The masters apprentice, p.4
The Master's Apprentice, page 4
part #1 of Faust Series
“I don’t have time for you right now,” Johann said, rushing ahead with long strides. “Mother is very ill. I’m on my way to the monastery to get some medicine.”
“B . . . bring me with you!”
“It’ll take too long,” Johann replied with a shake of his head. “I want to return to Mother as fast as I can.” He stopped, leaned down to Martin, and gave him a serious look. “But I have an important task for you, do you hear me? Stay with Mother and look after her. Wipe the sweat from her forehead, fetch hot water for her, and sweep up the old rushes. They smell like death. If she gets worse, run and get the barber, all right?”
Martin nodded. He could tell by his brother’s eyes that he was serious.
“And you’ll c . . . c . . . come back soon?” asked Martin anxiously.
Johann patted his shoulder. “That’s why I want to go on my own, so I can come back as fast as possible. Now go to Mother. She needs you.”
Martin obeyed, and Johann went on his way. He hurried along Market Street toward the upper city gate, which he passed a short while later. Knittlingen was a small town of about two thousand souls. Its walls were surrounded by a foul-smelling moat fed by a handful of brooks. The church and the prefecture formed the center of town. For as long as anyone could remember, Knittlingen had been in the tenure of the Maulbronn monastery, which also appointed the prefect. The monastery itself was about an hour’s walk from town.
Johann left the city and turned right, where the old imperial road led south. The path was dry and dusty, and hardly anyone was traveling this Sunday. Johann could make out a cart in the distance, and one lone horseman cantered past him; other than that, the road was quiet.
He’d walked this road many times before, knew every step, every tree, every field along the path. The track wound its way through cornfields and past gently sloping vineyards before climbing steeply toward the forest. Johann gazed at the fields and vineyards, spreading like a chessboard to his left and right. Everything around Knittlingen was well ordered, everything had its proper place—farmers, monks, the mighty Kraichgau houses of knights, the count palatine in Heidelberg, and above him, the king and the pope. Sometimes Johann felt he was the only one who didn’t fit into the fabric of the world.
He thought about the argument with his father. He’d often wondered why they always clashed. He guessed it was because they were so different. His father was a strong man with a bushy brown beard and a broad back, while Johann was delicate and sinewy, with raven-black hair, and he was much too short for his age. They were also worlds apart in their opinions, their desires, and what made them happy.
Johann wasn’t entirely sure yet what he considered happiness.
On the hilltop, he passed the ancient Knittlingen execution site, a square of mortared stones with old gallows. No one hung there today, but on many other occasions Johann had walked past the gently swaying remains of a convict. The German king himself afforded protection on all imperial roads, and to preserve safety, robbers and thieves were always hanged in elevated places by the roadside—a warning to other scoundrels near and far. To Johann, the stinking corpses were a reminder of the transitory nature of life.
He’d slowed down for the last steep part, but now, atop the hill, he ran until his heart raced. His thoughts were a jumble. Worry for his mother, anger about his father, and his feelings for Margarethe whirled through his mind like a storm. He passed an oxcart on its slow and steady way to the monastery. The driver was almost asleep from the heat. Then the forest ended and the road wound its way down into a lovely valley fringed by vineyards. On the left lay the well-known monastery.
It was an imposing complex made of sandstone with a wall, a church, and several other buildings. Eight fortified towers and a round walk showed that the monks were willing to defend their property. But they hadn’t needed to in a long time. Maulbronn grew and prospered, like so many monasteries in the German empire.
