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.
“You shouldn’t be traveling alone,” he remarked with concern. “A band of robbers is marauding about the countryside at present. A defenseless woman like yourself-”
“I am not as defenseless as I appear,” she interrupted him dryly. Then she pointed to his empty hands and changed the topic. “But you don’t have your bag with you today. Aren’t there any sick people to heal? What else brings you here? Have you come to pray?”
Simon couldn’t suppress a smile. “Unfortunately not. Although I do believe the priest wished I would come to church more often.” He hesitated before continuing. “No, it has to do with your brother.”
“My brother?” Benedikta looked at him with surprise.
Simon nodded, looking around to see if there were other parishioners praying in the church.
“It seems your brother discovered something down in the crypt of the Saint Lawrence Church,” he whispered finally. “Perhaps he was silenced for this reason.”
“But what are you looking for in Saint Michael’s Basilica?” she persisted.
“Well, I hope the priest here can tell me more about the Saint Lawrence Church. After all, it’s part of his parish.”
Benedikta nodded. “I understand,” she said. After hesitating a few moments, she continued. “Would you mind if I came along with you to see the priest? I’d like to learn more about my brother’s death.”
Simon shrugged. “Why not?” he said. “Come along. He’s probably just now preparing for mass.”
They came across the priest in the vestry, holding a dripping chalice to his mouth. Apparently he was sampling the wine to be used in the mass.
“The blood of Christ,” Simon murmured, loud enough so the priest could hear him. “What a blessing that the Savior left us such a delicious legacy.”
Pastor Elias Ziegler was startled but quickly pulled himself together. He turned toward the uninvited guests, noticeably angered. He was small and stocky, with a fleshy face and a crooked nose covered with spider veins. Indeed, it looked as though he often found it necessary to test the quality of the communion wine.
“As you surely know, the communion wine turns into the blood of Christ only after it has been consecrated,” he declared dryly. “In its present condition, it is only wine, though a relatively good one.” The priest wiped his mouth and put the chalice down on a silver tablet next to the hosts. Then he wiped his wet fingers on his cassock. His speech sounded a bit slurred. “I assume there is a reason why you have come to disturb me in my preparations for the mass. And with a woman, too, here in the vestry.”