes found Benedict safe and awake. But the prisoner still couldn’t tell him any more than he could before. So Johannes instructed the guards to feed him and to keep their eyes open, while he did his part to solve the murders.

  Johannes headed toward the archbishop’s residence to speak to the guards who had recently been on duty with Benedict. He had to make sure that the witness was mistaken, and he needed to confirm Benedict’s claim that he hadn’t been with Christopeit that evening.

  He strode calmly and confidently through the streets of Cologne. When he turned a corner, he collided with someone who had obviously been hiding behind the wall. The young man, whom Johannes guessed wasn’t any older than sixteen—eighteen at most—opened his eyes wide in fright and cried out. Johannes grabbed his arm.

  “I’ve got you now!” The attorney pinned the young man’s arm behind his back, and he cried out in pain. “Scream as loud as you want. You’re coming with me.”

  “Let me go. I haven’t done anything. I haven’t done anything!” He thrashed and writhed.

  “I beg your pardon,” said a merchant who had hurried over upon hearing the young man’s cries. “What’s going on here?” He recognized Johannes. “Oh, Counselor. Forgive me. I didn’t see you at first.”

  “Can you help me bring this fellow to the dungeon?”

  “Certainly,” the merchant said. He grabbed the boy’s other arm, making him cry out again.

  “What has he done?”

  “He’s been following me to see if I am getting close to his boss.”

  “To his boss?”

  “To the man who either committed several murders himself or contracted an assassin to do his dirty work.”

  The young prisoner thrashed, and the merchant retaliated by giving him a swift punch to the kidney. “Behave yourself. Otherwise you might not get to the dungeon in one piece.”

  The frightened young man obeyed, walking as well as he could considering his captors’ tight grip on him. When they reached the dungeon, one of the two guards on watch came over to assist them. Johannes surrendered his new prisoner to the guard, then thanked the merchant for his help. As the attorney followed them to the cell, the young man started to put up a fight again.

  “Take him down to Benedict’s cell,” Johannes ordered. The guard nodded and began to pull him down the stairs.

  “Halt,” Linhardt said when the guard and the prisoner reached him. “There’s already someone in here—” He stopped midsentence when he saw Johannes walking behind them.

  “It’s all right, Linhardt,” Johannes said, and Linhardt open the cell door. “I’m going in, too. Let’s just see how happy these accomplices are to be reunited.”

  Benedict, who’d been lying on the ground with his head nestled in his arms, got to his feet.

  “I’ve got somebody for you,” Johannes announced as Linhardt shoved the new prisoner into the cell.

  Benedict scrutinized the man then gazed at Johannes.

  “Don’t you have anything to say to your friend?”

  Benedict had a blank look on his face.

  “Greetings,” he mumbled and then looked at Johannes as if checking if he’d done the right thing.

  Johannes looked back and forth between
the two of them. The new prisoner looked at the floor.

  “Linhardt, take this one to a different cell.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Linhardt grabbed the young man by the neck and upper arm and led him out. Benedict watched what was going on with great interest.

  “I’ll be back,” Johannes announced and left the cell. Johannes looked through the peephole of the cell door and saw that Benedict had slumped back down onto the floor. The attorney could no longer ignore his doubts about this prisoner being a traitor and murderer.

  “Where did you put the new prisoner?” he asked Linhardt when he returned.

  “In the last cell way in the back. I thought that it might be better if those two didn’t have the opportunity to speak to each other.”

  “A good idea. Is there another guard there?”

  “No, my lord. I’m alone at present. Should I open the new prisoner’s door for you?”

  “Yes. Let’s see why this young man was so eager to spy on me.” Johannes looked around and then picked up one of the chairs positioned against a wall. “I’m going to take this.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Linhardt led Johannes to the back and unlocked the cell door. “Shall I lock the door behind you?”

  “Leave it open. Just let that peasant try to get past me,” Johannes responded.

  “Call me when you’re ready.”

  “I will, Linhardt. My thanks.” Johannes entered the cell. The young man was crouching on the ground next to a pile of dirty straw. The lawyer was immediately struck by the difference between this cell and the one Benedict was in. Evidently the guards still considered Benedict one of their own, because his cell was immaculate compared to this one, with its disgusting smell of excrement, harsh in Johannes’s nostrils.

  The boy looked up, and his eyes filled with tears. “My name is Wentzel, my lord.”

  “Wentzel.” Johannes pushed the chair into place, then sat down. “Why have you been following me?”

  “I wasn’t following you.”

  The lawyer sighed. “You know, Wentzel, it’s tiring, so very tiring, to be lied to over and over again. And do you know what happens when I’m tired? No? Then I’ll tell you: when I’m tired, I lose my patience quite easily. And right now I feel absolutely exhausted, and it’s getting worse by the minute. Do you follow me?”

  Wentzel nodded but said nothing.

  “Are you from Cologne, Wentzel?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And who is it you serve, Wentzel?”

  The boy hesitated. “I serve no one, my lord.”

  “How do you get money if you don’t work?” Johannes’s voice was calm but threatening.

  Wentzel didn’t answer.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “I, I . . . sometimes I help out around the harbor.”

  “Sometimes you help out around the harbor. And nothing else?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Do your parents live in Cologne? Do they give you something to eat every once in a while? Do you have a brother who cares for you? A sister?”

  “No, my lord. Nobody.”

  “I see. So no one will come to mourn you when you’re dangling from the gallows, gasping for your last breath?”

  Wentzel looked up. His breathing accelerated. But then he lowered his head again. “No, my lord. Nobody would come.”