Johann entered the abbey through a huge gate into a courtyard that was bordered by another wall at the back. Here, in the front part, the worldly facilities were situated, like the bakery with the granary, the smithy, a mill, and accommodation for pilgrims and travelers. The narrow lanes between the sandstone buildings were as busy as ever. Two lay brothers in brown robes rolled an empty wine barrel toward the building housing the wine press; a shaggy dog lifted his leg at the trough outside the inn and got booted by the innkeeper; a group of pilgrims in dusty traveling frocks searched for their quarters. A broad-shouldered, bearded monk in the smithy slammed a piece of iron with his hammer. Pacing through the lanes in silent prayer were choir monks, who, in contrast to the lay brothers, were shaved and wore white robes with black scapulars. Many of them were noblemen who were in search of a simple life—or who, as second- or third-born sons, were excluded as heirs.
Johann loved the monastery’s aura of scholarship and eternity. Time seemed to stand still here. The sandstone walls were hundreds of years old, and the knowledge hoarded behind them was legendary. Johann visited the abbey as often as he could and occasionally ran small errands for the brothers. Sometimes he was even allowed to visit the library—always a very special occasion. So many books, so many answers to his questions! Normally, outsiders weren’t allowed to set foot in the famous library—let alone a sixteen-year-old boy. But Johann enjoyed the friendship of a powerful benefactor at Maulbronn, someone who even permitted him to take home a book every now and then. And Johann wanted to see this man today.
He approached a lay brother who was driving a squeaking pig toward the butchery. “God be with you, Brother,” he said in greeting. “Do you know where I might find Father Antonius?”
“Where do you think, boy?” The monk grinned and pointed at the tall monastery church. “At the infirmary, of course. Both the cellarer and the prior have been struck down by a nasty summer fever, and so have a number of brothers. He’s got his hands full.”
Johann nodded gratefully and went on his way to the church behind the next wall. This was where the spiritual, quiet part of the monastery began. The porter knew the boy and merely grunted as Johann passed. The Maulbronn librarian was a good friend of Father Bernhard, Johann’s teacher at Latin School. But Father Antonius wasn’t just the librarian. His medical skills were known far beyond the walls of Maulbronn. Johann felt certain the man would have a remedy that would help his mother.
Johann reverently entered the church, whose sandstone blocks were painted in blue and red. The tall windows allowed slanted sunlight to illuminate the altar and the adjoining choir, with its elaborately carved stalls. In a side chapel, a monk was quietly reading a mass. Johann had heard that the Cistercians used to work their fields themselves once upon a time, but now they were too busy managing a fortune that grew with each generation. The monastery called more than a dozen villages in the surrounding area its own. The farmers paid their duties more or less willingly. That was how it had been since time immemorial: knights fought, monks prayed, and farmers toiled.
And what am I going to do? Johann asked himself as he walked past the tall cross above the altar. What plans does God have for me?
He left the church through the silent cloister and followed the corridor that led to the infirmary. Rows of beds stood to his left and right, most of them holding coughing monks under thin blankets. A younger monk was scattering fresh rushes while an old, gray-haired brother poured steaming water into a bowl with herbs. A pleasant fragrance spread through the long, high-ceilinged room. When the old man heard Johann’s hurried footsteps, he looked up. A tired smile spread on his face.
“Johann!” he exclaimed. “I should have known you’d come today. It’s your day off.” His expression turned serious. “But I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I’m too busy to visit the library with you.” He gestured toward the full beds. More coughing and sniffling could be heard. “We’ve got our hands full with a nasty fever. Dear Father Jeremias died of it just yesterday, though he was very old, too. God rest his soul.” He sighed deeply and made the sign of the cross. “How is my dear friend Father Bernhard? I hope he’s doing well?”
“Father Bernhard is well and sends his greetings,” Johann replied. “But my mother is very ill.”
The other monk, a clean-shaven young man in a white robe, looked up and frowned at them. The Cistercians followed the rule of silence closely, and often they communicated merely with hand signals. The rule wasn’t always enforced in the infirmary, but one was still expected to keep a low voice.
Father Antonius waved Johann to an alcove off to the side and listened to the boy’s report. Then he nodded gravely. “She’s coughing blood, you say? I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but . . .”
