Oliver Potzsch - The Dark Monk

“You’re leaving?” asked Simon, his mouth falling open.

The merchant woman swung up into the saddle. “After our last meeting, I had the feeling it would be best for me to go. And to be honest, I don’t really put much faith in all this talk about treasures and murderers. It won’t bring my brother back, so I wish you farewell!”

“Benedikta, wait!” Simon hurried down the stairway. “I didn’t really mean what I said two days ago in the tavern. I was no doubt too harsh. It’s just that…” He hesitated and eyed the refined lady from Landsberg again. With her fur coat, billowing skirt, and cape, she looked so different from all the Schongau women who were always chasing after him. She was a visitor from another world who would leave him now-alone in this filthy little provincial dump.

“What’s the matter, physician?” She looked at him, waiting.

“I’m sorry, I was a fool. I…I would be really happy if you could stay and help with the rest of my search.” The words simply tumbled out before he’d had a chance to think them through. “It’s very possible that I’ll urgently need your self-confident, refined demeanor once again! The superintendent in Rottenbuch probably won’t want anything to do with a little field surgeon, but with you…”

“Rottenbuch?” Benedikta asked with curiosity. “The riddle points to Rottenbuch?”

Simon sighed. Without noticing, he’d already made a decision. “Let’s go to one of the quiet side rooms at Semer’s Tavern,” he said. “I’ll explain everything else to you there. We need to set out today.”

Benedikta smiled and looked down at the medicus, who kept shifting around, trying to get out of the way of her nervous horse.

“All right,” she said finally. “I’ll stay. But this time, let’s rent an obedient fast horse for you here at the post house. Do you think we might have to flee from robbers again?”

The monastery of Rottenbuch was only ten miles from Schongau, a journey of less than two hours.

Benedikta rode so fast and gracefully that Simon had trouble keeping up and not falling off his horse. As they raced past snow-covered trees, Simon often had to squint or close his eyes briefly in the light flurries and let the horse take its own pace-it seemed to know better than he where they were headed.

They had rented a young gray for a few silver coins in the post station at Semer’s Tavern. Benedikta had paid, and Simon was embarrassed when she took out her purse and handed the coins to the postmaster. The medicus couldn’t help grinning. This woman wouldn’t let herself be bossed around by a man, and she didn’t demand any favors, either. In these matters, Simon thought, she was just like Magdalena. Perhaps they weren’t so different, after all, and perhaps under different circumstances, Magdalena could have become another Benedikta.

They arrived at their destination in less than two hours, leaving the forest and entering a snow-covered landscape dotted with houses, churches, walls, and archways. For a mile around, men had wrested open land from the surrounding wilderness, and at its center was the Rottenbuch Monastery. On a road entering the cleared land from the opposite side, Simon could see a group of silent monks giving alms to a wailing beggar. A farmer was pulling a calf on a rope across the paved main street of the town. Ladders and scaffolding lay against many of the as-of-yet unplastered buildings while workers rushed around with buckets, shovels, and trowels. Just as in Steingaden, people were obviously busy here removing the rubble of war and building a new, larger, and even more beautiful monastery.

Simon and Benedikta rode through a gate toward the wide square in front of the Augustinian Canon Monastery. A huge clock tower rose up in front of them. On their left was the church and, next to it, the monastery, which in contrast to the other buildings was already resplendent in a fresh coat of stucco. After they’d found a place to stay and a stable for the horses, they went in search of the superintendent.

Putting on a serious face, Simon addressed one of the monks entering the church. “Brother, may I have a word with you? We are looking for the venerable leader of this wonderful monastery. Could you direct us to him?”

“Do you mean our Right Reverend Brother, Superintendent Michael Piscator? You are in luck.”

The monk pointed to a somewhat stout elderly man dressed in the typical white alb of the Augustinian canons. Standing nearby among some laborers, he seemed to be giving directions to the construction foreman. “You can see him engaged in his favorite pastime,” the canon said, winking. “Building churches, for him, is the highest form of worship.” With a grin, he disappeared through the portal to the monastery.

Simon couldn’t help but think of the Steingaden abbot, Augustin Bonenmayr, who had devoted himself, just like the superintendent in Rottenbuch, to the construction of his monastery. Simon was certain that if the church authorities continued in this way, the most beautiful monasteries in Bavaria would soon be standing in the Priests’ Corner.

“Your Excellency?” Benedikta walked toward the group and curtsied to the superintendent.

Like so many monks, Brother Michael had a weakness for the fair sex. He paused, then made a slight bow and offered Benedikta his hand, which was adorned with the signet ring of the monastery. “I’m honored, beautiful lady. How can I help you?”

The workmen and architects packed up their plans, disappointed, while Benedikta kissed his signet ring. Simon rushed to her side, doffed his hat, and went through the same routine that had been so successful in Wessobrunn.

“Allow me to introduce the lady. Before you stands none other than Madame de Bouillon, royal dressmaker to the mistress of the French king,” the physician declared. “She has made the long trip from Paris in order to view the famous relics of Saints Primus and Felicianus here in Rottenbuch.” Simon lowered his voice to a whisper as he leaned toward the superintendent. “She made a vow not to share her bed again with her husband until she’d kissed the bones of the martyrs.”

Benedikta glanced at Simon in astonishment, but Simon maintained a serious face.

“The poor man,” Brother Michael sighed. “What a waste! But may I ask how the lady came to choose these two particular saints for her long pilgrimage?”

“She gave her newborn twins the names Primus and Felicianus,” Simon continued in a firm voice. “But they’ve fallen seriously ill, and now she hopes through her pilgrimage to be heard by our beloved Virgin Mary.”

“Get a hold of yourself, damn it!” Benedikta whispered in his ear. “You’re really going too far. Nobody will believe that stuff!”

But the superintendent nodded sympathetically. “What a misfortune! I’ll guide you to the relics personally! Follow me.”

Simon cast a surreptitious glance at Benedikta and grinned. Then they followed Brother Michael’s clipped steps to the church. Huffing and puffing, he pointed toward the scaffolding, where workmen were replacing old, broken church windows with stained glass.

“In a few years this monastery will be a jewel in Bavaria, believe me!” the superintendent said. “An incomparable pilgrimage site! We will house not just the relics of Saint Primus and Saint Felicianus here, but two teeth of Saint Binosa, some hair from the Virgin Mary, a knuckle belonging to Saint Blasius, the skull of Saint Lawrence, and the collarbone of Saint Brigida…to name only a few of the most important.”

He opened the church door, and Simon cast his eyes on a splendor that had to look like heaven on earth to the simple people in the area. Bright paintings of angels and saints on the ceiling gave the impression of infinite heights, marble slabs memorialized the former superintendents of Rottenbuch, and a huge organ with pipes as big as a man was enthroned over the portal. On the east wall opposite them, an altar at least twenty feet high depicted the Ascension of Mary, flanked by the apostles Peter and Paul. At the sides, two skeletons stood upright in glass coffins, each with a sword in hand and a laurel wreath on its bare skull.