Free The Dark Monk by Oliver Pötzsch, Lee Chadeayne Page B

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