“What is it?” Johann said, giving the monk a pleading look. “Please, tell me!”
Father Antonius sighed. “You know your mother hasn’t been well for a long time. When a body is weakened thus, diseases find an easy target. Nasty diseases like the white plague.”
Johann closed his eyes to hide his fear. He’d heard about the white plague. Travelers often brought it from Venice, Geneva, or Rome. Those who caught it grew increasingly weak, slept more and more, and coughed. The disease seemed to consume them from the inside—which was why it was also known as consumption. It wasn’t quite as bad as the black plague, but eventually they both resulted in death.
“And there is no remedy?” said Johann. “You know so much about healing, Father. Please!” He felt a thick lump in his throat. If Father Antonius didn’t know of any medicine, only the dear Lord could help his mother.
“Hmm, there might be a remedy.” Father Antonius moved his head from side to side, considering. “But I don’t keep it here. It’s down in the store.” He hesitated briefly, then he patted Johann on the shoulder. “I’m sure they can cope without me here for a short while. Come, there’s something else I want to show you. It might just cheer you up.”
Father Antonius gently pushed the boy ahead of him. They walked to the cloister, where a group of monks stood by a bubbling fountain, talking in hushed voices. They faltered when they saw Johann, but the father paid them no heed. Together they entered a small room. A set of stairs led to a lower chamber illuminated by narrow windows high against the ceiling.
This was the store, and it smelled musty and fragrant at the same time, mixed with a slightly metallic, caustic smell Johann couldn’t place. Barrels and crates were stacked against the walls alongside many shelves; salted legs of ham hung from the ceiling together with sausages and bundles of dried herbs. On the far side of the room stood a table with a strange apparatus that reminded Johann vaguely of a fruit press. In front of it stood several open crates, and on the floor, glinting in the light of the afternoon, sticks of iron were scattered about, like the broken teeth of some kind of mythical creature. The metallic smell seemed to come from the apparatus.
“What is that?” asked Johann, puzzled.
“That’s just what I was going to show you. Ha, I knew you’d be interested! It is a printing press.” Father Antonius winked mischievously and walked to the press. “The prior and I managed to convince the abbot to buy one for the monastery. We got it quite cheaply from a monastery near Worms, along with some boxes of Latin and Greek books for the library. Once we start using the press, things will change around here. And not only here.” The father made a sweeping gesture with both arms. “A new age is dawning, I’m sure! So many new insights and discoveries reach us—not only from Italy but also from the Spanish moors and faraway Constantinople. Old Latin, Greek, and even Jewish manuscripts are being rediscovered, and now we can print and duplicate them all! Just imagine, everything humanity has ever thought up can be put down with letters—and will still be legible centuries down the line. Knowledge will become immortal! I’m so grateful for the privilege of witnessing such exciting times at my old age.”
Johann’s eyes grew big. He’d heard about printing presses but never seen one before. Every now and then, a printed leaflet found its way to Knittlingen, usually bearing religious content. The playing cards Johann had bought from his savings and that his father trampled into the dirt had also been printed.
The pages of printed books were made with paper instead of the blotchy parchment used in most old books at the Maulbronn library. In the past, monks had copied each book by hand using iron gall ink to duplicate it, but now presses increasingly took over this task. The letters were cast from lead and tin. A job that used to take months or even years could now be done within days. Johann struggled to imagine how many books could be produced thus in a short space of time. Hundreds? Thousands? Already there were more books than he could ever read!
As he slowly walked around the printing press and touched the metallic, ink-stained shafts with the back-to-front letters, Father Antonius lifted a small clay bottle from one of the shelves.
“I made this medicine last week with a recipe from an old monastic book,” he explained. “The book was in one of the boxes from Worms.” The father smiled. “It’s mainly made of . . . well, cheese mold.”
Johann looked at him with surprise. “Cheese mold?”
