The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,212
excited about Nuremberg.
“Maybe we could even visit Dürer,” he said to Johann as they, along with many other rattling wagons, oxcarts, and feisty merchants, neared the city. “A handsome man, by the way, this Dürer. I saw a self-portrait of him once. He painted himself almost like our savior, with long hair and a beard. I’d love to know what the church thinks of it.” Karl laughed and shook his head. “I doubt the pope would appreciate man turning himself into God.”
It was February, and in all directions the fields were still covered in snow. The land was barren and the Pegnitz River impassable, but several of the major routes through the empire met at Nuremberg, making the city like a spider in the center of a web. The merchants and smaller tradesmen the group passed were dressed in heavy coats and shapeless woolen hoods.
“I mean, you’re not just anybody,” Karl continued, “so a visit shouldn’t be—”
“I’m not just anybody but a wanted sodomite and devil worshipper, remember?” said Johann, cutting him off. “I don’t really think the Cologne Inquisition has any power here, but knowing people and their love of gossip, the story might have made it to Nuremberg, beefed up into a real horror story.”
“Indeed, the doctor doesn’t have the best reputation in town,” said Eberhart von Streithagen, riding beside them on his large destrier. “They talk about necromancy and quite a few instances of fraud. And many churchmen disliked your friendship with Agrippa. Therefore, we won’t enter through the large Frauentor Gate but through Spittlertor Gate. It’s close to our headquarters and not as heavily guarded.”
They followed a narrower road through the icy fields until they came to the moat and one of the smaller but solid city gates, which was flanked by an equally solid tower. Displayed above the gate was the double-headed eagle, the emperor’s coat of arms. When the guards saw the badge of the Teutonic Knights, they waved through Streithagen and the wagon he accompanied without questions.
It was lunchtime, and the whole city seemed to be on the move despite the cold. Peddlers with their crates rushed past them; they could hear the cries of market women from a nearby square, and the steady hammering from a smithy rang in Johann’s ears. The churches of Saint Sebaldus and Saint Lorenz rose above the sea of houses and the maze of narrow lanes and alleys, and right in among this maze flowed the Pegnitz, dividing the city in roughly even halves. The air smelled of fires, braised cabbage, and horse dung. Johann thought about the horrific stench of Hamburg in the summer; by comparison, the smell of Nuremberg in the winter was almost pleasant.
From the city wall, Eberhart von Streithagen led them a short distance through the noisy crowds into the city. It wasn’t long before they came to a walled-in complex holding several houses and a small church. A kind of roofed walkway bridged the lane to a second, larger church. Johann had climbed off the wagon and now led the nervous horse by the reins. His hand instinctively shot to his purse when a few pedestrians bumped into him.
“We used to be outside the city, but since the last wall extension we are like an island in a sea of disbelievers,” explained Streithagen with a dark expression as they neared a gate in the wall. “The last island of the German emperor, it seems to me. Leave the wagon here. Someone will bring it in later.”
He knocked on a heavy portal that had been reinforced with iron. A guard eyed them suspiciously through a hatch before letting them in. On the other side of the wall, they found themselves in a large green courtyard from which further gates led to stone houses, gardens, and even fields. In contrast to the noise outside, it was peacefully quiet within the walls, and even the air was better. Little Satan jumped out of Johann’s arms and peed against one of the bushes.
“What a lush piece of land you have here,” said Johann appreciatively. “The emperor was most generous.”
“In return we run the largest hospital in the city, aside from the Hospital of the Holy Ghost on Pegnitz Island,” replied Eberhart von Streithagen. “As I’m sure you’re aware, our motto is Help, defend, and heal.”
“Probably more defending than helping and healing,” whispered Karl to Johann. “The Teutonic Knights laid waste to the east of the empire once upon a time.”