  “I see. So the prospect of an early end doesn’t make any difference to you?”

  Wentzel shook his head.

  “Well, I don’t believe you, even if you think it’s true. I’ve seen many hangings, and in the end they all beg for their lives. What do you think you’ll do, Wentzel?”

  He shrugged.

  “It’s all the same to you?” Johannes cocked his head and scrutinized the boy. “So your life is worth nothing to you?” The attorney’s tone was gentle. But then he could no longer contain his rage, and he lost his composure. “Tell me who you work for!”

  Wentzel shook his head.

  “Tell me right now! Why were you following me?”

  “I wasn’t. I was just walking down the street.”

  Johannes was on the verge of slapping the young man senseless. “Why did you follow me?” he repeated.

  The boy shook his head again.

  “Believe me, the guards will be happy to beat it out of you.” He got up from his chair and walked toward Wentzel. “I’ll find out what I want to know. It’s up to you to decide how it goes.”

  Wentzel looked at him. “If I tell the truth—what’s in it for me?”

  Johannes was taken aback. “You actually believe you can negotiate with me?”

  “I believe what I know is worth something to you.”

  “I’ll see what I can do for you when you give me all the names.”

  “If I do, then I’ll need to leave the city. I’ll need money and a horse.”

  “Not so fast.” Johannes was baffled by the young man’s transformation. A few minutes ago, he’d been frightened and cowering, and now he was bold and assertive. “You could give me any old name. Therefore, I can’t promise to let you go. Give me a name, and I’ll give you my word that your sworn statement will be more important to me than your punishment.”

  “If I tell you, it must stay between us until I can get out of Cologne.”

  “Are you trying to wrest a promise from me without giving me anything in return?”

  “I give you my word, even though you may think it’s worthless. But as soon as I’ve told you the name, you’ll understand why I have to leave Cologne.”

  Johannes scrutinized the young man again, shook his head, then sighed. “I give you my word. Now give me the name.”

  Wentzel got up. “And I’ll need money to survive elsewhere for a while.”

  “How much?”

  “Not a fortune. One hundred groschen.”

  “One hundred groschen? You can stay here until you rot.”

  “A hundred groschen. The name is worth that price.”

  “I’ll give you fifty if the name is truly worth something. Then and only then.”

  “Fifty and a horse.”

  “Deal. But then you have to give your statement to a scribe in front of two other witnesses so that I can make the arrest and bring the case to court.”

  Wentzel laughed. “My good man, I wish you nothing less than the full support of God in that endeavor.”

  Johannes found his remark quite odd. He wanted to ask Wentzel what he meant by that but then decided against it. “The name.”

  “All right, then, I have your word as a man of honor. The name of the man is Friedrich von Saarwerden, archbishop of Cologne.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next day, Madlen arrived at the lecture hall before the other students and even before Franz. The door to the hall was still closed, so she strolled through the commons to the garden to admire nature’s blossoming. She recognized most of the plants at first sight, and she could discern others based on their distinctive aromas. In the distance, she saw the doctor walking toward the lecture hall. She abandoned her inspection of the plants and approached him.

  “Madlen!” he said. “You’re early.”

  “God bless you, Doctor. Or would you rather I address you as Master of Medicine?”

  “Just call me Franz. God bless you. It’s indeed a joy to see you. You’re beaming like the sun.”

  “I feel it, too. I’m completely ecstatic about what I learned yesterday.”

  “Really? Then imagine how you’ll feel when we really go into detail. What a pleasure it will be to teach you.”

  “Would you be so kind as to allow me to ask a bold question? What does the dean say about allowing a woman to be present at your lectures?”

  “I want to be honest with you, Madlen. Matthäus von Krakau doesn’t intend to be a dean forever. He’ll soon be taking over the office of rector of the university. Rupert II, the count palatine of the Rhine, appointed him as his own personal counselor and father con
fessor, an esteemed and highly influential appointment. But he must constantly be on the alert to keep his position secure.” They continued to stroll through the campus and entered the lecture hall building. “Dean von Krakau is actually vexed by your attendance at my lectures. But he hasn’t opposed it publicly just yet. I made it clear to him that it would be only for a few days.” They reached the lecture hall, and the doctor opened the huge door. “The dean hasn’t said anything, but I believe he might even like making lectures available to women. It would prove his magnanimity and tolerance.” The doctor winked.

  “So, I can stay?”

  “For a little while. And to answer your next question: it won’t cost you a penny.”

  “That’s exactly what I was going to ask you.”

  “Yes. I already know you quite well, Madlen.” He gave her a look she didn’t quite know how to interpret. He stood close to her, probably closer than would be considered seemly.

  She cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll take my place now,” she said, walking past him and sitting down. She could feel her face flush and hoped that her blush would fade in short order.

  The students gradually streamed in and took their places. She was pleased when Thomas entered the lecture hall and took a seat next to her. “Well? Did you process the lecture about dissecting animals?”

  “Ages ago,” Madlen answered self-confidently. She felt wonderful. This hall, the doctor, the students . . . the opportunity to focus on medicine and healing! Madlen could hardly wait for the doctor to begin his lecture so she could soak in every bit of knowledge she possibly could . . . while she had the chance.

  “Agathe, what’s the matter? He’s your brother. You truly don’t want to go with us?”

  Agathe turned away so Madlen couldn’t see her face. “We really don’t have any kind of relationship, Madlen.”

  Madlen took Agathe by the shoulders and turned her so they were face-to-face. “Is everything all right?”

  Agathe lifted her head. “Yes, my love, everything’s fine. Please go without me.”