“And a little sheep dung and honey.” Father Antonius raised his hand. “I know, it sounds a bit strange. But it’s an old recipe and supposed to help with the white plague. You don’t have to tell your mother exactly what it contains.” He handed Johann the corked bottle. “Give her one sip today and then one sip morning and night every day for the next week. Praying won’t hurt, either.”
“Thank you, Father.” Johann was about to leave when one of the books in the crates by the printing press caught his eye. A few months at Latin School had improved Johann’s Latin greatly, and so he stared with surprise at the title and author of the book on top of the pile.
Speculum Astronomiae.
“Mirror of Astronomy,” he muttered. “By Albertus Magnus, venerable brother of the Dominicans and bishop of Regensburg.”
Astronomy, Johann knew from Father Bernhard’s class, was the knowledge of the stars, just like astrology. He recalled his mother mentioning the stars and the day of his birth yet again earlier this day. But he hadn’t realized men of the church also took an interest in the stars.
“Does the church believe in the power of the stars?” he asked Father Antonius.
“Well, it’s a thin line between what the church believes and what it condemns as heresy,” the monk replied. “The stars are an expression of God’s will, says the pope, and so does the great Albertus Magnus, who wrote this book more than two hundred years ago. Even bishops occasionally have their horoscopes cast.” Father Antonius gave a small grin. “Although personally, I don’t really believe in it. Albertus Magnus also wrote about alchemy and magic. Some say he was a sorcerer himself. But where does black magic begin? And what is God’s will?” He smiled. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s . . . it’s just . . .” Johann was about to tell the father about his conversation with his mother when he realized how long he’d already been at the monastery. He had to return to Knittlingen! His mother needed the medicine as soon as possible.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any money on me,” Johann said hesitantly. “But I’m sure my father will reimburse you.” Deep down, he doubted it. His father was a miser who considered the monks a bunch of quacks.
“No need to trouble your father.” Father Antonius waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a gift of the church. If you ask me, the farmers of Knittlingen have paid us more than enough. May God protect your mother and may the medicine bring her relief.”
“Thank you so much, Father!” Johann briefly squeezed the father’s hand before rushing outside and stuffing the precious bottle under his shirt. During his conversation with Father Antonius he’d almost forgotten how ill his mother was, and now he’d have to hurry if he wanted to make it home before nightfall.
Johann left the church and ran past the smithy and the inn, through the monastery gate, and toward the hill that separated Maulbronn from Knittlingen. The sun was low on the horizon, and the trees cast long shadows. The small bottle pressing against his chest, Johann ran up the steep path until he reached the dense beech forest. There was a spring in his step now that his worries weren’t weighing him down as much. He felt certain the medicine would help his mother—Father Antonius had always been right. All would be well! And next time he visited Maulbronn, the father might tell him more about this Albertus Magnus who might have been a sorcerer.
Soon Johann had reached Gallows Hill. The place appeared much gloomier now that it was getting dark. The branches of an elm tree near the gallows groaned in the wind like a hanged man drawing his last breath.
And someone was awaiting Johann there.
Three figures were sitting on the stone platform. When Johann came closer, they jumped off the wall and walked toward him.
Johann started with fright. At first he thought they were highway robbers out to get him, but then he recognized them as three boys from town. They were a little older than him, and he knew them well. Two of them used to beat him up occasionally at his old school when he asked too many questions in class. But the third one was the most dangerous: Ludwig, Margarethe’s older brother.
Ludwig was nearly eighteen now, a whole head taller than Johann, with a pockmarked face and shifty eyes. He often knocked about with Johann’s elder brothers, drinking and fighting with the boys from neighboring villages. Ludwig had bullied Johann for as long as the younger boy could remember. The prefect’s son had never liked the fact that his sister was meeting up with the village misfit and know-it-all. Ludwig had no time for Johann’s magic tricks. Sometimes he even seemed envious when Johann enchanted Margarethe and her friends with chicken eggs and scarves.
